#but at the same time looking for therapists in the area??? hellish

[cuttingstone]

😐.

[the-colony-roleplay]

Annie Perrault | Twenty Three;  Survivor

House: Delma Security Class: 2 Status: Deluded

History

Anxiety has always been an issue for Annie Perrault, so you can imagine that in the wake of the ‘end of the world’ she’s not exactly sure-footed.

As a child, Annie was nothing out of the ordinary. She was well-behaved and excitable, close with her older sister, sweet with her parents, and confident in her gender identity from a young age. But she’d always been a shadow of the personality her sister boasted and though this had never posed an issue in her younger years, everything changed when she entered middle school.

Not only were kids more competitive and more judgmental, but her parents had also removed her from the private school environment, enrolling her into public instead, which was really a whole other ball game. Annie had been looking forward to it, as the idea of meeting new people that had only ever known her as female presenting seemed thrilling, but as it would turn out, if students weren’t teasing her for her shy and quiet behaviour, it was her gangly height that made her a target, or how often she put up her hand in class.  They goaded Annie to the point of tears, insecurity, and a sudden unwillingness to participate in school. She didn’t dare raise her hand anymore, because she couldn’t stand the looks her bullies would shoot her, the things they’d whisper behind binders when the teachers weren’t listening.

The bullying escalated over the years to constant emotional torture and even violence, and eventually Annie became scared to leave the house or encounter people at all. When her family moved to a new city a couple years later, she hoped to get a fresh start. And though the move allowed her to escape the worst of her bullying, years of anxiety and fear of social situations, couldn’t simply be erased overnight.

Annie became determined to be a stronger person, but her desperation for it had her throwing herself somewhat blindly into her responsibilities and school work. It made it challenging to handle her stress levels because she wouldn’t give herself a moment to relax, a moment to unclench, because everything was a fight and she was constantly on the edge of panic. This was not helped when she was finally old enough to start HRT—the early stages of hormone therapy increasing her anxiety at times and making her moods unpredictable. 

Graduating year was an especially hard one, with preparation for college now a factor. She developed a rather severe addiction to caffeine, one that had been ebbing its way into problematic over the past year or so, but flared dangerously in her 12th year. She began avoiding sleep—first it was an inability to turn off her brain—the constant worrying and anxiety making it almost impossible, not to mention the caffeine—but over the months, her decreased mental health twisted it into a confused fear of sleep. Like if she slept, she would be wasting time, or if she slept, she might not wake up.

A wrought mess of anxiety and stress, Annie began having serious panic attacks at school. Even just having her shoulder inadvertently knocked in the hall would make her flinch, her throat tighten. Presentations and anticipation for tests could cause her to hyperventilate, and it got to the point that simply the fear of having another attack could bring one on—a cruel irony.

Eventually, Annie’s parents withdrew her from school to complete the rest of her final year from home. When she graduated, her mother took her to London as a reward, thinking that the holiday would be good for her, and that they might get some quality time together.

That was when the world ended, and Annie was left alone.

Annie Today

Infections of the apocalypse touched Annie and her fear of sleep with cruel, ironic fingers. After the End of the world, Annie woke believing that she’d simply fallen asleep again—but for the last time. She was convinced she was living in a nightmare, stuck here as punishment, for not being strong enough, good enough, smart enough.

Six years have passed, and though she still believes herself to be a permanent resident of a dream world, she is much the same person she used to be. The loss of her family and her classified delusion has put her on a very slow track of recovery, and she spends several hours a week in therapy—partially because it’s where she goes when she doesn’t know where else to. Though this nightmare has been hellish, she’s found that there are some kind people here, and the therapist’s chair has become a sort of comfort for her. Something that feels a little more connected with the real world she’d left behind, perhaps because it’s familiar—not unlike the therapists chairs she’d sat in week after week while she was in school and suffering debilitating anxiety.

She has fewer panic attacks than she used to, and having gotten accustomed to her surroundings, her generalized anxiety is a little less prominent. Finally being able to get an implant that keeps her hormone levels consistent has done wonders for her happiness as she feels more secure in her body than ever. But there are times that she will still stay awake for days, sometimes weeks, because going to sleep in her nightmare has done nothing in the past 300 some-odd weeks to get her back to the real world—so maybe by some backwards logic, the trick is to stay awake. To not be rested in this universe, because as long as she’s sustaining life here, here is where she’ll stay.

Unfortunately, neither of these theories have paid off, and at the tail end of these insomniac phases, which are fuelled on fear and as much caffeine as she can get off the black market, she’ll reliably crash hard, find some kind of normalcy for a week or two, and then cycle back.

Obviously her mental condition and lack of sleep don’t make her the best candidate for training and the games. But she finds, despite her obvious disadvantages, she wants to do well. These people of her living nightmare have grown to mean something to her, especially those in her dorm, and she doesn’t like the idea of disappointing them, real or not. Some days she’ll make it all the way through training without too much incident, others the pressure will be too much, and she’ll crack under it.

She excels most in the area of archery, however, because it is a sport that requires silence, patience, and even breathing. In fact, it works a bit like meditation for her, and though she isn’t known for her performances in endurance or direct competition scenarios, she will actually spend some of her free time doing target practice. It helps to clear her head, and give her some sense of peace of mind.

TAKEN

[hold-my-hand-kuroo]

A Bouquet For You || 02 - Carnation

A Bouquet For You Masterlist

taglist: @disgruntled-gay @moonchild-kun94 @skyguy-peach @error707-thememelord @o51oc @nanacee @prettysetter @sugawsites @shareyourfandomfaves

The next morning is exactly what you feared. You wake up late, missing the three alarms that you had set for yourself, and after some deliberation, you decide to go without breakfast. Not your best idea, but between being late on your first day or a hearty meal, you’d choose the former any day. First impressions were important.

“Are you sure you’re not going to eat?” Kenma asks, watching you fumble around with your shoes at the doorway. “Or actually, where are you even going this early?”

“Work. First day,” you say hurriedly. Turning the doorknob, you turn back to give him a quick wave or something similar to it. “See you. I’ll be back later tonight.”

“B-bye?” he responds like a question. After all, Kenma still doesn’t understand why you’re conversing with him like a real person. The feeling of living with someone after so long feels foreign, and he’s continuously caught by surprise with your behavior. Even a rush, you still poured a glass of milk for him, forgetting that spirits don’t need calcium for strong bones. He drank it nonetheless, being very confused.

Work is exactly what you had imagined it to be. Hell. Within your very first hour, you’re bombarded with new tasks and papers. “Experience is key,” your supervisor had said, but between the directions being fired at you and more coworkers just giving you endless stacks of files, you quickly are at a loss for what to do. Between flipping through the manual and managing your work properly, you find yourself already utterly exhausted by lunch break.

Lunch break. That was your next problem. Nobody wanted to involve themselves with the new, troublesome rookie, leaving you to eat on your own, albeit quickly, because you wanted to get things done.

“D-do you mind if I sit here with you?” a small, shaky voice stammers. You look up from scrolling through your phone to see a short, blonde woman. She grips tightly at her lunch bag, eyes quivering. “You don’t have to let me, though! I don’t want to be too pushy!”

“I don’t mind!” you answer kindly, offering the chair next to you. You watch as the woman of nerves shakily takes the spot. “Actually, thanks for offering. I was worried that I was going to have a hard time getting along with other people.”

“It’s always hard on the first day. I’ve been here for a few months, and it’s still really difficult for me!” she agrees. She seems more relaxed, shoulders going down slightly. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the woman opens her lunch before jolting upright. “I’m sorry! I never introduced myself. I’m Yachi Hitoka!”

You vaguely remember her name, and you realize that it’s the person whose desk is right next to you. You’re embarrassed, to say the least, realizing that you barely made sufficient introductions to the people around you. Offering your own name in turn and apologizing profusely, the two of you get along better than expected. As it turns out, Yachi, though having only been at the company for less than half a year, was a designer genius. Often tasked to be the leader of poster projects, your coworker who seemed only to be made out of nerves was a master at what she did. You hoped to be like her one day.

“It’s a little rough at first,” she admits, wiping stray crumbs off the table, “but you’ll be fine. To be honest, I saw some of the samples you sent in with your resume. Just a peek though! Your pattern-designing is really interesting and pretty, so I think they’ll be useful in the future. If you need any help…you know…feel free to ask me.”

After lunch, you feel like a new person. You’re not sure if it’s just getting food in your system, or Yachi’s genuine optimism and show of support, but you’re determined to work harder. After getting chewed out by your supervisor for making multitudes of errors in the files, you’re back at rock bottom again. Expected.

Walking out of the office building, you trudge your way back home, squeezing your way through the mob of people all rushing to get back home at the station. Taking the train was economical on your part, but a massive hellish experience. You always took notice to stay near the doors, but eventually, people would just push you toward the middle, and you’d be stuck there. Pushing your way back out was a million times worse, as you never felt good about shoving other passengers, even if their actions warranted it.

From there, you carefully follow your GPS back to your apartment complex on foot. You didn’t exactly know yet the area that well, so you were careful to not get lost. As you’re walking, you stop and notice the little florist shop and its display of pink and red flowers. They’re small, and the way the setting sun hits the freshly watered petals, reflecting glimmers of light, fascinates you. Walking closer toward the shop, you lean down and admire the delicate beauty in awe.

“Sorry, but that’s just display. We’re currently out of carnations,” a familiar deep voice informs, followed by the closing and locking of the door. You look up to the source and let out an audible gasp. “Oh, hey. It’s you.”

“So that’s what you meant last night by cutting and dying,” you muse, looking at your neighbor and the daffodils he has in hand. “And here I thought you were some kind of gang leader.”

“I suppose what I said taken out of context sounds pretty bad,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. He looks down at his bouquet and motions them toward you. “I was gonna give you this when I got back, but I guess it doesn’t matter now. Here. Congratulations on moving in, Neighbor.”

“Thanks,” you laugh, graciously accepting the house-warming gift. “Although, it’d be better if I could get a name to thank. I’m Y/N by the way.”

“Shit, did I never mention a name?” he murmurs, tsking. You almost laugh again. Poor introductions seemed to be a pattern, and you were one of the worst offenders. “I’m Kuroo Tetsurou. I’m, as you can see, the owner of this shop. Some people call me a florist, but I’m really a plant magician.”

“I’m sure you are,” you reply with a roll of your eyes. “Did you just get off from work?”

“Yup. This shop closes every day at 7 PM. Won’t be catching me doing overtime.”

“What about last night?”

“Except when I forget things, which usually doesn’t happen,” Kuroo clarifies with a smirk. He glances at your offense attire and raises a brow. “First day not so good, huh? Are you going home? I’d be willing to lend an ear if you’d like.”

“How kind of you,” you sigh, then nod tiredly. “It’s my second day here, and I already have a therapist. Lovely.”

“It’s good to complain a little from time to time.”

Following the florist, you hum a little in contemplation. Then, taking a deep breath, you being to talk about how terrible your day was and how you’ve been yelled at more times today than ever in your life and that reading the manual over and over again actually didn’t help, but none of the senior workers were very approachable. To be honest, you felt a little bit silly, opening up so quickly to a stranger, but once you started, you couldn’t stop. In fact, you don’t even notice when you’re right in front of the door to your apartment room until you hear the jingling of Kuroo’s own keys.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away,” you murmur, embarrassed for what seemed to be the millionth time that day. “I didn’t mean to rant-“

“But you look so much better after letting a little bit of steam off,” Kuroo interrupts, flashing you an insanely bright smile. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Since we’re neighbors that share the same route home, let’s just be friends, yeah?”

“Y-yeah?” you say like a question. “I mean, yeah. Sounds good.”

“Then, see you around, or maybe tomorrow, Y/N,” the florist concludes, unlocking the door to his room, already halfway in. “Hope tomorrow goes better for you.”

“Thanks,” you reply, giving him a wave before stepping into your own home. Setting your shoes aside, you quickly wonder what to do with the flowers. It’s not like you had a vase ready, so you take an empty water bottle out from the recycling instead. Carefully setting the yellow buds into the container, you leave it at the center of the table, deciding that the centerpiece brought a little life into your apartment.

“Hey,” you hear Kenma murmur, walking out of your room with console in hand. You then remember that you really did more life in your apartment. “Nice flowers.”

“You’re not even looking at them,” you chuckle and roll your eyes. “The neighbor gave them to me. Do you like them?”

“They’re fine.”

You laugh again at his aloof attitude and try to throw away the parchment paper that was used to wrap the bouquet. It’s until then that you notice a small note flutter down onto the floor. You bend over and pick it up, wondering if it’s a price tag or something of the sort.

“Hey, it’s Kuroo. You probably already knew that lol. Anyways, I hope u like daffodils. Keep them away from direct heat, and they should live for a while. Since we both seem to be like night owls, feel free to cure my of my boredom. XXX-XXX-XXXX”

“Why are you smiling in the middle of the kitchen?” Kenma asks, brow raised, and in hindsight, you must have looked dumb. If a ghost thought you were creepy, the look you had on must have been just terrible.

“Nothing,” you say quickly and scramble to set the note aside. You know he doesn’t buy it, but you don’t care or want to elaborate on how the florist next door’s kindness made you feel unusually warm. Surprisingly, finding your first friend in a new area was much more relieving that you had expected it to be, especially when your new friend seemed so open and lived close by. “It’s just a note on how to take care of the daffodils.”

“Oh.” There’s a brief silence, and you brush it off as him going back to his game. “I guess that’s fitting since they mean new beginnings or something like that.”

Now that was odd coming from a ghost who couldn’t even remember why he was still here.

“How do you know that?” You watch as he comes to a realization too, eyes widening ever so slightly out of sheer surprise. HIs reaction reassures you that he isn’t lying to you about the amnesia, and you let out a sigh of relief.

“I’m not sure.” He’s frowning, seeming to rack his mind for any clue, anything at all to remind him of where his knowledge came from and why he couldn’t move on. It’s all fruitless in the end. “I…really don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure, giving him a small smile. “It doesn’t matter that much anyway. I don’t mind cooking another portion, especially when you eat so little. Or maybe I eat a lot- Well, whatever.”

From the couch, Kenma nods and sinks into the cushions. Still, he wants to know why out of everything he could have remembered, why were they the flowers. In his current state, he can’t imagine himself as a flower buff in the past; hell, he doesn’t remember being the sun, but every morning when it rises, he feels like he’d hate to be in it, so if he can’t stand the outdoors now, he probably couldn’t either in the past. He thinks hard and long, but when you call him and tell him that’s dinner’s ready, all he can do is give up and go listen about your day.

It’s all so strange, he thinks.

[fairycosmos]

Sorry for bothering you angel but I have noone else to talk to.I really dont know what to do anymore. I'm so suicidal that I don't know how i'm still alive,how i'm able to breath it just doesn't feel right being alive.My mind keeps telling me to do something to end it all and I'm just numb.The worst thing is that even the closest person in my life doesn't know how bad it is bc i'm always the one to help them with their depression and im so drained.I'm just here to help other no matter how broken

hey love, i’m so sorry to hear you’re going through such a difficult time right now  😞 but you’re not bothering me at all, so don’t worry about that. firstly i really hope you’re currently in a safe environment and that you remain there, above all else. you were able to send this and reach out for some form of support even anonymously and that’s a really good sign. i’m proud of you for being here and for making it to this point, and i want to thank u for being so open with me because i know it’s not easy. secondly i really want to stress that you can’t believe anything your mind is telling you right now, seriously. one of the biggest illusions of mental illness is that it convinces you to think in black and white, to believe that everything negative is permanent and that there’s no way forward. but that’s never the case in reality. there is so much that can be done to change your habitual thinking patterns, your sense of self worth and just the general situation you’re in right now. in fact, change is inevitable if you stick around long enough to see it. it’s happening constantly, even when you don’t realise it. and so is healing and growth, even when you’re in pain too. it is entirely possible to recuperate, for happiness and peace to become a consistent theme in your future. yes, you. i know it’s probably impossible to believe in this moment but i hope you can still accept the sentiment anyway, because it’s true. and what’s more than that, you deserve it. you’re able to give your time and energy to others who are dealing with what you’re also dealing with, and that’s wonderful, but you are COMPLETELY worthy of receiving that same energy and love. i promise. if you need to take some time to focus on your own mental health rather than on those around you, then that’s perfectly fine and there’s no shame in that. it can be hard to internalize everyone else’s grief, and quite emotionally exhausting at times, so don’t let your mind make you feel bad for needing some space. it’s the most natural, human thing in the world. and i’m sure those that care for you want to hear what you’re going through too, i’m sure they want the chance to return the favour and to be there for you. you can give them that by opening up. no matter how hard it is to actually reach out, please please know that the option is always there and that you are never as alone as your mind wants you to believe. another tactic of depression is that it wants you to isolate yourself so you don’t feel the comfort of other people and their perspective, so the only thing you can believe is your own bad thoughts - but you CAN choose to subvert that urge, to talk to those around you about whats going on in your head. it’s okay. if not them, there are a lot of suicide/mental health hotlines available 24/7, and there’s also the option of talking to your doctor/a therapist/a support group to see if they can help you implement a treatment plan (if you haven’t done so already.) even if you have to force the words out, just tell them what you told me. it doesn’t have to make sense, you just have to let it out. sometimes mental illness is just as serious as physical illness and it needs real medical attention in order to overcome, and that’s alright. it’s something a lot of people go through, and it looks different for everyone. but just picking up the phone and making that appointment or talking to a loved one can make a massive difference. there is so much that can be done in terms of therapy - identifying the root causes of why you feel the way you do, giving you the tools to fight the episodes in a healthy way when they do arise - but at the end of it you CAN learn to live a happy and full life despite those days where you just want to give up. it’s a matter of time, finding the balance that suits you and getting through each day long enough to see the results of your progress.

i know it all feels like too much effort, and i’m not saying you have to do any of this right now. or that talking to someone will solve everything. and i’m very very familiar with that debilitating brand of numbness you’re describing - it makes everything genuinely feel beyond hopeless and so far away, it is so so heavy and i don’t blame you for being exhausted. but it’s also so possible for the feeling and the presence to return back to your life, one area at a time. i often think of it like my souls got pins and needles and i need to massage the numbness away with care and patience. you said you don’t know how you’re still alive - it’s because you’re supposed to be. it’s because some part of you, no matter how tired of all this shit you are, recognizes that there is a lot worth holding onto. even if your brain isn’t allowing you to see it in this moment. i hate to be cliche, but when it really comes down to it nothing would be the same without you. you exist and see this world through your unique perspective and love in your own specific way because you’re here. and no one else is you and that is more than good enough. there is so much waiting for you, man. recovery is possible in so many forms, and i’m not just saying that at all. i would fucking hate to think of you acting on your temporary emotions and only regretting it when it’s far too late to go back, and unfortunately i think that occurrence is very common in people who suffer through this sort of thing. as a person and as someone who has been given the chance to experience this world for a fraction of a moment in human history, i hope more than anything you can simply allow yourself to do that. and that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to have bad days, or to hate this world sometimes because i absolutely do too. it can be hellish, and we have a right to be in pain. but that doesn’t mean we’re beyond hope and help. it doesn’t mean there aren’t a million different ways to make this all feel more manageable, one step at a time. some days getting through one minute at a time counts as a great victory, and you’ve done it a million times before. so please, if you feel like you’re in danger, please just call someone. don’t listen to your mind anymore, don’t feed into it. just get yourself to safety even if you have to act on autopilot. it’s going to be so worth it so much sooner than you think, im serious. you need some rest, maybe to practice some mindfulness and to focus your brain on some low energy positive coping mechanisms, and to let someone know how you’re doing if possible - all of this will allow you to stop spiraling inwards and start focusing on whats going on around you. i’ll leave a few links that may be of some service to you. please know that i care and that so many people do, that your life is so much more than this moment/what you’ve been through so far. if you need a friend or if you want to talk about this properly, please let me know. i’m here and i understand a lot of us do. sending so much, please stay safe above all else love. that’s all you gotta focus on right now x

https://faq.whatsapp.com/general/security-and-privacy/global-suicide-hotline-resources/

https://www.getselfhelp.co.uk/suicidal.htm

https://www.healthquality.va.gov/guidelines/MH/srb/OvercomingSuicidalThoughtsandFeelingsFINAL.pdf

https://www.getselfhelp.co.uk/depression.htm

https://www.mind.org.uk/media-a/2960/suicidal-feelings-2016.pdf

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

Hip-Check (Matthew Tkachuk Imagine)

Alright y’all, I finally fixed it! Hopefully this version is more coherent now that I’m not drunk off my ass.

Rating: T

Pairing: Matthew Tkachuk/Reader

Words: 1572

Warnings: none

Requested: yes/no

Summary: You’re just trying to get coffee after a long night at work. You end up getting a little extra.

Your job fucking sucks. Well, it doesn’t really, you’re just in a bad mood after a shitty shift. Spring and summer are the busiest time of year, which is stressful enough, but also everything that could go wrong did go wrong today. A real Murphy’s Law of a shift. Your propane tank had a leak, so your forklift ran out and stopped at the far end of the dock, meaning you had to walk all the way down and back with the tanks since everyone else was too busy to grab one for you. Then the system went down, so you had to run all your bills to and from the supervisor’s desk for them to put in directly. Then approximately eight million pallets needed to be repaired or entirely re-stacked throughout the seven hours you were there. Oh, and your unbearable coworker with an obvious crush on you— while also seeming to think you’re his personal therapist— kept stopping by your trucks to chat. So over all, super fun day. Or night, rather. You get off at 6am, meaning it’s 6:15 when you get to Starbucks to treat yourself to something sugary and caffeinated before going to give your friend’s daughter a lift to school.

The drive-through is packed, so you decide to go inside and wait in that hellish line instead. At least that way you can play on your phone without someone honking at you for not moving up two feet .2 seconds after it opens up. You’re not really in the mood to be around people, especially in a noisy place after a noisy night at work, but whatever. You open the door, and just before you can go through, someone darts inside in front of you, jostling you a bit. Irritating on its own, yes, but what really gets your hackles raised is that they don’t even say anything. No apology, no thank you, no nothing. Just breeze past you, fucking ram into you, and say fuck all about it. Any other day, you’d roll your eyes and let it go, but not today. Not today.

“Hey man,” you call as you come in the door behind them, “What the fuck?” They turn to face you, looking annoyed, and oh shit. You know exactly who that is, and you don’t really want to piss him off. But you started it and now you’ve gotta finish it.

“What?” he demands, standing tall and crossing his arms over his puffed up chest like he’s trying to be intimidating.

“Did you seriously just do that?” it’s not really a question, more like a confirmation. A bit of an aggressive confirmation, but.

“I’m in a hurry,” he says, like that’s a legitimate excuse.

“So am I,” you’re not, “You don’t see me pushing people.” A few people had looked over when you’d first confronted him, but they’ve all looked away by this point, more interested in coffee than you two, so you don’t feel too bad. That’s the beauty of cities: no one gives a shit what you do so long as it doesn’t affect them. Tkachuk stares you down, but when you just fold your arms and stare right back, he huffs and rolls his eyes. He throws out a “whatever” and turns his back on you. Oh hell no. You get in line behind him, because you’re not about to wait longer than necessary, but this definitely isn’t over.

“Are you fucking serious, dude?” you hiss just loud enough for him to hear. He turns back toward you.

“I don’t have time for this,” he snips right in your face. This close up, he’s huge, and it’s more than a bit intimidating, but your spite carries you through.

“Neither do the rest of us,” you spit back, “You can wait like everybody else. There’s a fucking line anyway.” This is so stupid. You would’ve held the door for him if he’d just waited a damn minute. Something changes in his expression, though, and he deflates a bit. The person behind you clears their throat, and the two of you shuffle forward to fill the several-person-wide gap that had formed. With that second to breathe, your anger starts to dissipate pretty quickly. God, you’ve been so rude to the other customers, causing a scene like this. At least it seems like Tkachuk is starting to unwind, which makes it easier for you to regain your composure.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a pause, like apologizing was akin to bathing a cat, “It’s just--” He trails off, looks frustrated, shuffles up in the line, looks frustrated some more.

“My sister is in town and I promised I’d get her Starbucks for her first day here,” he explains, like he’d rather be admitting to murder, “I forgot about it, so I’m trying to get it before she wakes up.” Oh. That’s actually. Sweet? Obviously it’s still a dick move to check someone in a coffee shop, but the fact that he did it for a good cause helps soothe your anger all the more.

“I just want everything to be perfect, y’know?” he finishes, head still held high despite his hunched shoulders and clenched fists. You’re not usually a touchy-feely person, but you’re nearly overwhelmed with the urge to hug him. You wish your brothers cared that much about you. While you don’t hug him, you do touch the outside of his wrist with gentle fingertips, looking up into his eyes when they snap to you. They’re a disarming shade of blue that you hadn’t really noticed before, and you almost forget what you were going to say. Focus.

“I’m sure she’ll be happy just to have her brother around,” you assure him, all annoyance forgotten, “As long as you don’t hip check her through a door.” Okay, maybe not entirely forgotten. It gets him to laugh, shaking his head a bit, and his posture relaxes. You can feel the muscles and tendons in his wrist and forearm go slack, and for some reason his hands going soft makes you want to hold them. You’re gonna end up in love with the dude by time you leave, at this rate.

“I really am sorry about that,” he says, “I thought I had enough room.” You just shrug and straighten back up alongside him.

“Eh, It wasn’t that big of a deal,” you dismiss, “I just had a bad day at work and took it out on you. Sorry about that.” His brows look much cuter when they’re furrowed in confusion rather than anger.

“You had a bad day at work already?” he asks. You huff a laugh.

“I work night shift,” you explain, “So I guess more of a bad night at work.” You watch as realization dawns on his face, his mouth making a silent “oh”. Then you realize you’re still basically holding his wrist, so you bring your hand back to your side and hope he didn’t notice, so you can avoid that embarrassment. Except he stops you with a soft grip on your fingers, pulling you to the counter alongside him. He snags a pen from the counter and scribbles something on the back of your hand while effortlessly rattling off his order to the barista.

“And whatever she wants,” he tacks on at the end, motioning to you with a jerk of his head.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you say, dumbfounded at how far left this interaction has gone. How the hell did you go from wanting to punch him, to him offering to buy your coffee? Damn, you must be charming.

“It’s the least I can do,” he insists, and you’re not about to turn down a free drink. He plunks the pen back onto the counter and pays after you order, still holding your hand. When you look down, you-- oh. That’s. That is his phone number. On your hand. Your hand. After you just chewed him out in public for being rude, and he gave you his number. What the hell.

“I forgot that we have to wait for them to make the drinks, so this doesn’t have the same effect, huh?” he says, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly with one hand, and leading you to the waiting area with the other. Matthew Tkachuk just gave you his phone number. Maybe you got hit in the head with a box on the dock, and this is all a dream. That would make more sense.

“I was gonna say ‘text me’ and walk away all cool, but,” he shrugs, “Doesn’t always work out that way.” He was trying to be cool. He was going to write his number on your hand and walk away “cool”. Well, if he’s going to give you the opportunity, you’re not going to overlook the chance.

“Damn,” you say, shaking your head facetiously, “Gotta work on your timing.” Tkachuk looks mildly devastated until he realizes you’re joking, which makes you feel mildly powerful. He must really want to see you. The both of you chat for a few minutes, the subject switching between hockey and coffee and family until his name is called. He steps forward to take his drinks and when he turns back to you, he looks conflicted.

“Better go give her that coffee,” you say, “I’ll see you later?” A small smile grows on his face.

“Yeah,” he replies, eyes soft, “Yeah, you will.”

[fgodestinyawakenings]

EOR SE.RA.PH Singularity: Final Act~END

At last the final part of this whole Singularity Chapter 1.5! It’s considered canon in ways but..... Why can’t DW just turn this to an actual main story chapter instead of that coming hell Singularity.... Sure it has about the same reason, but... Nevermind, time to finish this CCC collab

Final Act (1/5)

Inside BB’s studio at last, the final boss of this entire Singularity, or is it? With Tristan’s push, Gudas began their interrogation at BB for answer we’ve been waiting for. Suzuka totally not sorry while she apologize for siding with Gudas after betraying her. Tama Cat began going around on her own to inspect the whole area... Along with Lip, deciding to tell off her stupid mother once and for all

Don’t even fake your surprise when you knew Lip will betray you eventually. Aside from her R18 mouth, we’re starting our fight with her! Obviously we’re fighting until our death since our way in is our way out. And you probably locked it to ensure we get torture to death... So bring it on, AI!

<<NOT SCREENSHOT>>

One beating from Saint Martha later.... Someone looks damn cheerful for getting defeated as a villain. Yeah... And a blackout?! What the? Suzuka, everyone!!

After blocking an ambush... We’re in a place... With all those children inside the casket?! What the hell is going on here?!?!?!?!! This is similar to Chaldea with the coffin but.... So many....

Suzuka instantly realized the children’s magical circuits are what powering SE.RA.PH this whole time. All 128 children used as decoy Masters to summon the Servants. Emiya Alter then shows up.... So it’s finally here we know what Seraphix really is

Final Act (2/5)

The Celestial Body Simulator, System Animusphere aka the Heart of Seraphix..... Young children taken and immediately used by Seraphix and later Zepar to summon all 128 Servants. Children that’s already gone has their body used to power up Seraphix.

Must admit, I’m thankful to Emiya Alter for at least giving these children’s soul to rest in peace after a long suffering. And now that we know.... Emiya Alter corroded by some darkness is coming after the Gudas’s life as they are no longer needed.

While declaring his motive, another voice summarized his motive for us... But.... Robin! You’re alright?! Don’t ask us what the hell happened to Emiya Alter, help us now!! Save your reminsince banter with Lip for later!

After... After beatng Emiya Alter.... He...... He’s still trying to do what’s right........ What the fuck, Mable?! What the fuck are you doing here?!!! Where the hell were you and Arnold!!

What do you mean by that? We don’t even want to fight him in the first place! And Tama Cat? As she realized what’s beneath under Mable’s persona... A member of Tachikawa School of Buddishm? Her? Who is she?! What’s going on, Cat?!

Complying easily to remove her mask... “Mable” then undisguised her to reveal... A Buddhist nun? Wait, you’re the therapist for the church here?!! Kiara then reveals she’s the one who worked with Zepar. But she’s not a Demon God or anything... A human? No... So you say.... You worked together with Zepar.... But You’re..... BEAST III, one of the Seven Evils of Humanity: The Beast of Pleasure!!!!

Final Act (3/5)

Beast.... III.... A Beast..... The third Evil of Humanity....?! Kiara then reveals how she became one in a way... Where our Kiara was another victim of Zepar to be killed instead of CCC Kiara’s history.

So she’s the one Zepar made in contact with but... Because of that, that’s why the whole of Seraphix become a human body. Despite lamenting her pain, someone had one hell of lustful face. Robin managed to snap Guda out from Kiara and questioned if she was the one who summoned BB

Kiara confirmed it with Zepar teaching her of parallel world, eventually knowing CCC’s Kiara herself and the history. Because of what she achieved, the Kiara we know is merged with CCC’s Kiara. So from Lip’s summary, instead of digitizing Seraphix... He used Kiara to give SE.RA.PH a form

While Kiara tried to stop him, she no doubt failed since it was human against a demon god pillar. CCC’s version of Kiara swallowed all of the Sakuraface from Lip’s memory, hence they became sentinel from there. Although Zepar managed to convert Seraphix, Kiara then made use of BB and Gudas to run it.

....... Even saying she’s grateful and giving her gratitude for tryng to save Seraphix, that fake applause isn’t buying anyone here. Suzuka then stepped forward, knowing everything she said so far are lies or half-truth instead.

Demanding she confess, Suzuka asked where’s Zepar current location, how many Servants she swallowed as her body and Seraphix are one. Or... She’s the one who tricked every Master to come here in hopes getting their wishes come true!!

Not even guilty that she killed all the Servants.... Kiara even admits in pleasure of the killings she did on the Masters too. Robin was even surprised that BB never said, while both Suzuka and Gudas shows disgust at what she done. Good saying there, Robin! That’s something we agree no doubt, we definitely cannot let Kiara live this point onward!!

There’s a difference between patient and a sense morality, Gudas may have same or not amount of patience as you... But their sense of morality is completely way different than yours!! Suzuka immediately unleashed her Noble Phantasm at her, along with Tama Cat.

But... What the hell?! As Kiara disappeared, Seraphix hit the seabed... No we’re going all the way to the Earth’s Core?!!?!?! So that’s her plan all along?! Kiara’s voice revealed further of how she’ll use Earth to save all of humanity.... And, the place soon changes to her lair where Kiara’s true form is shown.

Not even thinking of giving up, Tristan’s threat is even useless to her to make her stop SE.RA.PH from sinking further. She merely smirked to say we can easily be defeated since we’re at the palm of her hand...?

...... Nothing really hits her.... And everyone was killed.... Kiara even knows about Goetia. Commenting all he know was destruction, she may still weak but.... And then.... Before Gudas was about to get eaten... BB stepped in to save us?! Immediately reyshifting with Lip’s help away from her lair to....

Final Act (4/5)

Zepar’s inner monologue begins at the start of the chapter. Unlike its comrade, it sees potential in humanity rather than destruction. After choosing Seraphix as it’s considered “unobservable region” from Flauros’s POV, it stayed to recover. Eventually deciding to use our world’s Kiara to hide Chaldea’s detection. A church therapist eventually hated by Seraphix members for her innate kindness.

If it weren’t for his intervention, our Kiara would’ve led a modest but happy life. Though it noticed there’s something more of her, so it acted while Kiara was asleep. And at some point, Kiara eventually agree to allow Zepar to use her body to save everyone.

Manipulating everyone in Seraphix with her help, Zepar even succumbed to human lust at some point of its work. Eventually, things turned around where she manipulated the Demon God. Once Seraphix was converted to SE.RA.PH, Kiara become an indispensable member to them... And the one who started the killing fest between the co-workers.

Wow... Even Demon God eventually got a better sense of morality once it sees the hellish sight it become. Once entered the planetarium... Kiara then have it summoned BB and 128 Servants. At this point, she got it completely wrapped by her fingers and ruled SE.RA.PH.

Kiara then learned more from Zepar about the Demon Gods and their current situation. Zepar then begged once it regretted so much for choosing and corrupting her. That explains the Zepar we met, is now a hollowed body with no soul at all.

Once Zepar disappeared, BB then confront Kiara about this. But the latter merely brushed it off like it’s nothing... Which BB then tempered the files of every personnel death before moving onto the Holy Grail War.

So while waiting for SE.RA.PH to emerge, that’s where they began summoning more Servants to amuse herself.

Final Act (5/5)

Now back to the Gudas, we’re transported into a classroom?! I guess the useless AI is useful for once huh, Robin. Both Melt and Lip are okay as well, phew... Uh, you did nothing so just get to your point of why saving us when you want us dead, stupid AI?

In summary, we all definitely died, even the Gudas too. But BB rewind the time before our death to save and reyshift us away from there. Uh again, not really. Coming from a brainless AI, you’re just more stupid than scary.

As they asked more further about the time, we can go back all the way to the time before Gudas arrived. But, we’re definitely stuck here within Kiara’s grasp. BB then admits she’s more of forced to do Kiara’s bidding than an actual follower.... But Robin got a point in defeating Kiara, since this isn’t Tiamat or Goetia at all.

Wait... We’re fighting half of Beast III aka the R side? Right or aka Rapture... So for this case and a certain one in Proto-type, it comes in pair? So, at this rate, she’ll completely become the Beast III/R like a butterfly coming out from the cocoon.

Using SE.RA.PH to become Beast but still bound to SE.RA.PH.... Hence she and the planet will fuse once she reached Earth’s core. So that’s where KP points come in with BB special items to beat her.

Selfish and stupid AI will always be that way, Robin. Might as well use this time to finish up all the quest we have to defeat her. Yeah yeah, oh useless AI, we’re still going buy from you so spare us of you being hardworking there. 

Later before going off, Melt came looking for the Gudas. The Sakurafaces reveals their own attachment to this classroom... As a fragment memory of a certain girl in CCC always looking at her Senpai. Thanking her that she’s joining us, Melt laughed and brushed off at how weird Gudas are for acting sentimental around her. But to her, we’ll always be her one and only Master once they returned back to their world.

But before Gudas can interrogate her, Melt admit that she hides nothing yet knowing there’s already something wrong within her.... 

Epilogue (1/2)

Buying every single buff+debuff in KP shop for an easier fight.... Kiara greeted us that we returned back to face her. Whether a moth or not, we’re coming here to stop you once and for all. And we heard better threats than your sexual harrassment too, Kiara.

Ouch, nice job Melt! That’s not a burn that can be healed by remove debuff for a long while on hitting her age. And unlike you, Kiara, Melt isn’t as much of nut job as you are despite her tsundere side.

Offering once more for Gudas to join her... They asked why did she become a Beast instead? We are not as crazy despite the amount of insanity the Servants available in Chaldea. Nevertheless, she replied she was envious...? Unfair? Seems like the joy of relishing Zepar’s memories in Solomon Singularity made her feel envy and to desire in feeling the same of countless of heroic spirits killing her.... As such her a mere human, unable to make that dream come true....

Unfortunately for you nut job, stupid AI have them start a killing fest so there’s only a few of us left. Also, it’s completely decided we’re never be able to come to terms with each other. Like Beast who love humanity in a twisted way, Melt described accurately all traits Kiara has. Even Alter Egos like the Sakura five are disgusted of her existence, sans BB for later reason.

In her eyes of her world, Kiara is the only “human” and everyone is nothing but “animals” before her..... Regardless what tragic past you have, Emiya Alter was only doing his job because of what you are. And you’re right, enough of this chit chat... For Emiya Alter... For Chaldea... For the world and humanity... We’ll not worshipped you as a god, but a Beast to be destroyed as an evil Demon! 

Epilogue (2/2)

Excluding her unnecessary comment, the Gudas and everyone dealt a fatal blow against her! But before everything ends, Kiara complimented their effort in fighting her... The area around her is collasping, and she’s dragging us along with it!!

Lip calls for everyone to hold her hands before we got suck in with her. Going down further, Lip also detected Zepar’s true presence from SE.RA.PH itself. Even if Gudas did win this Holy Grail War, the way back home is a trip to Hell first. Once laughing the last laugh, Melt decided to have Gudas used all their Command Seals on Lip and her for a powerful Noble Phantasm blast.

Knowing what it means, the Gudas handed their Command Seal all to them. Once BB got hold the Gudas, she also detected the Demon God’s presence being more and more stronger. Good to know how useless you are since you can’t stop what Kiara is doing at this rate

I’d like to play the song It’s Raining Men changing to it’s raining Demon Gods... That’s not what I’d like to happen here! Suzuka then offered herself to help BB to stop Kiara from spreading Demon Gods all over the sea.

Which as Kiara watched us despairing at what’s about to happen... Melt and Lip have a small talk with each other.... Before unleashing their Noble Phantasm together. A flashback involving Melt actually received a fatal blow from Kiara in the previous battle, getting tortured while Gudas are used as hostage against her, and killed before her.

Both eventually managed to escape with their combined Noble Phantasm, while Kiara earned her victory laugh from their first fight. And also later afterwards of meeting her other self in this world... In order to save Gudas this time, the Melt of the present sacrifice herself so the Melt in the past could save them

One last time... Lip used her Brynhild Romantia as a catapult to launch Melt at Kiara. Melt reminsince her past one last time... And unleash her own Noble Phantasm. Kiara caught off guard eventually panicked while yelling for Melt’s reason knowing she’ll die from this.

Beast III isn’t giving up on her hand by summoning more Demon Gods to catch hold of her body to use as catalyst for more Demon Pillars, stating they were one and the same Spirit Origin. But... Emiya Alter shot Kiara to stop her! He’s still alright for a little while more!!

Pulling Melt away... Emiya Alter made sure Kiara sunk way bottom and broken apart... Destroying her once and for all with one last head shot to end her. Though before death... She eventually decided to resummon herself one day as an Alter Ego, as she and Melt are the same kind of person.

The AI congratulates Guda for beating Beast III/R at last. Everyone else gathered once Gudas awake from that sinking place. When mentioned about Tristan and Melt... A flashblack revealed Tristan pulled Melt up with Emiya Alter’s cable.... But Tristan managed to have Melt save before sacrificing his own life. That’s coming rich from a stupid AI, who throws away all emotion to create those Alter Ego.

And seems like Tristan save Melt because she resemble Isolde... *shrugs* Hope DW can give a rough sketch of what she look like someday. But Melt eventually fades away after using all of her Spirit Origins to fight against Kiara.... After BB recording their irregular existence as a Servant in the Throne of Heroes.

So the Melt we meet will be a new Melt... One that have no memories of us and the CCC event. And a reyshift is here for Gudas! Suzuka went away first with reminding Gudas to text her if they ever want to meet. Tama Cat returns to Chaldea to prepare food for us. Robin went back to throne of Heroes since he got dragged here on a whim

Lip... Part us a farewell, knowing the next time we meet her, it’ll be a Lip that has no memories of us. Lastly the AI... Nah, we don’t show you anything. You still like to insult to the very core. So okay, bye.

Now... Finally back home at last, we’re... Greeted by Da Vinci who don’t remember what happened?! Wait, the past even change so that it’s now dismantled?!!?!?! 

That some reyshifting.... ANd.... Some sassy stupid lost child AI invited herself into Chaldea. Oh yeah, you hate humans so much you must travel all the way 2019 to study our technology. Oh wow, your stupidity has gone no bounds as usual! Yeah yeah, stay all you want, knock yourself out. Just because you stay, we don’t need to entertain you 24/7

Thoughts & Observation:

Aside from the crazy difficulty and grinding, I expect no less from Nasu who written the story himself... And again, aside from the unecessary harem scene of course.

Boss fight, majorly Alter Ego are the pain in the ass. Because 2 years later, their boss is still the same with no Anti-Alter Ego class currently

BB’s fight is hell for now, but at least 2 years later with Emperor mothman,.. It’ll be slightly better

Passionlip:

..... First round is what the hell, especially her AOE NP. And it’s better that’s it’s 3 charge, and first time for NA

Second round, it’s practically before first HP break to break it since she charged her NP fast

David apparently died on that second round... From that insta-death. Her third skill buff missed ignore invincibility.... But that insta-death definitely didn’t miss a shit on David

Though at least final hp bar is scrapping whatever luck I have to make sure insta-death doesn’t work....

Suzuka:

She’s.... She’s surprisingly not that hard. Maybe front two rounds is difficult, especially trying to hit a certain HP with that defense buff.

But her third round, after learning my lesson in JP.... Bring an AOE Archer to kill her and her later Shadow Hijikata on second HP break

Jeanne and Merlin have been my MVP since both are taking turns to pull out wide invincibility against her

Meltryllis:

....... She’s the only one I still refused to look forward in 2 years later

Taunting is one hell to go through. Skill seal + attack down that’s practically RNG based especially if it lands on your support to cast defense against her. And finally her hp recovery down every turn... 

It’s not bad if you can get Merlin’s NP spammable every turn.... Only thing is her fucking crits that outdo your healing

I can still remembering making sure Herc-chan killing her with his brave chain....

But main MVP is Vlad III Extra, surviving long enough with his NP to deal the damage most of the time

BB:

My only problem was because I’m too used to Emperor’s mothman, and looking forward 2 years later to beat her with borrowing as support.... Given if I’m unlucky again to not have him home in NA too

Borrow Martha Ruler, but initially had wanted to go for Amakusa... Because Martha Ruler was taking quite a while to beat the front

Even better... I used Arash to get rid of the front.... But I forgot there’s the guts buff. And neither him or the first wave died....

BB herself on boss fight isn’t hard with taunters around to lure her NP away from Waver and Martha

Emiya Alter

Not as bad as Melt, but I’m still not looking forward to his fight.

I did learn from JP’s experience... So I borrowed Melt with Waver and 3 taunters to fight

Had to make sure the Melt I borrowed had Sakura CE’s MLB so Waver can buff her NP up and she does her brave chain to quickly break away his first HP bar

That was my problem as I realize delaying it will means quicker death for my Servants

So once it breaks... All it left was making sure the taunters takes the damage from the NP while keeping Melt and Waver alive to fight

Kiara aka Beast III/R:

Maybe because it was using Jeanne... Combined with Merlin and Vlad III Extra, that it’s slightly difficult than usual

Especially this is still her NP without the overdue interlude that upgrades her NP to remove her stun

But it’s still not that bad, except some time Kiara tends to crit more often than usual

Fondut au Chocolat CE helps a lot when combine with Vlad’s NP to deal more damage against her

I don’t mind going back to Mash + Merlin setup with BB.... But I’ll try it one more time 2 years later, with Jeanne having her NP upgraded

While Agartha is debatable in how I’m going to go through for that, it’s time to go back to JP for the coming big Raid session!

[col22promo]

Annie Perrault | Twenty One;  Survivor

House: Calyset Security Class: 2 Status: Deluded

History

Anxiety has always been an issue for Annie Perrault, so you can imagine that in the wake of the ‘end of the world’ she’s not exactly sure-footed.

As a child, Annie was nothing out of the ordinary. She was well-behaved and excitable, close with her older sister and sweet with her parents. But she’d always been a shadow of the personality her sister carried, and though this had never posed an issue in her younger years, everything changed when she entered middle school.

Not only were kids more competitive and more judgmental, but her parents had also removed her from the private school environment, enrolling her into public instead, which was really a whole other ball game. Students would tease her for her shy and quiet behavior, or for often putting her hand up in class. Proving to be an easy target, they goaded Annie to the point of tears, insecurity, and a sudden unwillingness to participate in school. She didn’t dare raise her hand anymore, because she couldn’t stand the looks her bullies would shoot her, the things they’d whisper behind binders when the teachers weren’t listening.

The bullying escalating to constant emotional torture and even violence, Annie became scared to leave the house or encounter people. When her family moved to a new city a couple years later, she hoped to get a fresh start. And though the move allowed her to escape the worst of her bullying, years of anxiety and fear of social situations, couldn’t simply be erased overnight.

Annie became determined to be a stronger person, but it had her throwing herself somewhat blindly into her responsibilities and school work. It made it challenging to handle her stress levels because she wouldn’t give herself a moment to relax, a moment to unclench, because everything was a fight and she was constantly on the edge of panic. She had to keep working, in fear she might break down.

With preparation for college now a factor, graduating year was an especially hard one. She developed a rather severe addition to caffeine, one that had been ebbing it’s way into problematic over the past year or so, but flared dangerously in her 12th year. She began avoiding sleep—first it was an inability to sleep, the constant worrying and anxiety making it almost impossible, not to mention the caffeine, but over the months, her decreased mental health twisted it into a confused fear of sleep. Like if she slept, she would be wasting time, or if she slept, she might not wake up.

A wrought mess of anxiety and stress, Annie began having serious panic attacks at school. Even just having her shoulder inadvertently knocked in the hall would make her flinch, her throat tighten. Presentations and anticipation for tests could cause her to hyperventilate, and it got to the point that simply the fear of having another attack could bring one on—a cruel irony.

Eventually, Annie’s parents withdrew her from school to complete the rest of her final year from home. When she graduated, her mother took her to London as a reward, thinking that the holiday would be good for her, and that they might get some quality time together.

That was when the world ended, and Annie was left alone.

Annie Today

Infections of the apocalypse touched Annie and her fear of sleep with cruel, ironic fingers. After the End of the world, Annie woke believing that she’d simply fallen asleep again—but for the last time. She was convinced she was living in a nightmare, stuck here as punishment, for not being strong enough, good enough, smart enough.

Four years have passed, and though she still believes herself to be a permanent resident of a dream world, she is much the same person she used to be. The loss of her family and her classified delusion has put her on a very slow track of recovery, and she spends several hours a week in therapy—partially because it’s where she goes when she doesn’t know where else to. Though this nightmare has been hellish, she’s found that there are some kind people here, and the therapist’s chair has become a sort of comfort for her. Something that feels a little more connected with the real world she’d left behind, perhaps because it’s familiar—not unlike the therapists chairs she’d sat in week after week while she was in school and suffering debilitating anxiety.

She has fewer panic attacks than she used to, and having gotten accustomed to her surroundings, her generalized anxiety is a little less prominent. But there are times that she will still stay awake for days, sometimes a week, because going to sleep in her nightmare has done nothing in the past 200 some-odd weeks to get her back to the real world—so maybe by some backwards logic, the trick is to stay awake. To not be rested in this universe, because as long as she’s sustaining life here, here is where she’ll stay.

Unfortunately, neither of these theories have paid off, and at the tail end of these insomniac phases, which are fueled on fear and as much caffeine as her limited portions will allow, she’ll reliably crash hard, fine some kind of normalcy for a week or two, and then cycle back.

Obviously her mental condition and lack of sleep don’t make her the best candidate for training and the games. But she finds, despite her obvious disadvantages, she wants to do well. These people of her living nightmare have grown to mean something to her, especially those in her House, and she doesn’t like the idea of disappointing them, real or not. Some days she’ll make it all the way through training without too much incident, others the pressure will be too much, and she’ll crack under it.

She excels most in the area of archery, however, because it is a sport that requires silence, patience, and even breathing. In fact, it works a bit like meditation for her, and though she isn’t known for her performances in endurance or direct competition scenarios, she will actually spend some of her free time doing target practice. It helps to clear her head, and give her some sense of peace of mind.

HOME | PLOT | SURVIVORS | INFECTIONS | 2157 was the end of the world.

[mads-baker]

Happy world bipolar day! Information and my experiences with bipolar disorder.

Happy world bipolar day! For the past 4 months (before social distancing, that is) I've been going to a mood disorder support group and I've decided I want to be more open about my illnesses. So here's a post that will be a combination of general information as well as my specific experiences with bipolar disorder. It's something that can be really difficult to talk about but it's important to me to raise awareness, so here goes!

*I will link to some resources at the bottom for anyone who has bipolar, wants to support someone who has bipolar, or just wants more information.*

Content warnings: descriptions of mania, depression, psychosis, and dissociation; very brief mention of self-harm.

General information:

Bipolar disorder is a mood disorder that involves alternating episodes of depression and mania or hypomania, where a depressive episode is defined as lasting at least two weeks and a manic/hypomanic episode is defined as lasting at least a week or being severe enough to warrant hospitalization. An episode can also last months or even years. My longest hypomanic episode lasted six months and my longest depressive episode lasted 14 months.

There are several subtypes of bipolar disorder, including bipolar 1 (depression and standard mania), bipolar 2 (depression and hypomania, which is a less severe form of mania--this is what I have), and rapid cycling bipolar (in which a person has 4 or more episodes per year). I will talk about depression and mania a bit later, after some more general information.

Bipolar is believed to be genetic, but environmental factors such as prolonged stress or trauma can also contribute to a person's risk of developing the disorder.

The onset can happen at any age but usually happens during the late teens or early twenties. I've had symptoms for as long as I can remember but the full onset--meaning when everything got a whole lot worse--was when I was 18.

There is no cure for bipolar. Medications, therapy, and lifestyle routines can help a person manage the illness, but it will never go away. Someone may be declared 'in remission' if they have no episodes for a long period of time but this does not mean that they are cured or should stop taking medication.

Everyone reacts to treatment and the illness itself in different ways. Some people are able to function at a high level while others are completely debilitated by this illness. Most of us are somewhere in between. Please don't try to compare people with this illness against each other; it can manifest in MANY different ways and affects everyone differently.

Mania and depression:

Mania (including hypomania, which involves the same symptoms but in a less severe form): Symptoms of mania include elevated mood, racing thoughts, pressured speech, irritability or rage, hypersexuality, grandiosity, and extreme impulsivity. During mania people often spend huge amounts of money, go days on little or no sleep, engage in high-risk behaviors, and have an endless flow of ideas. Psychosis can also occur. A person experiencing manic psychosis might have hallucinations or delusions and lose touch with reality. Delusions can be grandiose (e.x. believing that they are god or that they have supernatural powers) or paranoid (e.x. believing that someone is tracking them or that their mind is being controlled by some outside force).

Mania can be euphoric or dysphoric/mixed. Euphoric mania feels like a massive high--the brain pumps out huge amounts of dopamine. Dysphoric mania, also referred to as mixed mania or a mixed episode, involves simultaneous symptoms of mania and symptoms of depression. Dysphoric mania is difficult to describe and can present in many different ways... my experiences with it have been disorienting and terrifying and hellish.

Depression: Those of you who have experienced depression know that it is so much more severe and nuanced than 'just sadness'. It can feel like numbness, emptiness, apathy, anhedonia (loss of enjoyment in activities and hobbies), hopelessness, or generalized psychological and often physical pain. It is usually accompanied by anxiety, fatigue, brain fog, and changes in sleep and appetite. People experiencing depression often isolate themselves from others and may feel intense guilt or shame. Dissociation may also occur. Dissociation is the brain's way of coping with severe distress by detaching from the world. It can also take the form of depersonalization or derealization, and can range from feeling 'spaced out' to a complete disconnect from reality or oneself.

My diagnosis:

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when I was 19 after being hospitalized for psychosis and self-harm during a mixed episode. I went through some severe trauma during that time. Since then my executive functioning, memory, and focus have all declined. I struggle with chronic fatigue and I find myself more easily overwhelmed and less able to deal with stress. I have been told that these symptoms are not uncommon and are related to how the disorder affects various areas of the brain. My life-long struggle to control my sleep schedule has also worsened. I saw a sleep specialist for six months and she believes that my disordered sleep is related to bipolar and possibly exacerbated by my medications.

I go to therapy every week, see my psychiatrist for med management every 3-4 weeks, and go to a support group every 1-2 weeks. These three things have improved my life tremendously. (Quick shoutout to Dialectical Behavior Therapy in particular because it changed my life!) My episodes are much less severe now and I have long breaks of stability between them.

While I have made lots of progress, managing this illness on a daily basis is still extremely difficult. The mood instability, fatigue, anxiety, cognitive impairments, sleep problems, and medication side effects affect just about every area of my life.

Like I said, I have started wanting to be more open about these things. If anyone has any questions or wants to talk about mental health stuff, I'm here. I know a lot of y'all are struggling, and it can be helpful to talk about with a friend. I would never try to drag a conversation out of someone who didn't want to talk about it, but please know that I'm here and open to having those conversations.

One more note: When someone opens up about their struggles with mental illness we are usually not looking for advice. We are usually looking for empathy and support, and hearing "Get some fresh air!" or "You should eat healthier" instead of "I'm sorry you're dealing with this right now" or "I love you and I am here for you" feels really lousy. Most advice comes from a good place but it is often times not helpful. The one bit of advice that I think is appropriate is suggesting that someone seek professional help if they are not already. (It’s important to note that it can be very difficult to find and access mental health services on a good day, and a hundred times more difficult in the midst of an episode. Depending on your relationship with the person, consider asking them if you can help them with searching for providers, making phone calls, dealing with insurance, etc.)

Good ways to support someone with a mental illness include: checking in with them, being a good listener, letting them know that you care about them, letting them know that they are important to you, inviting them out for coffee / lunch / a walk / etc. (but also being understanding if they are not up for it), asking if there’s anything you can do to help (bringing them a meal, helping them with a chore, etc.), and helping them find a therapist and/or psychiatrist if they want help. Physical affection is often helpful but not always so please ask for consent first!

Here are some further resources:

More information and statistics

Information about DBSA (Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance) groups (many have support groups for friends/family as well)

Information about NAMI (the National Alliance on Mental Illness), which also runs support groups

A useful therapist finder, where you can filter by location, insurance, type of therapy, etc.

Information on ongoing mental illness research

The type of therapy I have found most helpful is called Dialectical Behavior Therapy. To learn more about DBT, here is a site I use a lot that goes over the skills and exercises

The DBT workbook I went through

A mindfulness and meditation teacher whose talks have been really helpful to me

[scripttraumasurvivors]

what if a character escapes their trauma but doesnt get prof. help (reason can vary) and recovers thru other means (social support from peers, or for ex. if they turned to addiction to cope then they tackle that)? obviously the recovery wouldnt be as great/fast right? but the goal is to be as functional as possible and have support/management for the rest.. and it would seem realistic to have a 'no this isnt working' moment later but what im asking is if this is a *Thing* that happens/can happen

Uhm…. to be honest right now this question isn’t… super comprehensible, I have a strong feeling it is that way because you tried to fit it in one ask. If it comes up again?

Send two. Because if I have to spend extra time just trying to understand your ask… I’m going to typically skip on to the next one while I have so many.

I am going to answer what I think is being asked which is 1) Even though it might be more difficult, recovery without a professional is possible, right? 2) Should it have a ‘wait this isn’t working’ moment.

And actually- let me be honest with you-

Professional help isn’t always better than social support.

There are things that swing it in both areas.

1) Does social support anyone who has.. ‘insider knowledge.’   And they might have gained that through a number of places. Different places have trauma training even if it isn’t -called- trauma training.

I have met more trauma informed religious practitioners in my area than I have therapists who didn’t ask me shitty questions. And I’m not sure if this is a universal thing- I highly suspect it isn’t. But something about where I am at in the united states, the churches around here decided to step up and be therapy groups basically. They don’t call them therapy groups. They call them grief groups. They call them support groups for those who are struggling with temptation. They call them support groups for those whose loved ones are far away. Probably one church in the area started it and the others followed suit- but it is,… pretty common around here for most of the churches (…. and there are a lot of them. I live in what is called the Bible Belt and there are more churches close to me than there are -stores-) to have support groups most of the week. And most of them seem to have cobbled together trauma training and compassionate listening skills. 

Some people, for whatever reason, are just… born with a better grasp on emotional support. Sometimes this is then fostered and they are very good at this kind of thing. 

Some people, for whatever reasons, are really great at problem solving without stomping on everyone’s toes. They too would be good for trauma support- at least, certain aspects of it.

Someone who has dealt well with another person’s trauma might be able to help better.

Someone who has gone through trauma of their own and has found peace, or at least ways to make life less hellish for a bit.

They may have had had a grandmother or father or aunt/uncle who is particularly good at helping in an emotional crisis and picked up those tools.

They might have picked them up during a mediation course in school.

Or from scouts. Or from any number of programs that just… sometimes happens to do a good job.

I mean- justify it. Find good reasons and establish it why your supporting characters are good (and all of these things can come with their own drawbacks too) I once had a character who was the eldest brother of seven, who had basically… carried the family when mom ended up with postpartum. Who’d done group therapy as a child.

He was very good at helping. But everything he did? Was basically him treating the other character the same way he treated some of his younger siblings. and you see him on page waffling with that. Trying to figure out how not to look patronizing but also ‘uh yeah, ya want me to pack you a lunch because if not you might not eat???’

A religious character might have to navigate how to use comforting words with someone of a different faith. Or they might forget and fuck up and just use the words they usually use and … fail to help because those are very specific to their religion.

2) Sometimes professional therapists -suck-

I’m going to get personal right now. A list of reasons my personal therapists sucked:

-I’m not straight and two different ones decided I was not straight because I was raped. One of them specifically suggested multiple times that she would not consider me well until I had sex again.

-One of them believed evil spirits were attacking me and I needed to weave in order to build a better protective circle around myself.

-One of them, despite the fact that when I drop beneath a certain weight again my brain starts screeching ‘YOU’RE GOING TO BE TRAUMATIZED AGAIN.’ Kept insisting I needed to lose weight without being willing to do with me the work needed for me not to… yeah. panic.

-Another one of them was so determined mindfulness was the only course despite me saying ‘doing it makes me feel suicidal and out of control.’

-Another one of them fired me because I came in slightly hungover the day after a traumaversary. They were the one who had insisted I come in that day, knowing I was an addict. To make me hate them more, this included them saying it was ‘disrespectful’ of me and them kicking me out pretty much less than five minutes after I uttered the words ‘I want to kill myself right now’ with not so much as a ‘go to the hospital.’

Being a professional doesn’t stop professionals from having biases. It’s only pretty recently in the history of psychology that trauma patient treatment wasn’t just ‘treat them like animals and drug them up and keep them away from eyes’ and ‘make them bleed, vomit, and piss themselves because then they’ll be better.’

As for your other question.

That’s reasonable no matter what. In fact, it reads really unreasonable in any long form piece for there not to be draw backs. (I say long form because if you’re writing 3k.. obviously there’s a different expectation of how many scenes you show.)

Hopefully that helps, 

TS

[meltingalphabet]

The Reunion

This happened two years ago, yet, I can still remember it as if it were yesterday. I’ve told the cops what happened, I’ve told reporters and friends, my therapist... But I feel like I’ve never been able to tell the whole story to them. These people weren’t just victims, they were my friends. They were a huge part of my life. Their deaths weren’t simply the visceral manifestation of insanity, but an accumulation of the lives they had lead, ending prematurely at the hands of someone who misguidedly felt betrayed. I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start, not at the beginning, but in the middle.

When you’re in your late thirties, you find that you’ve become distant from friends you were once really close with. In college, my wife Victoria (my friend and soon-to-be girlfriend at the time), and I were part of a tight-knit group of undergrads: Nick, Addison, Heather, Leann, Jacob, Ricky, Bianca, and Tom. The last time all ten of us were together, before the incident two years ago, was at Victoria and my’s wedding, back in 2012.

Nick and Jacob lived together in New York City. Nick moved there to be a big shot on Wall Street. He worked at some company named after three old white men, making much more than any of the rest of us. Jacob was focusing on his music, performing as lead guitarist in a Heavy Metal band that, based on social media, was actually gaining some notoriety in the city. Jacob and Nick had been best friends in college, and were still best friends. They had one of those bromances you see on television. They met in college when Nick passed Jacob’s open dorm and heard the sound of guitar. Nick ran to his room to grab his bass, and the rest, as they say, is history.

The other pair of best friends, Heather and Leann, had moved to the Bay Area after college, but unlike the guys, they eventually moved apart. Both were still on the west coast, Heather had moved to a smaller town outside of the city where she worked in publishing, and Leann had moved to Portland to work as a social justice lawyer.

Addison was living with her elderly parents in Boston while she worked on her nursing degree. She had recently divorced her husband of six years, and had become a bit elusive, so that was all I knew, really.

Ricky had moved the furthest, leaving the U.S. all together and living in London with his wife, where he became a fairly successful television writer for the BBC. I had watched all of his shows, though Victoria avoided them. They were filled with suspense, illicit affairs, and kidnapping. She preferred romantic stories or the Great British Bake Off.

Bianca and Tom got married a year before we did. They stayed in Hanover, not too far from Dartmouth, where we all went to school. Bianca owned her own pilates and yoga studio, and Tom, unable to leave college life, worked in the Administrative Department of the school.

Victoria and I moved to Connecticut after graduation so I could work at my father’s architecture firm. Victoria had been working in web development, but was taking a few years off to focus on our daughter, Molly. We had been dating for almost twenty years, cohabitating for fifteen, and married for ten. In that time, the two of us had grown from just two adults, to two adults, a three year old, a loveable, bossy Corgi named Rufus, two fluffy and infuriating cats named Ham and Cheese, and our most recent addition: a curious rabbit named Princess Twinkle (Molly had chosen that name).

Two years ago on a frosty February morning, I opened my email to find an invitation to a weekend get-together from Tom:

Hey Chuckster!

Long time no talk, man. Hope you guys are faring this hellish winter alright. We moved into our new house a few weeks ago (sidenote: I would not recommend moving in January), and we’re already having issues with the roof. Bianca has been busy renovating this baby since last May! She promised me it’ll be habitable any day now. This place is much too large for the two of us, but we’re hoping to fill it soon, if you know what I mean ;)

Speaking of kids, I saw the pictures you posted online last week of Molly opening her Christmas gifts. Man, she is huge! I hope Bianca and I get down to your neck of the woods soon to finally meet the little bugger.

Anyway, I’m emailing you because Ricky called last night and he’s going to be in town this March, from the 23rd to the 30th. I guess he’s doing a few guest lectures at Dartmouth. He asked if he could stay with us, and of course we were thrilled at the idea. Ricky and I got to talking, and we decided it was the perfect opportunity to try and organize a little college reunion! We’re thinking an old fashioned shindig, Saturday the 28th.

I sent an email out to the usual suspects. We’d love it if you and Victoria could make it up! We have guest rooms to spare, so you can spend the night. Hell, stay the whole weekend!

Feel free to bring the kiddo, though keep in mind she’d be the only one under thirty since the rest of us have yet to reproduce.

Love you man,

Hope to see you soon!

Tom

Victoria and I didn’t have any other plans for that weekend, and my mom and dad happily agreed to babysit. The next night, I sent Tom a response saying we’d be there.

For the next couple of weeks, Tom would send me regular updates on the party. Heather and Leann were the next two to agree to the plan. They decided to make the trip together. Heather was going to fly to Portland, stay with Leann for the night, and then the two of them would fly to Boston, where they would pick up Addison and the three would drive up to New Hampshire. A week later, Jacob finally convinced Nick to take the bus up from New York with him.

By early March, we were all booked and ready. Victoria and I were ecstatic. We hadn’t seen anyone since the wedding, which at that time, had been three years ago. Not to mention, as the bride and groom, we really didn’t get much time to catch up with old friends. This would be the first time we all hung out, just us, in almost a decade.

Victoria and I left home early Saturday, dropping Molly off with her grandparents before heading out. The weather report told us to expect some nasty rain that night, so we wanted to get to New England before visibility on the road was bad. We were pulling into Tom and Bianca’s driveway at a little after one in the afternoon, the New England sun high above us, trying to warm the chilly New Hampshire air. It looked so nice, so calm and peaceful. But I could see dark clouds crawling menacingly towards us when I lowered my head to the steering wheel to look up at the distant sky past the edge of my car’s roof.

Tom and Bianca’s home was quite large. It was a classic New England Colonial home, painted a light sky blue with white trim and shutters. A wrap around porch, an addition that was tastefully designed to not contrast the classic structure, stretched from the front door to the side. We grabbed our weekend bags from the trunk, and walked up the front steps. The large white door greeting us warmly.

Victoria’s hand hovered in front of the doorbell, and she looked at me, a huge excited smile stretching from ear to ear. “Ready?”

I laughed at her giddiness, “just ring it, weirdo.”

She pushed, a large chime filling the inside of the house. We waited a few seconds before the door burst open, and Tom stood in front of us wearing khakis and a pink polo. His dirty blonde hair shaggy, yet neat, just like it had been ten years ago. His smiled was crooked on his face, but I noticed a few lines tracing the sides of his mouth. Otherwise, he looked the same: young and cocky. Ego and self-esteem in abundance. His skin was tanned with time spent playing and lounging outside, and the beer bottle between his right thumb and forefinger was as much a part of him as his kind, intelligent brown eyes. I thought of the slight gut forming under my sweater as I noticed that Tom had retained, not only the confidence, but the lean athletic body of his youth.

“Fuck yeah! The adult supervision has arrived!” He hollered before embracing both of us in a warm hug. I could hear a female whooping come from deep in the house, which I instantly recognized as Bianca. Tom and Bianca had always been the partiers, while everyone else joked that Victoria and I were the group’s official old folks. Victoria’s obsession with knitting and my bizarre love of creamed corn helped solidify that reputation fairly early on in our freshman year.

“Come on, come on, the party's already started!” Tom ushered us inside. We followed him into the living room where Bianca and Ricky were sitting, drinking beers. Several hands of cards lay forgotten on the coffee table in front of them.

Bianca jumped up squealing before proceeding to attack my wife with a huge hug. She wore her long light blonde hair in a messy bun on top of her head, and was dressed in dark blue yoga pants and a white t-shirt. Her lips were a light shade of pink, that suited her pale complexion well. Like Tom, she managed to maintain the fit body from her successful cheerleading career in High School and College.

Tom left towards the kitchen while Ricky stood, extending his hand to me. I laughed at the gesture, and pulled him into a warm embrace. As we parted, I eyed him from top to bottom. A wannabe-novelist in his youth, selling out his craft for television had not affected his style much at all. He wore the clothes of a writer: dark jeans and a mustard yellow cardigan that played well with his rich mocha skin, but Ricky was not your usual poet. While one might expect the writer of our group to be lean and frail looking, the clean-cut clothing looked strained again the large muscular body underneath.

“Oh my god! I’m so excited you guys could make it!” Bianca said, finally able to speak intelligible words as she released Victoria from her grasp and hugged me.

“We wouldn’t have missed it for the world! And thanks, Ricky, for visiting and getting this going!” I said over her shoulder.

“I am the proverbial snowball that lead to the avalanche.” Ricky said, bowing jokingly to me. Tom reentered, arms full of cold beers.

Victoria snorted, taking a beer from Tom’s outstretched hand, “poetic, but I don’t think that’s a common idiom.”

Ricky gave her a silent half smile in return, the closest thing he had to a friendly chuckle.

“Fucking English majors.” Tom rolled his eyes, smirking.

“I know, right? We suck.” Victoria retorted and pushed Tom’s shoulder playfully. I tensed slightly. Tom and Victoria had dated for a hot minute freshman year, before quickly realizing their incompatibility. And by that, I mean Tom dumped her after a month because he didn’t want something serious. It didn’t take long for Tom and Bianca to drunkenly hook up at a frat party, and ironically, the two became pretty inseparable for the remainder of our college years, and beyond.

It took Victoria almost a year to recover from the break up. I was waiting in the wings, though. I spent nights comforting her, bringing her ice cream, listening to her lament the loss of another guy. It was worth it in the end, but it still made me uneasy when they flirted like this, even if it was just friendly, and even after all these years. I tried to shrug it off. Tom did flirt with everyone.

I grabbed the beer Tom offered and took a swig. My body loosened instinctively at the familiar ice cold taste.

Looking down at my watch, I saw that it was now two. “When does everybody else get in?” I asked.

“Any minute now!” Tom said excitedly, turning away from my wife to face me. “I just got a text from Heather that they decided to meet Nick and Jacob at the bus stop. Their bus was scheduled to come in…” he checked the time on his phone, “now, I guess. The girls got there twenty minutes ago. According to Heather, she talked to Nick and figured they might as well give the guys a ride instead of forcing them to take a cab.” I smiled, Heather was always the planner of the bunch. If it wasn't for her organization and leadership, our group probably wouldn't have survived long. “With that many bodies, they’re lucky Addison owns an SUV instead of tiny sedan like you guys.” Tom laughed, as if our twelve year old Accord was a joke everyone was in on. “If everything's going according to schedule, they should be here in half an hour,” he finished.

The doorbell rang fifty minutes later. “Bolla bolla bolla!” Tom yelled, throwing both arms into the air excitedly, spilling at least half of a beer in the process. I chuckled. I hadn’t heard anyone say that since college, when we were dumb drunk kids. I wasn’t sure Tom had ever stopped being a dumb drunk kid.

Bianca went to the door, Tom following her, continuing his juvenile call, which echoed off of the high ceilings.

Ricky, Victoria, and I listened to the door open, followed by both male and female voices joining in. “Bolla bolla bolla!” the cries reverberated to the living room. Ricky rolled his eyes, beaming, and Victoria snorted with laughter. I looked at my wife’s face, glowing with a carefree happiness I hadn’t seen since Molly was born. I smiled at her.

Suddenly, a gaggle of late thirty year olds flooded the room with high-pitched squeals and hugs. “Sorry we’re late!” Heather called out, “Nick had to fail at getting the digits of a cute girl from the bus, and we had to watch!” Heather, Leann, and Addison fell into a fit of giggling at this. Nick scowled.

I greeted my old friends, shocked at how much they had changed. Minus Jacob, who, like Tom and Bianca, looked exactly as he had in college. He still wore those round glasses that only artists with oval faces can pull off, or Harry Potter. He didn’t even look like he had aged. He was wearing a band shirt for some band I had never heard of and his long blonde hair was cut exactly like it had years ago. He always had a very Cobain air about him.

I had seen photos of Leann, Nick, and Addison on facebook, and had noticed the subtle changes over the years, but in person, they took my breath away.

The stress of divorce and taking care of her parents while getting her Masters seemed to be taking a lot out of Addison. She had been the nerd of the group: smart, focused, shy, but now she also looked tired, as if she was fraying at the edges. In college, she’d often abandon parties long before the rest of us were ready to go home. She prefered movie nights to frat houses, art exhibits to ragers, museums to bars. She had always been a bit sloppy, but now she just looked… frumpy. Her face old and lined, her brown hair already slowly turning silver.

Contrarily, it was startling to see Leann, Nick, and Heather as polished, successful adults.

Leann, who had always been a bit of a hippie with her long flowing brown hair, unshaved legs, and long skirts, now wore a shorter bob, her hair cut close to the bottom of her jaw, and with much less frizz. She wore some makeup, though very subtle, and her jeans and t-shirt were neat, clean, and fitted.

Nick still looked like he was trying too hard to be cool, but now he had an air of wealth that had never surrounded him in college. His baggy t-shirt with holes at the armpits was now a form fitting striped sweater. He still wore his hair chin length, but instead of looking greasy with unwash, it was neatly cut, combed, and, most importantly, clean. His beard was trimmed close to his face, and he smelled like soap and a very subdued cologne.

Heather was the most drastic. She had never embraced the trend of social media which began late in our college years, and so I did not have any hint about her physical transformation until now. She was never grossly overweight in college, but she was definitely not what you would call skinny. Bianca always had, and still had, the body of a cheerleader. Victoria, even after having Holly, was a naturally very slim person, with a small frame. Heather was much broader and taller. Her hobby of weightlifting always contributing to her feminine but strong physique, her love of fast food giving her some extra weight. Heather was still tall and broad, but now her body was lean with muscle and little fat.

I hugged the slim Heather.

“Wow, Heather, you look fantastic!” I said, releasing her.

She blushed, “heh, thanks.”

She turned to Tom, who winked while handing her a beer. The red of her cheeks deepened, and I noticed Bianca roll her eyes.

“The whole gang, back together! This is insane!” Jacob exclaimed.  

Leann broke away from her hug with Bianca, “Damn, Bianca! Everytime I see you, I’m amazed at how young you still look!”

“Oh stop!” Bianca cried, waving her away.

“So, are you going to give us a tour of this ridiculously amazing home of yours?” asked Leann, gesturing to her surroundings.

Bianca smiled, pleased with the invitation, “of course! Follow me!” She and Tom led us from the living room into the large, modern kitchen, which shined with new chrome appliances.

Nick whistled. “Holy shit, this must have cost a fortune!”

Tom shrugged, “oh this? This was nothing.” He laughed. “This was all the beautiful Bianca’s doing!” He bowed to his wife, who beamed back. “Wait till you see the master bedroom!” And with that he bounded off.

“No, but really, Tom. How did you guys afford this?” Nick’s voice trailed behind him as he followed, leaving the kitchen behind, the rest of us slowly making our own way to the stairs.

“It might have taken a credit card or two to get this place up to snuff.” Tom admitted at the head of the migration.

Heather groaned, never one to hide how she really felt, “you know that's just asking for trouble, right?”

Bianca giggled, “oh, don’t worry about it, Heather. I’ve got it taken care of. Soon, Tom and I won’t have to worry about any of that.”

Jacob looked at Tom inquisitively, but he just shrugged.

Victoria leaned into my side, and I tilted my ear to her mouth as we walked behind the rest of the group. “This place is incredible.” She whispered, her eyes locking on mine. I felt a small twin pang of jealousy in the pit of my stomach. The place was fancy, clean, and immaculate. It was beyond impressive. Our own home was small, decorated in furniture that, if it didn’t start out as used, was now after ten years and a kid. Victoria and my’s love of animals and children made us give up on interior design, organization, and cleanliness years ago. Seeing homes like this always reminded us of our failings.

I put my arm around Victoria, squeezed her closer, and kissed her forehead. “Their place might be a palace, but we’re the ones lucky enough to be woken up at 7am every Saturday and Sunday morning by a small, bossy child and her equally small, bossy Corgi pal.” My wife snorted and pushed me away as we walked into the bedroom.

The room was almost as large as the kitchen. Hell, it might have been larger. The focal point was a large four post bed, draped with white silks. The furniture surrounding it was large, and made of a polished dark wood. In the middle of the ceiling was a small, but still quite grand chandelier. There was even a dark blue velvet chaise lounge in the corner.

“Check out the jacuzzi tub!” Tom cried, throwing open the french doors into the bathroom. Inside was a large round bathtub, with a glass shower next to it, containing many more shower nozzles than I ever thought would be necessary. Both the tub and the shower were surrounded with rich light brown marble.

Tom beamed at me expectantly. I nodded slowly, and said the only thing that came to mind, “wow.” Tom clapped me on the back, and then proceeded to jump onto the steps leading up to the tub. He raised his arms like a dictator about to give a speech.

“And this, ladies and gents, will be where the party ends tonight.” He winked again at Heather, who looked away, pretending not to notice.

“Sure thing, T-bone.” Victoria said sarcastically. “Can we like, not hang out in your bathroom anymore? It’s kind of weird.” Jacob laughed and we walked into the bedroom. Ricky, Nick, and Leann continued to lead us towards the bedroom door, but Tom interrupted the procession.

“Before we leave the luxury of the master bedroom, who wants to play the phone game?” Tom asked in a excessively sensual tone, an eyebrow raised.

“You mean that game kids play in preschool? You want us to get in a circle and whisper a sentence into each other’s ears until it’s gibberish?” Victoria asked, incredulously.  

Tom laughed at this, the alcohol making his gestures and sounds grander than usual. “Not that one, though I guess we can try that later. Seems like Vicky and Chuck’s party games have changed slightly since having a kid.” Everyone laughed and Tom continued, “No, this is a different game.” He walked over and opened the door at the side of the room to reveal a large walk-in closet, complete with a middle island. Possibly for shoe storage? Or something similarly unnecessary and ridiculous.

He walked to a large safe set into the wall, and began spinning the front dial, stopping and reversing it occasionally as he entered the combination. “This is the no-distractions-at-the-party cell phone game,” Tom said. There was a large click, and he stepped to the side, opening the safe door in the process. The door swung heavily, revealing a large dark space. “Everyone who wants to participate in the best reunion ever, put your cell phones inside!” Tom beamed mischievously at us.

“Fuck no.” Victoria said, crossing her arms sternly.

“Yeah, I’m not doing that.” Leann agreed.

“Can you maybe explain the point of this game, Tom?” Nick asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? It’s to ensure our fun night isn’t interrupted. No work, no other friends, no family. Tonight, this house is our world and nothing exists beyond it.” He grabbed his phone from his pocket, and placed it inside the safe.

“I think it’s a good idea.” Bianca said, and handed him her phone.

Tom laughed, “yeah, cause it was yours, babe. Remember? You suggested it at breakfast yesterday.”

Bianca thought back, “was it?”

Tom chuckled and kissed her affectionately on the cheek. He turned to Ricky, “the memory on this one,” he said gesturing to her with his thumb.

“Who needs brains when you’ve got a body like that, am I right?!” Nick whispered loudly to Tom, as he elbowed him in the chest knowingly. Bianca smiled sarcastically at him and I heard Victoria groan quietly beside me. Nick could be an ass sometimes. Heather gave him a small smack to the back of the head, glowering at him. Nick shrugged at her sheepishly.

“Eh, yeah.” Tom said as he put Bianca's phone with his. “Anyway,” he turned to the rest of us, quickly forgetting Nick’s comment and continuing, “haven’t you ever played that game, when going out to dinner where everyone puts their cell phone in the middle of the table, face down, and the first one to check theirs has to pay?”

“Ugh, fine.” Leann put her phone onto the pile.

Heather reluctantly pulled hers out of her pocket, and turned to Tom, “but you better write that combination down somewhere so when someone injures themselves while you’re passed out, we can get a phone.”

“Don’t worry,” Bianca reassured, “we’ve still got a landline in case of emergencies.”

Heather put her phone into the safe, followed shortly by Nick, Jacob, and Ricky. Addison twisted her mouth in frustration, looking from face to face, and begrudgingly handed Tom her phone. Everyone turned expectantly to Victoria and I, neither of us reaching towards our cell phones.

“What if something happens to Molly? What if my parents need to get in touch with us?” I asked.

“You gave them our number, right?”

I looked at Victoria, who nodded at me. Tom saw and continued, “see, they’ll be able to reach you. I promise!” I looked at my watch. It was three thirty.

“Alright.” I sighed and handed Tom my phone. I had texted my parents when we got in, and everything seemed to be going well. I didn’t see any harm in the situation. Victoria followed my lead, begrudgingly.

With all the phones accounted for in the safe, Tom swung the door closed with a loud click. “Trust me, we’ll have so much fun tonight, you guys won’t even notice you don’t have your phones.”

Everyone started out into the hall to continue the tour. I turned to Victoria, and winked, pointing to my smartwatch. She smiled, relief washing over her face. Even with my phone locked away, I’d know if someone was trying to get in touch with me.

Hours later, the beers swished and sloshed inside my stomach while heavy rain beat down on the glass doors beside us. I stood in the kitchen, arguing over the finer details of the most recent fan theory of Game of Thrones with Nick and Heather. Addison stood off to the side, listening to the argument while pulling on the sleeves of her oversized sweatshirt. Leann, Ricky, and Victoria were making a giant dish of nachos while Bianca whipped up a batch of margaritas. Tom danced behind her, trying his best to distract her from her task. She giggled as she leaned back into his body. They swayed to the music - a playlist of their own devising, made up entirely of music that was popular during our years in college. They had speakers set up in each room of the house, all connected to a master stereo in the living room, so no matter where you went, you couldn’t get away. But at least we could no longer hear the wind howling against the house. I watched Bianca move her hips side to side, her pilates-assisted ass pressing into Tom, whose smile was cheser-cat wide. They looked like teenagers. Even with this giant fancy home surrounding them, they acted like they were horny, nineteen, and in love. Just like I remembered.

“He is obviously only half Lannister and half Targaryen! Does he look like any of the Lannisters to you!?!” Nick gestured into the air enthusiastically while staring wide eyed at Heather.

“But does he really look like a Targaryen??” Heather asked, dubious of Nick’s argument.

“That’s because you only watch the show! You got to read the books!” Nick yelled, his face turning red with frustration.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” Addison whispered to the group, obviously uncomfortable with the heated debate, and left towards the stairs.

Nick rolled his eyes, and turned to Heather. “Oh look, we made overly sensitive Addison uncomfortable.”

“Shut up, Nick!” Bianca scolded, and turned to follow her.

He blew a raspberry and continued his lecture on true bloodlines.

Bianca returned several moments later, while Nick was describing the real heir to the Iron Throne in great detail. I turned to her, and she shook her head with a small smile, a sign I interpreted as meaning that Addison needed some space from the group for a moment. I nodded and returned the smile.

Once the nachos were done, we all went into the living room. Bianca placed a wide-brimmed margarita glass in front of me, full to the top with green slushy alcohol, the brim rimmed with salt. There was even a little yellow paper umbrella resting in it.

“Thank you, but I think I’ll pass on this round, Bianca.” I said politely, passing her back the large unbalanced glass, careful not to spill the contents. Bianca looked hurt, so I added “It looks amazing, but I’ve had a lot of beer. I don’t want to overdo it.” She reached for the drink.

Tom appeared behind her, “dude, come on! It’s a party!” He leaned towards me and lowered his voice, “Just one margarita won’t hurt, and Bianca put a lot of effort into them.”

I smiled, and brought my arm, and the margarita, back towards me. “Alright, alright!” I lifted my left hand up in surrender, “I’ll have a margarita.” Bianca’s face lit up. “But just one!” I said, raising my finger warningly at Tom, who smiled in return.

I brought the drink to my lips, and was pleasantly surprised. The margarita was sweet, but not too sweet like most fruity drinks. It was good, but after my first sip, I left the glass mostly untouched beside me as I joined the conversation of the rest of the group.

The years apart were long forgotten as old jokes were dredged up from the past, and shit talk passed from old friends without hurt feelings or damaged egos. We were just a group of carefree kids once again.

“Alright, piss break.” Nick slurred as he slowly got to his feet, stood for a moment, swaying slightly, and shuffled to the bathroom.

Ricky snickered, “wowzers, someone can’t hold his liquor anymore.”

The small black speakers above us began playing a pop song I recognized, but couldn’t name. “Oh shit!” Tom exclaimed, standing up and reaching for Heather, “this was my jam!”

Heather took his hand, and he pulled her up towards him. Ricky jumped off the couch, and shoved it towards the wall, creating more space for the impromptu dance floor. He offered his hand to Leann, bowing to her playfully, and she joined him. I turned to Victoria, who was sitting beside me on the other, larger couch. She smiled, and we joined in the party.

While Leann and Ricky danced awkwardly facing each other, but with an appropriate distance between them, Tom was hugging Heather to him, moving his body with hers to the beat of the music, much as he had earlier with his wife, but his face held a serious concentration that it hadn't before. Heather’s face was locked on Tom’s, her cheeks red.

I cringed internally at the way she was staring at him. It wasn’t unknown within our group that Heather had had a huge crush on Tom in college, but he never returned her affection.

I saw Bianca walk in from the kitchen. She stood, watching them dance for a moment, her face completely blank. Then, without warning, she turned and locked eyes with me. I felt the color rise in my face, and turned away. I figured that, along with all the jokes from the past, the drama was beginning to creep back into the group dynamic as well. We were all drunk, hanging out with people that defined our youth. It was to be expected that the juvenile feelings that marked these relationships in our memories would manifest tonight.

Tom and Heather’s faces were, at this point, only an inch or so apart, their eyes locked. I was about to suggest we kill the dance party when Ricky’s voice rose over the music, “man, Nick’s been in the bathroom for a really long time.”

I looked around, and noticed he was right, Nick was still gone. And so was Addison. Heather and Tom broke away. Tom’s eyes fell on his wife’s expressionless face, and he looked down in what looked like guilt. Uncomfortable, I thought Nick was a good excuse to separate myself from the situation. “I’ll go check on him. Make sure he’s not passed out in there.”

I let go of my wife and walked into the hallway next to the living room. If I remembered the tour accurately, there was a small powder room opposite the kitchen. Tom and Bianca had the decency to not but speakers in the hallway, so while I could still hear the music clearly, it was dulled by the wall. The hallway was dark, so I ran my hand along the wall searching for a light switch, but without luck. There was a thin stream of light coming from a thin, slightly ajar, door. The door I remembered as the small bathroom. Giving up on the light switch, I walked towards the light. I listened for a moment at the door, trying to pick up the sounds of urination, or the dull sounds of drunken snoring, but heard neither. In fact, other than my own breathing and the dull music, I heard nothing at all.

I knocked lightly on the door frame, “Nick? You ok, buddy?” There was no response. I reached my hand up, and pushed the door into the room. The door stuck on something. I pushed a little harder, but still it resisted. I leaned my shoulder into the space between the door and the wall, and craned my neck to look inside.

The door was stuck on Nick, who was sitting, passed out cold, on the toilet, his pants to the ground.

“Jesus, dude. Seriously?” I said, trying to force his feet back towards him so I could open the door wider, but I quickly stopped when I noticed that Nick’s eyes weren’t closed. He was staring at me. Staring at me with blank, glassy eyes. My heartbeat quickened, and I examined the rest of him: his face was bloated and purple, his tongue swollen, pushing his mouth ajar.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck!” I whispered under my breath, as I reached my hand out towards his neck. I tried to find a pulse, but it was useless. Nick was dead.

I pulled myself sharply out from where I had squeezed myself, bruising my arm as I did. I ignored the pain, and walked into the living room, past Tom, Heather, and Victoria, to the sound system, and turned it off. The sound of the storm surrounded us instantly, finally free of restriction. The wind and rain filled the air, thunder echoing into every corner.

“What the fuck, dude?” Tom asked. I could feel their eyes on my back as I tried to blink the burning tears away. I turned to face them, and breathed deeply, preparing myself.

“Nick is… Nick… Something happened to Nick.” I finally said.

They stared at me.

I felt frustration heating my body from the inside, “Nick’s fucking dead guys. He’s on the fucking toilet, and he’s fucking dead.” My voice cracked as tears began to flow freely down my cheeks.

Without a word, Jacob stood and ran out into the hall. Tom, Bianca, Heather, Leann and Victoria followed. I waited there, standing in the living room, alone. Where the fuck was Addison?

Last I had seen Addison was in the kitchen. But then she left to go use the bathroom. And she hadn’t been in the small bathroom, so she must be in the Master bathroom. I ran into the entrance way, turned up the stairs, and climb briskly, taking two steps at a time.

I ran into the bedroom. The room was just as it had been moments before, the french doors still open. I walked to them, and the view inside the bathroom made my stomach lurch with shock and horror.

Addison was in the tub, fully clothed. Her forearms rested on each side of the porcelain basin, her legs bent in front of her. She looked like she could be taking a bath, but the tub was dry except for the small line of blood leading from her body to the drain. Her face was twisted with horror. I felt myself begin to shake as I noticed the huge gash in her head, spreading from her forehead to behind her ear. I could see white skull through her injury. I looked down and saw blood, hair, and flesh on the corner of the lower step to the tub.

I stepped closer, my hand outstretched hesitantly to check a pulse, despite the obvious futility of the act. I had to check. I had to be certain. I placed my hand on her wrist. I tried to keep my face as far from her as possible, yet I couldn’t keep my eyes off of the crack in her head. From there, I could see the split in the skull itself, her pink brain visible under the blood that clumped into the roots of her hair. Her wrist was silent. There was no pulse, no life.

I looked at my friend. Shy, sweet, intelligent Addison. Her body limb. I stepped back and hastened to the sink, where I vomited. Nachos and beer splashed in the shallow bowl, falling on the counter and mirror. But I didn’t care. This was no time to worry about being a polite guest. I vomited again, then straightened and wiped my mouth.

Without turning back, thoughts raced through my mind. Maybe she slipped and hit her head? But the chances that both Addison and Nick died in horrible accidents was hard to believe. Plus, how could she have fallen to her death, then crawled into the bathtub to position herself like that? If this was an accident, she’d still be on the floor.

I turned away from the gruesome scene, and ran down the stairs. Everyone was in the living room. At least, everyone still left alive. Jacob sat on the floor, rocking back and forward, shaking his head in disbelief. Victoria crouched over him, her arms around his shoulders as she cooed words of comfort to him, but he didn’t seem to hear her. His platonic life partner was gone.

Leann had the cordless phone in her hand, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was frantically pressing buttons on the phone, getting more and more frustrated with every attempt.

“Goddammit!” She screamed, “what the fuck is wrong with this thing!?!”

I looked down, and saw that the base had been unplugged from the wall. “It’s dead.” I said, my voice sounded emotionless to my ears. I grabbed the cord, hanging uselessly from the phone’s base, and plugged it in. Leann placed the phone back down and the display lit up. I lifted the wireless phone, but it immediately went dead again. I put it back, and looked at Leann.

“We can't dial while it's in it’s base.”

Leann started sobbing harder. “We need to call an ambulance!” She cried at me, her body shaking uncontrollably.

“We need to call the police.” Leann’s son caught in her throat. She stared at me, her eyes wet and red. I swallowed. “I don’t think Nick died of natural causes.”

The sound of wind, rain, and thunder filled the room as everyone waited for me to continue.

“Addison was murdered. Her body’s in the bathroom upstairs.” I said, as calmly as I could despite my stomach performing somersaults inside of me and my brain shooting electricity through the sides of my head.

I turned to Tom and Bianca. Bianca looked ill and Tom was as white as a ghost. “We need the fucking cell phones.”

Tom nodded solemnly, and turned towards the front of the house.  

“There’s another landline in the office.” Bianca said quietly. She walked to Leann, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. “Come on, I know that one’s plugged in. Let’s go call the cops.”

Leann sniffled loudly and Bianca lead her towards the kitchen. The office was a sunroom extension at the corner of the house.

Heather leaned towards me and Ricky, her face between ours. “Do you know what this means?” Heather said, her voice lowered and horse.

I shook my head, looking at my wife and Jacob, who were still on the floor. Victoria's face was drawn into a pained mask, her lower lip trembling as it did when she was distraught. Jacob’s eyes were wide, but unseeing.

I felt Ricky shift his weight beside me.

“Someone has broken in, and is killing us, one by one.” Heather answered her own question.

Realization dawned on me. I completed the thought out loud, “there’s a killer in the house.”

Heather nodded and we stood in shock at what was happening. The large house loomed above and around us like a great weight. It had morphed from a luxurious suburban home into a death trap.

Our stupor was broken by loud music blasting through the speakers throughout the house. I looked at the stereo, but no one was even close to it.

“What the fuck??” Victoria asked, looking around.

I walked over and pressed the power button, the sound dimming quickly as the lights faded off. Instantly it sprung to life again, music pouring out around us.

“Fuck!” I yelled. The killer must be controlling it somehow.

“Leann and Bianca!” Heather screamed over the music.

Ricky ran out into the kitchen, the girls following. I looked down at Jacob, who hadn’t moved.

“Come on, we can’t leave you here alone.” I said, reaching my hand down to him. Jacob looked up at me, his eyes wide and empty. He shook his head slowly. I bent down and grabbed his hand with mine, forcing him up. He didn’t resist.

I dragged Jacob behind me as we ran to the office door. I saw Ricky throw himself at the white wood door. A loud crack of muscle hitting wood exploded into the kitchen and the door burst open into the room. A metallic scent hit my nose immediately. Ricky’s form took up most of the door, blocking the light from reaching me. Victoria and Heather stopped short behind him and simultaneously started screaming, the sounds harmonizing and mixing with the song playing over our heads. I put my hands on my wife’s shoulders, and looked over her to see the scene, the smell hitting my nose stronger. I recognized it then. It was the smell of blood. Lots and lots of blood.

Leann’s body was sprawled on the floor. I could only recognize her from the shirt she was wearing tonight. Her face was sunken, blood and bone protruding from broken flesh. Lines of red were splattered along the floor and walls, stretching out from her body like a twisted spiderweb. On the floor next to her was an old golfing trophy, I assumed from Tom’s more competitive athletic days. The tiny gold man, frozen in a perpetual swing, was smeared with blood from the violent hand the broke Leann’s body, over and over again.

Victoria turned away from the gruesome scene and rested her head on my shoulder as she sobbed. I hugged her, turning my face from the bloody office. I held my wife tight to me, comforted, if only slightly, by her physical touch. A terrible pop song from our youth ended, and the room was filled with the sound of the raging storm. Thunder cackled and I shook with the sound. Lightning illuminated the window beside me as a one hit wonder came on over the speakers.

Ricky stepped back from the doorway, and faced us. His face stoic, but with a hint of pained disgust. Ricky had always been a quiet lumbering giant. In college, our hockey coach, Coach Hutchinson, was practically stalking the guy to get him to try out for the team. Not for skill, but for his appearance/size alone. But Ricky always refused. He never excelled in his studies either - don’t get me wrong, the man’s not dumb at all, he’s just not interested in anything that isn’t writing. And it’s easy to see why, his short stories and poetry were amazing. I was always fascinated with him, this giant man who could write anyone to tears, love, or terror. If he hadn’t been an English major, I’m not sure how he would’ve graduated.

Victoria was always jealous of his skills. They were the first ones of the group to become friends. Victoria introduced herself to him on the first day of Introduction to Literature. Ricky didn’t talk much, but he seemed to enjoy her company, and Victoria enjoyed silence. They’d spend a lot of nights for those four years, studying and writing together. But while Victoria would spend days on a paper or story, only to receive a B, Ricky would whip something up the night before and get an A as well as public praise. She loved Ricky, but was frustrated by his effortless success. When we all graduated, Victoria tried to make a go of it as a writer, but it never worked out. Luckily, she had minored in computer information technology. When she realized her life as an author would be a long and tireless one without much success, she decided to take some additional classes in programming and web development. She was quite good with computers and that had always been her fallback option, but it wasn’t her dream. Ricky, on the other hand, was offered a professional writing gig immediately out of school.

I remember watching his hulking frame in the doorway and a part of my mind wondering what he’d write about after that night. Would the traumatic evening become a memoir? Or would that night influence a best selling novel? Maybe a new television show?

If he survived, that was.

I scanned the room behind him, trying to avoid looking directly at Leann. “Where the fuck is the other phone?” I asked.

Victoria looked around, “Bianca must have it!” She exclaimed, looking up at me, her eyes filling with hope.

I nodded, “I pray she was able to call for help.”

Victoria nodded, the hope petering slightly from her face.

“We need to search the house.” Heather said, her voice flat. I looked up. Heather’s face was stoic as she stared at Leann. They had been best friends. I untangled an arm from my wife, and reached my hand out, placing it on her shoulder. Pulling away and locking eyes with me, she repeated herself, “we need to search the house.”

Victoria stepped back and wiped her eyes. “You’re right,” she sniffled, “we need to find whoever’s doing this to us and find Bianca. God, I hope she’s ok. I don’t want to imagine what he might… what he might be doing to her.” Her voice cracked with a fresh sob, and she wrapped her arms protectively around herself. I rubbed her back, trying to push the same thoughts and violent images from my mind.

“Chuck and Victoria, you should check the upstairs. See if Tom has the phones. Ricky and I will check the basement, and then we’ll meet here and check the main floor.” Heather instructed.

I nodded, and turned to face the empty kitchen. “Where’s Jacob? He was here a second ago.”

“Goddammit!” Heather exclaimed, “we don’t have time for this. We have to get this situation under control!” Heather stormed off towards the basement door, Ricky following.

I gulped, and, using my hand still on her back, lead Victoria through the kitchen into the living room. The living room felt colder than it had when we first arrive. Even with the lights above us illuminating the room in a yellow glow, it seemed dark, like the corners were hiding secrets that threatened our very lives. I walked to the stereo and hit the large rectangular on/off button. The button popped up from the face of the stereo and the music faded. I breathed a sigh of relief, and we continued upstairs.

The two guest rooms were empty. We had checked the closets and under the bed, and even a large wardrobe in the larger of the rooms, but there was no sign of life. The rooms seemed oddly empty and void of the extravagance the other rooms possessed.

We walked into the exercise room, but the room was just a bunch of exercise equipment and an empty space for yoga and pilates. The closet was full of only yoga mats, bricks, and other assorted items I didn’t recognize.

Finally, we got to the bedroom. I wanted to make sure Tom was ok, but still my legs slowed as we approached the door, the image of Addison, dead in the tub, her skull and brains exposed making my feet heavier with each approaching step. If Victoria hadn’t been at my side, I don’t think I’d be able to go on. I pushed through the emotional quicksand, forcing my feet forward until I was at the open door. I looked in the room and noticed the closet door open and the light on. Straining my ears, I could hear Tom frantically muttering to himself, his voice wet with tears.

Trying to forget the bathroom, I ran to the closet. Tom was desperately spinning the dial of the safe. He looked at me, his face red with tears.

“It won’t fucking open!” He screamed, kicking the wall in front of him hard enough to leave a dent.

“Are you putting the combination in correctly?” I asked.

“Yes, I’m putting the fucking combination in correctly! Of course I am! It’s our fucking wedding anniversary! I wouldn’t fucking forget that!” The corner of Tom’s mouth were white with frothy spit.

I step up to the safe, “What’s was the date, again? I’ll try.”

Tom breathed deeply, and exhaled loudly, trying to calm himself. “It’s June 19th, 2006.” He said. “It’s a five number combination, left right left right. It was 61906.”

I turned the dial to the left till it reached 6, and heard a slight click within the safe mechanism. Then turned the dial to the right to 1, with a slight click. I repeated this until the small black arrow on the dial reached 6, once again. There was no click.

“Well the rest of the combination seems to be working, it’s just that last number. Maybe it’s no longer 6? Either way, it won’t take too long to try the nine other numbers.” I said. Tom nodded, slowly calming himself. I stepped back so he could reach the dial and begin the process all over again.

I lifted my wrist and looked at my watch. The menu had an option to send a text to one of my recent contacts. I could send a text to my mom and ask her to send help. I began to travel through the menu, looking for the option when suddenly loud rock music flowed from the speakers in the bedroom, making me jump.

“What the fuck!” I screamed. I ran out into the bedroom. Victoria was staring at the bathtub, her hand over her mouth, tears flooding down her face. She looked at me, her eyes wide with terror.

“We need to check on the others. We’ll come figure this out afterwards. Someone could be dying as we speak.”

I ran past my horrified wife, Tom following behind me. We flew down the stairs, and into the living room. It was empty. I slammed the on/off button on the stereo. Screams echoed throughout the house. It was coming from the other side of the stairs.

“The dining room!” Tom yelled, and ran, Victoria catching up to us and following. I listened closer. It wasn’t coming from this floor though. It was coming from upstairs. The floor Victoria and I just checked from top to bottom.

I ran to the top of the steps. The sound was coming from the exercise room. I ran in, my eyes registering Bianca and Jacob immediately. But the scene wasn’t right.

My brain tried to interpret the image before me, but it wouldn’t compute. Jacob was on the floor, Bianca above him. Both of them, along with the room, were covered in blood.

“Bianca! Are you ok?” I asked, “is Jacob!?!”

Bianca shook her head, “I’m ok, but… I think… I think Jacob’s dead.”

I rested my hand on my knees, my breath was coming in short gasps. I recognized the uncomfortable sensation as hyperventilating. How could this be happening to us? How could something so fucked up happen to us?

Bianca took a step towards me and I looked up. I noticed a bloodied weight in her hand. The murder weapon. But why was Bianca holding the murder weapon? Had she fought the killer for it?

She took a step towards me. Her face was twisted, not in horror or disgust, but in pleasure.

“Wh… What… what’s going... on?” I said between breaths.

She didn’t answer, but took another step towards me, her smile spreading across her face.

“I’m going to enjoy killing you, Chuck.” She said.

I shook my head in disbelief, stepping backwards.

“Don’t go, Charles.” She cooed. “Poor little pathetic Charles. How does it feel to have married Tom’s leftovers? Do you wake up every morning and remember comforting the love of your life over a basic douche like Tom?”

She took another step closer. My breathing was slowly returning to normal and my brain was clearing. I checked my peripheral for a potential weapon, but saw nothing. The house was immaculate, to the point of resembling a show house. There were no objects, I realized. I was surrounded by giant equipment I couldn’t lift, but no weights, not even a plastic water bottle I could use to defend myself against the petite blood-covered blonde slowly approaching me.

“You were such a miserable dope that first year. Pathetically waiting hand and foot on that stupid whore.”

Bianca took a step towards me, and I turned and ran. I ran down the stairs as fast as I could. I felt like I would fall forward with each step I whizzed by. I could hear Bianca running behind me, her breath ragged and sharp. Her footsteps pounding on the old wood, causing it to creak and groan under her weight. I jumped the last few steps, not looking behind me, not wanting to know how close she was, or to slow myself down. I slid towards the front door, hitting my shoulder into it with a thud. Pain shot through me, but I didn’t care. I twisted the knob, and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge. I threw the deadbolt, and pulled again, but to no avail. I felt a light hand on my shoulder, and the sweat on my forehead turned cold. I looked down and saw four long pink manicured fingernails.

“You’re not getting out that way, Chuck.” Bianca’s voice was calm and dark. I turned slowly to face her. She was only an inch away. I could feel her warm breath and I could see the glint of metal in her hand. A splatter of Jacob’s blood ran through the middle of Bianca’s face. She drew her face towards mine, passing me, till her lips rested against my ear.

“At least I’m beautiful, right?” She whispered.

“What’s going on!?!” My heart lept at the sound of my wife’s voice. Bianca turned, and I could see Tom, Victoria, Heather, and Ricky standing behind her, their faces twisted in confusion and shock. Victoria stepped back with the recognition of blood on Bianca’s face and shirt. “What the fuck is going on!?!” Victoria’s voice filled with disgust and fear.

Realizing what I had to do, I grabbed Bianca’s arms and held them behind her. She squirmed against my grip, “get off me!” She screamed.

“She killed Addison! And Leann! And Nick!” I yelled to Victoria, who looked at me uneasily. “I just caught her! She was standing over Jacob's body!”

“Let. Go.” Bianca cried between attempts to pull away from me.

“Body?” Heather asked hesitantly.

Victoria put her hand over her mouth, as if she might be sick.

Bianca dropped her right hand, the one holding the weight, hard. I jumped back without letting go, just in time to avoid having my hip smashed.

Tom was shaking his head in disbelief, his face lacking all of its usual charm and chipperness. He looked like he was in shock.

“She's still holding the bloody weight! Go look, if you don’t believe me.” I said, my voice strained with the effort of restraining Bianca. “He's in the gym.”

Tom turned and walked slowly up the stairs, hesitantly dragging his body towards the fourth of his dead friends. Victoria followed and Heather, not losing her go-getter attitude during the unreal friend-turned-homicidal-lunatic situation, ran past them and into the exercise room.

Her scream filled the hallway and entrance where I stood, trying to keep the Bianca from killing the rest of us.

Ricky, seeing my struggle, came and grabbed Bianca from me. I allowed him to take her.

“What should we do with her?” He asked.

I shrugged. What does one do when your friend becomes a psycho without reason?

I could hear the group return from upstairs, and I turned away from Bianca and Ricky. Heather looked ill, all of the blood completely drained from her face. Victoria ran to me, and began to sob into my shoulder. I hugged her tightly.

Tom was shaking his head, staring at his wife, who was still being restrained, in disbelief. “Sweetheart.” The word trailed out of his mouth slowly, “did you really?” A tear fell from his eye. Bianca glared at him silently in response. “But why?” He asked, his voice strained and weak.

Bianca stood, her arms held behind her, the bloodied weight still in her grasp. “Why?” She asked, “why!?!” She screamed. She pulled her arms easily out from Ricky’s hold. She stepped towards Tom, and threw the weight at his head. He ducked, and it landed against the wall and fell heavily on the steps, then rolled onto the floor behind us. There was a sizeable hole in the plaster where it had landed. We all stood in shock as Bianca ran into the living room.

I turned to Ricky, “what the fuck?” I exclaimed. Ricky shrugged, and turned to follow her. We could do nothing but watch him leave.

With both out of view, I shook my head clear and ran to the front door. I tried it again, pulling at the knob with all my strength, but it wouldn’t budge. I ran into the living room, luckily devoid of either Bianca or Ricky, and fell on the large window facing the front yard. It was barren of any lock mechanisms and wouldn't even budge when I tried to open it. I growled in frustration, completely losing what little rational thought I had been able to maintain. I grabbed a lamp from the side table and threw it against the window, but it bounced off harmlessly.

“What the fuck!?” I screamed, my voice rough with fear and desperation. My throat was tight and I had to force myself to swallow. I turned to Tom, Heather, and Victoria.

“I told you,” Tom said quietly, looking at the window behind me, “Bianca was in charge of the renovations. She redid the windows and door too. I guess…” He trailed off. But we knew what he was thinking. She didn’t just renovate the house, she created a cage. She planned to murder all of us.

“But why?” I asked. “So she could run away with Ricky?”

“I always thought he had feelings for her.” Tom said, his voice cold and distant. He was lost. Too overwhelmed and in too much shock to feel emotions anymore. 

“Jesus.” Victoria said. “What the fuck do we do now?”

“The most logical thing is to stay here, together.” Heather said, her voice calm and filled with the authority of one often in charge. “The phone will be charged enough for me to call 9-1-1 soon. Until then, we should stand in a circle, with our backs together. That way, we can see if they try to attack us. We outnumber them, they can’t kill all of us at once. That’s the safest thing we can do right now.”

We stood in silence for a second, thinking about the situation and mulling over what needed to be done to survive. A loud burst of thunder filled the room, and lighting illuminated the yard from outside. It was followed by a deafening crack, and the house was plunged into darkness.

“Oh fuck me!” I screamed, my eyes falling on where I remembered the now black phone was behind Tom.

I looked to the window, but the streetlights had gone out outside as well. We were shrouded in utter blackness.

“The cell phones!” Tom’s voice pierced the darkness beside me, “that bitch was the one that suggested we lock them up!” I felt him move beside me, and heard his footsteps as he ran towards the stairs.

“Fuck! Tom, stop!” Victoria called after him, but it was too late. We could hear the thud of heavy footsteps running up the stairs.

Realization hit me. “That fucking bitch must have changed the combination!”

“Probably after she killed Addison.” Heather's voice came from beside me, terror threatening to break the calm she had, till then, successfully forced into her tone.

“We know the combination is mostly the same. Tom just has to try the nine remaining numbers to figure it out. If we're lucky, it'll be one of the first numbers he tries.” Victoria reasoned.

I nodded, uselessly. “Worst case scenario, it won't take him forever to try nIne combinations.” I thought for a moment, surrounded in darkness, and added “I hope he has a flashlight up there.”

“Alright, whatever,” Heather said, “as long as the rest of us stay here, together, we still outnumber them.”

The house wheezed, and shook with the weight of the storm. We stood there in silence, desperately straining our ears to hear any sound around us in the black room. I reached my hand out tentatively to the spot I had last heard Victoria’s voice come from. I found her soft, small hand, and grabbed it. She squeezed my hand in return. I held my breath, the sounds of the storm were overpowering the loud pounding of my blood through my ears.

A crash echoed around us, followed by a streak of lightning which illuminated the room. Behind Heather stood Bianca, her arm raised, the stained trophy from the office hovering above her.

Victoria screamed as darkness descended around us once more. Despite thunder stretching across the sky with a low grumble that echoed in my chest, I could hear the impact clearly. There was a wet thud, and a crack that sent shivers down my spine. A thick warm substance landed on my face and arm. Something heavy began to fall beside me, and I heard the sickening snap of Heather’s bones as she landed, hard, in front of us on the wooden floor.

“That’s the original wood you know.” Bianca’s voice danced around in the dark, and I brought Victoria closer to me, wrapping my wet arm around her shoulders. Her body was shaking, and I could her her breath burdened with heavy tears.

With a sharp snap, electricity flooded the house once more. As the lights came on around us, I felt my stomach lurch and bile rise to the top of my throat: Bianca’s face was mere inches from my own, and she was smiling. Her arm raised above her head once more.

Without time to think or process much of what was around me, I pushed my wife away from me, balled my fist, and punched Bianca as hard as I could in the stomach. Her breath left her instantly, and her hand dropped as she curled into herself, hitting the side of my arm with the trophy as it descended. It stung, but the force behind it was weak and the direction off enough to cause little damage.

Bianca turned in pain, and I saw Heather. She lay on the ground, her limbs twisted around her. As with Addison, her head was split with a crack, but this one was much larger and more ragged than Addison’s. Blood and brains had exploded out of her skull, as if Bianca had destroyed a mere pinata. The room, as well as Victoria and I were covered in the remains of our friend.

I looked to Victoria, who stood motionless, staring at Bianca, her mouth wide open and a splash of blood staining her shirt and pants. Her face was pale, and I saw that she was now shaking more violently, her body trembling at the sight. I reached out towards her. “Victoria.” I said. I looked from her to Bianca, who was trying to stand up straight, her hands over her stomach protectively. She was looking from me to Victoria and back. My hand was almost to my wife’s arm. Victoria shook her head, and stepped back out of my reach. I knew what she was going to do, and I had to stop her with my voice. “Victoria.” I said again. Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head harder.

“No, no, no, no.” She said, the words barely leaving her lips, turning into sobs by the last “no.” She turned and ran to the kitchen. Bianca straightened, shot me a quick glare, and followed.

I stepped forward and grab her arm, “like hell I’m going to let you murder my wife!”

She snorted, “Oh yes, your wife.” She elongated the last word mockingly.

I tightened my grip around her arm and tried to swing her into the wall behind me, but she resisted, digging her feet into the floor and pulling on her trapped arm. I saw her look down at where the trophy had dropped next to Heather’s body, and I kicked her hard in the shin.

She screamed out as the leg fell underneath her, but she continued to reach towards the murder weapon.

Lifting my leg to stomp on her now bent leg in front of me, hoping to break her ankle as my foot landed on her thigh, I felt a hard thud against my head. I fell to my knees, barely missing Heather’s face, and looked up to see Ricky, standing behind me, lowering the weight that killed Jacob to his side. He returned my gaze, his face barely revealing a look of concern before straightening back into apathetic coldness.

Tears welled in my eyes uncontrollably. My head stinging where I was hit. Warm blood began to trickle behind my ear. “Why?” I asked, my voice strained with pain and confusion.

He didn’t answer. Recovering herself, Bianca stood. She looked down at me with disgust, then up at Ricky. In an annoyed tone, she said, “you didn’t fucking kill him, asshole!”

Ricky shrugged at her, “you’re the murderer in all this, not me.”

Bianca scoffed, and lowered herself so that she was level with my ear. “Do you ever think about Tom fucking your perfect wife? Do you ever look at him, goofing off and flirting with even tubbo here,” she gestured to Heather, “and remember with horror and shame that he was the idiot who took your precious Victoria’s virginity?” I could feel an old anger growing inside me, rising from beneath me until my body was alight with its heat. “Does it haunt you, to know that she told him she loved him, and he broke up with her in reply? The woman you were infatuated with, the woman you loved beyond all reason, was used and abused by an idiot. Her heart was torn and all Tom did was go and immediately fuck me. You know why?” She pressed her lips closer to my ear and continued, whispering, “because he thought of her as just a pussy to fuck. He never cared about her. He just liked having that pretty mouth around his cock.” I was shaking with rage. Bianca smiled. “You know, I’ve always suspected that, if Tom propositioned her, she fuck him in a heartbeat. I bet, if Tom asked her to leave you for him, she wouldn’t even pack her bags. She’d grab his arm and run out the door before you even finished taking a shit.”

My rage exploded and I swung the trophy my fingers had found as Bianca made her speech. Despite not aiming, I hit her squarely in the side of the head. Bianca fell to the side. Ricky lunged for me and I raised my arm and swung down, missing his head but hitting his left shoulder hard enough to slow him down.

I jumped up, the sudden movement making me dizzy. I swallowed and ran to the kitchen. Victoria was at the door leading into the backyard, desperately clawing at the sides, trying to peel them free of whatever Bianca had used to seal them. The white door frame was stained with red marks, my wife’s fingertips covered in blood. I noticed with a sickening feeling that one of her nails was missing.

I heard Bianca and Ricky getting up with groans. I grabbed Victoria’s shoulder, “quick, we have to get out of here! That door isn’t going to open, we have to try another way!”

Victoria looked at me, not stopping her attempts to open the door. Her eyes were wide with panic, her face barely recognizable. She was in a manic frenzy, and I realized reason wasn’t going to work. I wrapped my arms around her waist and began pulling her towards the garage door.

Victoria shoot out from my grasp, both of us slippery with our friends’ blood, and ran towards the office.

I went to follow her, but at that moment, Bianca came into the room. I froze and stared at her as she smiled wickedly at me. The trophy was in her hand again. She turned her head, smiled at me, and began to run to where I had just watched my wife disappear.

I lunged towards her, my heart pounding, and reached out, fast. My hand found blonde hair. I clenched my fist. Bianca kept running, but was stopped short by my grip. She screamed as her feet continued to move under her while her head and shoulders stayed where they were. Her legs shot out in front of her and she fell with a crash. I could feel the pull of her hair in my fist as the rest of her body fell too far away. A ripping sound echoed in the room as some of the hair grew slack in my hand. I let go, chunks of bloody flesh falling from my hand where they had pulled free from her scalp.

I bent down to grab her. She rolled out of my reach. I dove at her, but she was standing before I could keep her on the ground. Damn that pilates.

She raised the trophy once again. Instead of wasting time trying to stand, I cowered beneath her, raising my arms to protect my face. A choked sob escaped my mouth as I prepared for the pain. For death.

There was a dull whack, and Bianca’s body fell on top me like a thick heavy sack. I instinctively reached for her as she rolled off, stopping her from falling to the floor, and slowly lowered her. She landed with a soft thud and moaned in pain, putting a hand to the back of her head. I realized I was crying, and wiped my face with the sleeve of my shirt. I looked up to see Victoria, eyes wide, a pan in her hands.

“Are you ok?” Victoria asked. I nodded, relieved to see my wife shaken out of her panic. Hearing my cries and realizing I was in danger had snapped her back to reality and I had my strong Victoria back, but only for a second. Recovering quickly, Bianca reached out and grabbed Victoria’s leg. The back of Bianca’s head, only inches from my face, was bleeding quite badly, from both the pan and losing so much of her hair. Her arm was shaky, but still she was able to find the force she needed to pull her down to the floor.

I kicked at Bianca, and wrapped my arms around her shoulders to stop her, but I was suddenly aware of my body being lifted from the ground, Bianca sliding from my hold. I screamed and kicked as my arms were held behind my back. I felt the large bulk of Ricky behind me, and  I looked over my shoulder at him. His face was oddly calm.

I twisted in his clutch, but he just stared at Bianca in front of him, wrestling with Victoria as she tried to stand while keeping Victoria down. I kicked at his shin, but I felt like a child fighting against a parent, my feeble attempts to harm completely unnoticed.

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” I screamed at him, looking from his face to my wife’s losing battle with the murderer. “You’re married, you’re successful, you’re happy! Why are you helping this psychobitch!?!”

Ricky smiled slightly at Bianca, “because she’s all I ever wanted.” He answered.

I turned away in disgust, and watched Bianca. Despite Victoria being much less injured, she was struggling to overcome Bianca. I tried to pull my arms from Ricky, but his grip was too tight, too firm. Steeling myself, I pulled forward while raising my leg, determined to put every inch of power I had into saving my wife. I kicked back hard, trying to land the blow on his knee and force him down, but he moved back just in time, and twisted my arm tight. I fell to the floor with a scream. He lowered his knee onto my back, pinning me to the linoleum floor. I continued to fight fruitlessly, my eyes glued to my wife.

Bianca was now standing above her, smiling in glorious victory. Despite her efforts, Victoria couldn’t seem to keep her eyes open. I hadn’t witnessed Bianca hurt her yet, or heard any heavy blow. I couldn’t comprehend why Victoria was struggling so much. I watched her body fall limp as all her strength disappeared.

“What’s wrong with her!?” I yelled at Bianca. She looked at me, a small expression of disappointment on her face.

“You’re still looking quite perky…” She said, “you really should have had more of your margarita.” My stomach sank. No wonder she seemed to be recovering so much faster than anyone else.

Bianca raised the trophy, and I screamed, thrashing against Ricky.

“Please, no!” Tears stung my eyes. “Don’t hurt her! We have a child! Please! Stop!”

Bianca looked at me, and winked. Her arms began to descend down and I screamed, the pain and fear exploding out of my violently as I felt the weight of true ineffectiveness.

The trophy come down on Victoria with a wet heavy thump. Blood squirted above her, and fell in a line that connected me to her one last time. Bianca raised her arms and dropped them, over and over again. The sound of the metal hitting Victoria’s face and head made me vomit onto the floor between desperate sobs. She was so drugged up, she didn’t even scream, and soon the room was silent except for the dull thud of the trophy hitting her dead flesh, and the spray of blood against the wall and us. Some part of my mind reach out through the fog of shock and pain to realize that the storm outside had stopped. I fell, the struggle to win, to survive, dying inside me. I watched, sobbing, as my wife’s face was pounded into a mess of flesh, bone, and blood. She was soon unrecognizable.

“Why?” I asked, the word spitting from my mouth as a choked sob.

Bianca turned to me, dropping the trophy at her feet with a clash that rang in the quiet room. “Why? Why!? Why!?!” She repeated, each why growing louder until she was screaming. Her arms were covered in blood, all the way to her elbows, and her face and hair were now wet it. Bits of my wife’s tissue were falling from her clothes, and she took a step towards me, her feet sticking slightly to the blood on the floor. She curled her lip into a snarl as she brought her face to mine.

“Because, I am not just a body.” Her voice was low, almost like a growl. “I have spent my whole life being called dumb, but pretty. Useless, but gorgeous.” She spun away from me, gesturing to the empty room, yelling, “Simple, but at least I’m fuckable!” She turned back to me, “but look! Look at me now!” She yelled, raising her arms to the air. “Am I useless now? Am I nothing but a body now, Chuck? Look at me, look at what I’m capable of!” She lowered her arms, and locked eyes with me, “Now I’ll be remembered for more than being beautiful, more than just a nice pair of tits, more than an ass.” She lowered her face to mine again, and whispered, “I have affected you. Your life is ruined, because of me. You will die at my hands. Could just a body do that?” She smiled, and stood.

Walking towards the kitchen counter, she continued, “None of you ever thought much of me. Don’t try to tell me otherwise. I’m sick of listening to lies. I’m just the pretty face of the group. And for that, each and every one of you will pay.” She pulled a knife out of a drawer, and turned back to me, stepping over my wife’s mutilated body. “And now it’s your turn.” She looked up at Ricky, “pick him up.”

I began to fight, screaming, as Ricky lifted me back to standing. Bianca raised the knife.

A loud bang echoed off the glass surrounding us, making the room resonate with the sound. My ears felt as if they had begun to bleed, and a loud ringing noise filled my hearing. Bianca fell with a heavy solid thud. I felt Ricky’s grasp fall away and I dove to the side. Another bang and I turned to watch Ricky fall backwards, hitting his already bleeding head on the window behind him.

I looked towards the door to the living room. Tom stood holding a shotgun up to his eye. His arm fell, and the gun hung uselessly beside him. He looked from my dead wife to his, and then to the dead Ricky. His eyes locked on mine and I saw an intense determination within them. His jaw was locked in a stern expression I had never seen before. Slowly, a deranged smile grew on his face.

“That cunt didn’t know about Janet here!” He threw his head back and laughed maniacally to the ceiling. Tom had always enjoyed traditionally manly sports and activities. I wasn’t surprised hunting would be one of them. I guess Bianca hadn’t approved. Thank god that didn’t stop him.

“But… she drugged the margaritas… How are you still standing?” I stammered.

“I spilled mine before even getting a sip. And here I was, worried she’d be pissed I stained the couch!” Deep barks of laughter spewed from his body uncontrollably.

I jumped up, and ran to the living room where I had plugged in the phone, but it was gone. Tom was still laughing like a psychopath in the kitchen.

“Jesus, Tom. Shut the fuck up, will yea?”

Tom stopped laughing, his face falling to a frown. He walked to the couch beside me and sat down. All the energy that was there seconds ago drained from him. I didn’t care, I just wanted to get out of that damn house.

“Did you get into the safe?” I asked.

Tom shook his head solemnly.

“Was there any window or door she didn’t replace in the renovations?” Tom shook his head hopelessly. I clutched my head, trying to force the images of what remained of my wife in the kitchen from my mind. “Fucking hell, Tom, just shot the damn door open!” I growled.

“No more bullets.” He said, blankly.

I screamed in frustration, and sat heavily beside him. Putting my elbows on my thighs, I dropped my head into my hands, and began to sob. The salty liquid flowed out as waves of emotion washed over me. All of the stress, fear, and shock of the night was drowning me, and I had decided to let it.

And then my watch buzzed. I sniffled, blinking away the tears, and looked down at my wrist.

My smartwatch. It was 9:08pm.

The screen was illuminated, and in small font it read:

MOM:

Hope you guys are having fun!

Finally got Holly to bed.

She misses you!!

Xoxox

I sat there, dumbfounded for a moment. I hit the right button on the watch, and selected the Reply option.

From there, I had the option of Voice, Canned messages, or Emoji. I looked at the options for a moment mulling them over..

A scene floated in front of me, an image of me sending a kissy emoji, then going into the kitchen, turning on the gas, and kneeling in the oven until this pain was permanently erased. But then I thought of Molly. I thought of her smile, and her laugh. I thought of her red tear stained face as I put a band-aid on yet another skinned knee. I thought of her sleeping beside me, the look of innocence and peace. She had so much to learn, so much life ahead of her. A life of pain, loss, love, discovery. A full life, a life of value.

I breathed in, and selected Voice. A little icon of a microphone displayed.

“Send help.” My watch thought for a moment, and then the two words displayed on the screen. I selected the ok button.

Sent.

[col22promo]

Annie Perrault | Twenty One;  Survivor

House: Calyset Security Class: 2 Status: Deluded

History

Anxiety has always been an issue for Annie Perrault, so you can imagine that in the wake of the ‘end of the world’ she’s not exactly sure-footed.

As a child, Annie was nothing out of the ordinary. She was well-behaved and excitable, close with her older sister and sweet with her parents. But she’d always been a shadow of the personality her sister carried, and though this had never posed an issue in her younger years, everything changed when she entered middle school.

Not only were kids more competitive and more judgmental, but her parents had also removed her from the private school environment, enrolling her into public instead, which was really a whole other ball game. Students would tease her for her shy and quiet behavior, or for often putting her hand up in class. Proving to be an easy target, they goaded Annie to the point of tears, insecurity, and a sudden unwillingness to participate in school. She didn’t dare raise her hand anymore, because she couldn’t stand the looks her bullies would shoot her, the things they’d whisper behind binders when the teachers weren’t listening.

The bullying escalating to constant emotional torture and even violence, Annie became scared to leave the house or encounter people. When her family moved to a new city a couple years later, she hoped to get a fresh start. And though the move allowed her to escape the worst of her bullying, years of anxiety and fear of social situations, couldn’t simply be erased overnight.

Annie became determined to be a stronger person, but it had her throwing herself somewhat blindly into her responsibilities and school work. It made it challenging to handle her stress levels because she wouldn’t give herself a moment to relax, a moment to unclench, because everything was a fight and she was constantly on the edge of panic. She had to keep working, in fear she might break down.

With preparation for college now a factor, graduating year was an especially hard one. She developed a rather severe addition to caffeine, one that had been ebbing it’s way into problematic over the past year or so, but flared dangerously in her 12th year. She began avoiding sleep—first it was an inability to sleep, the constant worrying and anxiety making it almost impossible, not to mention the caffeine, but over the months, her decreased mental health twisted it into a confused fear of sleep. Like if she slept, she would be wasting time, or if she slept, she might not wake up.

A wrought mess of anxiety and stress, Annie began having serious panic attacks at school. Even just having her shoulder inadvertently knocked in the hall would make her flinch, her throat tighten. Presentations and anticipation for tests could cause her to hyperventilate, and it got to the point that simply the fear of having another attack could bring one on—a cruel irony.

Eventually, Annie’s parents withdrew her from school to complete the rest of her final year from home. When she graduated, her mother took her to London as a reward, thinking that the holiday would be good for her, and that they might get some quality time together.

That was when the world ended, and Annie was left alone.

Annie Today

Infections of the apocalypse touched Annie and her fear of sleep with cruel, ironic fingers. After the End of the world, Annie woke believing that she’d simply fallen asleep again—but for the last time. She was convinced she was living in a nightmare, stuck here as punishment, for not being strong enough, good enough, smart enough.

Four years have passed, and though she still believes herself to be a permanent resident of a dream world, she is much the same person she used to be. The loss of her family and her classified delusion has put her on a very slow track of recovery, and she spends several hours a week in therapy—partially because it’s where she goes when she doesn’t know where else to. Though this nightmare has been hellish, she’s found that there are some kind people here, and the therapist’s chair has become a sort of comfort for her. Something that feels a little more connected with the real world she’d left behind, perhaps because it’s familiar—not unlike the therapists chairs she’d sat in week after week while she was in school and suffering debilitating anxiety.

She has fewer panic attacks than she used to, and having gotten accustomed to her surroundings, her generalized anxiety is a little less prominent. But there are times that she will still stay awake for days, sometimes a week, because going to sleep in her nightmare has done nothing in the past 200 some-odd weeks to get her back to the real world—so maybe by some backwards logic, the trick is to stay awake. To not be rested in this universe, because as long as she’s sustaining life here, here is where she’ll stay.

Unfortunately, neither of these theories have paid off, and at the tail end of these insomniac phases, which are fueled on fear and as much caffeine as her limited portions will allow, she’ll reliably crash hard, fine some kind of normalcy for a week or two, and then cycle back.

Obviously her mental condition and lack of sleep don’t make her the best candidate for training and the games. But she finds, despite her obvious disadvantages, she wants to do well. These people of her living nightmare have grown to mean something to her, especially those in her House, and she doesn’t like the idea of disappointing them, real or not. Some days she’ll make it all the way through training without too much incident, others the pressure will be too much, and she’ll crack under it.

She excels most in the area of archery, however, because it is a sport that requires silence, patience, and even breathing. In fact, it works a bit like meditation for her, and though she isn’t known for her performances in endurance or direct competition scenarios, she will actually spend some of her free time doing target practice. It helps to clear her head, and give her some sense of peace of mind.

HOME | PLOT | SURVIVORS | INFECTIONS | 2157 was the end of the world.

[col22promo]

Annie Perrault | Twenty One;  Survivor

House: Calyset Security Class: 2 Status: Deluded

History

Anxiety has always been an issue for Annie Perrault, so you can imagine that in the wake of the ‘end of the world’ she’s not exactly sure-footed.

As a child, Annie was nothing out of the ordinary. She was well-behaved and excitable, close with her older sister and sweet with her parents. But she’d always been a shadow of the personality her sister carried, and though this had never posed an issue in her younger years, everything changed when she entered middle school.

Not only were kids more competitive and more judgmental, but her parents had also removed her from the private school environment, enrolling her into public instead, which was really a whole other ball game. Students would tease her for her shy and quiet behavior, or for often putting her hand up in class. Proving to be an easy target, they goaded Annie to the point of tears, insecurity, and a sudden unwillingness to participate in school. She didn’t dare raise her hand anymore, because she couldn’t stand the looks her bullies would shoot her, the things they’d whisper behind binders when the teachers weren’t listening.

The bullying escalating to constant emotional torture and even violence, Annie became scared to leave the house or encounter people. When her family moved to a new city a couple years later, she hoped to get a fresh start. And though the move allowed her to escape the worst of her bullying, years of anxiety and fear of social situations, couldn’t simply be erased overnight.

Annie became determined to be a stronger person, but it had her throwing herself somewhat blindly into her responsibilities and school work. It made it challenging to handle her stress levels because she wouldn’t give herself a moment to relax, a moment to unclench, because everything was a fight and she was constantly on the edge of panic. She had to keep working, in fear she might break down.

With preparation for college now a factor, graduating year was an especially hard one. She developed a rather severe addition to caffeine, one that had been ebbing it’s way into problematic over the past year or so, but flared dangerously in her 12th year. She began avoiding sleep—first it was an inability to sleep, the constant worrying and anxiety making it almost impossible, not to mention the caffeine, but over the months, her decreased mental health twisted it into a confused fear of sleep. Like if she slept, she would be wasting time, or if she slept, she might not wake up.

A wrought mess of anxiety and stress, Annie began having serious panic attacks at school. Even just having her shoulder inadvertently knocked in the hall would make her flinch, her throat tighten. Presentations and anticipation for tests could cause her to hyperventilate, and it got to the point that simply the fear of having another attack could bring one on—a cruel irony.

Eventually, Annie’s parents withdrew her from school to complete the rest of her final year from home. When she graduated, her mother took her to London as a reward, thinking that the holiday would be good for her, and that they might get some quality time together.

That was when the world ended, and Annie was left alone.

Annie Today

Infections of the apocalypse touched Annie and her fear of sleep with cruel, ironic fingers. After the End of the world, Annie woke believing that she’d simply fallen asleep again—but for the last time. She was convinced she was living in a nightmare, stuck here as punishment, for not being strong enough, good enough, smart enough.

Four years have passed, and though she still believes herself to be a permanent resident of a dream world, she is much the same person she used to be. The loss of her family and her classified delusion has put her on a very slow track of recovery, and she spends several hours a week in therapy—partially because it’s where she goes when she doesn’t know where else to. Though this nightmare has been hellish, she’s found that there are some kind people here, and the therapist’s chair has become a sort of comfort for her. Something that feels a little more connected with the real world she’d left behind, perhaps because it’s familiar—not unlike the therapists chairs she’d sat in week after week while she was in school and suffering debilitating anxiety.

She has fewer panic attacks than she used to, and having gotten accustomed to her surroundings, her generalized anxiety is a little less prominent. But there are times that she will still stay awake for days, sometimes a week, because going to sleep in her nightmare has done nothing in the past 200 some-odd weeks to get her back to the real world—so maybe by some backwards logic, the trick is to stay awake. To not be rested in this universe, because as long as she’s sustaining life here, here is where she’ll stay.

Unfortunately, neither of these theories have paid off, and at the tail end of these insomniac phases, which are fueled on fear and as much caffeine as her limited portions will allow, she’ll reliably crash hard, fine some kind of normalcy for a week or two, and then cycle back.

Obviously her mental condition and lack of sleep don’t make her the best candidate for training and the games. But she finds, despite her obvious disadvantages, she wants to do well. These people of her living nightmare have grown to mean something to her, especially those in her House, and she doesn’t like the idea of disappointing them, real or not. Some days she’ll make it all the way through training without too much incident, others the pressure will be too much, and she’ll crack under it.

She excels most in the area of archery, however, because it is a sport that requires silence, patience, and even breathing. In fact, it works a bit like meditation for her, and though she isn’t known for her performances in endurance or direct competition scenarios, she will actually spend some of her free time doing target practice. It helps to clear her head, and give her some sense of peace of mind.

HOME | PLOT | SURVIVORS | INFECTIONS | 2157 was the end of the world.

[col22promo]

Annie Perrault | Twenty One;  Survivor

House: Calyset Security Class: 2 Status: Deluded

History

Anxiety has always been an issue for Annie Perrault, so you can imagine that in the wake of the ‘end of the world’ she’s not exactly sure-footed.

As a child, Annie was nothing out of the ordinary. She was well-behaved and excitable, close with her older sister and sweet with her parents. But she’d always been a shadow of the personality her sister carried, and though this had never posed an issue in her younger years, everything changed when she entered middle school.

Not only were kids more competitive and more judgmental, but her parents had also removed her from the private school environment, enrolling her into public instead, which was really a whole other ball game. Students would tease her for her shy and quiet behavior, or for often putting her hand up in class. Proving to be an easy target, they goaded Annie to the point of tears, insecurity, and a sudden unwillingness to participate in school. She didn’t dare raise her hand anymore, because she couldn’t stand the looks her bullies would shoot her, the things they’d whisper behind binders when the teachers weren’t listening.

The bullying escalating to constant emotional torture and even violence, Annie became scared to leave the house or encounter people. When her family moved to a new city a couple years later, she hoped to get a fresh start. And though the move allowed her to escape the worst of her bullying, years of anxiety and fear of social situations, couldn’t simply be erased overnight.

Annie became determined to be a stronger person, but it had her throwing herself somewhat blindly into her responsibilities and school work. It made it challenging to handle her stress levels because she wouldn’t give herself a moment to relax, a moment to unclench, because everything was a fight and she was constantly on the edge of panic. She had to keep working, in fear she might break down.

With preparation for college now a factor, graduating year was an especially hard one. She developed a rather severe addition to caffeine, one that had been ebbing it’s way into problematic over the past year or so, but flared dangerously in her 12th year. She began avoiding sleep—first it was an inability to sleep, the constant worrying and anxiety making it almost impossible, not to mention the caffeine, but over the months, her decreased mental health twisted it into a confused fear of sleep. Like if she slept, she would be wasting time, or if she slept, she might not wake up.

A wrought mess of anxiety and stress, Annie began having serious panic attacks at school. Even just having her shoulder inadvertently knocked in the hall would make her flinch, her throat tighten. Presentations and anticipation for tests could cause her to hyperventilate, and it got to the point that simply the fear of having another attack could bring one on—a cruel irony.

Eventually, Annie’s parents withdrew her from school to complete the rest of her final year from home. When she graduated, her mother took her to London as a reward, thinking that the holiday would be good for her, and that they might get some quality time together.

That was when the world ended, and Annie was left alone.

Annie Today

Infections of the apocalypse touched Annie and her fear of sleep with cruel, ironic fingers. After the End of the world, Annie woke believing that she’d simply fallen asleep again—but for the last time. She was convinced she was living in a nightmare, stuck here as punishment, for not being strong enough, good enough, smart enough.

Four years have passed, and though she still believes herself to be a permanent resident of a dream world, she is much the same person she used to be. The loss of her family and her classified delusion has put her on a very slow track of recovery, and she spends several hours a week in therapy—partially because it’s where she goes when she doesn’t know where else to. Though this nightmare has been hellish, she’s found that there are some kind people here, and the therapist’s chair has become a sort of comfort for her. Something that feels a little more connected with the real world she’d left behind, perhaps because it’s familiar—not unlike the therapists chairs she’d sat in week after week while she was in school and suffering debilitating anxiety.

She has fewer panic attacks than she used to, and having gotten accustomed to her surroundings, her generalized anxiety is a little less prominent. But there are times that she will still stay awake for days, sometimes a week, because going to sleep in her nightmare has done nothing in the past 200 some-odd weeks to get her back to the real world—so maybe by some backwards logic, the trick is to stay awake. To not be rested in this universe, because as long as she’s sustaining life here, here is where she’ll stay.

Unfortunately, neither of these theories have paid off, and at the tail end of these insomniac phases, which are fueled on fear and as much caffeine as her limited portions will allow, she’ll reliably crash hard, fine some kind of normalcy for a week or two, and then cycle back.

Obviously her mental condition and lack of sleep don’t make her the best candidate for training and the games. But she finds, despite her obvious disadvantages, she wants to do well. These people of her living nightmare have grown to mean something to her, especially those in her House, and she doesn’t like the idea of disappointing them, real or not. Some days she’ll make it all the way through training without too much incident, others the pressure will be too much, and she’ll crack under it.

She excels most in the area of archery, however, because it is a sport that requires silence, patience, and even breathing. In fact, it works a bit like meditation for her, and though she isn’t known for her performances in endurance or direct competition scenarios, she will actually spend some of her free time doing target practice. It helps to clear her head, and give her some sense of peace of mind.

HOME | PLOT | SURVIVORS | INFECTIONS | 2157 was the end of the world.

[col22promo]

Annie Perrault | Twenty One;  Survivor

House: Calyset Security Class: 2 Status: Deluded

History

Anxiety has always been an issue for Annie Perrault, so you can imagine that in the wake of the ‘end of the world’ she’s not exactly sure-footed.

As a child, Annie was nothing out of the ordinary. She was well-behaved and excitable, close with her older sister and sweet with her parents. But she’d always been a shadow of the personality her sister carried, and though this had never posed an issue in her younger years, everything changed when she entered middle school.

Not only were kids more competitive and more judgmental, but her parents had also removed her from the private school environment, enrolling her into public instead, which was really a whole other ball game. Students would tease her for her shy and quiet behavior, or for often putting her hand up in class. Proving to be an easy target, they goaded Annie to the point of tears, insecurity, and a sudden unwillingness to participate in school. She didn’t dare raise her hand anymore, because she couldn’t stand the looks her bullies would shoot her, the things they’d whisper behind binders when the teachers weren’t listening.

The bullying escalating to constant emotional torture and even violence, Annie became scared to leave the house or encounter people. When her family moved to a new city a couple years later, she hoped to get a fresh start. And though the move allowed her to escape the worst of her bullying, years of anxiety and fear of social situations, couldn’t simply be erased overnight.

Annie became determined to be a stronger person, but it had her throwing herself somewhat blindly into her responsibilities and school work. It made it challenging to handle her stress levels because she wouldn’t give herself a moment to relax, a moment to unclench, because everything was a fight and she was constantly on the edge of panic. She had to keep working, in fear she might break down.

With preparation for college now a factor, graduating year was an especially hard one. She developed a rather severe addition to caffeine, one that had been ebbing it’s way into problematic over the past year or so, but flared dangerously in her 12th year. She began avoiding sleep—first it was an inability to sleep, the constant worrying and anxiety making it almost impossible, not to mention the caffeine, but over the months, her decreased mental health twisted it into a confused fear of sleep. Like if she slept, she would be wasting time, or if she slept, she might not wake up.

A wrought mess of anxiety and stress, Annie began having serious panic attacks at school. Even just having her shoulder inadvertently knocked in the hall would make her flinch, her throat tighten. Presentations and anticipation for tests could cause her to hyperventilate, and it got to the point that simply the fear of having another attack could bring one on—a cruel irony.

Eventually, Annie’s parents withdrew her from school to complete the rest of her final year from home. When she graduated, her mother took her to London as a reward, thinking that the holiday would be good for her, and that they might get some quality time together.

That was when the world ended, and Annie was left alone.

Annie Today

Infections of the apocalypse touched Annie and her fear of sleep with cruel, ironic fingers. After the End of the world, Annie woke believing that she’d simply fallen asleep again—but for the last time. She was convinced she was living in a nightmare, stuck here as punishment, for not being strong enough, good enough, smart enough.

Four years have passed, and though she still believes herself to be a permanent resident of a dream world, she is much the same person she used to be. The loss of her family and her classified delusion has put her on a very slow track of recovery, and she spends several hours a week in therapy—partially because it’s where she goes when she doesn’t know where else to. Though this nightmare has been hellish, she’s found that there are some kind people here, and the therapist’s chair has become a sort of comfort for her. Something that feels a little more connected with the real world she’d left behind, perhaps because it’s familiar—not unlike the therapists chairs she’d sat in week after week while she was in school and suffering debilitating anxiety.

She has fewer panic attacks than she used to, and having gotten accustomed to her surroundings, her generalized anxiety is a little less prominent. But there are times that she will still stay awake for days, sometimes a week, because going to sleep in her nightmare has done nothing in the past 200 some-odd weeks to get her back to the real world—so maybe by some backwards logic, the trick is to stay awake. To not be rested in this universe, because as long as she’s sustaining life here, here is where she’ll stay.

Unfortunately, neither of these theories have paid off, and at the tail end of these insomniac phases, which are fueled on fear and as much caffeine as her limited portions will allow, she’ll reliably crash hard, fine some kind of normalcy for a week or two, and then cycle back.

Obviously her mental condition and lack of sleep don’t make her the best candidate for training and the games. But she finds, despite her obvious disadvantages, she wants to do well. These people of her living nightmare have grown to mean something to her, especially those in her House, and she doesn’t like the idea of disappointing them, real or not. Some days she’ll make it all the way through training without too much incident, others the pressure will be too much, and she’ll crack under it.

She excels most in the area of archery, however, because it is a sport that requires silence, patience, and even breathing. In fact, it works a bit like meditation for her, and though she isn’t known for her performances in endurance or direct competition scenarios, she will actually spend some of her free time doing target practice. It helps to clear her head, and give her some sense of peace of mind.

HOME | PLOT | SURVIVORS | INFECTIONS | 2157 was the end of the world.

[col22promo]

Annie Perrault | Twenty One;  Survivor

House: Calyset Security Class: 2 Status: Deluded

History

Anxiety has always been an issue for Annie Perrault, so you can imagine that in the wake of the ‘end of the world’ she’s not exactly sure-footed.

As a child, Annie was nothing out of the ordinary. She was well-behaved and excitable, close with her older sister and sweet with her parents. But she’d always been a shadow of the personality her sister carried, and though this had never posed an issue in her younger years, everything changed when she entered middle school.

Not only were kids more competitive and more judgmental, but her parents had also removed her from the private school environment, enrolling her into public instead, which was really a whole other ball game. Students would tease her for her shy and quiet behavior, or for often putting her hand up in class. Proving to be an easy target, they goaded Annie to the point of tears, insecurity, and a sudden unwillingness to participate in school. She didn’t dare raise her hand anymore, because she couldn’t stand the looks her bullies would shoot her, the things they’d whisper behind binders when the teachers weren’t listening.

The bullying escalating to constant emotional torture and even violence, Annie became scared to leave the house or encounter people. When her family moved to a new city a couple years later, she hoped to get a fresh start. And though the move allowed her to escape the worst of her bullying, years of anxiety and fear of social situations, couldn’t simply be erased overnight.

Annie became determined to be a stronger person, but it had her throwing herself somewhat blindly into her responsibilities and school work. It made it challenging to handle her stress levels because she wouldn’t give herself a moment to relax, a moment to unclench, because everything was a fight and she was constantly on the edge of panic. She had to keep working, in fear she might break down.

With preparation for college now a factor, graduating year was an especially hard one. She developed a rather severe addition to caffeine, one that had been ebbing it’s way into problematic over the past year or so, but flared dangerously in her 12th year. She began avoiding sleep—first it was an inability to sleep, the constant worrying and anxiety making it almost impossible, not to mention the caffeine, but over the months, her decreased mental health twisted it into a confused fear of sleep. Like if she slept, she would be wasting time, or if she slept, she might not wake up.

A wrought mess of anxiety and stress, Annie began having serious panic attacks at school. Even just having her shoulder inadvertently knocked in the hall would make her flinch, her throat tighten. Presentations and anticipation for tests could cause her to hyperventilate, and it got to the point that simply the fear of having another attack could bring one on—a cruel irony.

Eventually, Annie’s parents withdrew her from school to complete the rest of her final year from home. When she graduated, her mother took her to London as a reward, thinking that the holiday would be good for her, and that they might get some quality time together.

That was when the world ended, and Annie was left alone.

Annie Today

Infections of the apocalypse touched Annie and her fear of sleep with cruel, ironic fingers. After the End of the world, Annie woke believing that she’d simply fallen asleep again—but for the last time. She was convinced she was living in a nightmare, stuck here as punishment, for not being strong enough, good enough, smart enough.

Four years have passed, and though she still believes herself to be a permanent resident of a dream world, she is much the same person she used to be. The loss of her family and her classified delusion has put her on a very slow track of recovery, and she spends several hours a week in therapy—partially because it’s where she goes when she doesn’t know where else to. Though this nightmare has been hellish, she’s found that there are some kind people here, and the therapist’s chair has become a sort of comfort for her. Something that feels a little more connected with the real world she’d left behind, perhaps because it’s familiar—not unlike the therapists chairs she’d sat in week after week while she was in school and suffering debilitating anxiety.

She has fewer panic attacks than she used to, and having gotten accustomed to her surroundings, her generalized anxiety is a little less prominent. But there are times that she will still stay awake for days, sometimes a week, because going to sleep in her nightmare has done nothing in the past 200 some-odd weeks to get her back to the real world—so maybe by some backwards logic, the trick is to stay awake. To not be rested in this universe, because as long as she’s sustaining life here, here is where she’ll stay.

Unfortunately, neither of these theories have paid off, and at the tail end of these insomniac phases, which are fueled on fear and as much caffeine as her limited portions will allow, she’ll reliably crash hard, fine some kind of normalcy for a week or two, and then cycle back.

Obviously her mental condition and lack of sleep don’t make her the best candidate for training and the games. But she finds, despite her obvious disadvantages, she wants to do well. These people of her living nightmare have grown to mean something to her, especially those in her House, and she doesn’t like the idea of disappointing them, real or not. Some days she’ll make it all the way through training without too much incident, others the pressure will be too much, and she’ll crack under it.

She excels most in the area of archery, however, because it is a sport that requires silence, patience, and even breathing. In fact, it works a bit like meditation for her, and though she isn’t known for her performances in endurance or direct competition scenarios, she will actually spend some of her free time doing target practice. It helps to clear her head, and give her some sense of peace of mind.

HOME | PLOT | SURVIVORS | INFECTIONS | 2157 was the end of the world.

[col22promo]

Annie Perrault | Twenty One;  Survivor

House: Calyset Security Class: 2 Status: Deluded

History

Anxiety has always been an issue for Annie Perrault, so you can imagine that in the wake of the ‘end of the world’ she’s not exactly sure-footed.

As a child, Annie was nothing out of the ordinary. She was well-behaved and excitable, close with her older sister and sweet with her parents. But she’d always been a shadow of the personality her sister carried, and though this had never posed an issue in her younger years, everything changed when she entered middle school.

Not only were kids more competitive and more judgmental, but her parents had also removed her from the private school environment, enrolling her into public instead, which was really a whole other ball game. Students would tease her for her shy and quiet behavior, or for often putting her hand up in class. Proving to be an easy target, they goaded Annie to the point of tears, insecurity, and a sudden unwillingness to participate in school. She didn’t dare raise her hand anymore, because she couldn’t stand the looks her bullies would shoot her, the things they’d whisper behind binders when the teachers weren’t listening.

The bullying escalating to constant emotional torture and even violence, Annie became scared to leave the house or encounter people. When her family moved to a new city a couple years later, she hoped to get a fresh start. And though the move allowed her to escape the worst of her bullying, years of anxiety and fear of social situations, couldn’t simply be erased overnight.

Annie became determined to be a stronger person, but it had her throwing herself somewhat blindly into her responsibilities and school work. It made it challenging to handle her stress levels because she wouldn’t give herself a moment to relax, a moment to unclench, because everything was a fight and she was constantly on the edge of panic. She had to keep working, in fear she might break down.

With preparation for college now a factor, graduating year was an especially hard one. She developed a rather severe addition to caffeine, one that had been ebbing it’s way into problematic over the past year or so, but flared dangerously in her 12th year. She began avoiding sleep—first it was an inability to sleep, the constant worrying and anxiety making it almost impossible, not to mention the caffeine, but over the months, her decreased mental health twisted it into a confused fear of sleep. Like if she slept, she would be wasting time, or if she slept, she might not wake up.

A wrought mess of anxiety and stress, Annie began having serious panic attacks at school. Even just having her shoulder inadvertently knocked in the hall would make her flinch, her throat tighten. Presentations and anticipation for tests could cause her to hyperventilate, and it got to the point that simply the fear of having another attack could bring one on—a cruel irony.

Eventually, Annie’s parents withdrew her from school to complete the rest of her final year from home. When she graduated, her mother took her to London as a reward, thinking that the holiday would be good for her, and that they might get some quality time together.

That was when the world ended, and Annie was left alone.

Annie Today

Infections of the apocalypse touched Annie and her fear of sleep with cruel, ironic fingers. After the End of the world, Annie woke believing that she’d simply fallen asleep again—but for the last time. She was convinced she was living in a nightmare, stuck here as punishment, for not being strong enough, good enough, smart enough.

Four years have passed, and though she still believes herself to be a permanent resident of a dream world, she is much the same person she used to be. The loss of her family and her classified delusion has put her on a very slow track of recovery, and she spends several hours a week in therapy—partially because it’s where she goes when she doesn’t know where else to. Though this nightmare has been hellish, she’s found that there are some kind people here, and the therapist’s chair has become a sort of comfort for her. Something that feels a little more connected with the real world she’d left behind, perhaps because it’s familiar—not unlike the therapists chairs she’d sat in week after week while she was in school and suffering debilitating anxiety.

She has fewer panic attacks than she used to, and having gotten accustomed to her surroundings, her generalized anxiety is a little less prominent. But there are times that she will still stay awake for days, sometimes a week, because going to sleep in her nightmare has done nothing in the past 200 some-odd weeks to get her back to the real world—so maybe by some backwards logic, the trick is to stay awake. To not be rested in this universe, because as long as she’s sustaining life here, here is where she’ll stay.

Unfortunately, neither of these theories have paid off, and at the tail end of these insomniac phases, which are fueled on fear and as much caffeine as her limited portions will allow, she’ll reliably crash hard, fine some kind of normalcy for a week or two, and then cycle back.

Obviously her mental condition and lack of sleep don’t make her the best candidate for training and the games. But she finds, despite her obvious disadvantages, she wants to do well. These people of her living nightmare have grown to mean something to her, especially those in her House, and she doesn’t like the idea of disappointing them, real or not. Some days she’ll make it all the way through training without too much incident, others the pressure will be too much, and she’ll crack under it.

She excels most in the area of archery, however, because it is a sport that requires silence, patience, and even breathing. In fact, it works a bit like meditation for her, and though she isn’t known for her performances in endurance or direct competition scenarios, she will actually spend some of her free time doing target practice. It helps to clear her head, and give her some sense of peace of mind.

HOME | PLOT | SURVIVORS | INFECTIONS | 2157 was the end of the world.