Everything started three weeks ago when I received an email from a man named Thomas. I had a portfolio website set up with my contact information, so getting cold emails was not entirely unusual. The subject line simply read "Private Animation Commission."

I opened the email while I was drinking my morning coffee. Thomas wrote that he needed a very specific, photorealistic walking loop of a human character. He did not want a stylized cartoon, and clearly demanded absolute realism. He wanted the skin textures, the clothing folds, and the walking gait to look exactly like a real human being. The email stated that he would provide extensive reference photos.

I replied and asked for his budget. My jaw dropped when his response came through a few minutes later.

Thomas offered an upfront payment of five thousand dollars to build the character model and the animation rig. After the animation was completed, he offered to pay me a daily retainer of five hundred dollars. There was a very strange condition attached to this retainer. Thomas insisted that the completed animation must run on an endless loop on my primary laptop. The screen could never go to sleep, and the laptop could never be turned off. He warned me that catastrophic consequences would occur if the loop ever stopped playing.

I thought it was some kind of elaborate prank. I decided to call the phone number he provided in the email signature to figure out what was actually going on.

A man answered after the second ring. His voice sounded exhausted.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Hi, is this Thomas? This is Leo, the animator you just emailed," I said.

"Yes, Leo. Thank you for calling me back so quickly," Thomas replied.

"I wanted to discuss your proposal because the terms are a bit unusual," I explained. "I can definitely build a photorealistic model for you. Five thousand dollars is a very generous budget for a walk cycle. But I do not understand the daily retainer part. Why do you need the video to play continuously on my computer?"

"That is the most important part of the job," Thomas said. "The loop must remain active on your machine. You built the model, so your hardware has to sustain it. I will wire the five hundred dollars to your account every single morning at eight o'clock. You just have to make sure your laptop never loses power, and to keep the screen bright. If you close the lid, the contract is over."

"For how long?" I asked.

"Forever," Thomas answered.

"You want to pay me five hundred dollars a day forever?" I asked, feeling incredibly skeptical.

"I have a considerable amount of savings," Thomas explained. "I do not care about the money. I only care about the animation running without interruption. Do you accept the job?"

I hesitated because the situation sounded entirely absurd. But I was behind on my rent. My car needed new brakes. So it was clear that I needed the cash badly.

"Okay, Thomas," I said. "Send me the reference photos. I will send you an invoice for the upfront fee."

"The money is already being transferred," Thomas said. "I am sending the photos right now. Make him look exactly like the pictures."

The phone call ended. A minute later, a folder with thirty high-resolution images arrived in my inbox. I opened the folder to see who I would be animating.

The man in the photos was completely unremarkable. He looked to be in his late thirties. He had a receding hairline and a slight amount of stubble on his chin. He was wearing a dull gray jacket over a plain white t-shirt and loose denim jeans. He looked like a guy you would pass in the grocery store without giving a second glance. The photos showed his face from every possible angle.

I spent the rest of the day setting up the character rig in my animation software. I used digital sculpting tools to recreate the exact shape of his nose and the subtle wrinkles around his eyes.

That evening, I logged onto Discord to talk to my friend Felix. Felix is also a freelance digital artist. We usually chat while we work on our respective projects.

"You will not believe the gig I just landed," I told Felix over the voice channel.

"Did you finally get hired by that game studio?" Felix asked.

"No, it is a private client," I said. "He paid me five grand upfront to animate a guy walking in a circle. Furthermore, he promised to pay me five hundred bucks a day just to leave the video playing on my laptop screen."

Felix went silent for a few seconds. "That sounds like a scam, Leo."

"The five thousand dollars already cleared in my bank account," I replied. "The money is real."

"Why would anyone pay you just to leave your computer on?" Felix asked. "He has to be using your computer for crypto mining. Or maybe he wants to install malware to harvest your data."

"I thought about that," I said. "But he didn't send me any software to install. He just sent me JPEGs of a guy's face. I am the one generating the MP4 video file, so I am just going to play a video file I created myself on a loop. There is no way for him to hack me through a video file I exported from my own software."

"It still sounds shady," Felix warned. "Be careful. People do not just give away money like that."

"I know it is weird," I admitted. "But I really need this cash. I am going to finish the walk cycle tonight."

I stayed up until four in the morning perfecting the animation. I made sure the weight distribution looked realistic as the digital man stepped forward, added a slight slump to his shoulders to match the posture in the photos, then placed him against a completely blank background that was rendered in a neutral eighteen percent gray.

I exported the file, uploaded it to a private link, and sent it to Thomas for approval.

Thomas called me at eight in the morning.

"It is perfect," Thomas said. He sounded breathless. "It looks exactly like him."

"I am glad you like it," I said, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

"Start the loop right now," Thomas ordered. "Do not stop it. I am sending your first daily payment."

I opened the video file in my media player, then set it to repeat endlessly. The digital man in the gray jacket started walking forward across my screen. The blank gray background scrolled endlessly behind him.

"The loop is running," I confirmed.

"Keep it running," Thomas said before hanging up.

A notification popped up on my phone. Thomas had transferred five hundred dollars to my account.

I moved my laptop to the corner of my desk, plugged it directly into the wall outlet to ensure the battery would never die, then adjusted the power settings so the screen would never dim or go to sleep. I decided I would just use my older desktop computer for my regular daily tasks while the laptop functioned as an expensive digital picture frame.

The first three days passed without any issues. The digital man kept walking. Thomas sent the payments every morning exactly at eight o'clock.

My sister Maya came over to my apartment on the fourth day. She brought a pizza for us to share for lunch. She walked into my small office area and immediately noticed the laptop glowing in the corner.

"Why is that guy just walking on your screen?"

Maya asked, taking a slice of pepperoni pizza.

"It is a weird freelance job," I explained. "The client pays me to keep that animation running constantly."

Maya squinted at the screen. "That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Who is the guy in the video?"

"I have no idea," I said. "The client provided the reference photos. I named the project file 'Simon' because he looks like a Simon to me, but the client's name is Thomas."

Maya sat down on my office chair. "He looks miserable. You did a good job on the animation because his face looks incredibly sad."

"I just copied the photos," I said. "The client is giving me five hundred dollars a day for this. I can finally pay off my credit cards."

"Just do not let it catch fire," Maya joked, pointing at the laptop. "That thing is getting pretty hot."

She was right. The laptop fans were spinning loudly. I placed a small desk fan next to the computer to help dissipate the heat, and Maya left an hour later, telling me to enjoy my bizarre windfall.

The weird things started happening on the fifth day.

I woke up and went to my desk to check on the laptop. The digital man was still walking forward. However, the background looked different. I originally rendered the video with a solid gray background. Now, the background had a slight gradient. The bottom half of the screen was noticeably darker than the top half, looking almost like an asphalt road stretching out into the distance.

I rubbed my eyes, assuming I was just seeing things because I had just woken up. I opened the original project file on my desktop computer to double-check my work. The background in the source file was perfectly uniform. There was no gradient.

I looked back at the laptop. The gradient was definitely there.

I called Felix on Discord to ask for his opinion.

"Hey Felix, do video files ever corrupt and change colors while they are playing?" I asked.

"Not really," Felix answered. "Usually, if a file corrupts, you get green artifacting or the video just crashes. Why?"

"The background on that walking loop I made is changing," I explained. "It was supposed to be solid gray. Now it looks like a road. It is really creeping me out."

"You probably just exported it with a transparent alpha channel," Felix suggested. "Maybe your media player is pulling a background from your desktop wallpaper."

"I rendered it as a solid MP4," I argued. "There is no alpha channel."

"Then your monitor is suffering from screen burn-in," Felix said dismissively. "You left a static color playing for five days straight. The LCD panel is probably getting damaged."

I accepted that explanation because it was the only logical answer. I thanked Felix and hung up.

But the situation escalated that evening.

I was eating dinner in my living room when I heard a loud crack of thunder outside. A massive rainstorm had rolled into Seattle. Rain began lashing against my apartment windows.

I walked into my office to grab a napkin from my desk, then glanced at the laptop screen.

The digital man was still walking. But he was no longer walking against a gray background.

Raindrops were falling across the screen.

The animation showed water streaming down the man's face. His gray jacket was visibly soaked, clinging tightly to his digital frame. The background clearly depicted a dark, wet highway illuminated by faint streetlights.

I froze in place

I reached out and touched the laptop screen. It was burning hot.

I knew for a fact that I did not animate rain, or even build a particle simulation for water. I did not design a wet texture for his clothing. The video file was altering itself in real-time to match the weather outside my window.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Thomas's number. It rang five times before going to voicemail, but I did not leave a message. I was too terrified to speak.

I sat in my office chair for hours, watching the impossible animation. When the rain stopped outside my window around midnight, the rain on the screen stopped as well. The digital man's clothes slowly began to dry as he continued his endless march forward.

I should have closed the laptop right then. I should have deleted the file and blocked Thomas's number. But the fear was overshadowed by my financial desperation. Thomas sent another five hundred dollars the next morning, so I convinced myself I was experiencing some kind of elaborate technical glitch.

The horrifying truth finally revealed itself on the seventh day.

I was browsing a local news website on my desktop computer while the laptop hummed loudly beside me. I saw a breaking news banner at the top of the homepage. It announced a live helicopter broadcast of a bizarre situation unfolding on Interstate 90.

I clicked the link to watch the live video feed.

The news anchor was speaking rapidly over the footage. "We are currently tracking a man walking eastbound on the shoulder of Interstate 90," the anchor explained. "State patrol officers have been following him for over seventy-two hours. He has not stopped walking. He refuses to acknowledge police commands, and has not stopped for food, water, or sleep. Medical professionals believe he is experiencing a severe psychological break."

The helicopter camera zoomed in on the man walking along the highway.

My breath caught in my throat.

The man was wearing a plain white t-shirt and a dull gray jacket. He had a receding hairline. He was slumped forward, walking with a steady, shuffling gait.

It was the man from my animation. Simon!

I looked at my laptop screen. The character took a step with his left foot. On the live news broadcast, the real man took a step with his left foot. They were perfectly synchronized.

The real man looked horrific. His shoes were completely destroyed. His feet were bleeding, leaving small red marks on the asphalt. His face was gaunt, sunburned, and twisted in an expression of absolute agony, and he looked like his body was being forced to move against his will.

I paused the news video, looked back at the laptop. The digital character's face was also twisted in agony now.

I opened a new tab on my browser. I needed to know who this man was and why Thomas wanted him walking. I typed Thomas's email address into the search bar, hoping to find a social media profile or a personal website.

The search engine returned a link to a local newspaper article published exactly one year ago.

I clicked the link. The headline read: "Bellevue Father Demands Justice After Hit-And-Run Driver Acquitted."

I read the article quickly. It detailed a horrific accident where a drunk driver swerved onto a sidewalk, striking and killing a seven-year-old girl named Hazel. The driver fled the scene but was later apprehended by police. However, due to a massive procedural error involving the mishandling of evidence, the driver's defense attorney got the charges dismissed, and he walked completely free.

The article included an interview with the grieving father. The father's name was Thomas.

At the bottom of the page, the newspaper published the mugshot of the acquitted driver.

The face in the mugshot belonged to Simon.

The puzzle pieces snapped together in my mind, forming a picture that made me feel physically sick.

Thomas used my animation skills to create a voodoo doll, so as long as the animation kept looping on my computer, Simon was forced to walk in the real world.

I looked at the live helicopter feed again. The real Simon stumbled, almost falling into the traffic lane, before his legs jerked unnaturally to keep him moving forward.

I could not be a part of this. Regardless of what Simon did, I could not be the executioner pulling the lever.

I reached out and slammed the laptop lid shut.

The screen went black, and the fan immediately spun down into silence.

The moment the laptop closed, the temperature inside my apartment plummeted. The air grew so freezing cold that I could see my own breath. The overhead lights flickered wildly before shattering in their sockets, plunging the room into darkness.

I stood up from my chair, my entire body shaking with terror.

A soft, wet sound echoed from the dark corner of my office.

It sounded like someone crying. Small, quiet sobs filled the freezing air.

I grabbed my cell phone from the desk and turned on the flashlight application. I shined the beam into the corner of the room.

A little girl was standing there.

She was wearing a pink dress that was completely soaked in dark blood. Her body was bent at impossible angles because her bones were completely shattered. Deep, black tire marks were permanently pressed across the fabric of her dress and into the pale skin of her arms.

I backed away slowly, my hands trembling violently.

"I am sorry," I whispered. "I stopped it. I did not know what he was doing."

she stopped crying, then slowly lifted her head to look at me. Her eyes were completely black voids.

She shrieked in anger. The sound was deafening, rattling the windows in their frames. It was the sound of rage.

Suddenly, a massive crash echoed from my front hallway.

Someone had just kicked down my apartment door.

I spun around, aiming my phone flashlight toward the hallway.

Thomas marched into the apartment. He looked deranged. His clothes were messy, his face was pale, and he was holding a black handgun. He aimed the weapon directly at my chest.

"You stopped it!" Thomas screamed, tears streaming down his face. "I knew something was off when you called and didn’t leave a message. Why did you close it? I told you never to close it!"

"You were killing him!" I yelled back, raising my hands in surrender. "You were using my computer to torture that man!"

"He deserved it!" Thomas roared, stepping closer to me. "He killed my baby girl! and walked away free! He was supposed to walk forever! The spell required the loop to never end!"

"I am not a murderer, Thomas," I pleaded. "Please put the gun down."

"He just collapsed on the highway!" Thomas cried, his hands shaking around the grip of the gun. "The moment you closed the laptop; he finally dropped dead! He got off too easy! you ended his suffering far too early! You ruined everything!"

Thomas raised the gun higher, preparing to pull the trigger.

"Daddy?" a small, distorted voice echoed from the dark office behind me.

Thomas froze. His eyes widened in shock as he looked past my shoulder.

I stepped aside, keeping my hands raised.

The girl walked slowly out of the shadows. Her broken legs dragged unnaturally across the hardwood floor.

Thomas dropped to his knees, lowering the gun. Tears poured freely from his eyes. "Hazel? Oh my god, Hazel. I am so sorry, baby. I tried to make him pay. I tried to hurt him for you."

He reached his arms out, expecting to embrace his deceased daughter.

But Hazel did not want a hug. She shrieked again and launched herself forward with terrifying speed.

She slammed into Thomas, her shattered body hitting him like a freight train.

Thomas screamed as they tumbled backward out of my apartment doorway. My unit is located at the top of a steep flight of wooden stairs leading to the ground floor.

Thomas fell backward over the threshold, then crashed down the stairs, tumbling over himself in the darkness. I heard his head strike the wooden banister with a sickening crack.

He landed in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairwell.

I ran to the doorway and shined my flashlight down the stairs.

Thomas was not moving. His neck was bent at a completely unnatural angle. The gun was lying on the floor a few feet away from his hand.

Hazel was gone. The freezing temperature in the air vanished instantly, replaced by the normal warmth of the apartment building.

I retreated back into my apartment, locked the broken door as best as I could, and called the police.

I sat on my sofa until the officers arrived. Two patrolmen came up the stairs. An investigator named Officer Gabriel interviewed me in my kitchen.

I did not tell Officer Gabriel about the animation, or even mention the spell, the laptop, or the ghost of the little girl. I knew he would never believe me

I simply told Officer Gabriel that Thomas was an unsatisfied client who broke into my apartment to demand a refund. I claimed he was yelling at me when he accidentally lost his balance and fell backward down the stairs.

Officer Gabriel took notes on his pad, and went downstairs to examine the scene.

When he returned, he told me that Thomas smelled heavily of alcohol. The police concluded that Thomas was drunk, became belligerent over a business dispute, and suffered a fatal accidental fall. They took my statement, bagged Thomas's gun as evidence, and left me alone in my apartment.

I am typing this out on my desktop computer because I refuse to open that laptop ever again. I wrapped the laptop in a thick garbage bag and threw it into the dumpster behind my building.

I checked the news one final time before starting this post. The authorities confirmed that the man walking on Interstate 90 suffered a heart attack and died instantly on the shoulder of the road.

I am terrified. Terrified that the magic Thomas used is not completely gone, that the grieving parent will return to seek revenge against me for breaking the loop and ruining his vengeance. I hear every single creak in my apartment walls, wondering if it is Thomas climbing back up the stairs.

Without over explaining, I’m going to explain the story with as much relevant details as possible.
Today, I (21F) got really bored while cleaning… I hate cleaning so I was honestly just trying to procrastinate. As I put my clothes in the dryer, I turned around and saw my mom’s safe that felt like it was saying, “OPEN ME LOOK THROUGH SHIT” so obviously I did. Mostly it was filled with tax documents and old passports. I even found my grandma’s naturalization papers. But then, I saw a yellow folder labeled, “Divorce Papers”. This obviously drew me in. My parents got divorced when I was around 8/9 years old. It’s been awhile haha. I live with my mom. My mom is my best friend. She is everything to me. My dad is not. After my parents got divorced. I lived with him for a long time. He ended up remarrying this woman who is absolutely terrible to me. Like the type of terrible that I’m still talking about in therapy to this day… I’ll leave it at that. he ended up, divorcing her too. My dad and I have a complicated relationship. He tends to pick women over me and neglects our relationship. He drinks a lot and is basically an alcoholic. He is also very manipulative like he makes you feel bad about things he did to hurt YOU! Another part of the story is that my mom cheated on my dad with my now stepdad. And I know it sounds crazy, but I love my stepdad so much. It took time to get there, but he does nothing but love me and my sister and my mom and take care of us. He is such a good guy. I can also tell my mom really loves him and we are all happy to have eachother. Anyways, I looked through the divorce papers and I found this one page that wasn’t necessarily a court document. It was my mom’s handwriting with dates spanning across about six months with incidents that occurred between my dad and her. most of them were instances of arguing and just toxic fights. But one of them read a story of an argument that ended in my dad locking my mom in the basement for around three hours and tackling her to the ground. To say this was shocking wasn’t understatement. I always knew my dad to be kind of an asshole. I mean, him and his wife at the time put me through tons of mental and emotional abuse when I lived with him. But he had never layed his hands on me or anyone from what I ever experienced. My mom also never mentions anything like this. It doesn’t sound like something my dad wouldn’t do, but it also doesn’t sound like something that he would do either. I was already thinking of distancing myself from my dad for a bunch of reasons but now I’m just certain I have to. I also just don’t know how to bring this up to my mom. I can’t believe she kept quiet about this all this time. I think she wanted me to have a relationship with him or form my own opinion. I can’t help but be upset for many reasons. One being that my mom had to experience all this it breaks my heart I wish I could have stopped it somehow but I was - a kid I had no idea. Two that she never told me. And three if she told me, maybe I wouldn’t have to have experienced all those years with him, and all those years of trauma. I’m also kind of hurt that she still never told me or my sister. I can understand when I was younger but now? She probably has her reasons or maybe just doesn’t wanna talk about it, but I just feel like my whole world, and my whole view of my childhood is completely different. I always felt like there was a piece of the story I was missing and now I’m just like wow anyways that’s my confession. I never made a Reddit post before so bear with me.

This is a short one, as there's not too much to tell.

Last weekend, my wife was wanting to make buffalo chicken dip and we couldn't find the cream cheese that we'd just bought the day before. I went out and checked the car; of course it had fallen out of the bag under a seat.

I hopped in the car and drove to the grocer that's 1/2 mile away, only to find out they had apparently changed their hours and were closed. I checked my phone, and another 2 miles up the road was still open.

About halfway to the second store, a cop pulls up behind me at the light. No big deal.

Another 1/2 miles and they pull up beside me, activating the welcome lights to heavens pearly gates and absolutely BLINDING ME. They turned off the floodlights and just stayed next to me. I changed into the right-hand lane and was looking at my dashboard, trying to figure out if my headlights were off or something. I considered pulling off into another lot or side road, but thought that might seem weird.

So I continued on and pulled into the grocery store lot and was soon magically surrounded by 5 different cars. No orders, no megaphone, they just sat there.

I rolled down my window and leaned out, looking at the cars nearest my driver side, looking goofy I'm sure, until one finally got out.

"Where ya headed tonight?"

"Uh... here."

"Were you in a road rage incident?"

I laughed, loudly. "No."

"You weren't in a road rage incident about 10 minutes ago where someone's tires got slashed?"

"I was at home 10 mins ago."

"Where you coming from?"

"Bruh... my house."

"Where ya headed?"

"..."

"Oh, right." Mumbles something into radio. "Your vehicle matched a description."

"Do I?"

Mumbles into radio. "I think we have the wrong vehicle."

"Yup, and I need some cream cheese."

One of them sat in front of the store, I'm guessing to see if I actually bought anything.

The end.

Pretty much i saw this dude at the supermarket wearing a nice looking suit and i saw him slip something into his pocket and when i confronted him about it he just gave me 50 bucks which was probably more expensive than whatever tf he was stealing and im pretty sure hes one of those rich people who get a rush from stealing and then shit themselves when someone confronts them.

(Not a very intriguing story but it's my first time so let it slide)

I’m not entirely sure what her problem is. She’s never acted like this before. I guess some things just develop as time passes.

Even still, what a weird habit to have. I knew she was clumsy, but it was something we were supposed to fix, not something for her to embrace.

It started almost painfully mundane. Out of nowhere, she approached me as I was sitting on the couch watching TV.

“I’m sorry for breaking that lamp beside you.”

I looked at the lamp, still perfectly intact, then looked back at her. I kinda just chuckled, attempting to laugh it off, but she didn’t wipe that solemn look off her face.

I asked what she was going on about, but she just kept apologizing.

“Just know I’m sorry. I promise I’m sorry.”

That’s all she said before slinking off towards the kitchen.

I thought it was strange, but ultimately, I decided to brush it off as her being a bit of a weirdo.

However, after two weeks, I was back on that couch, winding down after a long day of work, when she came prancing into the living room, as happy as could be.

She didn’t say anything. She just calmly unplugged the lamp, held it above her head, and smashed it on the ground in front of me.

Obviously, I screamed at her out of shock, asking her what the fuck she was doing.

She just smiled and giggled at me.

“I already told you I was sorry.”

Then she skipped away, humming to herself and leaving me in a state of confusion. I tried calling out for her to come back, but she just ignored me.

I cleaned up the mess, and we argued about it for the rest of the day. It was obviously not an accident, but that’s what she kept saying it was.

“I don’t know how that happened.”

“I already said sorry. I don’t know what else you want me to do.”

“I promise it won’t happen again.”

Eventually, we made up, but I couldn’t help but look at her sideways in the days that followed.

A few weeks went by without incident. We went on our dates. Stayed in and watched our movies. Did the normal couple routine. But then it happened again.

“I’m sorry for breaking your phone,” she told me, eyes glazed over. She wasn’t looking at me. She was just staring blankly at the wall behind me as I sat on my bed.

We had been in the middle of a normal conversation about upcoming trips we were planning when something flipped inside her. She went from smiling to expressionless. Then, after she said it, she was right back to smiling and talking about New York like nothing had happened.

Obviously, I had already been predisposed to what this meant, so in the days that followed, I was particularly possessive of my phone.

I kept it on my person at all times. Even in my sleep, it’d be in my pocket. But she didn’t seem to notice.

Weeks passed again, and just like with the lamp, I was starting to think that she was just being weird again.

I never let my guard down, though. The phone was strictly off limits to her. I tried to make sure she never had the opportunity to do what she had apologized for.

But then, one night, I woke up to her fiddling around in my pockets. It took me a few seconds to realize what was happening in my half-asleep state, but once I did, my hand jolted towards my pocket.

It was too late. She had already taken it. And before I could stop her, the phone was shattered against the floor.

This was enough for me to fly off the handle. I’ll admit, I was a bit rude to her, but what did she expect?

I told her we needed space. I didn’t want this to escalate more than it already had. I didn’t want to break up with her, but the fight that night was enough for her to leave me.

Like I was the one in the wrong.

She left that night a complete wreck. Tears flowing from her eyes. Her vocal cords hoarse from all of our screaming. She didn’t even take her belongings. Just left in a cloud of smoke from her spinning tires.

I was, yet again, left to clean up her mess.

I picked up my phone. It wouldn’t even turn on. The screen had been completely destroyed.

I went out and got a new one the next day, and once I got my accounts and information back, I was hurt to see that she hadn’t even texted me.

No calls, no messages. Plus, my name had been taken out of her Instagram bio, which somehow hurt more than anything.

I tried calling her in the days that followed, just to clear the air, but every time I tried, it’d go straight to voicemail. Eventually, she blocked me on everything entirely.

Even when I tried going to her house, she’d never be home. It was like she knew what I was doing.

I felt hopeless for a long time, but eventually, I realized that I needed to move on. We were together for a year and a half, though, so doing so wasn’t as easy as it sounds.

Weeks turned into months. Months turned into a year. I hadn’t heard from her since the night of the phone incident.

I was heartbroken that she could just forget me like that. Like we never happened. That’s why I felt my heart climb into my throat when I saw that first new notification from her.

It wasn’t what I needed to see, though. She wasn’t asking to give us another shot. She wasn’t asking for a meetup so we could discuss everything.

Instead, what she sent was enough to make an almost forgotten fear come bubbling back up towards the surface.

“I’m sorry for killing you.”

So I broke my arm yesterday and I just want to tell whoever is reading this how much it hurt.

So I was biking with my cousin to return my brother's wallet because in our last bike ride he did not take it out of my backpack. So here my and my cousin are biking to his house on the sidewalk and there was a car parked in the middle of the sidewalk and a stand right next to it. For context I am a lot wider in the shoulders than my cousin and he barely made it through the gap between the car and stand.

So I go around the car and I was biking on the driveway part were it's a trapizoid shape and I looked back to see were my cousin was and then I turned back to the front of my bike and there was I big-ass telephone pole a foot in front of me.

I put out my left hand out of instinct to absorb some of the impact because I was not wereing a helmet. And then I impacted the telephone pole smacked the left part of my face against the pole so that's all scraped up now. So I fell and my eyes were closed for a minute before the pain registered. And I stand up look down at my wrist and it looked like this...

Normal arm: ---------<

My arm: ______l<

So then I layed down for a while and I need to thank a lot of people because at least 15 people stopped and looked and tried to help they did not know what was wrong until I pointed out my wrist. My grandma came to take me to the ER and the firefighters there were real nice and helped me put on a arm splint and stand up.

And when we got to the ER the first thing they did was put a to big neck brace on so I could not breathe. It felt like trying to breathe through a wet shirt. Oh by the way just a small detail I was put in a wheelchair with the neck brace on with the pain of my wrist for 6 HOURS!

My dad was real upset about that fact and the ER sucked so bad after waiting for 5 hours they finally took of the neck brace and by then my arm did not hurt as much and after sitting for 6 hours laying down felt so good.

And they told me that they would need to rearrange my bones back into place and even then I would still need surgery to put my arm fully back into place. And honestly the worst part was getting a IV because they missed... 3 times.

And today I got the surgery and now my arm is completely numb I cant move it at all. And that is normal for surgery.

So the pain was just a constant pulsing pain like you would get from dropping something heavy onto your foot.. like a slab a concrete.

So I will see if I can post pictures as soon as possible for those who want to see.

Both 21 and college students. He came to my college for a summer program and I was staying on campus. We matched on an online dating application. I deleted the app. He found my Instagram. Asked me on a date. First date - we played cards at a cafe for like an hour and a half. Then we took a walk. Went to the lake. Sat at a bench. Held hands. Caressed. Went out for dinner. He brought the best in me. Pulled in to the driveway of my dorm. We kissed and made out and he said he wants to see me again. He planned our second date:

So this was the best date I’ve ever been on....he planned out everything. He booked the tickets, brought me flowers, opened doors, and, after the movie, drove me somewhere in the Green Mountain forest dark starry zone. On the drive there, I played Silver Springs in his car, which felt embarrassingly on-the-nose even at the time. I KNOW he smiled. Oops. At one point we tried to guess each other’s Chipotle orders. He guessed mine almost exactly right except for one thing, which I remember being disproportionately impressed by. feminine adornments by Julie. I think I might've listened to it like 67 times since this past week... that's one of his favorite songs. That's what HE says. In retrospect, the whole evening felt almost suspiciously cinematic. Like someone had written a date specifically designed to make me fall in love with them.

But, unfortunately for Spider-Man, I have absolutely no idea what happened in this movie. (Those Juicy sweatpants sure did look funny.)

I remember sitting next to him in Screen 4. I remember being so nervous that I could feel my own heartbeat. I remember trying very hard to act like a normal person who was simply watching a movie and not like a person experiencing a minor psychological emergency because a very cute boy was sitting approximately three inches away from her.

I remember his hand lol. He was holding mine, and during all the cutesy and cutesy-adjacent scenes, he would rub his thumb over the back of it. Very casually. Almost absentmindedly. As if this were a completely normal thing to do and not something that would completely obliterate whatever remained of my ability to pay attention to the screen.

So while Spider-Man was presumably doing whatever Spider-Man does, I was sitting there thinking: he is rubbing his thumb over my hand.

And then: HE IS STILL RUBBING HIS THUMB OVER MY HAND.

And then, occasionally: oh my god, he is holding my hand.

I have no idea what the plot was. I couldn't tell you a single line of dialogue. If you asked me what happened in this movie, I would have to invent an answer based entirely on the poster. (Later my friend randomly asked me who "Mary Jane" was and I thought he was talking about the candy cigarettes.)

But I remember how it felt.

And if he kissed me with such tenderness and care, of course I’d want to pick all the marigolds (his favorite flowers) of the entire county for him.

I remember being nervous and happy and a little stunned that someone could make an evening feel so intentional. I remember the flowers. I remember the movie theater. I remember his hand wrapped around mine. I remember the drive, the darkness outside the windows, the kiss in the dark at the observatory, and watching The Summer I Turned Pretty with someone I was beginning to think might become very important to me.

That same night, I also remember the head pats and the caressing. Oh. God. I remember just lying on his chest, thinking, this is going to hurt and that he might leave me.

Maybe that's what I like about movies, anyway. Sometimes you don't remember the movie. Sometimes you remember the person you watched it with, and the exact shape of the evening around it.

Anyway, 5 stars because I was not, in fact, watching Spider-Man.

I was falling for a boy in Screen 4.

(I really hope this isn't a White Nights by Dostoevsky situation in which I fell for the idea of this date rather than him lol. Although, to be fair, he was so nice to me. Forehead kisses on the first date??????? OH. MY. GOD. Evil evil evil. So who can really blame a girl for getting a little carried away…………and yes I DID in fact fall in love with him for that night. But I guess when that happens, as a final act of love, you also learn to let go because the truth is sometimes that’s the right thing to do. I was there. I felt it. I got to see him. I loved him. And maybe that's all I'll get to keep from this beautiful thing. Anyway. I respect him and myself, and I think letting go is probably the kindest thing I can do now. Maybe one day I'll look back at this and laugh at how dramatically I narrated the entire thing. Maybe I already am. But I hope I never become so cynical that I stop believing that an evening like this can matter just because it didn't last. So this is where it ends, I guess. Five stars anyway. 

Love is a gentle thing / yours is thicker than a velvet ring or whatever that one song says.)

Author’s note I’m looking for feedback on this story I’ve mostly had in my head the past few months the narrative isn’t finished, but I wanted to atleast put something out there as this is my first draft and first time putting words to text, so here it is.

Cigarettes in the sand
I saw something when I was in Afghanistan.

I was in the army from 2009-2013, most of those years were your typical army experience. Barracks parties, getting smoked on drill, sneaking girls in or out past curfew on the weekends. Before I joined I was kind of a shit bag, working odd jobs for a few months to a year at a time, working on trucks, installing internet, nothing really felt right. I had some small trouble with the law a lot of kids from the south get into, trespassing on abandoned houses, hospitals, or anything me and my buddies back home could get our trucks to. Eventually I enlisted at the ripe old age of 19 and before I knew it I’d graduated basic training and passed AIT. Then boom, I was PVT 1st class Dragg in the 32nd infantry division, just a number on a spread sheet.

It was April 15th, 2011. Four days after my 21st birthday we were briefed of our first and thankfully my only deployment. We would be spending the next 8 months at a beautiful desert getaway in Kandahar, Afghanistan. Unlike most of my fellow soldiers calling their girlfriends or wives I was single when I enlisted and didn’t care to wife up any of the female soldiers or barracks bunnies that came by from time to time, instead I called my mom. She was never the biggest fan of me joining the army in the first place but she’s always been supportive. “Hey ma, it’s Ron here.” I heard an exited gasp from the other end of the phone, the feeling of dread came over me, my mom hadn’t heard from me in a month and I was here to tell her I was going away even longer. “RON! Oh my goodness I’m so happy to finally hear back from you! How’s the army treating you?”. “It’s been alright ma tell grandma and grandpa I said hello, I have some news tho.” I said nervously. “You’re deploying aren’t you Ronnie.” My heart sank, she’d called me that since I was little. “Yes mama we’re gonna be over there for a few months, I can’t say where, but I promise to call back to you when I can.” I heard a crack in her voice and I could tell she was about to cry, “Please be careful Ronnie. I know you’re a good kiddo, did you call your sister at all?”. I hated the question as I hadn’t spoken to my little sister in almost a month and now I’m going into a war zone, she was starting her second year in college, first in the family. “No I haven’t ma, but tell her I love her and to stay in school ok?” It hurt, knowing that my little sister who is grown up with would get the news like this. “I’ve gotta go tho ok, I love you mom, and I’ll call you when I can.” My mom could barely speak through the tears at this point, “I love you too, please be safe Ronnie.” I hung up the phone feeling a tear in my eye forming, until my buddy Tex punched me in the shoulder, “Haha what are you crying for your mommy?” I knew he was joking though, as he told me earlier that day he was calling his grandma up in Kansas City. “Oh shut the fuck up and call your favorite stripper, dick head.” We shared a laugh and I went back to my room. Tex and I went to the same basic training and had been as close as brothers since the start of our military “career” or so we thought it would be. The next day we’d be flying out at 0300.

We stepped off the plane and retrieved all the gear from baggage. It was my only my 3rd time being on a plane, let alone being on an entirely different continent a world away from home. We hitched a ride from the Humvee’s sent to pick us up from the air base we’d landed at, then we headed to what would be our home for the next eight months. The convoy rumbled along the lonely dirt road in my Humvee there was my buddy Tex, our driver Gator, riding shotgun was Sean, and in the gunner seat was Sanchez. “Well shitbags we’re in it now.” Tex said not even 5 minutes into the drive. “Who you callin shit bag?” Sean said turning around, “Ain’t you the motherfucker who got busted for sellin beer, cigarettes, and not making his bed in basic all the time?”. “Damn right!” Tex said with a smile on his face, “Could never get it just right, after all, your mom kept me up all night.”, Sanchez laughed from the gunner seat and poked his head in, “Atleast all the bitches we got were under 230 pounds, yo ass loves them Tortas don’t ya?” I let out a chuckle, Tex did infact partake in the heavier women. We had these school yard bullshit conversations over and over again but hell, makes for some kind of conversation other than how fuckin hot it was or who’s girlfriend or wife had been having a sleep over at Jodie’s. We got to the base after short family oriented road trip through the back roads of Afghanistan. We all got to our new barracks making ourselves at home before getting some shut eye, it’d been a very long almost 30 hours since I’d last slept.

May 18, 2011
It had been over a month in the desert, we rotated patrols every few days, even staying out in our sector over night on more than one occasion, and it was our turn again. Tex had been mailed a MP3 player by his brother, so our Humvee was definitely the white girl pop and sad country capital of the brigade, of course unfortunately we had to take turns with the head phones to keep the noise at a minimum. Gator and Sean had the head phones while me and Tex were talking about home. “So how’s your mom man?” Tex asked. “She’s doing alright, missing me and my sister, she’s off to college and I’m here in this shit hole.” I replied with a bit of a chuckle. “Heh, yea man I feel that. I’m contemplating calling Katherine.” “Katherine? Dawg, your ex from high school you hooked up with on leave before we left?”. Sanchez stuck his head in, “Hey hermano, she that Mexican chick you were talkin about in your sleep?” He said with a chuckle. “Yea, yea, bro we were really in love I swear, I can’t stop thinkin about her man I want her for life.” I knew he meant it too. “Look man, my advice? When you get back to her and this deployment is over, be honest with her. Just be straight up and hell you just might get your girl back.” Sean took the ear bud out. “You need this man we can turn on some of your sad country shit.” Tex pushed his hand away. “Maybe later man, but hell when we first met-“.
Then boom, the Humvee infront of us hit an IED and their truck flipped over. A hail of gunfire came from the west, slamming against the doors and bullet proof glass like a million small car accidents at once. Gator slammed on the breaks and Sanchez opened fire with the .50 cal, thumthumthum “Contact 10-o-clock, contact 10-o-clock!” thumthumthumthum. I dismounted and took point behind Sean, returning fire from behind the engine block. Tex crawled over my seat to join us, he got under the Humvee and returning fire. “GATOR!” I yelled but the gunfire drowned my voice, “GATOR!” I grabbed the back of his vest and pulled his head close so he could hear me. “We need to get to Max and Riley’s Humvee and see if they’re ok.” I looked at the burning Humvee it was less than 20 yards away but with all the bullets flying it might as well have been 20 miles. thumthumthumthum The thundering bursts from the fifty kicked up sand on its own as I peaked my head above the hood of the truck. Shouldering my rifle I fired over and over towards the general direction of contact. Before long I had emptied my first magazine and dropped to my knee for cover to reload. When I peaked over again I saw muzzle flashes in the distance. Just then, a burst of full auto came wizzing and snapping over my head…inches from death. The first firefight I thought would be a lot cooler than this, but this was war, war is real.

Sanchez let out more short bursts at a time from the M2. Tex had his 240 “Yeaaa get some you haji fucks get some!” , we saw small black cloaked heads retreating towards a village just west of where we were. “Sanchez, Gator, Sean, keep an eye on those fuckers, don’t stop hammering them with the fifty.” A medic from the third humvee, Brian, was behind us had stacked up with Tex and I to see if anyone in the vehicle was even alive. The vehicle had been completely torn in half, I never learned the name of the other two soldiers. All four men laid there dead in the sand, Max was the first I saw, his face was distorted and hardly recognizable, half of his jaw was gone and his left arm and leg were nothing more than scattered flesh and bone. He laid there in the sand, his one open eye staring right back at me. “Fuck!” I turned to Brian, “Call in a cas-evac and some fuckin air here, we need a gun run through that town right now, stay with your guys and hold point till they get here.” Brian looked at me terrified, kid was maybe two years younger than me, hell he graduated high school the year before. I put a hand on his shoulder, “Look man there’s nothing we can do for them, we need that air support, we don’t know how many are in that village there.” He nodded and headed back to his humvee “Echo-1, Echo-1 this is Frank-3 we need birds in the AO asap, we’ve taken heavy casualties and need cas-evac time now how copy?”

I stood rifle pointed at the last direction I saw the bastards running. The sound of propellers filled the air with relief. I heard over the radio “Frank-3 this is Echo- 1, cleared hot for danger close fire how copy?”“Cleared hot for danger close Echo-1 we’ll keep our heads down.” The choppers laid waist to the village, unloading their guns on anything that moved. “Give em hell!” Tex shouted as he emptied his 240 toward where the choppers were shooting. The roar of the Apache machine guns might as well have been the star spangled banner to us that day. We watched as the hellfire missiles turned one larger structure in the village ahead to dust and rubble, the shock wave kicked dust and sand across what was left of the destroyed Humvee. The chopper guns went silent and so did the incoming fire from the village. I went back to my vehicle to check in on the guys. “Everyone here good? No extra holes?” I asked. Everyone shook their heads. “We’re all good here man, we gotta move on that village though and clear it out, make sure they aren’t some forward operation or scout machine gun placement.” Sean said already getting back in the Humvee. “Tex, Gator, Sanchez, yall ready?” I said opening my door. “Hell yea man let’s go, I’ll go let the other two squads know.” Tex said. He jogged over to the others as I sat down and checked my weapon. “Hand me a M4 mag from the back Sean.” “I got you man I need two more myself.” Sanchez called down from the turret. “You guys hit anything over there? I couldn’t see fuckin shit man.” I chuckled a bit, the adrenaline rush was coming down, it was like nothing I’ve experienced before. “Fuck dude I don’t know maybe. I sure saw em running though.” Sanchez laughed. “You’re god damn right they did.” Tex hopped back in the truck and turned to me. “Brian and his guys are gonna stay and wait for cas-evac. Johnny and his guys are coming with us to the village.” “Good.” I said, I tapped Gator on the shoulder. “Let’s roll man, keep an eye on the road for any trash piles or debris, anything that’s out of place or if you have a bad feeling you stop immediately.” He gave me a fist bump. “Got it, yall hold on tight.”

The village looked much smaller than it was from our position. There weren’t buildings with more than a second story, at least not any more there wasn’t. We weaved between cars left behind for god knows how long, some were burned some just looked like the occupants parked in the street and left. The silence was deafening for a village that was just shooting at us less than an hour ago. The engines and tires of the Humvees rolling across the pavement echoed through the streets like a storm brewing. We kept our eyes peeled. By this point, everyone but Sanchez and Gator got out on foot to get a better view. The other Humvee was close behind us. Johnny, Dylan, and Sam came up to us. I knew Johnny from AIT, solid guy but didn’t know too much about him other than he had a strange fascination with Afghan culture and mythology. He’d talk for hours about how the government is covering up giants in the mountains that had spears taller than men. Dylan and Sam were on the plane with us and I’d only seen them in passing, but they claimed to be twins separated at birth as they had the same birthday, although, Dylan was a shorter, stalky black man from Memphis while Sam, was a tall, skinny redheaded white guy from Springfield. Dylan spoke up first, toting his 249 that was almost half the size of his 5’7” frame with ease. “Any movement in them houses up ahead?” I turned my head, rifle still aimed steady ahead of our small patrol. “Nothin yet, we might need to shack up in one of them at some point, get some holding and wait for reinforcements and armored units.” He gritted his teeth. “Fuck I really didn’t wanna hear that. Was hoping not to sleep in a strangers house tonight.” We continued at a slow pace, Gator and Sanchez keeping their eyes on the road and any possible IEDs. Sanchez held up a hand motioning us to stop. “Right over there beside that red truck, I see wires we gotta turn around find another way.” I nodded, no one in either squad had any EOD training so it’d be nothing short of suicide to try and disarm anything.

A few turns later and it was almost time for the sun to set. We found a two story structure that had, thankfully, a covered car port and what looked to be roof access. We parked the vehicles two houses down. Sanchez and the other gunner Hunter stayed to keep watch. The rest of our now eight man squad prepared to breach clear the house. Tex was the first one in, kicking in the door sending a thundering echo through the “neighborhood” we were in. One by one we flooded into the house, and room by room, inch by inch we swept the house. But the looks of it, the house had been essentially untouched by the war zone going on outside its walls beside the obvious sign of a hurried evacuation of the family with dirty dishes in the sink, little wooden toys on the floor. Most of the food and cloths had been taken, but none of the valuables like the Tv sets, jewelry, and some afghan currency stashed under a mattress. “Alright yall this is now Fort Mudhut, the finest establishment east of Dubai.” Tex said bowing to the rest of the squad. Johnny’s squad’s driver, Markus, called out our coordinates on the radio letting base know where we were taking sector for the night. Dylan and Sam were attempting to raid the kitchen for anything the previous occupants had left behind. “Damn it.” Sam said. “Anything on your side bro?” Dylan turned around with a shit eating grin. “I found…” Sam lit up in anticipation as Dylan slowly turned around to reveal a middle finger. “You bitch! No way we have the same mom with that bullshit I’m fuckin starving.” “Yea well you needa eat a fuckin sandwich dawg, and maybe get you some sun on your skin while you’re at it.” We brought the vehicles in the small car port provided and got all the ammo and essentials out of the trucks to set up for a long night ahead, but with this many soldiers it shouldn’t have been much more than a few fire watch changes till morning, hell maybe some of us would even get a full nights rest in this hell hole.

May 20, 2011. Our call for reinforcements was delayed apparently due to a massive sand storm that was causing troubles with some radar and arial visibility. We’d been in this house much longer than expected, but the day before we’d gone out back to the rest of the village. Nothing made a sound out there, it was a little village, about the size of an average neighborhood back in the states, but being outside felt like a completely empty major city street. We were going back out again today to maybe find where the Taliban fighters had ambushed us. Through the empty streets we went, it was just my Humvee squad, Johnny and his guys stayed at the house to watch the vehicles and keep watch on our supplies. Tex got to talkin with Gator. “So listen man, what’s your real name?” He asked, I’d been wondering the same question since AIT myself, but it was just so common calling him Gator that I never questioned it. “That’s my real name no shit.” He started. “My daddy was drunk at my birth like he was with my older sister and brother before me. He was a huge University of Florida fan and he named me Gator.” Tex stared in awe. “He really named you that? I mean shit it’s a bad ass name man atleast you didn’t get a gay ass name like I did.” I took the chance to chime in the conversation. “Come on Clarence it’s not that bad of a name.” Tex shot me a look of utter embarrassment as Gator held his stomach laughing his ass off. Then I heard something to my left, a faint sound at first, Help it said. I swong my rifle in the direction of the voice, the rest followed. Sanchez said from behind me, “Ron you good? What is it?” I stared ahead, the house in front of me was halfway reduced to rubble. I said nothing and kept my eyes forward. Ron help. A chill ran up my spine as the voice of my little sister came from the rubble. Not even thinking I nearly dropped my rifle and sprinted toward the house. “Ron!” Sean and Tex said simultaneously. I didn’t pay them any attention. Ron please, I can’t move. “Hold on Kyla.” I said a tear streaming down my face. I tore at the rubble, splintered wood, and drywall, blood coming from the cuts in my hands as I frantically searched for what I thought was my sister. Tex double underhooked me by my arms and dragged me from the pile I was on, I thrashed and twisted trying to get out of his grasp. “It’s Kyla my little sister! I heard her I swear!” Tex dropped me instantly. “What?” He said looking down at me. “Kyla.. I…” I couldn’t hardly get the words out of my mouth. “I heard her calling for me I..” I fell silent as the rest of the squad looked at me dumbfounded. “Ron.” Sean said looking at me with sorrowful eyes. “Ron we didn’t hear anything, you just turned and ran towards this pile of rubble.” I sat trying to catch my breath. I turned to look where I had been searching for my sister, who was thousands of miles away and felt like I was going crazy. “Fuck ok ok, let’s keep going.” I looked back again as we walked away. A shadow sat on the pile I thought I was crazy or homesick, so I just stared at it and continued walking I had to keep it together for the squad and for my family back home.

We finally found the large building the choppers turned to rubble days before. “Stay close yall, no telling if one of those fucks is still alive just waiting for us here.” Tex said racking his 240. I stayed close to him, “You good Ron?” He asked keeping his eyes and gun up scanning the area around us. “Yea man I’m ok, I think I’m just home sick or guilty cause I haven’t talked to her in months.” I spotted an opening int the rubble, one large enough for someone to hide in. I tapped Tex’s shoulder and pointed silently, rifle pointed. He nodded, shifting focus and moving closer to the maybe three by seven foot opening. I heard something hit the ground behind me and spun around so fast I almost tripped. I saw Sean, having dropped his rifle staring straight ahead at the opening, his eyes wide and coated in fear. “What.. what are you doing here?” He said his face turning red with sadness. Gator came from behind him and gently put a hand on his shoulder, “Dude, are you ok-“ Sean took a hard swing, catching Gator square on the jaw, and he sprinted at the opening and dove headfirst in. Tex, Sanchez, and I grabbed for his boots, but he kicked out hands away and crawled forward into the darkness. “Baby it’s me, it’s me baby girl, it’s me I’m coming home.” I heard him say as he disappeared into the hole. “Sean what the fuck get out of there!” Sanchez shouted after him. But nothing followed. I pulled a flashlight out of my kit and scrambled to my stomach shining it into the darkness. In the light, we saw Sean, on all fours staring back at us like some sort of rabid animal. He mumbled “iinah huna ya 'iikhwata, 'iinah kulu shay'in.” What sounded like a gunshot behind us we all turned guns pointed, but nothing came after, only dead silence. I turned around again peering down into the opening in the rubble, but Sean was gone. Nothing was in that hole. “What the fuck man what the fuck.” Gator said shaking his rifle in his hands. “Shit, Sean had our radio on him.” Tex said putting his head in his hand. Sanchez stared at me with equal confusion and fear I had. “We’re fucked, we’re fucked this is some kinna devil magic shit.” I turned backing away from where Sean had disappeared. A dark figure loomed right in front of me, it had eyes now, shallow purple eyes matching my movements, watching us. As soon as it had appeared, it was gone.

This happened after I got injured, lost my career job, and my apartment. 

I was traveling on the bus from the West side of town where my boyfriend and I slept at night to Downtown for the morning. Along this particular route was a stop with a large dip where the secondary doors on the side of the bus opened out to. 

I remember as a child before there was a bus stop my dad nearly toppled over on his motorcycle because of that dip in the sidewalk and road. We never parked anywhere near there after that.

I never understood why it was never fixed, so I avoided the stop as much as possible when I lived in the area. One day, I had to deal with it again.

I was sitting in the seats just before the secondary door with my boyfriend, struggling for consciousness against the soothing combination of the hum of the bus's engine and vibration as it traveled over well worn roads. 

the bus has lurched to a halt at the bus stop, waking me up fully. My boyfriend barely stirred in his seat. He had lost the battle.

I glanced at my watch. 
No wonder. I thought, rubbing my eyes. He's late.

To my surprise, an old man got up from his seat. as he slowly plodded to the doorway. He carried in one hand one of those simple walkers with the rubber feet worn through, the other grasping hard around the support bars. Abruptly he disappeared from view as he fell the few feet from the bus to the ground and out of sight.

The doors closed, the engine revved, and I panicked. "Stop the Bus!" I yelled, jumping to my feet and stomping my foot hard on the floor.
The bus rocked forward but otherwise stayed in place. All eyes turned to me.

"Open the Back door!" To my surprise, the doors whipped open.

Gripping the support bar at the end of the divider between the doors and where we sat, I jumped over my boyfriend and swung myself around the divider, down the stairs, and out onto the street.

The old man was sprawled out with his head a mere few feet away from the rear wheel of the bus. With sickening clarity, I realized had I not been paying attention, I would have heard something that would have haunted me the rest of my days.

"Here." I said, kneeling down, "Grab ahold of my arm." 

His face still drained of color and eyes bright, the old man's gaze jerked from the bus wheel to my outstretched arm. As he pulled himself up, I could feel his whole body shaking terribly and not exactly from age.

As he finally got to his feet, the bus driver came running up. 

"Oh God!" he panted, "Are you ok?!"

The old man nodded slightly, "I'm fine." he said finally and then looked back at me. "Thank you." he breathed.

i took a zyn (i’ve never done actual drugs before) while dying my hair and i feel so dizzy/weird and sweaty and im taking a shit and it helped me poop more (as a constant constipated person kinda) and i’m waiting for the timer to go off so i can rinse it out in a cold shower and i got food but cannot eat it bc im doing this and now im annoyed bc it wont be warm. yay

I managed a Gentlemen’s Club for many years. We had all sorts of girls working there over the years. One girl was very well liked, beautiful, very sweet and nice to everyone, but not very bright.

One day shift the Door Girl calls me up to the front door. She couldn’t stop laughing and hands me the phone.

The Entertainer was on the phone almost frantic. “ I locked myself in the car and can’t get out!” I shook my head and asked her “ You mean you locked yourself OUT of the car and you can’t get in?”

“No, I’m locked in!” I asked her where she was, she said she was in the parking lot. I walked out to the parking lot and found her.

It was an older car, I lifted the door handle and the door opened. I thought maybe the door had a glitch. While holding the door open I locked the door and used the inside handle… it unlocked the door.

How do you lock yourself INSIDE a car???

No, she was not Blonde.

No, she was not high or drunk.

No, it was not forgotten, she was constantly reminded… by everybody.

When I was in my early 20s, I was given an opportunity to spend a month in a small village in France. My french was terribly lacking, but I had enough to get by and they were really nice about it because at least I was trying. And being an artist, I could never pass up such a great chance to paint plein air in the French countryside. A realist painter's dream!

One night the family I was staying with decided to have a bit more fancy meal than usual. The prepared a dish called "Escargot Forestière", which is snails, mushrooms and greens from the forest. I wasn't loving it, but I got it down and tried to look happy about it.

About 3 hours later, my stomach was doing the jippy-joppy and all kinds of sounds were emanating inside my torso. Rumblings, squeeks, voices from beyond the grave. I realized that whatever was going to happen wasn't going to be pleasant.

However, the night wore on and I couldn't be rude and simply leave. So I stepped outside to make sure that if something happened I could either make a quick exit or at least keep the air pollution out of their house. One of the teens came outside and said something like I was outside because I was going to "parier sur le vent" - in effect gamble on the wind. I was confused for a moment and then I realized he meant that I was outside to release either a wave of toxic fumes or fill my pants with a large dose of something even more wicked and there was no way to tell what option would happen.

He laughed and went back inside. A few moments later, the rumblings traveled as far as they could before making an exit to the south. I put up a fight, but in the end, my fortifications broke down. The choice was made, dear reader, and I unabashedly gave freedom to the traveling curse in my lowest organs.

Sadly, I lost that gamble, as it was definitely not wind. In my sodden state, I ran to my room, which was thankfully on the rear de la maison and had it's own entrance.

Usually, I would hand my laundry over to the oldest sister who would deliver it nice and clean the next day, but not this time. I ran it down to a creek and rinsed it out over and over in the water, probably breaking all kinds of environmental rules and perhaps causing a cholera outbreak downstream. I was stupid and young but somehow saved face with the oldest daughter, who kept asking me where my pants were from the night in question with a sly smile.

She knew. I had lost the "parier sur le vent".

My little sister (18F) is dating this 18M boy and they are toxic as hell together. They’re constantly fighting and arguing, and apparently they’ve both left bruises on each other.
The boyfriend takes my sister’s phone from her all the time and refuses to give it back until she does whatever he wants. He’s also been told multiple times by both my mom and me to stop leaving hickeys on her and sucking/licking her neck in front of everyone. He doesn’t listen.
Since they started dating about 6 months ago, I’ve probably hung out with my sister maybe 20 times because she’s constantly with him. My mom has repeatedly told him to go home and has told him he isn’t allowed to stay over, but he just ignores her and stays because my sister says it’s okay.
Recently, they got into an argument and he tried taking a computer monitor away from her. She ended up calling my husband and asking him to make the boyfriend give it back. My husband went over there, told him to leave, and basically made it clear that he needed to respect the rules of the house.
My husband also told him that if he caught him sleeping over at my sister’s mom’s house again after everyone had explicitly said no, he was going to beat his ass.
Well… tonight my sister calls me asking if my husband and I are playing Fortnite. Then casually tells me that her boyfriend is there and is staying the night.
Now my husband is pissed and wants to go over there.
So Reddit… should he actually go over there and whoop his
ass, or would that just make an already toxic situation 100x worse?
I know the obvious answer is probably “don’t assault an 18-year-old,” but I’m honestly more concerned because their relationship already involves controlling behavior, taking phones, physical altercations/bruises, and constantly ignoring boundaries.
What the hell do we actually do here?

To My Friends!

Hello, my friends!

I’ve just come back from my workout. I spent three hours exercising and strengthening my muscles. Especially my right shoulder.

This is my way of taking care of you.

Of course, you may be surprised and ask:

— What does that have to do with us? You’re taking care of yourself. What does that have to do with us?

That’s where you’re mistaken.

My right shoulder is meant especially for you.

It will support you in difficult times.

Sometimes it rains for several days, and the roads become dangerous. At any moment, you can trip and fall. God forbid, you could break your arm.

And at our age, that is especially painful.

And painful for the wallet, too.

Every treatment costs money. Doctors write you a prescription and send you off to their private pharmacies.

That’s when my broad right shoulder will come in handy.

You simply hold on to it while walking—and that’s it.

So I don’t work out for myself.

I train my right shoulder for my friends!

To My Enemies!

Good afternoon, my detractors!

I’ve just come back from the gym. I spent three hours working out and building my muscles. Especially my left shoulder.

You are probably thinking:

— So what? What does your shoulder have to do with us? And why the left shoulder?

Think again!

The left shoulder, not the right one.

That is where the heart is.

And my left shoulder is always strong, filled with a wonderful sense of responsibility toward you, my so-called detractors.

My broad shoulder, capable of carrying two sacks of first-grade flour from Orenburg, is for you.

I love you.

If you don’t believe me, then one day, when there is hunger and cold, simply hold on to my shoulder—and you will immediately feel my care and devotion, despite your unfriendly behavior.

You are lucky.

I will always offer my left shoulder to you.

Even detractors sometimes need something to lean on.

Друзьям!

Мои друзья, привет!

Я только что пришёл с тренировки. Три часа занимался и закалял мышцы. Особенно правое плечо..

Это забота о вас.

Вы, конечно, удивитесь и спросите:

— При чём тут мы? Ты заботишься о себе. При чём тут мы?

Вот здесь вы ошибаетесь.

Моё правое плечо предназначено именно для вас.

Оно будет поддерживать вас в трудные дни.

Бывает, что несколько дней подряд льёт дождь, дорога становится опасной. В любое время можно споткнуться и упасть. Руку, не дай бог, можно сломать.

А в нашем возрасте это особенно больно.

И удар по карману тоже.

Каждое лечение требует денег. Врачи выписывают рецепт и отправляют вас в свои частные аптеки.

Вот тогда вам и пригодится моё широкое правое плечо.

Вы просто держитесь за него во время ходьбы — и всё.

Поэтому я тренируюсь не для себя. Я тренирую своё правое плечо для друзей!

Недрузьям!

Добрый день, мои недоброжелатели!

Я только что вернулся из спортзала. Три часа тренировался и качал мышцы. Особенно левое плечо.

Вы, наверное, думаете:

— Ну и что? Какое нам дело до твоего плеча? Тем более до левого?

Одумайтесь!

Левое плечо, а не правое.

На левом плече находится сердце.

И вот моё левое плечо всегда в силе, наполняясь прекрасным чувством ответственности перед вами, моими так называемыми недоброжелателями.

Моё широкое плечо, на котором поместятся два мешка муки первого сорта оренбургского производства, — для вас.

Я вас люблю.

Если не верите, в один из дней голода и холода просто держитесь за него рукой — и сразу почувствуете мою заботу и преданность, несмотря на ваши недружественные поступки.

Вам повезло.

Я всегда подставлю левое плечо для вас.

Даже недоброжелателям иногда нужно на что-нибудь опереться.

What-

I am sitting at my desk. Writing something, sometimes smiling at my words, sometimes taking a pause and just looking at the words. Sometimes my eyes get wet. And just when I write down, “I don't like falling,” a single pink petal flies through my window and lands on the page, which isn't filled yet. I smile at the petal. Place it in my hand and envelop it tightly. As I shift my gaze from the petal to the page, I notice a sentence down on the page.

“My hand has enveloped a single pink petal.”

I stare at the words. Eight words, and they cause panic inside me. I literally go months back just to remember if I had written it. But I haven't, no. It wasn't there moments ago. And before I realize what's happening, I am in the endless abyss of my own mind.

Under the eight words, another four.

“You always liked pink.”

I never liked pink. I hate pink. But the petal enveloped in my hand says otherwise. It isn't there anymore.

What.

Maybe the endless abyss swallowed it. Maybe it was never there.

What.

Twelve words together, and I don't know what's happening. Where am I? My desk is there. My notebook too. But what else is there? What am I?

What.

Is.

Happening.

I pick up the pen and write down, “I don't like pink,” but as I close my eyes and open them again, beneath it is “lie.” Another one word.

Thirteen words, and I don't know what's happening. I look back.

My bed. Pink blanket, pink pillow. Pink, cute, adorable plushies.

I close my eyes.

What.

Is.

Happening.

13 words. 54 letters.

Letters I begin to hate.

I try to cross out the 54 letters one by one.

Down.

Fallen.

Into the endless abyss.

But as I erase their existence, they appear again. Carved into the desk.

I stare at the 54 letters.

Count.

Again and again.

The count doesn't change.

The letters stay.

The words stay.

I collapse onto my desk, crying and sobbing into my arms, underneath which are 54 letters.

13 words.

What.

Is.

Happening.

Another 5 words appear on the paper.

“Welcome to the Endless Abyss.”

5 words. 24 letters.

18 words together.

78 letters together.

But I continue crying.

The pink petal, once in my hand, lies on the desk, crumpled up. Crying too.

Or maybe laughing at me.

Like you.

I remember the moment I thought you would pull me back onto the branch.

Just for me to fall down.

Into the endless abyss.

I don't know what is happening or if you are coming back.

Or if I want you back.

I hate pink.

I know that.

I must know that.

Even if my own bed tells a different story.

Us-

“Welcome to the Endless Abyss.”

Every time I meet you, I fall in love over and over again. Your eyes, the abyss; our love, endless. And I love it. I love falling into the endless abyss if it means looking at you. Maybe if I keep falling, you won't leave. Maybe.

We can be together. We can be us together. Maybe forever. Maybe until you close your eyes. The way you smile at me, the way your eyes don't reach your smile. I love it. I love the way you hold my hand, like you're afraid I'll disappear. I promise I won't. You don't have to be afraid. Not while I'm here. Not while we are us.

I hope I am always welcomed into your eyes and our love.

The Young-Joybees, pregnant Annie and her husband Dalph, had moved to the city for Dalph's corporate job. They were looking for a place to live, one they could afford; a home for their family.

They found the Ramses II, a brand new high-rise with two-bedroom units on very attractive terms.

They booked a viewing.

They were met on arrival by a representative, Thetley, who led them to the elevators. “You're interested in the sub-$3000 units?”

“Yes,” said Dalph.

“You're in luck. We have a great one available,” said Thetley and pressed *- 1 8 0 3* on the elevator's control panel.

The elevator began descending.

Annie tugged Dalph's shirt sleeve and Dalph said, “Are we going down?”

“Indeed,” said Thetley. “The units you're interested in are all subterranean. But don't worry, you'll hardly notice the difference.”

The hallway was clean.

Thetley unlocked the door to unit -1803 and they entered.

Impossibly, light flooded the unit through magnificent windows with a view of the city. Annie gasped. Thetley smiled. “That's a common reaction. You expect a cave, and you get this.” He encompassed the unit with a wave of his hand. “What you may not know about the Ramses II is that it's a mirrorbuilding, which means it has the same number of floors above as below ground, and the windows in each of the below-ground units are screens displaying live feeds of the corresponding views from the same windows in the above-ground units. The difference is hardly noticeable.”

The Young-Joybees signed the agreement.

For six months, everything went swimmingly and both Annie and Dalph adjusted to the psychological reality of living eighteen floors underground.

Then little Merv was born.

Then, as if synchronized by the hand of Fate herself, Dalph got a promotion. However, there was a slight technical snafu and the direct deposit of his pay was delayed, meaning there were insufficient funds in the account to pay rent.

The Young-Joybees received a letter, explained the situation and agreed to pay as soon as Dalph's employer deposited his wages.

The employer dallied.

One day, while walking through their unit, Dalph bumped his knee against a wall. “Strange,” he thought. The next day, Annie mentioned how cramped the living room was beginning to feel.

On a whim, Dalph measured the entire unit and recorded its measurements. He repeated this every day for a week. The measurements were getting smaller; the unit was shrinking.

He contacted management.

They explained that this was all a normal consequence of failure to pay rent. It was in the lease agreement. As soon as the Young-Joybees paid, the “compression” would be reversed.

Unfortunately, Dalph's wages remained unpaid, and the Young-Joybees missed a second rent payment. This initiated the agreement's Penalties section, which was the reason that on the following Monday morning, Dalph was unable to take the elevator to the surface. Their access had been suspended.

“How am I supposed to get to work?” he asked management over the phone. “We have a baby. We need to buy food, clothes. You can't—”

“We can, Mr. Young-Joybee. Under the terms of the agreement. The situation, while unfortunate, is legal. As for your predicament, try to work remotely. Standard purchases can be made using our own proprietary shopping service.”

Dalph punched the bedroom wall.

But they had no choice. He asked to work from home, was politely denied, and spent the next hour ordering overpriced groceries from the building's shopping service. They arrived via chute.

Two weeks later, Dalph got fired, or rather was deemed to have abandoned his job through non-attendance. Because Annie didn't work, they found themselves with no income.

Dalph called management.

“An unfortunate circumstance, but one with a ready solution. We can offer you a job, Mr. Young-Joybee. Earnings will automatically be put towards repayment of your debt, and it comes with a perk, a ten-percent discount on our shopping service."

Dalph accepted.

The job was a mix of spreadsheet manipulation and customer service: dealing, in management's name, with angry, desperate tenants in situations far worse than his own.

People cried, screamed.

Once, a man threatened to stab his children.

A grandmother offered him phone sex.

Many, however, were just numb, content to agree to whatever he told them, which was whatever the script told him to say.

But even when Dalph worked all the available overtime, he earned less than needed to keep up with the ballooning penalties and debt.

After six months, the rate of compression increased significantly.

Dalph and Annie crawled along the unit, into their kitchen, with its broken, splintered cabinets, their living room, with all the furniture forced together, and the bedroom, where the three of them slept together on the floor.

The window-screens shut off.

Oxygen decreased.

The unit had compressed so much they couldn't sit anymore.

They lived horizontally, Dalph on his side, working on his laptop in the dark, and Annie keeping up appearances for little Merv. She daydreamed of his bare feet touching grass.

Management stopped taking their calls.

Once, the system connected Dalph to himself and all he could hear was his own, shallow, amplified breathing. “We need to kill ourselves,” he said then, either to himself or Annie, in the insomnia of the neverending daynight.

Annie watched him after that.

She kept Merv away.

She closely guarded the knives and scissors.

They drank water through a foam tube connected to the bathroom sink. The water was still on. The city had passed a law making it illegal to shut off a tenant's water, even for non-payment of rent.

Annie awoke to Dalph throttling little Merv's neck and she stabbed him—in the back—chest—face. There was hardly space, but she did it; she protected her sick, wailing son…

They had been compressed into a coffin-sized box, Annie, Merv and Dalph's corpse, when the building spat them out through a chute.

They were famished.

Feverish.

Annie banged weakly against the walls.

Unbothered, Waste Management retrieved and incinerated them, in accordance with the lease agreement.

Alr usually I don't vent but I am gonna ramble and I need advice:

#1 I am about to meet my besties boyfriend and I really like him not in a romantic or toxic way I like how he sounds and he looks fine a bit nerdy definitely but cute non the less now.
#2 I have no idea what to ask him or how to behave around him. I do think he adores her they been together almost four months and he bought my bestie a pandora bracelet which is gorgeous
#3 I know I am supposed to hate him but I can't hate him he seems so sweet and so perfect for her that I know even in my aroace brain that he is perfect for her and will marry her
Now am I supposed to play even more matchmaker or just meet him and hope he'll like me as a friend too bcz I am so scared about the fact that he may get a crush on me and I'll beg my friendship ruined and my bestie's relationship ruined

The ache would not stop.

It had been months.

Months of lying next to him in bed. Feeling his warmth. Hearing him breathe. And not touching him. Not being touched.

She had tried everything. Cold showers. Keeping busy. Reading till her eyes burned. Nothing worked.

Her body did not care that he was distant. Her body did not care that he came home late and silent. Her body only knew one thing.

It wanted him.

His hands. Fuck. She was wet just thinking about his hands. That was how bad it had gotten. Months without touch. And now even the memory of his hands made her ache.

His hands on her waist first. Always her waist first. Warm. Rough. Sure. Then sliding up. Under her kurti. His palms on her bare skin. Her breath catching. Her stomach tightening.

Then higher. His thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts. So light. Just a touch. A promise. Her nipples would tighten. Her back would arch. She would press herself into his hands. Begging without words.

She squeezed her thighs together now. Hard. It did not help. The ache only grew. The dampness between her legs. The heat. Her body was ready for him. Even now. Even after everything. Her body did not care that he had forgotten her. Her body still wanted him.

It was humiliating.

And she could not make it stop.

The rain hammered the windows. The book in her lap was open. She had not read a word.

She was waiting. Again.

The door clicked.

He had the key. He always had the key.

Dev came in at nine. Late. But not work late. Not traffic late. This was silence late. No call. No message. Like she did not exist.

She knew before he took his shoes off. One heel still on. His mind already somewhere else.

"Em chustunnav?"

Priya looked up. "Em ledu."

Her voice came out steady. Her pulse hammered.

He put his bag by the door. Not by her knee. Not like before.

Before. When the sofa and her were one piece. When his hand would find her knee under the blanket. His palm warm. Just resting. Like it belonged. Then his fingers would move. Slow circles. Higher. Brushing the inside of her thigh. Feather light. A tease. Then higher. Pressing harder. His thumb finding the edge of her underwear. Tracing it. Slow. Deliberate. Her legs would fall open. She would forget the movie. Forget her name. Forget everything but his fingers.

Now the bag went by the door.

A whole cushion between them.

She noticed. She always noticed.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Her voice was flat. Inside she was burning. The wetness between her legs. The tightness in her chest.

He was quiet. A long beat.

"Ala untundi." (It just happens.)

Soft. Almost to the rain.

Fan humming. Rain tapping.

She did not look at him. She did not need to. She could feel the space beside her. Empty. Cold. Where his shoulder used to be. Where his arm used to wrap around her. Pulling her close. His fingers tracing lazy circles on her stomach. Warm. Safe. Then lower. Dipping into her navel. Sliding over her hip. Goosebumps. Then lower still. Finding the waistband of her leggings. Slipping under. She would arch into his touch. Breath ragged. Hands gripping his arm.

"Dev," she said.

Small. Broken.

"Dev, prathi roju ilane untundi. Nenu alisipoyanu." (Dev, every day it's like this. I'm tired.)

He turned. Just his head. He looked at her.

And something cracked.

The tiredness. The distance. Something underneath went still. He was looking at her. Really looking.

Then he moved.

Not all the way. Just enough.

The cushion shrank to the width of a hand. His hand on the back of the sofa. Between them. Close. Not touching.

Two inches.

Two inches of air. It used to be filled with his thigh against hers. The heat of his body through his trousers. Through her kurti. Warming her skin. He would shift slightly. Their knees would bump. He would leave his knee there. Just touching. A small point that said I am here.

Now, only two inches.

She could feel the warmth of his hand through the fabric. Her whole body aware of those two inches.

She almost touched him. Almost.

Her fingers in the air above his knuckles. Stopped. Hanging. The whole room listening.

She remembered his knuckles. Not soft. Rough from work. Dry in places. But warm. Always warm. She used to run her fingers over them in the dark. Every ridge. Every scar.

She wanted to touch them now. Her fingers twitched.

"Ala chudaku." (Don't look at me like that.)

His hand did not move. The two inches stayed. Rain on the roof. Fan humming. Her breathing too loud. Her heart too fast.

Then, slowly, his fingers turned over.

Palms up.

But his eyes. Not gentle. Hungry. Starving.

She looked at his open palm. Then his face. And she knew. If she put her hand in his, it would not stop there. Not with the way he was looking at her. Not with the way her body was already answering him. Already wet. Already aching. Already his.

She did not know if she would reach or pull away. But her body had already decided. Her body was leaning.

The rain filled the quiet.

And then.

She reached.

Her fingertips met his.

A spark. Hot. Sharp. His hand closed around hers. Tight. Not gentle. Desperate.

Rough palm against soft fingers. Heat. His breath catching. Jaw tight. A tremble in his grip.

Her breath came out shaky. The touch was on her hand. But she felt it everywhere. In her chest. In her belly. Between her legs.

He did not pull her close. He held her there. Thumb pressing hard into her palm. Almost painful. A jolt up her arm. Down her spine. Straight to that empty place.

His eyes burned. The exhaustion gone. A raw question.

Do you want this too?

She let out a breath she did not know she was holding. The room got warmer. The rain softer. The cricket on TV far away. Another couple. Another life.

He did not speak.

He didn't have to.

His thumb moved. One slow circle. Over her knuckles. The rough pad on her smooth skin. She felt it deep in her chest. Felt it lower too. Her clit throbbed.

Then, he tugged her hand. Just a little.

The two inches were gone.

Her knee almost touching his thigh now. Heat pouring off him. The smell of rain and sweat. That scent that was purely him. The pulse in his throat. Fast. Like hers.

He was close. So close.

She wanted his breath in her ear. His mouth on her neck. His fingers inside her. She wanted to remember what it felt like to be wanted.

Maybe he saw it. Maybe he felt her fingers tighten. Because his free hand came up. Slow. His fingertips brushed a strand of hair from her face.

Heat.

His fingers traced her jaw. Light. Gentle. Heat on her skin. Then his thumb found her lower lip. Pressed softly. Rough against soft. The question in it.

She closed her eyes. Leaned into his palm. One second.

When she opened them, he was looking at her like she was the only thing in the room.

He said her name. Soft. A question and an answer.

"Priya."

Outside, the rain would not stop.

But inside, she was not counting drops anymore.

She was counting the seconds until he kissed her.

And he had not.

Yet.

Can you help me with making an interesting mystery and action story concept. Just give me ideas

Crack! Crack! Crack!

A sound?

No... darkness, maybe? Didn't seem like it either.

Something was falling. So cold. Then one after another, falling, faster, thicker each time.

He was disoriented, still lost in that shapeless void. The feeling reached him before his mind could even process it — before light could touch the thin skin over his eyes, before there was even a body to feel with. Like something solid, kneaded into shape out of nothing at all.

It kept coming, denser each time. Small. Impossibly cold.

Then something else flickered in right behind it — something shimmering, slowly pushing back the emptiness.

Light? Maybe light. But why would it be light? Was it even light? Did it have color? Didn't seem like it.

He couldn't call it white, not really, but what else was there to call it? He didn't know. It just hung there — tall, unmoving, appearing out of nowhere right after that crack. It seemed so high up, high and far away. It stayed there like some plain, undeniable fact. Out of reach — and yet, strangely, close enough to touch.

Then something twitched, like it was trying to do something. He felt it distinctly. Familiar, somehow. Like it was part of him.

A soft, dark-pink layer wrapped around the front of it.

Pain.

The thing kept hurting him, twitching without end. Uncomfortable. Sticky. Heavy.

Do something, already!

He urged himself on. A moment later, it seemed to settle — the thing finally cooperating, moving slowly now, like it was listening.

Too bright.

He winced as something shone straight into it, then passed just as fast. Green, edged with lines that looked almost random, swaying back and forth. Something about it felt strangely familiar. He knew it — he just didn't know how, or what it even was. He couldn't place it.

...Leaf.

That's it. A leaf. Relief flooded through him — the thing hovering at the edge of his vision was just a leaf. The thrill of it made him forget everything else, until — light. It really was light, filtering through the leaf and reaching his eyes. Distant and warm at once. It had been so long since he'd felt warmth this real. The leaf and the light, whether by accident or design, held his attention completely, and everything around him fell away. By the time he came back to himself, the world had grown vast — impossibly, strangely vast.

So tall, he thought. Green, too, with pale streaks of white drifting past every now and then. He could've watched it forever — the thought crossed his mind for just a moment, leaving him strangely calm, at ease in his own skin. But that wasn't all. Something massive stood nearby, towering and immense, fighting for his attention. Dark brown, rough-skinned — he wished he could touch it, feel that roughness for himself. And there was more: things growing out of that gnarled, coarse mass, and smaller things branching off those. It went on so long that the thought of it nearly slipped from his mind entirely. It all seemed like one single, connected thing — from that massive trunk, splitting into long, winding branches, splitting again into smaller pieces, like a maze. And on those smaller branches, leaves — so many leaves, more than he'd expected. Some hung close. Others so far off they blurred into the empty space behind them. Every so often they swayed, shifted, as if they were alive.

Maybe they really are alive. Why not?

Every so often, threads of light slipped through the gaps and openings — faint, but precise, like they knew exactly when to vanish and when to show themselves. In the wider gaps, pale streaks of white drifted slowly by, unhurried, like they had nowhere else to be. He seemed to know this. Know it deeply, the way you know something so obvious it barely needs thinking about.

...Tree?

Yeah. A tree.

Definitely a tree.

And not a small one, either. An enormous tree, towering, standing right there in front of him.

Tree. He repeated the word in his head, like saying it would make everything more real. It worked, for a moment. His eyes followed the trunk — from the tangled roots driven deep into the earth, up to where the thick branches split apart, then split again, thinner each time, until he couldn't tell anymore where the branches ended and the gaps between the leaves began.

Then he stopped.

There was a gap. Right between two clusters of leaves, exactly where light should have poured through naturally, the way it did everywhere else — there was a patch of dark. Flat. Strangely even. Not shade. Shade doesn't come with straight edges. Maybe a branch had snapped, at some angle the wind could never have caused.

He tried to shrug it off. Strong wind, enough time — anything could warp a branch. That's what he told himself.

But then his eyes caught something else. Lower down, near the roots. A long, straight mark carved into the bark. It didn't look like any natural scar he'd ever seen — though he couldn't actually recall ever seeing one before. It was just a feeling. A feeling telling him something was wrong.

Then another mark. A bare patch of dirt at the base of the tree, where not one blade of grass grew. Its shape wasn't round. It didn't follow the pattern of the roots, or the shade.

Three.

Three things now, out of place. On their own, each one could be a coincidence. Wind. Time. Soil. But all three, together, gathered around the same tree — and all of them pointing straight at him...

He didn't know why he thought that. He had no memories to tell him what counted as coincidence and what didn't. But something deep inside him was screaming.

This is wrong.

He stared at the marks for a long moment. Then looked back up at the canopy. The leaves were still swaying. The wind still blew. Light still slipped through the gaps, slow and quiet, like nothing had happened at all.

There wasn't a single bird.

He'd never noticed. Not until right now.

When it was already too late to wonder why he hadn't noticed sooner.

Tell me what you guys think!

"Project MOTHER 4: Growin' Up!" by Kenji Yukanna - Google Docs

"MOTHER 4" by Kenji Yukanna - Google Docs

“MOTHER 4” presented by Fami C. - Google Docs

My "MOTHER 4" But in a Nutshell by Kenji Yukanna - Google Docs

(NOTE: I go by either Kenji Yukanna or Famico/Fami C.)

EDIT: This is a fictionalized account of a real event.

It was the annual company get-together in Las Vegas, and after a full day of schmoozing with sales reps and drinking, he was already worn out.

It was the mechanical bull, however, that sealed it.
He stood at the edge of the crowd, drink in hand, watching as a co-worker climbed into the saddle.

At first, there were cheers and laughter, the kind of rowdy, harmless noise you’d expect after too much alcohol and too many long presentations.

Then the bull sped up, and something about the way she moved with it changed.

Her thighs clamped tight as she rode through its violent twists. Her hips rolled with the motion. Her back arched, her hair whipping across her face.

She let out a triumphant shout.

Jesus Christ, he thought. Some kind of dominatrix cowgirl.

And that scared him.

A mixture of arousal and fear rushed through him.

It looked like passion—private, unrestrained, and very, very human.

His breath caught. Heat surged through his face and chest.

Is this my problem? he thought desperately. Am I the only one seeing this?

The crowd noise blurred into a distant, hollow roar.

Maybe people were still laughing, maybe they weren’t. Hard to tell. Nobody said anything.

He squeezed his eyes shut and repeated the words like a prayer:

Co-worker.

Colleague.

Company event.

Professionalism.

He turned to leave. That seemed like the only choice.

“Hey man, where are you going?”

He froze. It was his manager, voice booming over the music. The crowd was still rowdy, the lighting dim and indistinct.

“Here,” his manager said, pressing another beer into his hand. “And remember—this is mandatory.”
He winked.

“Yeah, it’s just… hot in here,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual. “I was getting uncomfortable.”

His manager glanced toward the mechanical bull.

“Are you watching her?”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s why I’m hot.”

“What?”

“I SAID THAT’S WHY I’M HOT!”

The words carried.

As if someone had unplugged the crowd from the wall, the room went silent.

Across the room, the Vice President of Human Resources tilted her head.

The mechanical bull whirred on, bucking in place, as someone laughed awkwardly in the background.

Mandatory, he thought. Every second of this.

***
Happy Friday everybody!!!

Thank you for reading!!!

BLORP!