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comprised-of-magpies · 4 years

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Some safety & survival tips

This isn’t something that I’d normally post, but with college starting I thought I’d share some tips I’ve gathered over the years for staying safe (edit: I was informed a lot of these are basic knowledge, but I’ll share anyway because you never know)

if a room in your house randomly smells like fish, check the outlets, melted plastic often gives off a fish odor and unchecked could start an electrical fire

don’t swerve for deer and risk you or your car, hit it, with the proof of hitting it insurance can help cover the damage (edit: sorry, I don’t mean to encourage killing an animal, and I know the deer can do some hefty damage, this is just if your options are swerving full speed into a ditch/other car, or hitting the deer, the deer might be a better option. obv if you think you’ll be fine swerving out of the way, do that)

speaking of ^, if you see a deer on the road and it runs off in time, keep going slow and stay on the lookout, there’s more often than not more than just one deer and you never know if it’ll jump into the road

however, swerve for a moose, you’re going to hit the legs and then you have 1500 lbs coming thru your windshield

if you’re in a dark, unfamiliar area, keep the keys handy, for one the key itself can easily be used as a weapon, two if you set off a car alarm it might grab someone’s attention if you’re in danger, or at least deter someone threatening you

try not to be wearing heels if you know you’ll be in the situation above. first of all, everyone knows it’s hard to run in heels, so an opportunist will likely target someone that won’t as easily get away. secondly, it just hurts to run in them. I was out past 10pm walking several blocks to where I parked my car and noticed two guys tailing me, and while my heels were thick and only about 4-5 inches, running a block to my car in sheer terror left my ankles beyond sore the next day, and I can only imagine how catastrophic it would’ve been if my foot got caught in a hole or if my ankle twisted.

if the water retreats quickly and farther than normal, pack it up and run, that’s a sign of an oncoming tsunami

stranded in the cold? don’t stop moving. shaking and shivering is good, that’s the body’s way of trying to stay warm, if you suddenly stop shivering, it means your body has given up and you’re past the point of it being able to warm itself. don’t let someone take their clothes off either in the cold. this sounds weird and obvious, but when you’re exposed to hypothermia-inducing conditions for so long, your nerves get fried, and you start thinking you’re boiling alive and don’t contain rational thought anymore

if you haven’t eaten or drank anything for a period of a couple days, pace yourself when food/water is available. If you consume too much immediately after starving, that’s a massive shock to your system. When concentration camp survivors were freed, they were given too much food for their malnourished bodies to process, and that’s fatal.

if vomit/poop is like black tar or coffee grounds, see a doctor, that’s a sign of internal bleeding (obv periods for girls are different, if menstrual blood is like coffee grounds there’s a good chance it’s just really, really old blood, but it’s still a good idea to check in with a doctor)

a lot of predators (I know at least mountain lions/cougars) are deterred from attacking if they see your face/eyes

if you’re hitting the gas pedal, and the tachometer is moving, and the car is not, you’re hydroplaning. Your first instinct is to hit the brakes. DON’T HIT THE BRAKES. Your best bet is to ride it out, gradually slow down, try and let other cars know what’s going on, pull over and calm down.

car windows are strongest in the middle, aim for the edges or corners

911 should work anywhere (even other countries), SIM card or not, for free, so don’t waste time scrambling for change at a pay phone

if you’re in a pool and the water tastes metallic, get out, there’s an electrical short in the water

a seriously upset stomach is another sign of a heart attack

if you’re getting manhandled into a van, don’t fight fair. fight to get away as soon as possible. elbow or palm to nose, heel to toe, thumbs or elbows to eyes, knee to groin, strike the ears, nails to throat, do whatever you can and make as much noise as possible. don’t get taken to a secondary location

don’t punch the face, punch the throat. no matter how weak you are, a fist to the windpipe is enough to stun anyone

the flesh on the underside of the arm is fragile. try pinching it, it hurts right? even lightly? pinch someone there hard, and PULL. you can tear out muscle fiber and tendons doing that, and it’ll hurt. a lot.

if you think you’re in danger, call someone, or even just pretend to call someone, and then make plans, loudly. even fake plans work, just make them soon. if someone is following you, knowing that you’ll be expected somewhere/your absence will be immediately noticed is sometimes enough to ward off the very unfriendly folk.

it’s worth it to keep pepper spray, I accidentally indirectly caught myself with it when testing to make sure it works, and the smell alone made me tear up. I was coughing and blowing my nose for several hours after, so imagine spraying it in someone’s eyes, the intended use.

it’s worth shining a light in the backseat of your car, especially if you left it unlocked. the previously mentioned unfriendly folk have used the method of laying in the back waiting for you to enter the vehicle, so a couple seconds to check can’t hurt.

keep valuable looking items away from windows, this hopefully lessens the chance a burglar will choose your house

be wary of a big truck or van parked next to your driver side door, that’s also a kidnapping tactic. It’s worth it to get in on the other side—lock the doors immediately—and crawl over

be wary of someone stopping you and asking you for directions, if you’ve seen a dog, etc, as opportunists prey on your inclination to be helpful (obv it’s not bad to want to help people, but don’t be afraid to say “no, sorry” and keep moving, this is how Ted Bundy lured in his victims)

if someone grabs you, drop your body weight. rag doll, go limp. the attacker will likely have to adjust his grip. If they manage to keep ahold of you, don’t try and pry away their hands, try and grab their thumbs and BEND

if you’re aware you’re having a heart attack, force yourself to cough, that’ll keep the heart pumping

You’re better off screaming “FIRE!” than “HELP!”, as people often don’t want to get involved, which is sad and frustrating but true, but a fire involves everyone around you

if you’re struggling to light a (gas) stove, and it’s making the clicking noise but there’s no flame, wait for awhile because now there’s gas in the air that depending on how many times you tried to light the stove, wouldn’t be a good idea to light

when giving cpr: dominant over nondominant, to the center of the chest between the nipples. it helps to hum Staying Alive, as the tempo aligns with the cpr treatment. don’t stop if you hear/feel a rib crack, bones mend, a stopped heart doesn’t

tip from firefighters: search rooms with the back of your hand. if you think a room is on fire, feel the metal door handle with the back of your hand, that way if it’s hot you burn the back and don’t reduce your ability to grip things. this also prevent grabbing ahold of an electrical outlet with a current in it, the electricity invading your body will contract your muscles making you unable to actually let go of the outlet

Keep adding your own please! This is a very short list, and you can never know too much on safety precautions

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saladejin · 4 years

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Admire | 05

Seokjin x Fem!Reader | arranged marriage!au, husband!Seokjin | Strangers to lovers, angst, self discovery, loneliness in luxury, touch starvation (eventual smut), eventual domestic fluff

Summary: You’d never needed anyone else. Growing up alone, living alone, existing alone. It all came naturally and effortlessly, quite like breathing. That was until your somewhat distant parents finally decided it was time to make good on a promise. One they’d made before you were even born.

Warnings: Some depressing and painful talk but nothing crazy, a few fluffy and domestic-ish moments for u all, and oh ... there’s only one bed? O_o

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: This is so different from what it used to be, wow. I was out here changing entire paragraphs lol, but anyway sorry if there are any mistakes! Let me know your thoughts at the end :)

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The road fell away in front of you as you scrolled mindlessly on your phone. After a round of brusque insistence on his behalf, you'd finally given in and let Seokjin convince you into relinquishing the driver's seat after a couple of hours on the road. You made sure to grumble in protest before plonking yourself down on the passenger side, him brushing you off easily.

You’d put the memory of the thoughtless kiss to the back of your mind, hoping that he’d forgotten just as swiftly. You were here to enjoy your trip, not to overthink about what had happened in the past. Thinking back on the past 24 hours, you sighed in defeat.

Let’s hope we don’t crash.

*hours earlier*

You both arrived at the meeting place after countless attempts of stuttering out the most confusing directions to the driver. At this point, you almost wanted to pass out and it was still relatively early.

Managing to greet all your aunties, uncles, and cousins as a couple of lovebirds came effortlessly enough. It was nothing but a way of life for you and Seokjin these days.

“(Y/n) you’ve grown so much. Oh, I’m going to cry!”

You tried to calm one of your more eccentric aunties while your husband stood awkwardly to the side, looking around at the gathered group of people in contemplation. Dressed casually again, he hadn’t been prepared for the sheer number of everyday individuals preparing to depart. All beside a line of large black and white motorhomes which were currently fuelling up under the shade of nearby woodland.

Once the two of you finally managed to break away from the introductions and reunions, you let out a sigh of relief. You were finally alone, sinking into the refurbished leather seats of the vehicle to regain your composure. Dealing with a horde of chipper relatives can deplete one’s energy like a starved leech if it continues for too long.

“Sorry, they’re just excited.” You laughed airily, leaning forward to switch on the air conditioner. The temperature outside was already heating up from the unforgiving sun, and you were going to positively drown in sweat if you didn’t get some cold air blasting on you lickety-split.

“They’re…lively. But it’s okay, I signed up for it anyway,” the tall man replied with a smirk of his own. He seemed amused at how quickly you'd been swamped, but he also seemed to notice how happy you were at receiving all the attention.

“The first one will probably leave soon. I’ll start driving and then if you want you can switch with me later. We won’t make it to the first stop today, but it’ll most likely end up being late tomorrow morning,” you explained while readying yourself at the wheel of the vehicle. Seokjin hummed in acknowledgement and craned his long neck backwards to ensure your bags were all safe a secure.

You admired how comfortable he looked in his simple travelling clothes. How he could pull off such a simple but effective appearance that highlighted his handsome features, such as his dusky brown eyes and midnight coloured locks of hair - hair that had grown out and gotten nicely longer, you might add - was a complete and utter mystery to you.

“By the way, we don’t have to put on as much of an act here with these people,” you began on a weirdly sombre note, trying not to look over at him for a reaction. “The whole relationship thing doesn’t matter to them as much. They won’t get suspicious or question us, so don’t stress too much about going all out, alright?”

“Okay,” came his simple reply, void of much emotion.

You didn’t know why you expected anything else, but a small part of you longed to continue pretending. You wanted to be with him, wanted to feel his hands on your skin again. It was almost too much for you to handle. You couldn’t imagine anyone else ever feeling so conflicted about their own lover, not to mention having hands on your arms of all places.

Absurd. Right?

Suddenly, the motorhome in front of you began rolling forward and you pressed down slowly on the gas pedal to follow suit. Seokjin twisted his broad shoulders back around to face the front, blinking harshly as the sunlight shone through the windscreen and hit him forcefully in the face.

Your lips quirked up in an amused smirk. What a goof.

*present*

Your eyes drooped with a heavy sleepiness as Seokjin finally pulled the truck into the site where everyone would be camping. The drive had been quite lengthy, but you’d been swapping every few hours or so until you’d become too tired to go on. Being the husband-material he was, Seokjin gladly took the burden of getting you both through the rest of the way.

“Hey wake up, everyone’s getting out for some reason.”

You blinked the sleep out of your eyes and groaned, feeling slightly more energised from your nap but still groggy. You slowly made your way down the steps and outside into the humid air, nostalgic memories finally flowing into your mind as you watched the members of your family collecting around several bright vans.

“Oh, this is the food truck stop,” you rasped out in a matter-of-factly tone, causing Seokjin to eye you in confusion. It was luckily still light enough to catch his dumbfounded expression.

“There are food trucks in this parkland area, so we can go and buy some hot-dogs or something if we want. It’s always the first dinner stop,” you tried to explain mid-yawn. The sky was blending into darkness as the sun began to set below the horizon.

“You’re so sleepy.” Seokjin snorted lowly, almost chuckling when you looked up at him through glaring watery eyes from the yawn, as if it weren’t obvious enough. He looked fairly relaxed, and you gently smiled at the sight of his beautiful eyes lighting up with wonder at the view of the campsite around him.

It was enthralling, how fascinated he was with absolutely everything. Even though the red cap sitting atop his black mop of hair cast a shadow over his face, it was still easy to spot just how eager he was to just enjoy life normally for once. To be a commoner and forget about all the pressed suits he had hanging up at home, the bucket loads of cash sitting in his bank account, the disapproving parents.

Now was the time he could finally taste the sweetness of freedom.

All of a sudden, the tall man left a tap on your shoulder and leaned in close once you faced him curiously. The stuffy fog of sleep was immediately chased away from your whirring mind, and you widened your eyes in shock when one of his hands pulled you closer, indicating what he wanted you to do with a simple touch.

Is he initiating a kiss, for once?

You reacted almost instantly to his subtle body language, everything coming naturally as you stepped in closer and raised your lips to peck his plump ones sweetly. Your whole body was buzzing with eruptions of joy, heat and surprise at the impulse; hands curling into his shirt so that you could feel the warmth of his body even more…for just a little bit longer. It was so rare for him to be bold like this.

For a single second, you forgot what your relationship truly was and felt - for the first time - what it was like to pour your heart into loving another person.

An older man cackled with his friend as they shared a beer together. “My, you young ones are just so passionate, aren’t you?” You swept some hair back behind your ear and ducked your head to hide the embarrassed flush. Or maybe you were trying to hide the stupid smile sitting on your face.

“I’ll get some food for us,” Seokjin said after another few moments of observing the place. You inwardly gaped at him as he moved towards one of the colourful food trucks, wondering if he was going to actually cover you for food.

What's gotten into him? Maybe it’s just because he’s used to putting on a performance, and that it��s such a different setting on top of that.

You shook your head to rid yourself of the fluffy feelings and jogged up to where your dark-haired partner was lining up for hot dogs.

“Do you want me to give you some cash for mine?” you asked hesitantly, gaze imploring for his attention again.

“No, go find a table to sit at,” he murmured, flicking his head upwards to point out a group of empty wooden tables nearby. You were pleasantly surprised at his motive and couldn’t help the way your jaw went slightly slack, simply stunned. Eventually, you complied and headed over towards the seats.

He'd looked so refreshed and so pleased with himself. Even with the weariness brought on by the long and tiresome journey.

The whole area was illuminated by a few atmospheric park lamps, but everyone knew that it would soon grow too dark to stay outside for much longer. Plus, you’d all need a good night’s sleep if you were going to make it to your stop tomorrow. You almost groaned again at the thought of driving so early.

“Here, I forgot to ask what drink you wanted, but you usually like bubbly stuff so I got a soft drink.”

Bit different from champagne, you surmised, but it was cute that he thought like that.

Seokjin placed a can next to where your arm was resting on the tabletop. Then, he held out a delicious looking hot dog sprinkled with fried onion rings, and you couldn’t stop the way your stomach grumbled and growled at the sight.

“I’m a starved woman, thank you.’’

He sat down and glanced around at the groups of people chatting, the strange but somehow never misplaced glimmer of interest never faltering in his eyes. On the other hand, you essentially inhaled the meal in front of you despite how weird it felt to ingest such cheap and fattening food. After months of high-class dining, it was more peculiar than one would think. Even something as unfamiliar as eating such a messy meal didn’t bother either one of you after the day you'd had.

“So, you don’t go around and talk to them much?” Seokjin questioned in a light tone of voice, picking his long and slightly curved fingers clean of any crumbs. The man was picturesque in how calm and concentrated he was. You decided that you liked that look of determination on him, even if it was for something so insignificant.

“I do, but I’m not really in the mood right now.” You sighed, resting your face into your palm so that you could ease the tension in your sore neck. You cast your gaze downwards and hoped that you wouldn’t regret your next words.

“Plus, I kind of want to spend most of my time on this trip with you.”

His eyes stared into yours from across the table, unblinking as he was thrown into one of his strange thoughtful silences.

You rushed to elaborate in a panic. “I-I … well I’ve done this trip many times and I thought it’d be nice to get to know each other a little bit more. We haven’t really asked many questions during the past few months, and I already feel so peaceful travelling together that I thought it’d be cool to just spend some time away from all the parties and shit to really relax and talk, you know?”

Cool? Did I really just say it'd be cool if we talked? Fuck you (Y/n).

You took a rickety breath and clasped both your hands together to try and hide your flustered appearance. With pursed lips and a slight cringe from the ranting accompanying your nerves, you searched his gaze with your own to try your best at reading him.

“Yeah, I know. It would make everything easier if we knew more about each other, so I don’t have to make up more lies,” he eventually spoke after clearing his throat quietly.

You thought he would’ve been more uncomfortable, or rather less than willing to take you up on the suggestion, but you were surprised yet again at his almost enthusiastic response. Was he finally letting you see past the high and sturdy walls he’d built up at the beginning of your relationship? If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was coming out of his shell a little as well, but then again it wasn’t as if you knew enough to make that observation in any kind of confidence.

Maybe he's always been more open like this to people he was close with, and you were only just beginning to see this side. Even if that was the case, it made you happy to think that he was starting to trust you enough to change the way he acted. You were content enough to be considered as something close to a friend, at least.

“It’s late. We should head in,” his familiar voice snapped you out of your rampant thoughts, causing your feelings of bewilderment to skyrocket.

I need to keep my shit together!

“Yeah, sorry for spacing out.” You laughed, trying to shrug off the mortification at failing to keep your wits about you. Maybe if he stopped being so oddly charming with his perfect lips and enigmatic eyes, you’d be able to focus a little better.

You made your way to the last motorhome in the line. Seokjin had parked it a little ways from the others, almost as if he’d sensed your need for privacy and solitude. You were somewhat introverted at the best of times, so after a whole day of socialising you really wanted nothing more than to retreat back to your own little space to recuperate.

Had he figured that out, or was it just a lucky guess? Maybe he was just the same…

You followed him into the portable house and weaved yourself around the table and sofa lounges, eventually coming to stop by the comfy looking queen bed at the very back. This was where things would get weird again. You’d never shared a bed before tonight, and the couches weren’t large enough to allow anyone space to sleep either.

“Ah, I guess we don’t have a choice. You don’t mind, do you?” you remarked reluctantly, knowing that you were more than happy to have company in your bed, but he might not feel the same.

“Well what else can I do?” He shrugged with indifference. “I would’ve taken the couch if I could’ve already.”

“Right, sorry I didn’t tell you before we left.”

You sighed, more embarrassment clouding your vision as you hurriedly searched the inside of your suitcase for a flimsy shirt. It was way too hot during the summertime to wear a full set of pyjamas, so you hoped Seokjin wouldn’t feel even more uncomfortable by your choice of clothing.

Better than being naked.

You shuddered with heat at the thought but pushed it all away quickly. This was already bad enough as it was.

“It’s fine, I honestly don’t mind if you don’t,” he grunted while beginning to unbutton his shirt. You swallowed thickly at the sight of his broad chest and collarbone slowly getting revealed the lower he went. That, paired with the way his hair had become messy and rugged after driving and running his hands through it, was a dangerous combination you were enjoying way too much.

“Well, I don’t. Never did." You smiled nervously before moving to the bathroom to get changed.

You knew that sharing a bed with him after so many months was never going to be an easy feat. It was awkward at best, with you trying your best to ignore the thoughts of him being so close - thanks to your fear of doing something unpredictable - and him having no trouble forgetting you were there altogether. It was nothing for him. Somehow, he could just sleep the night away and not think about the presence of other people constantly.

The sound of soft breathing, the occasional movement of a foot or arm, the slight rise of the duvet with every deep inhale, or even the dreamy mumbling slipping past lips every now and again. You envied the peaceful way he drifted off, knowing that living with siblings most likely allowed him to factor these things right out.

For you, they were things that kept your eyes wide open, mind running a million miles a minute.

The next morning brought you to the first town on the itinerary. The sleepless night faded away as you parked the large vehicle next to the others, legs already bouncing with excitement at the thought of finally visiting some of your old childhood pastimes.

You all spent the day traipsing through the streets while some of the older family members greeted the shopkeepers and residents heartily. You could feel your heart bursting at the sight of Seokjin looking around the place with wide eyes, obvious amazement lighting up his face as he regarded the interactions of those around him. There was a growing fondness there you never thought you’d see.

One parkland picnic later, and the two of you found yourselves mingling with the crowd. You surprisingly found it easy to talk about your married life together. Even though he was quiet and unsure of how to act, everyone loved Seokjin and found great amusement in teasing and joking around with him. Many times you had to bite your tongue to hold back a snort of laughter. The old uncles and aunties never did hold back their rowdy banter.

“I remember when I was first married, son,” your eldest cousin said and clapped a hand firmly onto Seokjin’s shoulder, “It’s always magical at first, but soon you’ll want to chew your own ear off!”

You all laughed at his sardonic humour. Everyone, even the hopeless romantics, knew that marriage was never supposed to be perfect.

“It can’t be magical the whole time?” Seokjin asked thoughtfully, the tone of his voice light-hearted but the nature of the question way too innocent for your boisterous family to bypass.

Okay, maybe not everyone knew.

You almost choked on your sandwich when the people around you burst into loud laughter, feeling sorry for your husband. He just didn’t know the group of people he was dealing with yet.

The older men clinked their beers together. “Look at this guy, he wants a life-long honeymoon phase!”

“Nah, I think he’s looking for an early grave instead.”

You furrowed your brows and yelled through a smile, “Hey! What do you take me for, a monster?”

They exchanged wide-eyed looks and chuckled again before waving you off and tousling your hair affectionately.

“Be careful or I’ll tell Aunty what you said.” You giggled, trying to fix your messy tresses.

The loud and harmless jesting continued amongst the rest of the group while you turned to see how Seokjin was going with his food. A smile curved your lips again when you spotted the slight crinkle appearing at the corners of his eyes. He was amused, and the way the beaming sunlight streamed down through the tree branches to light up his grinning face was breathtakingly perfect.

His eyes shifted to meet yours suddenly, and you were glad it didn’t cause his expression to change. His gaze, irrevocably beautiful, was so warm and lively. If you could, you would want to see him this happy for the rest of his life.

“Son,” he mouthed quietly after shifting his gaze away from your awestruck scrutiny, “I’m still waiting for my own father to call me that.”

A ruthless stab to your chest. Not only from his words, but rather the lack of emotion he expressed while speaking them.

You didn’t know the kind of relationships he’d had, or how he’d lived his life so far, but trying to find out was like trying to connect with a brick wall. This simple statement about his father had you swallowing back sympathy, and it was upsetting to think that you’d never even once thought to ask him about it.

You wanted – no, you needed him to open up to you.

Quickly sifting through one of the cute picnic baskets led you to find a bundle of sweet packaged snacks. You would do anything to wipe that distantly forlorn look off his face, and universal law stated that candy was sure-fire way to lift anyone’s spirits. You personally loved them, but it was tough to determine if his tastes would match.

“Want a jelly?”

“Wait, you mean-” he started, but cut himself off when you finally fished out a specific packet and let out a small ‘ah!’ of triumph. His eyes shone with recognition, and you became confused at his unexpected reaction.

“I haven’t had these since I was young. They were my favourite, but my mother wanted us to stop eating too many sugary things…” Seokjin revealed, his lips pulling up into a smirk as he recalled his childhood memories.

“Well, you’re on your own now, and I’m not going to stop you. So here.” You chuckled and waited until he’d grabbed a handful of jellies before popping one into your own mouth.

Seokjin shook his head with a huff. He obviously found it stupid how he’d followed the strict rules of his parents for so long, not allowing himself to rebel in the slightest. It had never been an option before, but now here he was – living in a motorhome, eating hot dogs and jellies, basically hitchhiking through old weary towns rather than having his head down working for a big-time business firm.

You watched his eyes trail over you again, almost picking up his phantom of a voice saying, “So this is the life I could have lived.”

It brought a smile to your face as you thought about the way his gaze had lit up and drank everything in with such fervour. His cold and masquerade-like world was changing, he was seeing life from a different perspective, and knowing that you’d played a part in that brought you immense joy.

It was a warm glow of happiness you’d never felt or known before.

Night fell once more. Everyone filtered away to their beds, eyes drooping and bellies full of the various baked goods of the town. It had been an amazing day, and you knew you couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity to help Seokjin emerge from his shell.

He seemed to be enjoying the trip for the exact same reasons you always had. Except now, you had another.

#seokjin x reader #btsghostie #seokjin scenarios #seokjin smut #seokjin imagines #seokjin series #jin smut #seokjin angst #seokjin fluff #arranged marriage au #husband jin #bts jin #bts smut #jin angst #admire #saladejin

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freshouttaparsnips · 4 years

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The interesting thing about working at a grocery store was that typically you got all your groceries and miscellaneous from the same place you worked.

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next chapter XD this time with the Fell bros ;)

tags: Homelessness issues, flat tires

read chapter 2: Meeting the Fell Bros on Ao3

or read it below!!

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The interesting thing about working at a grocery store was that typically you got all your groceries and miscellaneous from the same place you worked. It was a nice enough shop; the owners carried anything and everything, sort of like a Dollar Tree, only with a little more quality. But on occasion, on rare, rare occasion, you needed something they didn’t have, which led you to heading over to the local (and by local it was a half hour drive) Walmart.

You detested Walmart, not only because you couldn’t bring Peony in, but because the lights were overly bright and the sounds and people were abrasive as hell. It was an ADHD nightmare that you relived every time you needed something special that your own store didn’t carry, whatever the reason. Usually the trips in didn’t take that long, and you were out back into the fresh air, ready to find a new place to park for the night with Peony. Sometimes they dragged on and on, leaving you to stumble out of the sensory pit of hell into the cool night air, still needing to find a place to bunk down for the night.

The elderly couple running your workplace would have let you stay in their own parking lot, but because of bullshit permits and other inane city things, they couldn’t have vehicles parked in their lot for longer than two days at a time, or they’d be fined. It was unfortunate, and under any other circumstances they probably would have let you do it anyways.

In tight spots, you’d taken them up on their offer. Sometimes you couldn’t afford a permit to park by the Walmart, or in the parking lot of the library. But your favorite place to stay, and the place you were headed now, was the Mt. Ebbott camping grounds.

They didn’t question why you set up with the tiniest tent known to man, sharing it with a dog that took up most of the space. Or why you always came, made a small fire that night to cook popcorn on, stared at the stars for hours, then left before anyone else was awake the next morning. You didn’t like staying too long, not whenever other people were there to play loud music or throw around trash.

It was the perfect place to stay, to breathe in the scents of fresh moss and old stones, a place to recharge and relax without worrying about getting in trouble for loitering when you were just walking your dog.

Peony was sniffing the slightly open window, licking her chomps every so often as she caught a whiff of the nearby restaurants you passed. Sighing, you gave in to her adoring, pleading eyes, stopping through the drive thru of a little burger chain and getting you both the biggest burger they had with extra cheese. It was the weekend, payday, meaning you could splurge a tiny bit before you stuffed the rest into gas, food and savings.

While Peony happily munched away at her burg, you focused on the highway leading out of town, and through the woods, taking the exit that headed up the mountain. The air cooled the higher you went, your ears popping as you grinned at the worn, wooden sign reading that you were a few miles out from the camp grounds.

Which was why, when you saw the little red car sitting on the side of the road with a tire missing and a couple of dudes standing around it looking aggravated, you felt a little perturbed yourself even as you pulled over behind them a little ways.

They both looked up at you as you started to climb out of your car, their red eyelights burning from black sockets almost putting you at a pause. Taking a breath, you squared your shoulders, stepping out of the car and shutting your door before Peony, god bless her soul, could try to strangle herself attempting to get out.

“Got a flat?” You called, the tallest skeleton staring back down at the offending tire while the shorter started a few steps in your direction.

“Yeah, damn thing near tried ta put us over the barriers.” He said, voice deep and afflicted with a rough gravel. He seemed like the smoking type, if the way his fingers twitched every so often was an indicator. You shrugged.

“I’ve got a spare in my trunk, if you wanna see if she’ll fit.”

The short skeleton laughed, a chortle of sound, you grinning as you waved him over to the back of your car.

You could hear his boots hitting the gravel as he came up behind you, your trunk popping open with a loud thunk, Peony whining from the front seat as you searched for the tire. “You boys heading to the campsite?” you asked, at least trying to make small talk so the lurking wouldn’t be so creepy.

He grunted. “Me and Paps, we do this every couple months ‘er so. Get out of the house, get some fresh air. ‘E thinks its good fer me ‘er somethin’, I dunno.”

Turning back to him, tire hefted into your hands, you nodded. “Its nice to get away.”

He just stared at you for a moment, before gingerly taking the tire and heading back for his own car. You followed, watching the much taller skeleton glare down at the flat with a stare that would have killed lesser men.

“Sans, have you found a replacement?” he asked, tone angry but his expression worried. If you had to guess, this wasn’t really in their plans for the evening, and what with the sun getting lower in the sky, these roads could get a little treacherous in the dark. They may have been Fellgrounders, but you knew from experience that ending up down a river bank was not a fun way to spend the night.

“Yeah, this ‘ere human gave us their spare.” Sans answered, getting down on one knee to replace the tire, while the taller turned to stare at you.

“What would you like as payment?” He asked, and you blinked. Really you… hadn’t even thought about them paying you for it or anything, it wasn’t like you were going to use the tire any time soon; it didn’t even fit your car. Thankfully, it seemed to fit theirs, Sans standing back on both feet with a creak and a groan.

Realizing you still hadn’t responded, you shook your head, shifting on the gravel road. “Naw, I don’t need anything. Just wanted to help out, y’know?”

Tall skeleton stared hard at you, seemingly into your very soul by the way his eyelights flared with intensity. Then he just looked tired, fishing out his wallet and grabbing a little laminated card before handing it over to you.

“Well, if you do find you need anything, anything at all. Please send a text or call.”

You took the card, holding it in your hand as they both lugged the flat tire into their own trunk, Sans waving goodbye as you watched them climb into the little Jeep and make a U-turn around you. You waved as they headed back down the road, seemingly uninterested in making the rest of the way up the mountain in the dark… which suited you just fine.

You needed some alone time, and damn if you weren’t gonna get some. Hopping back into your car, you gave Peony a few healthy scritches under the chin for being such a good girl, and turned your brights on.

You didn’t have a chance to check the card he’d given you until later, and the words on it almost made you laugh.

~The Phone Number of the Great Edge~

Well. Now you had two of those to your collection. You sort of wondered why this was happening now, but you were along for the ride, for better or worse.

#fresh writes #undertale #fontcest #papyrus/reader #sans/reader #underfell papyrus #underfell sans #angst #mentions of homelessness

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brightcinnamonroll · 4 years

Text

Day 7

Kidnapping.

(7 trigger warning for: kidnapping of actual kids, specifically Malcolm when he was younger, kidnapped by Watkins/Watkins being a creep)

---

Sometimes when Martin took Malcolm camping, they actually went camping.

It was a nice escape from the city that afforded Martin some alone time with his son. Malcolm was his pride and joy and he treasured the moments they spent fishing on the docks listening to Malcolm talk for hours about his day or what interested him that week. In retrospect, he was probably scaring off the fish, but Martin could always buy a hefty sized trout on the way home, promising Malcolm he would keep it from Jessica and Ainsley as their little secret.

It was a calm afternoon at the dock that day, when Malcolm came running back from their campsite. Martin had his line cast in the water, the lure bobbing evenly with the ripple of the tide.

“Hey dad, there’s a man at our campsite that says he knows you.”

Martin furrowed his brow and looked past his son. He couldn’t see anyone behind the thick cut of trees. They had parked the car 50 yards inland, close enough he should have been able to see who his son was referring to. Which meant, whoever it was, wanted to remain unseen.

Martin smiled at his son. “Did he say what his name was?”

Malcolm scrunched up his face as he thought back to the encounter, then shrugged. “Nope. He had a funny beard and mustache though and said you guys worked together but not at the hospital.”

“He did, did he?” Martin kept his calm composure. If there was one thing, he was good at, it was schooling his emotions. “Why don’t you stay here and I’ll go talk to him?”

Malcolm nodded and resumed his spot at the dock. He picked up his father’s fishing pole and played with the reel. Time passed and he started to get bored, waiting for Martin to return. He glanced back at the trees then back at the water again. He wished his dad would hurry up, he didn’t like siting by himself.

When he looked back at the forest of trees, he saw the man approaching. Alone. When he got closer, Malcolm shouted impatiently, “Where’s my dad?”

The man smiled at Malcolm and he thought it was funny how the top of his smile disappeared into his mustached. It reminded him of a fuzzy caterpillar resting on his lip.

“Your dad invited me to come fishing with you two. I hope you don’t mind. My name is Paul, what’s yours?”

“Malcolm,” he replied, then after a second, he amended the statement: “Malcolm Whitley.”

“It’s very nice to meet you Malcolm.”

By this time, Paul had stopped walking and stood above Malcolm on the dock. Malcolm had to squint against the sun as he spoke to Paul. He was much taller than Malcolm was, but a very slender man.

Malcolm fidgeted with the reel and there was a moment of silence between the two.

“So where’s my dad?” he repeated.

“Well,” Paul put his hands on his hips and turned toward the forest. “Your dad had to go get more bait if I was going to go fishing with you two. But he told me to go and get us some snacks. Except,” Paul looked back at Malcolm with a puzzled expression, “I don’t know how he expects me to do that and leave you here. Strangers could come and get you.”

“Strangers?”

“Yep, you never know what kind of weird people could be lurking in the forest, waiting to snatch you up. How about this, I’ll drive to the nearest gas station and pick us up some snacks, and you come with me? I’ve got my RV parked just over there.”

Malcolm followed the direction Paul was pointing. He couldn’t see the RV, but he couldn’t see his campsite either. The trees were thick with summer foliage.

“But aren’t you a stranger?”

Paul pretended to be hurt by this accusation. “Malcolm, I already told you I’m friends with you dad. Plus we introduced ourselves, so we’re not strangers anymore. We’re just going to get some snacks. We’ll be back before your dad even misses us. Come on, what’s your favorite snack?”

“I like Twizzlers?”

Paul jabbed a finger at his chest and raised his eyebrows “Me too! That’s my favorite!”

Malcolm giggled and reeled his line in. He would only be a few minutes, he reasoned. He would be back before his dad even noticed and he could bring him some snacks too.

Paul opened the passenger side door for Malcolm and helped him climb the tall steps. After clamoring inside the vehicle, Malcolm looked behind him at the interior. He’d never been inside an RV before. It was plain but very spacious compared to all the other cars he’d been in before. Paul climbed into the driver’s side door and turned the engine.

Paul had been right about the nearest gas station. It was only a few minutes away. But as they approached it, Malcolm noticed Paul wasn’t slowing down at all. He looked at Paul for an explanation.

“Oh that one’s closed after 5:00.”

“But it’s only 4:30?”

“And? The folks inside have to have a little time to close the store. They have to sweep and mop, restock the shelves, count the money inside the register. We don’t want to get in their way while they’re trying to clean up. That would be rude.”

Malcolm stared at the store from the sideview mirror. “Oh… I guess so.”

“Don’t worry Malcolm. I know a store that’s just a few miles up the road. We’ll get some Twizzlers and be back in a jiff.”

Malcolm never paid any attention when his parents drove around town. He didn’t know which direction home was, let alone the nearest store. He quickly realized it was a lot farther than he’d thought when five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen, and still no store. Finally, they pulled into a gravel parking lot and parked the RV. Paul got out on his side then opened the door for Malcolm and ushered him inside.

“Alright, you go grab the snacks, I’m going to see if they have a bathroom I can use.”

“Okay.” Malcolm walked past the aisles of magazines and beer and strait toward the candy aisle. He grabbed two packs of Twizzlers, one for him and one for Paul, then considered what his dad might like. He was deciding between a Snickers bar and a Reece’s Cup when he felt a hand on his shoulder roughly turn him around.

“Malcolm, I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Dad? Paul said you were getting us some more bait so he could go fishing with us?”

Martin looked frantic. His eyes were wild, he’d clearly been sweating, and there was just a little bit of dried blood under his nose.

He forced a smile.

“I’m afraid we can’t go fishing with Paul anymore. Come on,” he grabbed Malcolm’s hand and pulled him toward the door, “the car’s parked out front.”

Martin had an iron grip on Malcolm’s hand, making Malcolm drop his candy. “You’re hurting me,” he complained, but Martin didn’t seem to notice as he shuffled Malcolm out the door. Seated inside their car, Malcolm hurried with the keys and turned the ignition, checking his rearview mirror every other second. Malcolm followed his father’s gaze and stared into the mirror.

Looking back at him was Paul, standing in the gas station entrance, about thirty feet back. He wasn’t trying to stop them. He just stood and watched. Before they sped out of the parking lot, Malcolm noticed Paul had something clutched in his hand.

A bag of Twizzlers and a small pocket knife.

#whumptober #idk why the ending felt like a creepy pasta lol #add this to the list of repressed childhood trauma for malcolm #tw: kidnapping #john watkins aka paul #first time i've written anything with martin in a while #i hope i got that 'i love my son but im also a sociopath' vibe down #prodigal son

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aurora-the-kunoichi · 5 years

Text

The Aftermath - Part One

Part one of my apocalyptic story.

Raphael and Reader.

(Don’t worry loves, there will be smut)

It started out as a routine expedition to Antarctica to gather samples of the melting icecaps. When the team of scientists found hair and frozen tissue in several of the core samples they pulled from the ice, they sent them in for analysis. When the samples returned with wooly mammoth DNA an excavation team was dispatched to unearth the specimen for testing and preservation.

One week was all it took before the first scientist fell ill after handling the thawing samples. They thought it was a common cold from the symptoms but knew once the patient started coughing up blood it was far from it. It took only 48 hours for the unknown virus to take hold and run its course before killing patient zero.

It should have been quarantined, but with only one scientist dead and the rest seemingly fine, they were released back home after the expedition was completed.

The second scientist to fall ill reported similar signs of the virus 3 days later and succumbed to the illness within 48 hours. One by one each member of the team showed signs of the same symptoms and perished days later, the last one dying nearly 7 days after patient zero was confirmed dead.

After that it spread like a wild fire in a drought spreading all over the world in less than a year wiping out the world’s population to near world extinction levels. Family members were unable to bury their loved ones for the fear the virus would continue to spread. So each body that was infected was ordered by the CDC to be incinerated.

Over seven billion people lost their lives to the world-wide pandemic devastating the global economy and dwindling the world’s population down to a few thousand apparently immune to the deadly virus. Cities lay barren, families and legacies torn asunder leaving the remaining population wondering what would be next.

That was 10 years ago, the year now 2030. The earth was still reclaiming her territory, buildings and roads overrun with newly grown greenery and the world’s animal population seemingly untouched by the virus’s destructive grasp flourished in the wake of the loss of human life.

Somehow you had been blessed and cursed with surviving the plague. You witnessed each of your family members picked off one by one at the ripe age of 15. Left alone to survive the apocalypse held up in your family’s home as long as you were able.

Thankfully you were no useless adolescent doomed to wander the abandoned cities witless and helpless. Your family was stock full of bright talent that thankfully trickled down to you, your father an engineer and your mother a marine with a green thumb and a passion for prepping. Your father had rubbed off on you in the early years soaking up his knowledge for solar power and self-sustaining homes. Which was probably one of the reasons you were still alive today, that and the years of hand to hand combat instructed and insisted on by your mother.

“You need to learn how to protect yourself Y/N, be ready for any situation.” She said on a regular basis. She had no idea how right she was…. God you missed her.

The first year after the pandemic crawled by, depression and loneliness eating away at you day after day as your food supplies dwindled to nothing forcing you to make the decision, was it life or death? The next year took a different direction as you worked your fingers to the bone daily to work up a system to keep yourself alive and prepared. Animals were rounded up and put into pastures on your land, animals that would provide food, whether it be meat or from the food they produced.

As the loneliness began to eat at your sanity once again a new ambitious project took hold of your endless spare time. A large SUV you had found parked in a garage while scrounging for supplies was ripe with potential and you had nothing but time.

Your father’s spirit seemed to follow you around the large workspace day after day, fingers worn and bleeding you worked over the equations and drums of supplies until the days blended into night. After countless of hours of mind numbing trial and error somehow by the grace of whatever cruel god that was up there you figured it out.

The large oversized vehicle was now able to switch from gasoline and the power of the sun with a flip of a switch. Gas stations were still producing, but it was only a matter of time before they dried up. And you needed to travel farther and farther for fuel and supplies, you needed to expand your options for travel.

As the truck clicked to life nearly soundlessly solely fueled by the stored energy in the solar panels you screamed at the top of your lungs resting your weary and tired skull on the metal hood. The farthest you had ventured from your sanctum was two hours in every direction. And as far as you could tell there wasn’t a living soul within that radius, and you had scavenged every home and building for useful items. It was time to look farther out and New York City was a prime location. Plus, with your new project completed a few spare solar panels would be nice and the once overly populated city should produce some.

You hadn’t seen anyone alive in years which in this type of situation was mostly a good thing. The end of the world usually didn’t bring out the best in people, survival of the fittest and all that jazz and you had a sweet set up ripe for the pickin. Which was why you had spent many man hours keeping the entrance to your family property hidden. All the tar from the driveway had been removed 100 feet in and an intricate fence from brush and bushes was maintained to keep the entrance secluded from any unwanted visitors.

It took you two weeks to prepare the homestead, making sure your livestock was well fed and your home locked down tight and protected. You anticipated your trip to take roughly 2 weeks but prepared for over a month. There could always be unseen circumstances that would keep you from your home for a longer period of time, so it was better to be safe than sorry.

It was a warm summer morning and your vehicle was packed, the small camper trailer connected, and panels fully charged, it was time to head out. With one final look at your home you made the 5-minute trek down your driveway exiting from your hidden entrance. Once it hidden from sight again you started out ready for the long solitary road trip.

With no one driving on the roadways they had managed to stay drivable for the most part. A few trees and bushes needed to be dodged but you were still able to utilize them for now.

It took nearly 8 hours of driving before you saw the dilapidated welcome sign for New York City. One side had broken free of its bolts and had sunk into the earth where rust had begun to climb up the forgotten metal eating away at its integrity.

It was late afternoon and you needed to start scouting out a safe place to set up camp and hopefully a few hours of scrounging around before dark. You decided central park would be a good place to hunker down and start your exploration.

With your camper set up and prepared you strapped two guns to your hips with two long blades in your boots and headed out with a line of homes to the east your first target in mind. The empty duffel bag slung over your shoulder was ready for supplies and anything that you would deem a sanity saver, something that would help ease the hours of boredom or something that was fun to look at. For some reason those seemed to help the most. Artwork or small trinkets that would occupy your overactive hands. Records were the most coveted though, music was everything. You had an ipod chalk full of music but with no way to add more to it so new records were a pivotal part of keeping your sanity in check.

By the time the sun had begun to dip below the horizon your duffel was plum full of goodies. By some luck you had found a few guns with a healthy amount of ammunition, a plethora of canned goods and a few sanity savers, but no records. You had found a box full of brightly colored comics, Batman, Avengers, X-men and so much more, it was definitely a good haul for one day outing.

With your newly acquired treasures packed away safely in your trailer you lit a modest fire and cooked your dinner. The outline of the fire danced on the treetops that swayed gently with the evening breeze which didn’t help much with the summer’s heat. The humidity of the night had grown stifling leaving a thin seen of sweat covering your skin so a swim in the nearest body of water was tempting.

The pond that sat on the edge of the park sparkled in the moonlight, the steady breeze setting soft ripples across the glass like surface. You were hot and sticky and with an eight hour drive a dip sounded wonderful.

Your eyes scanned left and right observing your surroundings. You had been here for hours and no one had come out to meet you or thankfully worse. With the decision made your clothes were stripped free and your gun set underneath the pile of discarded clothes by the water just in case.

The moons silver light hit your naked flesh as your descended slowly into the pond holding your breath as your head was submerged beneath the surface. You stayed below for a minute allowing the coolness of the water to lower your body temp and it felt glorious. You had been roasting most of the day, but you couldn’t convince yourself to use the A/C in the truck. The fresh air was so much better.

Floating to your back you started to swim backstroke across the pond watching the night sky come to life with the stars. Since the lights had gone out at the end of civilization the milky way could be seen on a clear night. Witnessing the waves of bright lights from the cosmos was one of the few perks to surviving the apocalypse. That and the calming sounds of nature no longer drowned out by the city life.

As you reached the far end of the pool you suddenly felt something you hadn’t in a very long time, a feeling that you were no longer alone. It was eerie and unsettling for the feeling had become foreign. Your eyes scanned the tree lines and watched your campsite with the lazy fire that continued to lazily lap at the fresh wood you had laid within the ring. No shadows, no movement just the strange feeling of being watched.

Lowing further into the pool you watched the shadows, looking for anything, even an animal to come into view but nothing appeared. Then as quick as it came, the feeling vanished, the unseen gaze swept away with the warm breeze. It was strange but had no proof you were in danger, so you finished your swim and dressed heading back to your camper.

Moving the burning logs away from each other and smothering the glowing embers with the dirt you headed into your trailer for a few hours of sleep. With one final look into the darkness you closed the door and locked the reinforced doors tight.

As the final embers died out in your campfire, four very large shadows emerged from the tree lines. With no sound they moved closer, two blue, one green and one set of amber eyes set on the camper where your slept.

“Haven’t seen her around before?” the one in blue whispered into the breeze for only his companions to hear.

The one wrapped in orange moved closer to the trailer trying to peer into the windows, “And I would definitely like to see her again, especially without her clothes.”

A soft whack resounded on the back of his green skull as the largest of the four came up behind him yanking him from the perimeter. “You don’t know who she is, she could be one of them. And be quite shell for brains, you’ll wake her up.”

The tallest of the four came up to the truck taking in the solar panels with keen interest, “She’s smart, that is for certain.”

“We’ll keep an eye on her for now, no contact. You hear me?”

“Yeah yeah Fearless, we got it. Don’t touch the pretty lady.”

“Let’s go Raphael.”

@waterstar2016 @blossom-skies @thelostandforgottenangel @hollybunch95

#tmnt #tmnt raphael #tmnt leonardo #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt fandom #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt fic #TMNT TMNT fanfiction #The Aftermath #part one

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conscious-conservation · 5 years

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What is wilderness? Does it exist? Does its definition effect conservation?

So, usually, when one talks about wilderness, they mean forests. But what counts as wilderness? How wild must it be? Do deserts count? Do plains?

Ever since the term came about, the definition of wilderness has been constantly changing. Originally, it had mostly meant an area away from civilization, where the devil was. In the Bible, Jesus Christ lived in the wilderness for forty days and forty nights, while fasting. Wilderness was seen as a savage place, uninhabited by humans. For a long time, humans believed we must ‘tame’ the wilderness, sort of bringing God to a godless place. Some people would go into the wilderness, alone, as they wanted to test themselves against the danger and temptations of the wild. It was also used as reasoning for the expansion of civilization; getting rid of savage lands.

Later, the meaning changed, as America entered a period of romanticism, led by people such as Henry David Thoreau. During this time came the rise of other ideas such as transcendentalism. Thoreau, and many other American romantics, fell in love with the idea of wilderness meaning a natural place, untouched by man. They believed by getting back to nature, living there, becoming one with the wilderness, you could reach transcendence, in some fashion.

During this time, the wilderness also became a symbol for manliness. Many men thought civilization and society would make them weak, soft, and feminine. They thought by going back into nature, they could temper that, and go back to their tough, manly roots. Rich men would take trips into the wilderness to hunt game, and to find their “true, manly selves”.

Eventually, we found that this romanticized idea of untouched nature was already wrong, as Native Americans had already been manipulating the landscape, since they first arrived to the continent, thousands of years ago. For example, they would often burn areas, allowing for space to make camp, and for some smaller animal populations to thrive.

This discovery (and I say discovery because that’s how it was seen, despite native people knowing the truth) made people rethink the true definition of ‘wilderness’. Even now, it’s still debated if there even is ‘true wilderness’ anymore, as even places seen as some of the most ‘wild’ places in America have still been touched and manipulated by humans in some manner.

So what counts? It’s incredibly difficult to say. Legally, it is “a wild natural area that has not been significantly modified by any human activity such as laying of pipelines, construction of roads, or any other industrial infrastructure.” So any area designated as a “wilderness area” must meet these requirements. This legal definition was introduced into the Wilderness Act of 1964, which was made so that there could be legally designated wilderness areas, that could not be changed or destroyed by people.

To become a wilderness area, a place must fit this criteria

Minimal human imprint

Opportunities for unconfined recreation

At least 5,000 acres

Have educational, scientific, or historical value

Additionally, these places should have no commercial enterprises within them, or any motorized travel.

The basics of what the act set out are as follows:

The lands protected as wilderness are areas of our public lands (under federal protection and control)

Wilderness designation is a protective overlay Congress applies to selected portions of national forests, parks, wildlife refuges, and other public lands.

Within wilderness areas, the Wilderness Act strives to restrain human influences so that ecosystems [the Wilderness Act, however, makes no specific mention of ecosystems] can change over time in their own way, free, as much as possible, from human manipulation. In these areas, as the Wilderness Act puts it, "the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man,"untrammeled meaning the forces of nature operate unrestrained and unaltered.

Wilderness areas serve multiple uses but the law limits uses to those consistent with the Wilderness Act mandate that each wilderness area be administered to preserve the "wilderness character of the area." For example, these areas protect watersheds and clean-water supplies vital to downstream municipalities and agriculture, as well as habitats supporting diverse wildlife, including endangered species, but logging and oil and gas drilling are prohibited.

Along with many other uses for the American people, wilderness areas are popular for diverse kinds of outdoor recreation but without motorized or mechanical vehicles or equipment except where specifically permitted. Scientific research is also allowed in wilderness areas as long as it is non-invasive.

The Wilderness Act was reinterpreted by the Administration in 1986 to ban bicycles from Wilderness areas, which led to the current vocal opposition from mountain bikers to the opening of new Wilderness areas.

The Wilderness Act allows certain uses (resource extraction, grazing, etc.) that existed before the land became wilderness to be grandfathered in and so they may continue to take place although the area that was designated as wilderness typically would not concede such uses. Specifically, mining, grazing, water uses, or any other uses that do not significantly impact the majority of the area may remain in some degree.

So, to make a long post shorter: wilderness is an ever changing and vague term, which only recently found itself a legal term. Knowing how to define wilderness legally is extremely important when speaking about conservation and it’s governmental issues. Be smart, do your research.

#conservation #public lands #environmental justice #environmentalism #politics #wilderness #nature

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caranfindel · 5 years

Text

Fic: Every hand’s a winner and every hand’s a loser

A fix-it fic for 15.10, “The Heroes’ Journey,” because never have I seen an ep more in need of a fix-it.

---

They end up borrowing a 4X4 Jeep Cherokee from Donna. The Impala wasn't made for snowy roads, let alone frozen tundra, they don't have enough credit to rent a car (fucking Chuck), and Sam refuses to take a stolen car through an international checkpoint. Which is ridiculous. It's Canada, not the Soviet Union; no one's even going to look. But Dean's not gonna argue. Sam's kind of messed up right now. Has been, since he shot God, since he spent a day and a half under Chuck's loving ministrations, since Eileen left. Since Garth pronounced them no longer God's heroes. Obsessively researching Alaska, spewing random facts about Utqiagvik and tundra, to distract himself from the shitstorm they stumbled into.

(Barrow is now known as Utqiagvik. Thanks, Sam.)

The thing is. The thing is that "between Barrow and Kotzebue" sounded like they'd be driving down a road from one small village to another, looking for you'll know it when you see it. But on further review, there's about a hundred million acres of frozen tundra between Barrow and Kotzebue. And no roads. Even Mapquest cheerfully suggests you can't get there from here. And Dean's supposed to be the man with the plan, but he can't wrap his head around a hunt whose lore is limited to you'll know it when you see it. He's having problems with get to Alaska and start exploring a hundred million acres of frozen tundra. Maybe that's why Sam is furiously researching Alaska itself. Because he's got to research something.

(And no, Dean is not interested in yet another verse of Sam explaining that the entire state of Alaska is not frozen tundra, and much of the area they're looking at is actually transitional boreal forest, thank you very much.)

Anyway. Scraping up some cash sounds like a good first step. So that's why Dean's lurking in the shadows a block away from a pool hall in Bozeman, Montana, counting his meager winnings. Of course he didn't count it in the pool hall, or even in the parking lot. He's not stupid. You never count your money when you're sitting at the table. Words of wisdom are words of wisdom, even when they come from Kenny Rogers.

Hustling pool was easier when he was younger. A guy in his 20s saunters in, cocksure, too pretty for his own good? (And that's not ego talking, he's heard it often enough, seen it in the eyes of potential marks who murmured that they were sure we'd be able to come to an agreement when it looked like he might not have enough cash to cover a bet, and damn he loved taking their money.) Yeah, everybody wants to take that guy down, and Dean always gave an Oscar-worthy performance in that role. But when you're old enough to look like you might know what you're doing, and maybe looking so down on your luck that no one wants to win the little bit of cash you've got in your raggedy pocket… it's just harder, is all. Especially without his wingman, since Sam declared himself unfit for the job and went off to plunder a couple of local stores for supplies instead.

Dean did okay, though. Even after putting aside half for his stake the next night, he's got enough for a couple of tanks of gas and a night in a hotel. Maybe four or five tanks, if Sam agrees to sleep in the Jeep. It's cold, but they've got decent sleeping bags and a big vehicle. It wouldn't be the worst night they've spent in a car.

They've actually… spent a lot of bad nights in cars. And abandoned houses. And worse. It sparks something in the back of Dean's mind.

That train of thought is interrupted by the arrival of the borrowed Jeep. It's late — well, technically, early — but they need to put some miles between them and the scene of the crime. Maybe he can catch a catnap while Sam gets them out of town. Dean moves to get in the passenger seat, but Sam hops out. Doesn't even trust himself driving right now, for fuck's sake. He even keeps a hand hovering over the Jeep, in case he needs the support if he stumbles, and it makes Dean see red.

"How'd you do," Dean asks, when Sam settles into the passenger seat.

"Not bad. Nonperishables, hot packs, but mostly medical supplies. Got some antibiotics, pain meds, bandages, stuff for stitches and splints"

"Thought you were gonna get some camping supplies?"

"Had problems at the REI." Sam pulls out his laptop and hunches over it.

"What kind of problems?"

Pause. "It's no big deal. We'll stop at a different one."

"Sam."

Sam sighs. "I couldn't get in, all right? There were security cameras and the lock, and I just…" He trails off and buries himself in his laptop, clearly miserable. Dean could suggest, again, that the mom and pop outfit they saw on their way into town would be easier to break into, but he knows Sam prefers raiding big chains. We're saving the world, Dean would say. Doesn't mean we have to be dicks about it, Sam would always retort.

(Are they even saving the world, right now? Or just their own asses?)

After a few quiet minutes, Sam speaks. "Did you know Will Rogers and Wiley Post were killed about 11 miles outside of Utqiagvik, trying to land their plane?" Because obscure Alaskan trivia is easier to think about than, well, everything else.

"No, I didn't know that," Dean responds, "because I've never even heard of Wiley Post."

"Early aviator. Charles Lindbergh type. The Utqiagvik airport was renamed after them."

"Naming an airport after two people who died in a plane crash? That's messed up, man."

"Oklahoma also has two separate airports named after the two of them. I think Will Rogers would probably appreciate the irony."

Oklahoma. The last time Dean was in Oklahoma, he was fleeing Texhoma with an old friend's blood still caked under his fingernails. He doesn't want to think about fucking Oklahoma. Instead, he slides back to that earlier thought, the one that pinged something. The fact that they spent so much of their life sleeping in really shitty places. That they weren't worried about mortgages and utility payments not because they were above all that, but because they never had the opportunity. That they haven't, in fact, been leading the charmed heroes' life, free from sweating the small stuff, that Garth described.

"Sam?" he says. "Do you feel like we've been living a charmed life?"

"No." Sam huffs a humorless little laugh and keeps pecking at his keyboard. "I mean, I didn't, for obvious reasons. But compared to now? I guess."

"Okay, but listen. I think I was right when I said we were cursed. The reason we're having problems now? It's not because Chuck was giving us something we never earned and he decided to stop. Everything we do, Sam? We fucking earned that. Blood, sweat, and tears, man. We trained and studied and practiced and earned every skill we have."

Sam looks up now, brow furrowed. "You think?"

"I do. I mean, how long did you practice lock-picking? Because I remember you asking Dad to buy you different kinds of locks to practice on. I remember listening to you clicking away in the back seat for miles. You did that, Sam. Chuck didn't give it to you."

"Okay…"

"And tripping over your own feet? Do you really think you can only walk a straight line bec ause Chuck made it possible? He didn't make us special, Sam. We made us special. And he's trying to take that away from us."

Sam gasps. "Job. He's pulling a Job on us."

"Damn straight." Dean smacks the steering wheel. Chuck and his Biblical reboots. "And we are not gonna let him do that."

"But how do we stop it?"

That's the question, isn't it? Dean drives for a couple of miles, deep in thought. "I say we go to Alaska anyway," he decides. "Even if we didn't lose our own luck, this might be a way to pick up some extra mojo."

"But remember what Garth said. There's always a catch. You know he's right."

"So? If we decide it costs too much, we just don't play. We can do that."

"Can we?" Sam chuckles. "Because, historically, we're not actually very good at that."

"We are now. Starting right now, you and I are good at anything we want to be good at it. And Chuck can screw himself."

Dean spots the sign for the scenic turnoff just in time, jerking the wheel to the right. "You all right bedding down in the car tonight?"

"Not the worst place I've slept," Sam replies, smiling. No, it's not.

The bed of the Cherokee is long enough, with the back seat folded down, but it's pretty narrow. It's fine. Dean's going appreciate being pressed up against his furnace of a little brother tonight. He wriggles into his sleeping bag, turns his back to Sam, and says "Okay, geek boy. Put me to sleep. Tell me something about Kotzebue." He drifts off to the tune of sled dogs and average January temperatures.

---

The title is, of course, from "The Gambler" by Kenny Rogers.

#spn #episode coda #15.10 #my fic

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thismightbeaterribleidea · 4 years

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FAQ

Hello! So, during a global pandemic and at the beginning of what will probably be a long and severe recession, at the age of 40 and with basically no knowledge of how automobiles work, I’m going to live in a van.

This might be a terrible idea. Hence, I’m calling my blog This Might Be A Terrible Idea.

If you’re reading this, I imagine it’s because you know me, so I’ll skip the introduction. I like a good FAQ, so let’s start there.

FAQ

Where are you going? Short answer: I don’t know!

Long answer: I’ll probably primarily split my time between Colorado/northern New Mexico, Maryland/Pennsylvania, and Florida. I want to stay as low-budget as I can and also avoid crowds during the pandemic. So whenever possible, I’ll opt for free, dispersed sites in national forests, state forests, BLM (which I now read as Black Lives Matter but here it’s the less-important acronym, Bureau of Land Management), state game lands, etc. I’ll pop into a developed campground every now and then to refill the water tanks, empty the portable toilet, and take a shower.

What kind of van do you have? In late June, I bought a 2007 Ford E250 with a high roof. In its first life, it was actually an Embassy Suites hotel shuttle, so when I got it, it had SO MANY SEATS. After it retired from the hotel biz, it went to a guy who owned a brewery and used the van for ski trips. Then he eventually traded it to a friend’s college-aged son in exchange for lawn-mowing work. This young man was actually going to make it into a camper too but didn’t have time, so he sold it to me.

I got the van for a very low price ($2000) because it’s really high mileage — almost 300,000. It also has a few issues: the dashboard, power windows, and radio only work sometimes. The doors are creaky and don’t like to close. There are splatters of paint (?) on the inside of the driver’s door. The air conditioning wasn’t working. And the interior is pretty beat up.

With help from my brother who actually knows about cars, I recharged the air conditioning. A new, functional instrument cluster is on the way. And the type of engine in this van (5.4L V8) supposedly has a reputation for being extremely durable. If I get a couple of good years out of this vehicle, I’ll be happy.

How are you going to afford this? A few years ago, I paid $4200 for an acre of land in the San Luis Valley, a few hours from Denver. I hoped to eventually put a little camper on it and make a very low-budget part-time home. But a few months after I bought the land, the county changed its rules to prohibit living in campers or mobile homes for more than a couple of weeks at a time. So the camper idea went out the window, and in June, I sold that land for $5000. This was my funding to buy the van and associated stuff. I’m going to try to keep the initial total cost of the van (vehicle, repairs, materials for the interior, solar installation) to about $6000.

I’m incredibly fortunate to be in a position where I don’t have to choose between my job and a weird nomadic lifestyle. About a year ago, I went full-time freelance as an editor and writer. So I’m self-employed and I work from home. I don’t even need the internet that much — aside from checking email, file downloads/uploads, and occasional googling for research and editing questions, I can be mostly offline. Also incredibly fortunate: the pandemic hasn’t affected my work, at least not so far.

I’ll have new and unexpected expenses: food will be more expensive, I’ll have to pay for campgrounds sometimes, the van will need gas and repairs and oil and new tires, and then I’ll want to make livability improvements (like insulation). But I hope that I’ll be able to cover all of that while still living within my means.

Aren’t you selling your condo? Why don’t you get a newer/lower mileage/already converted van? Yes, I am (fingers crossed that the sale goes through) selling my condo in Denver. But I also have no savings, no retirement fund, no emergency fund. And the recession is just getting started… the whole future seems pretty uncertain. I’d feel better if I kept as much of the condo money in the bank as possible, even if that means having a crappier van.

Don’t you worry about safety? Absolutely. I’m a worrying person. I worry a lot! But if I responded to those worries by not going anywhere alone, staying in only developed campgrounds, etc., then I’d have missed out on some of the best experiences in my life, and I’d never go much of anywhere at all.

To stay safe in a van, I’ll use the same approach I use for solo car camping. If a place feels sketchy, I go somewhere else. To avoid trouble from bears, I try not to get food on the ground, do food prep and brush teeth away from the vehicle, and keep the car doors locked when I’m away and at night. To avoid trouble from bros, I try to stay out of sight. I pick spots and set up my campsite so that people passing by mostly just see the vehicle and not me or my single chair or small tent. I have bear spray, which stays in arm’s reach when I’m out hiking and at night, and I have a sharp knife, which is always pretty accessible too.

In fact, safety is why I chose a van over a truck with a camper, which actually would have been preferable. If a truck ever had recurring or expensive mechanical problems, I could just get a new truck and put the camper on it — but with a van, I’ll either have to do the expensive repairs or get a new van and re-do the whole interior. And if I wanted to stay in one place for a while, I could take the camper off and just drive the truck around, saving on gas and wear and tear. But with a truck camper, if I were ever inside the camper and felt unsafe, I’d have to *go outside* and then get into the truck cab in order to leave. With a van, if things start feeling sketchy, I can just hop in the driver’s seat and go.

(Side note: It’s upsetting and frustrating to me that these safety concerns and choices are so linked to gender. Of course men also need to think about safety when they’re out camping alone, but I’m pretty sure I’ve had to think about it at least 200% as much as my equivalent 40-year-old non-threatening-looking out-of-shape single dude.)

If we’re talking about safety from non-sentient threats — bad weather, injuries, mechanical breakdowns, etc. — then I…

a) try not to get into situations that I can’t get out of — whether it’s a too-rugged road, a too-steep trail, or a spot that is likely to turn into a mud pit if it rains. I also think about whether I could walk to get help if I needed to. b) have some basic safety and first aid stuff. Tape, gauze, and a mylar blanket for me; jumper cables and a portable air compressor for the car. c) have a Triple A membership in case I need a tow.

The van came with a handy fire extinguisher strapped to the driver’s seat. To reduce the possibility of being unable to call for help if I get stuck somewhere, I eventually plan to get a cell phone signal booster.

The fire extinguisher or even my bear spray won’t keep me safe from COVID-19. But like I mentioned, I’m trying to stay as far away from crowds as possible. To cut down on contact when resupplying, I’ve got storage for 10 gallons of water (I’m actually going to expand this to 15) and plan to carry enough food for a month. Unless there’s a mechanical problem or breakdown (definitely my biggest concern), I should be able to drive coast to coast while remaining in a relatively firm bubble. The riskiest thing I’ll *have* to do is refuel at gas pumps, but I can pick gas stations that seem less crowded, refuel in smaller towns rather than busy highway rest areas, and go at quieter times of day.

Does your van have air conditioning? Nope! Well, it has the standard vehicle AC, but that only works while the van is running, and most of the time I’ll be parked. There are AC units that can go on top of campers and vans, but they use a ton of power: either you have to be plugged in to shore power at a campground, use a gas-powered generator, or have a million solar panels and batteries. I’m going to get a good roof vent and fan installed, plus maybe put some smaller battery-powered fans in the windows, so that will hopefully keep me from getting heatstroke in the summer.

Does it have running water? Nope! Right now, I have a portable foot-pump sink and a self-contained portable toilet. I plan to eventually build a nicer/bigger sink. I’m also going to order a collapsible tub so I can do sponge baths or use a solar shower (a black vinyl bag that heats up in the sun and has a hose attached). Swimming in freshwater lakes will need to become a bigger part of my life. I’ll probably be a little stinky at times, but people should be social distancing anyway, so if anyone can smell me, they’re way too close.

Does it have electricity? It will! I’m planning to have one large solar panel and a lithium battery installed. (For those who are curious, it’s a 315 watt solar panel with a 100 AH battery.) This will power the roof fan, my laptop, my phone, some plug-in lights, and eventually also built-in lights, the cell phone signal booster, and maybe a small fridge or cooler. The solar power system is going to outlast the van and will be easily switchable to my next vehicle.

Wait. “Maybe” a fridge? What are you going to eat? Ummm… I’ll figure it out? I eat like a scavenging raccoon, so I’m not too picky. I bought a bunch of freeze-dried legume-based soup and stew mixes from Harmony House, some high-protein shake mix from Huel, and I plan to stock rice, quinoa, peanut butter, oatmeal, hard cheese, packaged salmon and tuna, and dried fruit. If I’m driving, I’ll probably also keep an eye out for farm stands and grab some produce that will keep unrefrigerated for a few days. During the pandemic, I’ve been using support for local businesses as a way of justifying takeout or delivery once or twice a week, so I’ll probably keep doing that when I pass through developed areas.

Can you poop in your van? Does it smell? Yes to the first! I haven’t, um, tested it out yet. But after road trip in my sedan in May, when I had to go into a scary (no one wearing masks or social distancing) gas station in Colorado Springs, bathroom and hand-washing facilities for the van became a priority. Right now the portable toilet is just sort of hanging out in the open, but I’m going to build a plywood box to contain it. I did pee in it a bunch during my inaugural camping trip, and I’m happy to report that the chemicals I added to the tank made it not smell gross while also not producing an overwhelming chemical smell.

How will you get the internet? Unlimited data plan FTW! I recently figured out that I can use my phone as a mobile hotspot and connect to it with my laptop. It’s not fast, but it’ll do what I need it to. And I should be able to have connectivity even in more remote areas after I get a signal booster.

Won’t you get tired of living in a tiny space? Maybe. I do have some good practice, though. In the last decade, I’ve gone from living in a 700-square-foot condo (Denver) to a 400-ish-square-foot studio apartment (New Jersey; grad school) to my childhood room in my parents’ house (Maryland; post-grad-school student loan debt). Each time, I’ve gotten rid of stuff, even things it’s painful to get rid of: old books, childhood knickknacks, cassette tapes, drawings, horse show ribbons I remember winning, cutlery and glassware I got as housewarming gifts.

I also tend to feel really at home in my car. I’ve napped in my car, drafted novels in my car, had long and meaningful conversations in my car, had existential crises in my car, eaten hundreds of meals in my car. Car = house makes sense to me. And I hope to be staying in places where I have access to big and engaging outdoor spaces.

What will you do after you live in a van for a while? I have no idea. There are definitely things that I want to do — write fiction, build my career, be more involved with community/communities, get healthier, be a better human — but all of those things are geographically nonspecific. And everything both personally and nationally feels so up in the air. I could end up living in a van for a year, or five, or ten. I might eventually buy a house or a boat or a farm, or settle down somewhere (I don’t know where) in a more permanent way. But I’m not making plans for any of that, and I’m not making plans for an “after.”

I think that’s it for the FAQ! If you have any questions, let me know and I will address them in a later LFAQ (Less Frequently Asked Questions).

Also, please bear with me because I don’t really know how Tumblr works. If you want to start reading, start FROM THE BOTTOM.

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incarnateirony · 5 years

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So anyway, life updates on what I’ve talked about good, bad, and vagueblog.

But I introduce you to Betty White, or the Millennium Falcon, name pending.

Most of yall know that I’m on disability, dealing with some massively janky medical issues that Alabama’s bottom-ranked health care system doesn’t even know how to cover, and my wifey blew a disc in her neck at work, essentially debilitating her, too, but also earning a small settlement. In scale of it, 25K -- 21 after lawyer fees -- isn’t really much to do anything with.

So we had already known we had to fix up and sell the house and thought, hey, the land value went up substantially out here, we can pocket and flip it and be hella good.

Until her father finally came out here and in long story short, found out that the inspector that ran through this house when my wife first bought it (during our breakup period YEARS ago) didn’t do his job and it’d be 20-30K worth of repairs to even sell this place at the value her loan is for, meaning we pretty much have to short sell it to get out from under it. I mean bad shit. Fire hazard wiring and rotting roof and siding element under shiny things that hid it that have clearly been deteriorating since long before the house got a lipstick job.

So we went and found an RV, because it’s time to go. We have to GO. We have to get out of this state. There’s nothing for us here. There’s no medical care, there’s no worker protections, being LGBT women we’re extra up a creek in the area, it’s just bad. So RV it was! But finding one in the now suddenly cramped budget with the house turning up bunk entirely was FUN.

But like a stroke of providence I happened to find a listing the day it was upgraded on what has been jokingly referred to by my friends as the Millennium Falcon of RVs.

It came from an older couple, almost 60, that had been RVing for a few years, and the thing was already used when they bought it. It’s a friggin 1994. It’s old, it’s Chonk. But it was a project RV they decided to start on and while it has a solid AF 454 engine in it,

they’ve over a few years put in just about New Everything. New transmission, new air brakes, new air bags, new radiator, new septic lines, new alternator, new battery, new steering and suspension, new new new new new. Modified backup camera that tracks engine temp/tire pressure/etc like modern dashes and stays on constantly instead of just when backing up. It has its little hijinks with the in-n-out stairs being funky and the generator is a funny little bit because they didn’t want to spend 8K+ on a generator for an old RV so they got one that’s an external mount, which I imagine is why it was having a hard time selling.

Atop that inside the wife went bananas and got rid of the shitty old wallpaper and painted it bright colors different on every wall, removed the space consuming fold out couch since they didn’t need an extra bed and installed an armoire-storage-couch-thing that takes up half the outter floor space, stuff like that.

This was their baby and they intended to keep this baby and did great work on this baby, and the second I saw it in the advert, I knew it, because the images weren’t all spit cleaned sales stuff, it was vacation images with their shit still hanging inside it and their party lawn with their sports teams and stuff and the shiny lights they added on it to make it a party bus like

So anyway it turned out they basically got conned into getting a newer shinier one and just wanted to get the fuck OUT of Alabama but because of the generator and age it wasn’t selling at market value which was about 15K even as old as it is, and had price gouged it down to *8500*

Thought it was too good to be true, got our old construction and mechanic friend go out out there and go over it with a fine toothed comb and this thing, as he put it “goddamn if I had the money, I’d buy it myself, what the hell, you ain’t gonna get anything better for that price, hell, you ain’t gonna get anything as good for the price” THEY JUST WANTED TO GET OUT OF ALABAMA. And I mean, MOOD, BIG MOOD.

In fact the money they were asking for was basically to pay off loans and costs on all the New Stuff they put into it to begin with.

Because of them basically gouging their asking price in half an old lady had come to see it same day and at first the husband was like WHOEVER GETS US THE MONEY FIRST but talking to us the wife was like HELL NO THAT OLD LADY COULD BARELY GET IN THE THING SHES JUST GONNA DRIVE IT DOWN TO FLORIDA AND LET IT ROT THIS IS OUR BABY THESE GIRLS NEED TO TAKE CARE OF IT AND THEY WILL and she ran interference through the weekend until our mechanic friend could go check it out.

You might ask “if you have a buttload of money why an RV” but in trying to get out of Alabama and all the way back to Oregon where I literally KNOW I can make it work out in life for us, for reasons that are a whole story unto themselves, the moving costs cross country alone for a uhaul would be expensive AF. Downpayments. Finding pet friendly apartments. And then whether it was portland or somewhere else we could get STUCK. And we’re tired of getting stuck. So we’re packing up our own FUCKING house that we FUCKING own outright that fucking NOBODY can take away from us and with NO payment obligations and FUCK THE SYSTEM.

So anyway this big fuckin honker the wife was like WHY ARE YOU SO COMFORTABLE DRIVING THIS to Shea, but Shea worked for both Uhaul and Hertz so like hauling bigassed trucks around was kinda her thing and she also worked horses so giant ass horse trailers, you name it. So she just got up in there like she belonged and next thing you know we’re doing 65 down the bendy ass mountain freeways of central alabama like we been doing it for years

PS when you are in a literal fucking house 65 feels like 90, I’m just letting you know that now.

We’re still at our house cuz we gotta get this properly under our own tag/insurance and get a tow for the car. It was funny though cuz experienced or not knowing it was OUR LITERAL HOUSE Shea started like GOTTA BE CAREFUL GOTTA BE CAUTIOUS GOTTA MAKE SURE NOBODY DUMB and it turned into GET OUT THE WAY FUCKERS I’LL WIN within the 120 mile haul back home. Like BITCH I’LL TAKE MY FOOT OFF THE GAS BUT I AINT GONNA TRY TO JACK RABBIT STOP THIS FUCKER SO YOU BETTER GET SOME GIDDYUP IF YOU GONNA MERGE YOU FRIGGIN HONDA

This beast only has 65K miles on it. And that sounds like a lot but for an RV that isnt S H I T. People are like, if you can find a used one under 100K you’re doing okay. Half of those miles are just taking it out for a jog because you’re supposed to drive it once every couple weeks to keep it from rusting out basically. They just safely drove it in like a tristateish area down here for a few years as you can see on the cabinet stickers and moved around to sports games and shit and had fun.

The bedroom is purple. The kitchen is blue and yellow. KJSDKJFSjk she was like “Fuck the 1990 floral wallpaper we updating, there’s extra paint in one of the storage bins if you wanna touch any of it up”

So that’s it. We’re gonna do some work with said mechanic friend on the AC and a few tweaky details and as said, gotta tag/insurance/tow but once we get that worked out, that’s it, that’s home starting in a few weeks.

We’re heading to Independence, Missouri first to touch base with my internet momma then swinging in Salt Lake City to meet old media friends like the folks at Arrowstorm and stopping to enjoy their stuff at Evermore Park before hitting Portland which, reasonably, I’ll guestimate we’ll be at like a week or two before Halloween but maybe we’ll make better time. If you’re en route to those destinations and wanna meet up, lemme know, we’re still gonna have fun on the way and try to record shit.

Portland is the city I know how to work to and from the bone. I can turn any quarter into at least a dollar there, quite literally; I know how to eat eight times a day for free if need be. I reasonably think we can stay WELLLLLLLL above the line of needing that kind of assistance but because Shea is very anxiety driven to know we outright have a promised home and have promised food if worst case scenarios happen really made her go, you know what, fuck it, sure, Portland, you loved Portland, the wages are good in Portland, let’s do Portland.

If we start with dry camping at locations with free plug ups even still paying for Shea’s car and insurance, once major gas costs GETTING there are done, we’ll be running about 500 a month, and again, that’s including insurance for both vehicles and paying off her car note. Depending on the lot we land at, 700-900 a month. I can float that on my casual residual income. Everything after that is profit. Everything after that is success. I refuse to let Shea be anything less than Okay, but most of all, weird and nonconformative as it is, everything after this is scales of success. Hell minus the car note we’d be under 600/mo on the pricy end. We got dis.

No more of my wife being convinced she needs to performatively pull loans on her livelihood and shelter for the illusion of a 3/2 middle class life with a picket fence and a job she hates in a place she hates that she doesn’t know how to get away from. Hell, if she ends up hating Oregon? WE CAN PICK UP OUR HOUSE AND MOVE.

QUEER CULTURE IS HAVING THE MILLENNIUM FALCON OF RVS RAINBOW PAINTED INTERNALLY TO HAUL ASS TO PORTLAND OREGON AND AINT SHIT YOU CAN DO TO STOP US, FUCKERS.

It’s literally parked in our yard right now awaiting our voyage.

You bet your ass we’re getting an aux cord and blaring classic rock on surround sound the whole goddamn way

Also gonna get a CB radio to roll with some of the better trucker herds out there. Trust me, solid investment for a multitude of reasons. And entertaining.

If you don’t know what Smokie In The Woods is on a CB radio, you don’t know the road.

It also comes with a lot of gadgets you usually have to buy, like converters for USB chargers in older vehicles and the cable antenna and an extra tent and hell they left two bikes on it like YALL WANT EM YOU CAN HAVE EM, SURE

So buying the RV, paying the friend for the loss of a work day, the necessary gas to get out there, and the tow all in all is gonna run us about 12,000 bucks total, which isn’t a bad deal for bringing your own house with you.

We already burned a few thousand of our settlement trying to fix this house before the bad news and/or upkeeping bills but now it’s time to burn it and walk. By the time we roll I’m expecting us to have about 4K over costs in the bank, which is... enough. It’s more of a nest egg than we’d have if we stayed here that’s for sure, covers emergencies on the way there and gives us a few months to get our shit together. Even the part-iest part time job out in Portland will float any overhead on bills much less if shea can fall in with all the media and digital work out there with her graphic design and art, we’re eyeing the portland saturday market to sell her stuff at in season too. SCREW THE SYSTEM YALL

#not spn #me #the road so far

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aaronlandon1 · 4 years

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Panic on Melody Lane There wasn’t a lot of room in our car. My roommate, Eric, and I packed the vehicle to its maximum capacity. A tent, a cooler, duffle bags, sleeping bags, and a black stash box in a sedan of which we still had to fit one more person and his belongings. I left the apartment and drove to pick up our friend, Jerry, who was an athletic son-of-a-bitch with long hair and piercing blue eyes. He never seemed to break contact with you. We pulled into the parking lot of his dorm-room at the university down the street from our apartment. Jerry walked out carrying a dirty mattress topper which we shoved into the back of the car. “Out of the front seat. I call shotgun,” Jerry said as he opened the door and pulled Eric out of the front seat leaving him fumbling on the ground. Eric struggled to shove his giant gut in between all the boxes, and the cooler, and the tents in the backseat. “Let’s get going,” I said. I was in a rush. “What’s the hurry?” asked Jerry. “We got all weekend.” “I just want to get there.” We picked up the final tent and stuffed it into the back of the car which packed to the brim of its roof. “We can’t drive like this guys.” “Why? What’s the problem,” asked Jerry. “I can’t even see out the back window.” “Who gives a shit!? Let’s just get going!” “Look, I ain’t about to drive four hours with this shit blocking my rear view.” Now Jerry’s smile turned sour. One could never know what to expect with Jerry. J a little crazy. He rarely blinked and rarely ate. He must have weighed 145 pounds, had crooked teeth, and long dirty blonde hair. We’d been in the car all of 30 minutes, and you could already see his leg was starting to twitch and move up-n-down rapidly. “Fine, we’ll have to drop some stuff off at sam’s,” he said. “I bet they'll have room.” We drove to Sam’s. He lived in a house not too far from the university. It had a lawn and a white picket fence and looked like it was transported from a 1950s TV show. Leave it to that beaver, Sam, to find a quaint little spot amid a loud and obnoxious town. I knocked on the door. Jerry brought a cooler, duffle bags, and a mattress topper to the stoop. “Uhh. Hello. Can I help you,” said a voice behind the metal security door. An old man answered. He wore fuzzy pink slippers with bunns, a checkered collared shirt tucked into jean shorts, and a raggedy baseball cap. He was accompanied by another older gentleman. “Who are you,” asked Jerry, who pulled open the door and dropped everything in the middle of their floor. “Look you better get out of here,” said the man in the slippers. “Yeah,” said the other man. He was smaller, and bald. “You guys aren’t gonna be having one of your wild little parties like last weekend. I don’t know who threw up in my closet, but I mean, come on guys. Get some sense, that type of drinking will kill―” “Look, I’m sorry about what happened here a week ago,” Jerry said. “The mess, the noise, the puddles of beer on the living room floor; it’s not gonna happen again I promise. We just need to leave a few things here for Sam to take with him when he meets us out there. We’re going camping this weekend and we can’t fit everything in our car, it would mean the world to us if you could help us out.” By then Sam had sauntered into the living room walking toe-heel instead of heel-toe. His hair was bedraggled. He must have come from a bender of online poker, facebook, and smash bros. “Hi, how are you gents doing,” Sam asked. He was smiling, but his face was blank. He had a strong jaw which jutted out, and a symmetrical face. He could have been an Abercrombie model if his life hadn’t spiraled out of control after the excessive use of Nintendo and marijuana. Often, concurrently. We all stared at Sam and there was a moment of silence. He stood up straight. This man always retained good posture. “What seems to be the issue,” he asked. “Well your buddy seems to—” “Wait, wait, wait wait wait.” Jerry interrupted the old man “There’s no problem here at all Sam. We just wanna leave some stuff here for you to take with you on the way up to the desert.” “That may work,” Sam said. “Provided, we have enough room.” “You’re only riding with Tom,” said Jerry. “You’ll have enough room.” Jerry took the cooler and shoved it against Sam’s torso, pushing him back. “Y-you guys should probably leave now. “I’ll see you guys up there. He led us out of the metal security door onto the front lawn. “Sorry to kick you out, but my landlord’s here and I don’t think he really appreciates you coming by.” “But isn’t he always here,” I asked. “Doesn't the guy live in the house?” “No he lives with his friend in the silver trailer in the backyard.” We looked back at his landlord who was now staring at us through the blinds of the window. “There’s a trailer in the back?” asked Jerry. “Yes! You don’t remember running in there intoxicated last Saturday night, screaming ‘Gahahahaha What’re y'all hiding in here for?’ do you?” “Uh, no. I don’t.” Jerry took a long swig from his water bottle. “Well, anyway,” said Sam. “I’m pretty sure the guy in the slippers is my landlord’s boyfriend―” Jerry spit out the water from his mouth. “They live there all alone in that little trailer,” said Sam. “Hahahaha, Now why would he stay back there when he owns the place?” “I don’t know man, but they are definitely a thing, if you know what I mean.” “Oh my god, I could just picture it… ” The landlord with the fuzzy pink slippers climbing up the schlong of Mt. Baldy. It was a match made in heaven. His landlord came to the doorway. “Hey Sam, are you going to move your car,” he asked. I looked over and his Nissan Altima was blocking his landlord’s blue Fiat. Sam looked at the small man dead in the face. His eyes told the landlord there was no way in hell that he would move that car. With a breath, Sam calmly said, “Alright. Just, allow me to have lunch first, is that okay?” His landlord said nothing and retreated back inside the house, a defeated man. “Hahahah, Oh my god, what was that Sam?” We laughed, got back inside the car, and drove off down the street playing music. “Did we just see what I think we saw,” asked Eric. “I don’t know, what did we see?” “Bro, Sam just big-dicked his landlord.” “You can see why he likes living there, they're the only ones who’d ever let Sam jerk them around like that,” I said. “Yeah,” Jerry said in agreement. “You can really see who wears the pants in that house.” “Agreed,” said Eric. We continued driving along the city-road and then pulled into a gas station to refuel. I sat in the car and watched Eric come out of the convenience store with a brown hot dog, a bag of pork-rinds, and a giant big-gulp of root beer. “Jesus, my guy, you stocking up for the winter, or what?” “No, I just like food,” said Jerry as he shoved the dog in his mouth. In a muffled tone, with a full mouth, he said, “Besides, It’s a long drive.” “How long,” asked Jerry. “About four hours,” I said. “Ahhh shit. This sucks!” Twentynine Palms was on the other side of the state, and with the amount of traffic we faced, the drive became even longer. We drove through one small town after another, inching along the freeway. We passed mountains in the distance. On the left-hand side of the road was an Indian reservation. Several Mexican restaurants and a booze run later, we came across thousands of windmills on the right side of the road. Then it was just a short ride to the city of Twentynine Palms. And they weren’t lying. There really were an abundance of palm trees that lined the main street of this desert-hipster dump. Liquor stores, palm trees, air-b-and b’s, and restaurants seemed to make up the majority of the town. The main street seemed to have undergone serious gentrification. We continued down the road as it began to narrow out. One home had an array of lawn gnomes and odds and ends in the front yard. Pink flamingos and animal sculptures were spread out on the lawn. There was a sculpture of a dog holding up a pizza, and a Tyrannosaurus Rex head mounted in the center of a mansard roof. Another house had lights strung across its yard, surrounded by a fence entirely covered in bottle caps. Another house had pieces of glass and transparent stones with blue tints deep-seated in the smooth green stucco. A minaret sprouted up from the roof like Taj Mahal. We made a sharp left turn onto an even narrower dirt road. We were close. We passed by multiple cars ditched on the side of the dirt road. Some had been stripped for parts. One had a missing bumper and the grill was exposed. Another had busted out windows. And one was missing its hood, doors, and had only one wheel left on its well. They all had one thing in common; no one was in them. It was now dark. We made a right turn into a plot of land. “This is where the directions lead us.” “Let me see that,” I said. I grabbed the iphone out of Jerry’s hands and tried to make out where we were on the map. I couldn’t. We were lost. “Fuck Apple Maps.” Suddenly a light appeared in the distance. We drove toward it. Then there was another light. And another. Three beams of light flashed us, waving back-n-forth from left to right. “Follow it! Follow it,” said Jerry. Driving through the dark, all I could see were the lights.Everything was pitch-black. We drove over some bushes and tumbleweed before we reached the lights. Then they went dim all of a sudden. A horn sounded at us, as we all jumped up in our seats. We heard laughter as the brights of a pickup truck flashed at us. “See, I knew it was them,” said Jerry. “We’re here.” We got out of the car to greet the boys: Tom and Sam. They seemed to have arrived before us. Too many stops. We built a fire together, pitched a couple tents, cooked some hotdogs, and told stories around the circle of the firepit of the rustic desert getaway. It was the kind of place desert locals steer clear from, but the type of place to be praised by privileged hipsters from the city for its novelty and character. “Can you believe they rent this place out? It’s a dump.” I said. “Yeah,” said Sam. “But it’s got character.” Tin bells hung from the framing of the window frame, which overlooked a vast mountain range. There was no ceiling, exposing the entire night sky. I’d never seen so many stars before. We drank beer, red wine, and vodka before passing out underneath the stars. Around 10 a.m. we all woke up. Sam and Jerry cooked the leftover hot-dogs for breakfast. I ate nothing. “I looked off in the direction of old structures in the distance. I think I’m gonna take a little walk,” I said. “I’ll go with you,” said Tom. “Me too.” Tom, Eric, and I left, as Jerry and Sam stayed behind. We walked in the opposite direction of the mountains toward the only man-made structures in sight, until we came across an abandoned home. Its windows had been broken, and a decaying wall contained a mural with a pair of blue eyes, and white circles in the middle of the pupils. The white circles gave the eyes a twinkling effect, meant to look like light glistening off of the retina. There were also yellow polka dots painted around the perimeter of the eyes, like a mask. “I wonder what happened here,” I said. I looked on the ground and picked up a purple shotgun shell and put it in my pocket. “Look at this. A little souvenir,” I said. We climbed in through the window. The house was empty and filthy. Floor boards were missing, and the ones that remained had faded in color. There was a toilet which wouldn’t flush. God only knew how long the excrement had been sitting in the bowl. There was a giant doggie bed that looked like it was made for an animal the size of a bear, and in the middle of the main-room was a wooden table. SItting on it was a fork, a knife with a serrated edge, a plate, and a bib that had ‘Get ready for spaghetti,’ printed on the front. On the stovetop, was a large silver cooking pot for stew. There was also a 1950s fridge. We opened it up and found a leather shoe that was falling apart, and an old tire iron with what looked like the remains of blood on the tip. There was one more room that we couldn’t access. We tried kicking the door down. We took turns ramming it with our shoulders. We even picked up the bed frame, flipped it on its side, lifted it, and tried using it as a battery ram― still, nothing― the door wouldn’t budge. “Guys, this ain’t working,” said Tom. “Let’s just get out of here,” said Eric. We must have been a few miles from the campsite. We knew we had to go in the direction of the mountains. Along the way, we tried to look for any recognizable landmarks, but weren’t seeing any, and the fact that we drove there in the dark didn’t help us familiarize ourselves with the landscape whatsoever. “This place is totally deserted.” I said. “Crazy. Whose idea was it to come here anyway?” “Oh,” Tom said. “It was Jerry’s.” “Jerry’s?” “Yeah. He said he’s been coming here since he was a kid.” We passed a few more gutted homes and trailers and came across a large plot of land with an old metal mailbox that had the name Jenkins painted in white letters on its left side. It was the only place we had seen within a few mile radius that looked inhabited. I hopped over the fence. “C’mon guys what’re you waiting for?” They both stood there dumbfounded. “C’mon!” “Jack,” said Eric. “This is crazy. We can’t just waltz through this guy’s land, he could be a fuckin serial killer for all we know.” “I don’t like this one bit,” said Tom. “Me neither.” “Guys. We need directions back to camp. We don’t know the area, this guy might just be our only hope. Trust me.” “You know what,” Tom said. “Jack is right. We could be wandering out here for hours. We have no water and no directions. I say we go and at least see if the man is home. Who’s with me?” Tom hopped over the fence and stood by my side. “But guys,” Eric said. “The signs on the fence clearly say ‘No trespassing and no soliciting: violators may be shot.” “Ahhhh,” I said. “Keyword: ‘maybe.’ That doesn't mean he will definitely shoot us. Just cause he’s got that sign doesn't make him a man of malice intent, he could just be exercising his constitutional right to keep his land— maybe his family, his livestock even― safe. But how are kids like us in any threat to those things?” “He’s got a point,” said Tom. “Oh really, Tom? He’s got a point? Okay, fine, if you wanna call methamphetamine livestock.” Eric took a few more steps back.” “You know what,” I said. “Suit yourself. But I’m going over there to figure out where the hell we are.” “I’m going too,” said Tom. ` We headed toward the front porch of the house. Eric waited for a minute, heard the shaking of a rattlesnake tail in the brush, and screamed. “Hold on, fellas. Wait for me,” he cried. He tried to hop over the fence, but the leg to his pants hooked the fence post. He fell forward over the fence and landed on the ground. Tom and I turned around to look at him. “I’m okay,” he said. He gave us a thumbs up and we continued walking toward the porch. Michael rolled over, got up, and followed behind us. As we walked to the porch down the dirt driveway, the path narrowed out as I focused on the front door. The house was old and unkempt. The white paint on the wooden planks was peeling off. The hip-roof was dried out from the sun and missing a few shingles. A couple of windows were boarded up and there was an American flag flowing in the wind, held up by a pole on the right side of the yard. Along the driveway, were tires and bales of hay. In the distance to the right, you could see a field of wheat. On the other side of the yard was an old blue pickup truck from the 1970s with one red door. Strolling up the driveway, a figure seemed to appear out of nowhere. He stood on the porch. It wrapped around the entire house, and there were bells that chimed in the wind, hanging from the framing. The man watched us. He was a skinny man, had dirty-blonde hair, and a long and scruffy goatee. He wore a straw hat and his hair was shoulder length. He had blue overalls on, but was shirtless underneath, and he was chewing on a blade of wheat which stuck out of his mouth. He was barefoot and had long yellow toenails. He spoke out. “Whut is yo’ kids doin’ wan’erin’ about these parts hyar?” “Sir, we were lost and need directions,” I said. “Can you point us to Melody Lane?” “Wal, sho'nuff ah can he'p yo' fellas out. Yo' look tired. Yo' need ennythin', a jack, a Coky Cola, mebbe a rin' aroun' th' old rosie wif ol’ rosie back thar? The man spoke out with the blade of wheat still dangling out of the side of his mouth. He pointed to the shed on the side of the yard. It looked like an outhouse with a moon-shaped opening on the top of the front door. Chains were wrapped around the shed, keeping the door locked. “Uhhm, you know what,” I looked around and said. “I think we’re good on the old ring. Maybe we’ll just retrace our steps. Sorry to bother you. We’ll be going now.” “Come on let’s get out of here,” said Eric under his breath. We all began to step back, when the old man said: “Wait now, yo' come onto mah propuhty. Then yo' disrespeck me by turnin' yer backs on an old man!? O' ah knows whar Melody Lane is an' ah can hell all yo' fellers out.” I stopped walking, took a breath, turned around, and listened. "Fust yo' hoof it straight on down thet road thar, yo' make a lef' at th' old hangin' tree, then yo' foller down thet road thar about ha'f a mile until yo' see th' old ram skull layin' about. Make t'other lef' an' about an'other mile down yo'll see a sign post thet reads ol’ Melody Lane.” “Wow, thanks mister,” Eric said. “Yeah, thank yo' mister,” said Tom sarcastically.. “Wal shoot, yer sho'nuff welcome! Yo' kids take care now. Goo'bye.” “Let’s go guys,” I said. “Wait,” said Eric. “I have some questions for the guy.” “So,” he said. “What can you tell me about the history of this place?” “Eric, it’s time to go.” “Now hold on, I’m curious.” I rolled my eyes at the sonofabitch. “Continue,” he said. “Wal, thar's not much t'know. Th' place was foun'ed in 1927 when ol’ colonel Henry Warshin'ton was surveyin' th' San Bernadino Baseline, he was. Cor'din' t'lejun, th' origeenal oasis down hyar corntained 29 palm trees planted by th' Serrano varmints fum native Mor'ongo an' Yuhaviatam, dawgone it. Thar's an ol’ lake down at th' basin of th' mountains on over yan'er, but thet done dry up a long time ago. Since then, they fimed th' technicolo' movie, Tell Them Willie Fella is Hyar, aroun' these parts, an' even Robert Billy Bob Plant, fo'mer singer of a li'l ban' called Led Zeppelin, had a hit sin'le called 29 Palms, fum his solo album, Fate of Nashuns, back in nineteen hundred an' ninety three! Yup, this ol’ town hyar has got a lot of histo'y, it sho'nuff does!” “Wow,” I said. “Thanks for the history lesson. Now I think it’s time we―” “In fact,” interrupted the onld man. “I can recall on noomrous occasshuns city fellers a-comin' hyar reckonin' they own th' place, but yo' seem like nice a’yo’ng boy. Now whut in god's name is yo' doin' in place like this ol’ town hyar'?” “We’re camping,” Michael Said. “Campin'?” “Ahh-yep,” I said in a sneering voice. “Down on ol’ Melody Lane, yer campin’?” “Yup.” “Oh Wow. Yo' kids bess be careful now, yep. They say thar's a kinnibal wif a pet mountain lion named roamin aroun' down thar. “What?” I said. “That’s crazy talk.” “Yep,” he said. “The th' ol’ mountain lion's name is Timothy.” “Timothy?” “Yep! Ol’ Timmy-Boy is a real stellar hunter when it comes t'yo'ng fellas sech as yournelves. In fack, ah w'dn't be surprised eff'n he's watchin' yo' all fum a distance right now as we speak.” We all stared at the old man, dumbfounded. He smiled at us revealing his rotten teeth. He hacked up a ball of phlegm and spit at one of the bells hanging on his porch. The bell chimed from the impact of the glob of spit. “On that note,” I said. “I think we’re gonna get going. Thanks for the directions, and you have yourself a fine day, Mister.” I waved to him, turned around, and started walking to the front gate. He proceeded to warn us as we were walking back. “No problem at all. Yo' fellas stay safe out thar, an' remember, eff'n yo' hear ol’ Timothy callin', bess be on yer toes, b’cuz his old master might not be too far, an' eff'n he git yo', well, yo' might as fine beg th' old lo'd t'take yer life right then an' thar, on account o' when he takes yo' back, an' yo' see them blue eyes he got up thar, yer gonna knows thet life’s was a precious gift t'be treasured, in all t' tarnation.” He raised his voice. “Like hay! Fry mah hide! Now make it while th' sun still a’shine! Fry mah hide!” I turned around and looked at the old man one last time as he let out a diabolical laugh, turning into an intense series of coughs. I turned back around at my friends, who both gave me nervous looks. “Ah, nice boys,” I heard him say under his breath. We left the house and never looked back. “Crazy old hermit.” I mocked him, “Ju guys hear thar's a kinnibal on over yan'er?” Pshhhh, give me break.” Eric looked at me, concerned. “You guys don’t think there’s actually a―” “What,” I said. “A cannibal? With a pet mountain lion?” He looked back at me anxiously. “No,” I said. “It’s a silly story the guy’s just using to scare us. He probably just doesn’t like us, coming from the city, and disrupting his isolated little world. But you know what? We have just as much of a right to be here as he does. Now c’mon. Let's get back to camp.” We exited the campsite. I looked back at the old gutted house and could still make out the pair of painted blue eyes from afar. We took the hermit’s directions. We made a left at the old hanging tree and followed the road until we saw the ramskull lying on the corner of the intersection of two dirt roads. I looked back at the wall and saw someone walking from up the road ahead. It was the first person we’d seen walking out there. He walked off in the other direction. We made another left and continued along the road until we saw the signpost that read Melody Ln. “I see it,” said Michael. “I see it.” Smoke was rising from the boys’ barbeque and we could see our camp in the distance. We walked toward it. “Where did you guys run off to,” asked Jerry. “Oh. Nowhere special,” I said. Jerry shrugged and sat down by the fire pit. He went to the car, and dug through the trunk. He pulled out the black brief-case and took it over to the homespun shack. “Guys, check this out.” He entered the briefcase’s combination and put on a pair of rubber gloves as everyone gathered around. Sam turned on a song I’d heared on the radio. “Overthinking’s got me drinking. Messin’ with my heaeaeaead. Tell me what you hate about me. Whatever it is I’m sorry. Yeah ayeee, yeah, ayee yeaaahh. Yeah ayeee, yeah, ayeee yeahhhh. “I’m coming to terms with a broken heart, I guess that sometimes good things fall apart.” I hated the verses but (in the moment) the chorus gave me goosebumps as I sat and listened to the music. I saw the mountains in the distance, and with the sun shining on our campsite, I thought the world is beautiful. “Guys, do you see this,” I asked. “What man? What is it,” asked Jerry. “This. All of this. Do you see?” “It’s a great spot.” said Eric. “It's amazing.” We stared off into the distance. There wasn’t a road in sight. There were no cars, or buildings, and aside from a few old farmhouses and trailers, there weren’t any people. The only thing in front of us was a vast mountain range overlooking a dried up lake. From where I was standing, it was hard to tell how far the mountains actually were. “I think I’m gonna go out there,” I said. Sam looked at me in disbelief. “Out there?” he said. “Yeah. I’m going out there.” I walked toward the mountains. They looked to be a least a few miles off. I stared back atTom, Eric, Sam, and Jerry. “Come on guys,” I called out. “Let's explore.” “You know,” Sam said. “There isn’t anything out there besides barren land and desert trash. Now, if you wanna make the best of this experience, sit down, and just listen to the music. It’s hot out and if you go out there alone, you’re just going to get severely dehydrated.” I kept walking. I wanted to make it to the mountains and I was also wondering who was willing to follow. I saw some power lines in the distance. If I could make it to the power lines, I’d have a clearer sense of how far away the mountains were. I walked through the basin. There were some plants scattered around, but it was mostly just rocks and dirt. I stepped in a tiny mound with black ants crawling about. It was an anthill. My body tensed up as I scurried away, shaking my foot around. It was another twenty minutes or so before I reached the power lines. I thought once I had reached them, I’d have a better sense of the distance to the mountains. But it looked like the mountains were about twenty times the distance I had just traversed. Suddenly I felt a breeze and heard footsteps from behind me. Someone grabbed me by the shoulder. I turned around and it was Eric. “Eric.” I shook my head. “ It’s not smart to sneak up on somebody, especially when there's no one else around.” “Bro,” he said. “This place is beautiful.” “Yeah it is.” I looked out at the mountain. “I can’t tell how far those mountains are. I thought once I got to these power lines they wouldn’t feel so far, but now they seem even further.” “Some kind of optical illusion,” he said. “You know, I run track laps at school and here I am trying to quantify the distance between me and these mountains― wondering how many track laps it would take to reach those mountains, but out here in the wild,” I said. “There are no measurements, no track laps, and all these numbers…”, we shared a look and both started laughing. “They don’t mean shit,” he said. “Exactly,” I said. “It doesn't matter out here. It’s just endless land.” “Do you see how the mountain’s are at different distances? It looks like they’re stacked on top of each other.” “I feel like Mosses, wandering around this desert.” “What are you on about?” “You know all these biblical guys who wandered around the desert who say they spoke to god?” “Yeah,” I said. “What about them?” “Do you ever wonder if maybe all they did was exactly what we’re doing right now? You always hear stories of the burning bush and, well, who knows? Maybe Moses just took a whiff of something he shouldn’t have, and had a vision.” “Could be true,” he said. “I know I’m definitely feeling some type of way right now. Out here, looking at all of this, I could see how someone could feel connected to a higher power.” He had black sunglasses covering his eyes, and a smile was brewing on his face. “You know you don’t have to follow me out here,” I said. “In fact, you probably shouldn’t. I’m a fool. I'm the type to wander alone out here and get lost.” “It’s okay fam, I wanna be out here the same as you.” He took a deep breath of air and let it out. He walked ahead of me looking as though he were ready to conquer the mountains ahead. After a few more steps he collapsed to the ground and vomited. Then he sat on the ground and looked up at the sky. He kept vomiting as I patted him on the back. He then made his way into a meditative position as the wind passed through his body. You gonna be okay?” I asked him. “Oh, I’m fine,” he said. “You go on.” “I won’t go far,” I said. I walked out into the basin. The landscape shifted purely to desert. There were no plants or animals. There weren’t even any bugs on the ground. Just reddish soil and rocks. It looked like Mars. I came across an old rusted out Volkswagen Bug. There were bullet holes on the driver’s-side door, but there were no remains of a body to be seen. I figured the scene had to have been from a while ago, so I kept walking. I found an old refrigerator with more bullet holes, except these bullet holes were tiny and clumped together in concentrated areas. I looked around the refrigerator and found a purple shotgun shell. My heart skipped a beat and I dug through my pocket. I pulled out the other purple shell I had found, and held the identical shells side-by-side up to the light. They were exactly the same. There was a lump in my throat. I took a deep breath, counted to three, and opened the door. A skeleton plopped onto the ground in front of me. The arms and legs had been removed and the breastplate on the upper left quadrant of the torso had been broken. Someone had gone for its heart. On the inside of the refrigerator door ―just where the shells had hit― was a painting of two eyes; the same two eyes as the wall of the empty house. I slammed the refrigerator door, and saw a figure in the distance coming towards me. I was able to make out its silhouette. It was a brooding man with long hair and he held an iron in his right hand. I sprinted to the mountains as fast as I could, but felt a hand on my left shoulder pulling my body back around. I couldn’t fight it. Then I heard his voice. “Hey Jack, what’s the problem?” I rubbed my eyes and blinked a few times. “Jerry?” I said. “Why do you have a tire iron?” “Protection,” he said. “You never know what you’ll run into out here.” “You sure don’t.” He laughed, relieved that he had found me. “You've been out here a while, man, I was worried. C’mon I’ll take you back to camp.” He gave me a pat on the back and we headed off together. The sun beginning to set.

#my writing #short story #modernfiction #fiction #fuckcorona2020

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theotter99 · 5 years

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Uncovering Fables

Prologue: Part 1

The sun slowly settled over the horizon, bring forth a mixture of oranges, yellows, and reds across the sky. The clouds, that my son described as large puffy marshmallows caught these colors and were now a soft pink. Looking in the distance, you could see on for miles into the beautiful scene. It should have been peaceful.

Yet, my hands were shaken and sweat poured onto the steering wheel. I felt my stomach twist with the movements of the car and it only made me feel worse. I didn’t know why, but something felt wrong. No, not wrong. Terrible.

Nothing should had made me feel this way. That was a lie. I had four hours of sleep, a terrible day at work, and a spoiled lunch. That must have been why I felt off. Yet, somehow that explanation didn’t ease my feelings. Nothing felt right.

“Dad!” Suddenly Connell, my son’s, voice echoed through the vehicle and I jumped.

I shook my head, trying to calm down. Get a hold of yourself. I’ve been a nervous wreck for what felt like forever now. Everything made me uneasy. Even the smallest of spiders, or quietest of noise would make my heart skip a beat. I hated this, and I knew it was stupid, but no matter what I told myself, I would still shake wherever I went. I tried to hide this from Connell. After all, he thought me as the perfect human. He looked up to me and I didn’t want to break his heart.

Connell continued to speak, fast. “Aren’t you excited for tonight? I am. I can’t wait. Can you?”

As I pulled the steering wheel, I couldn’t help but smile. “I sure can’t.”

Connell had been excited for days now, waiting to spend the night at his best friend, Hugo’s house. The two were planning to camp out in the backyard, go monster hunting, and summon ghosts in the woods. How two nine-year-olds got into that kind of thing, I had no idea.

Along with that, they somehow was able to convince their fathers to go camping with them, but it wasn’t really that hard. Hugo’s dad and I haven’t officially meet yet and with how much Connell and Hugo have been hanging out, we should have.

I’ve seen the man before, picking up Hugo from school and occasionally we would say ‘hi’ to one another, but nothing more. Again, I was lying.

We’ve never said anything more to each other, but as I walk away after saying our greetings, I swore that while driving away, I saw Hugo’s dad staring at me. His cold eyes would just follow me as I passed by. At first, I thought it was my uneasiness tricking my eye, but as the year went on, I would notice this more often.

I must have been paranoid. Who knows, he could have just been making sure I was a good father, to see if it’s okay for his kid to hang out around me. It still felt very off. I guess that’s why I really wanted to go with Connell. Hopefully it was going to ease my feelings.

Our car drove passed a bunch of different old buildings that used to be the big crave when I was younger. There was a roller skate rink that closed due to a rat infestation, a gas station that had the unfortunate robbery, and a family diner that went bankrupt. I remembered hanging out there when I was a kid. I was the coolest kid on the block. I was so popular, and everyone fell to my knees.

What happened since then?

After passing the stores, I turned the car into a driveway, and parked in front of a small blue house that held dead plants in the garden. The moment we parked, a small boy ran out of the house. Before he could head towards our car though, he was quickly stopped by his father, who had also stepped outside.

From behind me, I heard Connell sigh as he looked through his bag. “Darn,” He said disappointed, “I forgot my scary story book.”

“Why do you need it?” I asked.

“Hugo told me we’re going to have a campfire tonight. Scary stories are always the best around campfires.”

I laughed, “Well, maybe you can make one up.”

Connell’s eyes suddenly widen and he jumped to me. “Or you could. Can you?”

I laughed, trying my best not to show Connell how badly I was shaking. “We’ll see.”

We stepped out of the car, and immediately Connell was tackled by Hugo, who started smacking him with a toy sword. I jumped at this, but the two boys were hysterical, as Connell had to push his glasses back into place. I tried to ignore this and when the kids settled themselves, they began talking to each other.

“You got me.” Connell breathed out.

“You’re not supposed to talk. You’re dead.” Hugo informed Connell, waving his sword.

“Hey, you cut your hair!” Connell ignored his comment, pointing to Hugo’s short black hair.

“Yeah, I did.” Suddenly, Hugo grabbed hold of Connell’s arm and began pulling him to his house. “I want to show you my room.”

While the two ran off, I looked back in the car and sighed as I saw that Hugo left his bag in the car. I grabbed his pack, and then opened the trunk of the car. In the back was all the other bags and equipment, including our tent which was scattered in a messy pile. Before I could take them, Hugo’s dad walked over and grabbed half of the supplies to help. As I picked up the rest, I thanked him.

Still standing awkwardly by the car, Hugo’s dad started a conversation with me. “Hey, I’m Delwin.”

Still trying to get a good grip on the equipment, I smiled. “Adam. It’s nice to officially meet you.”

“Same.” Delwin paused as he stared at me, exactly the same way as the times before. “You look familiar though. Have we meet before?” He looked at me, expecting me to say the same.

But I couldn’t. Looking at his crooked nose, dark brown eyes, and skinny face, I was sure I haven’t seen this man before. I mean, he did have one of those faces . . . No. I’ve never seen him. I’m sure of it.

Right?

Yet, the look on Delwin’s face said different. He was staring at my body posture, my facial structure, my clothes, but it didn’t look like he was examining me anymore. No, it was like he already had me figured out, and I didn’t like it.

Delwin might have been right. He did look a little familiar-

“Dad!” Suddenly Hugo came running to us, Connell following behind. Wow, they explored the room fast. “Connell and I are going to the woods to catch filthy monsters.” He had a bow over his shoulders, a rope in one hand, and a toy gun in the other. Connell was holding Hugo’s toy sword from before. “We’ll be in the hideout.”

“Hideout?” Connell’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah, I made it out of branches and leaves and everything.” Hugo jumped.

“Okay, be careful.” Delwin told them, and the two kids ran off, disappearing behind the house.

Delwin and I than silently agreed that we should set up the tents since the kids weren’t going to do it, so we too headed for the backyard.

Despite having a garden, pool and a grill near the house, the back was an open and empty space with a fire pit in the center. Placing our stuff down, I realized that Delwin must have had a lot of camping experience just in the backyard. At the back end of the yard was a thick, and dense woods. Connell must have been there. I got nervous not being able to see the kids, but Delwin distracted me as he began setting up a tent a good distance away from the campfire. I walked over to help him.

We stayed in silence as we put together the poles, but when I bend down to raise the tent, I noticed something. Every step that Delwin made, he would bounce, almost like he was limping.

When Delwin saw me staring, he quickly spoke up. “So, I was thinking of making burgers for dinner. Sound good?”

I quickly nodded, noticing that I was being rude for staring. Still though. I couldn’t help but wonder why he was limping. I pushed the thought aside, and nodding. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

After a few hours, we settled around the newly made campfire. Its flames heated the cold fall night, and for the first time all day, I felt at peace. Connell and Hugo had just finished eating s’mores and were now loudly talking to one another. Delwin was sitting across from me, watching the wood burn to a crisp. For this being our first-time meeting, he wasn’t making an attempt to know me.

But then Connell said, “You know, I was going to bring my scary story book, but I forgot it at home.”

“Ah darn.” Hugo looked disappointed at this.

“I did ask dad if he could tell a story.” Suddenly the two boys turned to stare at me. I shrunk. I didn’t know what to say. I was never a good story teller, let alone telling one on the fly.

I tried to speak, “Well, um, you see-“

“I have one.” Delwin suddenly said, and the two boys turned to him, but Hugo’s dad wasn’t looking at them. He was again glaring at me.

Connell didn’t see this as he smiled, “Really, can you tell it?”

“Sure, I can.” Delwin whispered.

The air grew quiet around us, and the only remaining sounds was the crackling fire. Delwin told his story in a loud, chilling whisper, and there was a toughness to his voice that made all of us whimper. But while the boys thought this to be fun, I was terrified. This was because, he spoke in such a way that made it sound like every word he said was directed to me.

I wanted to leave. I wanted him to stop. My whole body shook, and told me to run, but I couldn’t be such a coward in front of Connell. That is why I let Delwin continue.

#uncoveringfables #uncovering fables #uncovering fables remake #prologue #part 1 #prologue part 1 #A Tale to Tell

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