#can you imagine how many lives they could save if everyone knew to get cremated and put salt in the foundation of homes

[secondhandroad]

sam and dean have a compulsive need to have secrets up their sleeves at all times because what other explanation is there for why they are STILL doing that like thirteen seasons in. they just wanna feel like special little boys who know something you don't know. really this is the only explanation for why they haven't informed the general public about monsters yet.

[ethanlivemere]

Half-Life²: Anticitizen - Chapter 3

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

_____________________

Chapter 3

Trespass

The true citizen knows that duty is the greatest gift.

The true citizen conserves valuable oxygen.

The true citizen cooperates with his Civil Protection team.

The true citizen’s job is the opposite of slavery.

The Consul’s brief messages echo across the pavement, each one followed by a hollow chime. It has an almost hypnotic effect, as I find myself staring up at the cluster of screens hanging over the intersection. It’s an Orwellian sight to behold: the citizens going about their day while the Consul’s watchful gaze looks down from above.

The true citizen embraces the Universal Union.

I think back to my encounter with the Vortigaunt. It had been a shock to hear English words coming from the mouth of the alien. Its voice was guttural and rough, and it continually made insect-like hissing and clicking sounds, but it spoke English nonetheless. Quite eloquently, even. Vastly different from Black Mesa, where the hisses and clicks had been the only components of their communication. But perhaps the bigger shock in seeing the Vortigaunt was not what it said, but the way it spoke to me. Like I hadn’t killed dozens of its kind in Black Mesa after seeing them slaughter my coworkers. After such hostility, I expected this Vortigaunt to charge up a bolt of green energy and attack me, and my instincts wanted me to reach for a weapon I didn’t have. The last thing I expected was for it to greet me as an ally.

“Your presence gives us hope, Freeman,” it had said. “As you saved my kin in the border world, so shall you save us again on this miserable rock. For now that the lesser master lay defeated, the greater must also fall in time.” Ah, so that’s how it is, I thought. When I killed the Nihilanth, I freed the Vortigaunts from their enslaver, and now they expected me to do the same once more. I remembered the slave camps and factories on Xen, where, for just a brief moment, they didn’t attack me – until the Nihilanth’s Controllers arrived and forced them to fight. They must have realized I was their one hope for freedom. A freedom which, ultimately, was very short-lived.

The Vortigaunt then walked to the contraption that held another one of its kind in its dark liquid. It placed its two-fingered hand against the glass and, despite its alien features, I could see sadness fall across its face. “The Vorti-cells drain power from my kin to support the Combine’s machinery. Those who enter them seldom emerge. The few who do are weakened almost to the point of collapse. Truly, it is a fate far worse than the shackles I bear.” The shackles were different from the ones worn by the Nihilanth-enslaved Vortigaunts. Instead of shining green, they were a dull gray. Their design remained very similar, though. Wrist bracelets, a collar, but also a sort of codpiece that I didn’t remember seeing on the Nihilanth’s slaves. Apparently the Combine deemed it necessary to cover the Vortigaunts’ loins – even though they housed no visible organs of any kind.

The Vortigaunt proceeded to grab a broom from against the wall and told me it had to resume its duty or suffer punishment. It seemed rather ironic, almost comedic even, that an alien race powerful enough to power factories was also being employed to sweep the streets. Recalling the instructions Jeremy had given me, I asked the Vortigaunt if he knew how I could get to the Manhack Arcade, where Barney was supposed to meet me. “Ah,” he responded pensively. “The Manhack Arcade. The hall of the unwitting executioners.” He proceeded to give me clear directions. I was to go to a place he called the Stenographer’s Chasm and then continue in a straight line. I wondered what he meant by ‘unwitting executioners’, but before I knew it, he had already said his goodbyes and disappeared around the corner.

The strange encounter had left me confused and a bit shaken, but I resolutely continued my journey and followed the Vortigaunt’s directions. I had a hard time imagining what this ‘Stenographer’s Chasm’ could be, but I could never have imagined what it turned out to be. An enormous, Combine-modified warehouse consisting of one long room that extended far into the ground, filled with rows of workers perched on stools behind desks, frantically typing on typewriter-like machines. But the stools and desks weren’t on the ground: they were mounted onto single, suspended rails that ran across the room. There were multiple levels of these rails and desks reaching all the way to the ceiling and down into the chasm. The workers had nowhere to go. My guess was that at the end of their shift or when their quota was fulfilled, the rails transported them to a place where they could safely dismount their stools. Until then, they could do nothing but work. I didn’t know what it was they were doing. What kind of paperwork could the Combine have? They didn’t seem like the type to bother with those kinds of things too much. Then again, an intergalactic empire is bound to have some unavoidable paperwork. Probably keeping track of resources and the like.

More disturbing sights awaited me, though. It all began at a building that produced a continuous sound of whirring and chugging, like a giant steam engine. Looking through the window, I saw a black and white tiled hall that was filled with enormous, diagonal pistons moving back and forth. At their base, people were working on the large engines that seemed to drive the pistons. I then realized that the engines weren’t just large, the figures knelt at their base were also small… they were children. Children, no older than twelve, were working on heavy machinery under the watch of Metrocops. And that wasn’t the only factory where children were being forced into labor. A bit further down the street was a smaller brick building that housed a large furnace. More children were stationed at a conveyor belt that lead into the furnace. They took white, ellipsoid objects from barrels and placed them onto the conveyor. They weren’t being burned in the furnace: they reemerged out of the side, attached to the ends of poles, and were transported into another machine. I had seen the white objects before on the brown-robed, flamethrower-wielding beings in the station and on posters that Jeremy had referred to as ‘Cremators’. These were Cremator heads. I tore myself away from the windows and continued my way through the industrial area. I never looked through another window again.

The factories eventually made way for a busier commercial district, which is where I find myself now. It’s the busiest place I’ve seen in this city, apart from the military parade. This must once have been a street with many successful shops, but now most of the display windows stand empty. One of the buildings still in use houses the same ration dispensers I also saw in the station. Another one showcases multiple television screens, all of which display the Combine logo.

“Can you believe it? Free TVs!” says a citizen gazing through the window.

“Don’t get too excited,” his companion replies in a cynical tone. “Those things only have one channel: the Consulcast.” He points over his shoulder at the cluster of screens overhead, where the Consul’s many faces are still naming the values of a true citizen.

But the Consulcast nor the free TVs are the reason why there is so much traffic on this street corner. In fact, I’d wager the Combine strategically placed those here so that as many citizens as possible would be exposed to the propaganda. The real eye-catcher everyone seems to be here for is across the street: the Manhack Arcade. It’s a large building that forms the corner of the street. Completely Combine-made, no recycling of old buildings. The people in the street flock towards the wide entrance on the corner, which is flanked by two Metrocops. Above it hang a number of yellow posters and banners and even more screens, all showing Combine logos and imagery.

I wonder if I should go in. Jeremy told me Barney would meet me at the Manhack Arcade, but it’s unclear if that means outside or inside. It seem risky going into a Combine facility, but it doesn’t seem like the citizens get scanned like they did at the checkpoints, and I could probably slip by the two guarding Metrocops unnoticed by hiding in the crowd.

I wait a little longer, hoping Barney will show himself. The clouds have gotten darker still, and before long a light drizzle starts pouring from the sky. Not only am I not dressed for rainy weather, I also want to avoid getting into too much contact with this water, which, judging from the greenish color of the clouds it originates from, could have all kinds of toxins or undesirable pH values. And so, when an exceptionally dense group of people approaches the entrance to the Arcade, I join them and walk past the Metrocops without either of them giving me a second glance.

Inside is a corridor that leads to the main room. Like the Stenographer’s Chasm, it’s long, tall, and extends down into the ground. Instead of rails with desks and tired workers, this room is filled with catwalks leading to strange machines. Citizens queue in front of them and when it’s their turn, they step onto a pedestal in front of the machines, grab hold of two control handles and lean forward to place their heads in some sort of virtual reality display built into the arcade.

A screen above the player allows bystanders to follow the game. A citizen near me has just started: at first, the screen shows only a grid of red lines in a black void. Then, the grid bends and reshapes itself into a three-dimensional environment that resembles a ruined building. Several humanoid shapes appear in yellow and orange tints, like heat vision, but with a clear red outline to them. The player navigates the environment, seemingly flying, and moves towards the outlined targets. The targets start moving around, trying to evade the player, but eventually he catches up to one. It’s not clear what happens, but when the player bumps into the target, the red outline disappears and a score of one hundred appears in the bottom right corner of the screen. “Ha ha, got one!” the player exclaims. Another nearby player is already at a score of eight hundred, when one of the targets suddenly rushes at him, holding up some kind of long object. The screen goes black and the words ‘GAME OVER’ appear on the screen. “Damn it!” the man shouts. “I was almost at my high score!”

Something’s not right. The way the targets move – it doesn’t look like a video game character. Much too erratic and lifelike. And from what I’ve seen of the Combine so far, I doubt they would put effort into providing ground-breaking AI technology for their panem et circenses. The Vortigaunt’s words echo through my mind: ‘the hall of the unwitting executioners’. I can put two and two together, but I don’t want to. I refuse to believe that what I fear is true. People slaughtering their own, cheering while they do it – and without ever realizing what they did. Or, at least, I deeply hope they don’t.

I don’t want to stay here any longer. Watching these innocent people enjoying the Combine’s twisted games turns my stomach. I have to find Barney. But how can I simultaneously hide from the real Metrocops and try to get Barney to see me?

As I pace through the room, I notice a Metrocop eyeing me. It’s hard to tell with the gas masks, but it seems like his gaze is following me. Is he Barney or a suspicious guard? I try to act inconspicuous and wait for a signal. Suddenly, the Metrocop turns away and walks towards a door. He interacts with the locking mechanism and it opens before him. He throws another prolonged glance in my direction before stepping through, out of sight. I wait. The door doesn’t close behind him. I cautiously make my way to the door. It leads to some sort of backstage corridor, clearly a ‘staff only’ area. I can’t see the Metrocop. I look around the Arcade one last time, but none of the remaining guards seem to notice me, so I enter the corridor. It’s cold and dark, and my footsteps are loud on the metal floor. I arrive in a small room with one of those Combine consoles. The wall is lined with a rack containing dozens of small, deactivated drones whose purpose I can’t discern. I hear the door I entered through close.

“Hey, you!” I hear from one of the neighboring corridors. A Metrocop – the one I followed in here – enters the room. “Do you have your identification?” He menacingly steps towards me. Seems it wasn’t Barney after all. Tough luck. “You are not supposed to be in here. I need to see your identification.”

Well, I seem to have gotten myself into a sticky situation. The Metrocop is trying to drive me into a corner, drawing his stun baton. “Overwatch, restricted incursion in progress in sector 8. Permission to enact civil judgement?” he says to seemingly no one. There’s a short blip and a burst of static following his question. I’m not thrilled about the prospect of ‘civil judgement’, so I decide not to wait until he gets his answer from whoever Overwatch is. I place my hands on my head, feigning surrender, while I scan the exits. The corridor back to the main Arcade hall is sealed and I can’t tell where the others lead, so I’ll have to trust my instincts.

Either the Metrocop has received his permission from Overwatch, or my eyes darting around the room have made him suspicious, because he suddenly swings his stun stick at my head. I try to duck and the blow lands against my elbow, sending a shock through my entire arm as blue sparks fly from the weapon. In response, I kick at his shin as hard as I can. He grunts and loses his balance, and I take the opportunity to dart down the nearest corridor. I hear the Metrocop’s heavy boots give chase behind me as he mumbles a status report to Overwatch. I round a corner, praying I won’t run into a dead end. I see a T junction ahead. Suddenly, I hear a deafening bang behind me, and the sound of a bullet hitting metal. Damn. He has a gun. I have to reach the junction as fast as possible. No time to look which way to go. As the echo of the gunshot fades out, I speed off into the left corridor just before another bullet plunges itself into the wall.

Suddenly, my surroundings open up into a larger room that’s two thirds Combine architecture and one third concrete rubble, remainders of whatever building was here before they installed their Arcade. I could get out through the collapsed walls and floors, but I’d be an easy shot. There’s also what looks like a Combine elevator with a bright red button inside it. I have milliseconds to make a decision. How far behind is he? Can I pull it off?

I slam my fist into the red button, rush back out of the elevator and then dive behind a half-collapsed wall. The doors close and the elevator starts to rise as I flatten myself against the concrete, bent rebar poking into my shoulder. My left arm is numb from the shock of the baton. I hear the Metrocop charging into the room. I hold my breath and pray he falls for my trick. It’s a trick as old as time. He stands still and I wait, my heartbeat ear-deafening.

“Subject is headed for top floor, secure perimeter around elevator.” I have to keep myself from sighing in relief. He isn’t gone yet. In fact, he seems to just stand still in front of the elevator. He must be waiting for the elevator to reach its destination. If he waits for the top floor units to report an empty elevator, my cover is blown.

“Copy,” he says. My functional right hand grabs hold of a loose chunk of concrete near me. I hear him walk a few steps, and then a couple of beeps. “Elevator power disengaged. Heading to your location.” With that, he walks out of the room, and I can finally breathe again. They don’t know the elevator is empty yet. They think they have me trapped in an unpowered elevator. Now to finally get out of here.

Easier said than done, as it turns out. The ruins are a concrete maze, and I constantly have to watch my step. It doesn’t help that the rain that seeps down through the broken ceilings makes everything slippery. The downpour has changed into an outright storm: the water beats down loudly on the concrete and every now and then a roaring thunderclap tears through the sky. Meanwhile, I guess the Metrocops discovered I wasn’t in the elevator after all, because I suddenly hear the cold, disembodied female voice – Overwatch, I assume – echo through the air once more: “Individual, you are charged with anti-civil activities: 63 criminal trespass, 148 resisting arrest, 243 assault on Protection Team. All local Protection units: code alert: locate, contain, prosecute.”

I spot one of the lambdas painted by the resistance group on a pillar. It leads the way down a slope of collapsed floor into a sub-street level area. Knowing the Metrocops are looking for me again, I try to speed up my pace a little while heading down – a mistake. The wet rubble gives way and I lose my footing. The world spins around me as I slide and tumble down the slope. I try to shield my head with my arms. I roll over the floor after reaching the bottom before coming to a stop.

I lie on my back as my surroundings come back into focus. I’m in some sort of underground sewer chamber: I see a ladder on the wall leading up to a manhole cover and there’s a grate in the ceiling through which light and rain pours down in a small waterfall, though the ground I lie on is thankfully dry. I do a quick damage report: my palms are chafed and I’ll undoubtedly have a few bruises, but no lasting damage. I’m lucky I didn’t hit my head on any of the protruding edges of the concrete.

I become aware of a sound, just barely audible over the storm. It sounds like a fire – no, more like a flamethrower. At the same moment, I notice the dancing orange light on the brick wall, and my nostrils are assaulted with the stench of burning flesh. I immediately jolt up. Pain shoots through my back at the sudden movement. I look around and immediately spot the source of the sound: there’s a Cremator standing on the opposite side of the room. The two lanky, leathery-skinned arms sticking out of its brown robe carry a heavy flamethrower which, I notice for the first time seeing one up close, is connected to a spherical fuel tank in the middle of its stomach with a thin tube. ‘Flamethrower’ might be an incorrect word, however. Instead of producing flames, it shoots the green particle jets I also noticed being used to clean trains in the station. It must be some sort of corrosive liquid that only affects organic matter. The source of the orange light on the walls turns out to be a burning pile of charred flesh being sprayed by the Cremator. The flesh is being set ablaze by the green particles, but not only that: where the jets hit the flesh directly, it seems to blacken and disintegrate. Despite the fact that the corpses have turned black as coal and have been turned into an amorphous, ever-shrinking pile, I can still make out just enough to see that these were once people.

The Cremator stops what it’s doing and turns its white, oval head towards me, alerted by my sudden movement. Its tiny, expressionless eyes lock onto me. I hear mechanical breathing from the Cremator’s mouth-tube as it steps closer. It tilts its head like a curious animal before it points the nozzle of its weapon towards me. I could try to run, but I doubt I could get far enough to evade the scorching cloud. I briefly wonder if I should not have moved an played dead. It probably wouldn’t have saved me from being disintegrated.

“Cremator! Stand down!” A Metrocop charges in and stands between me and the Cremator. “This prisoner is property of Civil Protection and is to be transferred to Nova Prospekt for processing.” The Cremator tilts its head again, then turns around and returns to its previous work. The Metrocop turns around to face me. I should be worried, but I’m not. Despite its distortion, I have already recognized his voice. I once again hear the click of the mask detaching and am greeted by Barney’s smug grin. I’ve never been happier to see that stupid grin.

“So Gordon, is this what you call ‘not drawing any attention to yourself’? You’ve got practically every Metrocop in the sector looking for you!” He reaches out and grabs my arm to pull me onto my feet. The numbness from the stun baton is almost gone, though it now hurts from the fall instead. As I rub my elbow, I glance at the Cremator. It seems to be minding its own business, but I don’t feel comfortable hanging around near it much longer, and I wonder if it’s a good idea for Barney to unmask himself and be so friendly with me in its presence. Barney follows my gaze and says “Don’t worry about him, he won’t bother us again. They’re not too bright, these Cremators. Mindless synths. They were made to be janitors, primarily. Destroy biological waste, contain the Xen infestation…” He looks down at the charred corpses grimly. “… clean up after the Civil Protection patrols.” He beckons me and starts walking. “The reason he was about to disintegrate you is because you are not a registered citizen or Combine unit. So to him, you would have to be either a Xenian creature or a very lively corpse. Either way, you were considered ‘unauthorized biological mass’ and had to be disposed of.”

We enter an underground utility tunnel. The sounds of the storm fade away as we follow the cables and pipelines down the dimly lit corridor. “You’re lucky I found you,” Barney remarks. “Those Immolators of theirs can give you a nasty burn. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you at the Arcade, I was held up by unforeseen complications on my shift. I had just gotten back to Dr. Kleiner’s lab when I heard the local CP units go crazy over some guy causing trouble at the Arcade.” He flashes me a smirk. I tell him what happened at the Arcade, with the Metrocop I had thought was him. “You got baited,” he replies. “Some CPs will bait citizens into breaking rules, like trespassing, just so they can enact some civil judgement.”

We march through the underground network in silence for a while before I cautiously bring up Jeremy. Barney sighs sadly and lightly shakes his head. “Yeah, I heard what happened.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment, seemingly choosing his next words carefully. “Listen, Gordon… don’t worry about it, okay? I can probably pull some strings to make sure he turns out okay.” He doesn’t sound all that certain. “Either way, don’t blame yourself. Each of us knows the risk in what we’re doing. We’re all prepared to... go all the way for our cause.” I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Barney is being uncharacteristically serious and grim. This is not the same man I knew before Black Mesa. Then again, the same goes for myself.

His face lightens up again and he slips back into his usual grin when we go down a side tunnel with another lambda, at the end of which is a short staircase with a metal door. “Well Gordon, looks like we’re finally here.” He opens the door and the sound of machinery pours out. Not harsh, loud and aggressive, like the Combine factories, but light beeps and clicks over a soft hum. A familiar sound that invites me inside. The sound of science.

_____________________

Consul screens

Stenographer's Chasm

Piston hall

Cremator factory

Manhack Arcade exterior + Citadel

Manhack Arcade interior

Cremator

Underground

And for the first time, there aren't just images for reference, but also sound: here is the original Vortigaunt voice.

As always, really excited to share this new chapter of Anticitizen with you. We've finally reached Kleiner's lab, so from now the story will start picking up pace. And as always, please let me know what you think :)

[nakunakunomi]

Hey there! I hope I make it in time, I'm very excited you're opening your box 😩💕. May I please request Platonic HC for Ace, Marco, (and Izo if you write for them of course!) Comforting their friend/cremate who is being plagued by nightmares from their past? Like they're afraid to lose the crew/family, that they've always wanted . Thank you dear, I can't wait to see the requests for this batch 😌

Hi dear! I love this idea! Especially since Whitebeard giving this whole bunch of misfits a family and a place, ugh breaks my heart every time. (╥﹏╥) You used general terms so I went with a gender neutral reader and Izo is included! Am anime-only, have not seen that much of Izo, so I do take some own interpretations of his character. To not make them too repetitive I gave all 3 a slightly different situation!  Much love, I hope you enjoy these! 

Platonic Comforting HC - Ace, Marco, Izo 

Ace 

Ace, once he gives in to the whole family thing. Is pretty close with almost everyone on the ship. He checks in with his own division, but will know all the names and faces of people from other divisions and will regularly check in with those he crosses paths with. 

Often it’s just a “Hey, Hello, how are you doing?” moment, it’s not like he doesn’t have anything to do, but when he has time he’ll settle for an actual conversation.

You’ve been very lucky to catch him often on one of those free moments and you were pretty proud to state that you were by now friends with the freckled commander. 

He knew you very well, and thus he notices when things are not as they should be. 

And after crossing you in the hallway for a few times, barely getting an ‘hello’ and a smile in return, he knows something is up and pulls you aside the next time he spots you. 

You first deny that anything is wrong, but the deep dark circles under your eyes tell a different story. Ace is persistent and doesn’t give up until you finally confess that you have barely been sleeping. 

He knows some of your past, and you tell him how it’s been coming back to haunt you in your dreams. How you are finally feeling so happy to have friends, to have a crew, to have a family. How you finally feel like you have found your place in the world.

And how every time you close your eyes at night, that all gets taken away from you, in so many different, horrific ways. Every nightmare is worse than the last one, and at this point, you are just putting off sleep. 

Ace understands how you feel, he struggles with so many things but could not imagine losing his family at all… it’s the subject of his nightmares too, but he does not have them often enough to disrupt his sleeping pattern, as they now do to you. 

He gives you words of comfort. How everyone, including him, in this crew, would never leave you, and would never leave you behind. In no situation. 

He assures you you’re a family who will go to the ends of the earth in order to protect one of them. That’s just how Whitebeard works. 

And you know all these things, but hearing them being said to you with such sincerity, Ace’s hands on your shoulders as he looks in your eyes, stares into your soul, as he tells you to never doubt that, it just does something with you, and you feel as if a load is off your shoulders, thanks to the reassurances, and just the fact that you got it off of your chest. 

Ace proposes to nap together whenever he has a free moment during the day, or whenever he falls asleep doing something. That way, if you lie next to him, people will think his nap was on purpose, and that way, if the nightmares plague you again, you can wake up, see him, and get back to sleep, having some living breathing reassurance next to you, that this family is here to stay. 

Marco 

Marco has many sleepless nights, not necessarily because he cannot sleep, but because he is the type of man that will finish his work no matter the time, resulting in all-nighters more often than not. 

Being the ship’s doctor, he definitely knows better, but the peace and quiet at night makes working just a little bit easier. 

And he does take a regular break to just stretch his legs, get on deck and get some fresh air under the night sky filled with stars. Whenever the sea is calm, it works insanely relaxing and it’s his favorite time of day. 

He is usually all by himself, save for the handful of crewmembers on patrol and those in the crow’s nest on night watch. 

It’s very rare to see someone else on deck, and that’s why you, leaning over the railing as you stare into the waves, stick out like a sore thumb. 

Marco of course, cannot just let you stand there. If you’re up at this hour, and out of your cabin, surely something must be wrong. 

And it becomes even more clear that something is wrong, as he approaches you and notices your shoulders are jerking up in the typical fashion of someone who’s crying. 

Your hands are clutching the rails and your gritting your teeth, angry at your own emotions, pirates don’t cry, you think and in your very overwhelmed state, you don’t even notice Marco walking up to you. 

It is only when he softly puts a hand on your shoulder and asks you if you’re okay that you notice, and you jump a little at the sudden touch and sound, turning your head away, ashamed of your tears.

He stands next to you, looking over at the sea as well, not staring to make you uncomfortable. 

He lets you know that you can talk if you want, but if not, he'll just stand there with you, so you’re not alone in whatever you’re going through. 

It’s silent for a long time before everything spills from your lips, you were calmed down and had stopped crying, but as you’re talking you feel the tears well up again. 

Marco rubs your back as you speak and cry out, and offers you to come to his cabin, where he prepares some herbal tea. It helps you calm down and will definitely help you sleep. 

As you’re walking, he points out all the little things on how the crew is working together, distracting your mind from the negative and showing you how this crew is there for every single member of it. 

It’s all facts, easy for you to wrap your mind around, and that combined with his generally calming demeanor makes you feel tired even before you can even start drinking the tea. 

Marco will only send you back to your cabin if you promise to reach out next time you feel that way, to any crew member you want. You’re never alone here.

Izo 

Izo was just checking supplies in one of the storage rooms, taking notes of all that needed to be restocked next time the Moby Dick docks at an island when he hears some soft snoring. 

His initial instinct is Ace having had another bout of narcolepsy, but it’s strange: Ace does not come in these supply rooms often, mostly cause there’s ammunition stocked and they don’t really want someone who’s literally made out of fire to be close to possible explosive materials.

So when he goes looking for the source, he’s pretty surprised to find you there. You’re usually pretty focussed and all ready and doing your chores, so it is strange to find you sleeping away somewhere.

Especially in that position. Concerned for your back and your wellbeing, Izo gently shakes you awake. 

Bad idea, you jolt up, panting and you nearly hit him in the face. 

Izo needs to take a few minutes to calm you down, and once you realize what had happened, you feel your cheeks heat up with embarrassment. 

You feel like you need to explain, but at the same time you don’t want to explain and you’re just incoherently mumbling at this point, worrying Izo even more. 

He tells you to breathe. Relax. Wait a few seconds. Calm down. And then you can tell him. Counting the supplies can wait.

You get it all out, how your worst fear is losing everyone you met right now, and how every time you close your eyes, you see the whole crew dying, or leaving you behind, and how now you can barely sleep. 

How you went in here to get something for Thatch and just passed out from fatigue. 

Izo gives you an insanely good pep talk. Both of you sitting down on the floor in the darkness of the supply room. You have no choice but to look him in the eyes and believe him. He’s so convincing. 

Every single time you throw in another doubt, Izo obliterates it. The crew is here for you. They will uplift you. They will protect you. 

They will train with you to get stronger, help you whenever you feel down. 

They are a family, and the moment Whitebeard welcomed you onboard you were a part of that family too. 

And they’re Whitebeards crew, like hell are they gonna die over some trivial fights. 

He’s almost getting a little worked up by the end of his speech and you cannot help but smile. 

He’s right, and you will think about that speech before you go to bed, in hopes the nightmares stay away.

[rebeebit]

So, your parents are getting old.

TL;DR

Stuff: start cleaning out stuff they don’t need now. You might read “The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning” as a guide.

Where to live: research retirement and assisted living options in your parents’ area.

Medical considerations: HIPPA authorization, advanced directives, long term care insurance

Financial considerations: accounts, power of attorney and trusts

Dementia: what to remember when your parents forget.

So, your parents are getting old.

Most of us have parents. Many, if not most, of us will be supporting them somehow as they age. And I read somewhere that most people are not happy with how their parents have prepared for aging (I’d cite it, but I ran across that statistic a couple of months ago and ... you’ll have to take my word for it). I’ve been observing my parents as they age for a while, and in the past two years, my sister and I have become very active in the process of making sure they are safe and cared for. I decided to write a guide to help all of my friends who have parents so maybe you can avoid some of the mistakes my parents made. There are lots of resources out there, so this is by no means exhaustive, but I hope someone finds it useful!

STUFF

This is the easiest way to start, it doesn’t require uncomfortable conversations or lengthy phone calls, but could instead be an opportunity to reminisce and connect with your parents. If your parents have lived in their house for any length of time, they’ve probably amassed some STUFF. My folks lived in their house for 43 years, and they abhorred wastefulness. They also had loads of room for storage - you can imagine how much stuff they accumulated after 43 years! My mistake: I didn’t reclaim items I wanted over the years to the degree that I could have, and had to scramble to get the things I wanted when the time came to move my parents out of their house. So here are some ideas.

Your parents might feel strongly about passing on certain items - find out what these are if you don’t already know. Then you could suggest they give them to you for your birthday or another holiday. This way they get the satisfaction of knowing you have their special belongings while they’re still alive.

Did you leave your stuff at their house when you moved out, and you just never got around to getting it? That’s on YOU! Get it now, or get rid of it, if possible! 

As you’re going through your stuff, you might “accidentally” run across items your parents don’t use anymore. Help them by donating these items or throwing them away.

The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning by Margareta Magnusson is an excellent guide to this process, and a quick read. Read it, and if possible, suggest that your parents read it.

We were able to move our parents’ photo albums, but they had boxes and boxes of unsorted photos and even slides. Encourage them to go through these old memories now and put them in albums - or better yet, digitize them. They won’t have room for all those boxes when they downsize.

If you wind up having to get rid of everything at once, like we did, there will undoubtedly be heartbreak as valued heirlooms get sent to the thrift shop (or the dumpster) and even loss of some income because you won’t have time to drag it to consignment shops. The more you deal with now, the happier everyone will be with the outcome.

WHERE TO LIVE

Aging in place seems like the best option for many people, but it can be quite costly. There’s no deadline by which your parents should move out of their house, and perhaps they never will. This is where you might have a conversation about the future with your parents: what do they envision for themselves, what do they want? This is a great way to phrase it, as it sends the message that you want to know their desires for aging, so you can meet their wishes as best you can. Regardless of what they say, you can do a little homework into options in their geographic area. We didn’t make too many mistakes in this area, but my parents weren’t willing to move in advance of it being a necessity, and then when it WAS necessary in the summer of 2020 … well, who would move their parents into communal living during a pandemic? 

Several friends told me how important it is to move earlier rather than later, as it makes it easier to add levels of care as your parents age. Keep this in mind! Find out what is available, and make sure options for living include assisted living, skilled nursing, AND memory care. The last two are not interchangeable: memory care is very specific for dementia patients. If you have time, take a tour of a few places to get an idea of what life might be like for your parents there.

The move to assisted living was very important for our mother. Our father was hospitalized 15 or more times in the past year, and two of those included multiweek stays in nursing rehab - in fact, he’s still there now, and it’s been over 11 weeks (as of 7.24.21). The time alone in the house was difficult for my mother, and she will benefit from routines, social interaction, and 3 meals a day that she doesn’t have to cook for herself ... among other benefits! Moving was so hard for them to contemplate because they didn’t want to leave their community - which is very understandable - but moving gets much more difficult as your parents age, and in my mom’s case, as her dementia has progressed.

MEDICAL CONSIDERATIONS

Helping your parents navigate the healthcare system is difficult. I won’t claim to be an expert in this at all, but will at least tell you what I’ve encountered.

RIGHT NOW: find out if your parents have long-term care insurance. If one or both of your parents has a lengthy stay in the hospital/nursing home, Medicare will eventually STOP covering them, even if they need skilled nursing or memory care. This will easily start costing $350/day, which is $100,000/year. Long-term care will kick in after 90 days in hospital/nursing/memory care, and will cover most, if not all, of the costs. 

You will eventually need HIPAA authorization with your parents’ doctors. This allows the doctor to talk freely to you about your parents’ health. Without it, the doctor can listen to your concerns, but they cannot share information. My mother was reluctant to give this to us, but when she finally did, we were able to get her evaluated for dementia and take away her car keys. 

If you live close enough to go to doctor appointments with your parents, find a way to do this. When my father returned from one of his earlier but more serious hospitalizations, I requested to join him at his follow-up appointment so I could hear what the doctor had to say and ask my own questions. My father is a reasonable guy and allowed this, and it was really helpful.

Advanced Directives are their medical wishes about resuscitation. It’s a morbid conversation, and you may not want to discuss the details with them, but you should make sure they have their wishes in place.

While you’re on morbid topics, make sure you know their wishes regarding funeral and memorial services and burial arrangements. Some people even want input into their own obituaries. We knew both my parents wanted to be cremated (and where they wanted us to scatter the ashes), but we were surprised to learn my dad did not want any services. Good thing we asked!

FINANCIAL CONSIDERATIONS

For your peace of mind, you will want to know what the state of your parents’ finances is, and you will likely need to manage these finances at some point. Here is what I learned about this realm of the aging process:

Set up autopay for as many bills as you can for them, if they haven’t done so already. As my father’s health situation became more overwhelming, bills got overlooked and they started having to pay late fees. This is an easy step that you can do now and avoid the hassle later.

Suggest your parents simplify things. Do they have multiple credit cards, or multiple bank accounts? Suggest that they consolidate. Again, life gets more complicated with aging, and it becomes harder to manage. Trying to keep track of multiple accounts will be a headache for them, and they could make costly mistakes.

Make sure your parents have designated beneficiaries for all accounts. Apparently the probate process after a person dies is lengthy and annoying, and not something you’ll want to have to deal with on top of your grief when your parents pass away. On active accounts, like checking or savings accounts, try to get your name put on the account. This will help you with managing their finances when the time comes. Banks will literally not talk to you if you are not the account owner or don’t have POA.

Power of Attorney. This document WILL have to be signed, and you will want to discuss with your parents when, not if, they want to do this. The sooner the better. Sign it and scan it, and save it on your phone. This way you can email it to whoever needs it immediately so you can manage all of your parents’ affairs. I needed POA to cancel their phone service, sell their house, sell their car ... you name it.

Finally, if their finances are looking good, read on. Talk to your parents about putting their assets in a trust, especially if you have kids. If you’ve read this far, your parents probably want your kids (and you) to have something of their estate after they’re gone, but they can’t leave anything behind if they haven’t protected their assets. Medical care is expensive, and Medicaid will not kick in until you have only about $1,500 to your name, so protecting assets is important for some people. I don’t know much about this process, but if it is a concern for your parents, encourage them to reach out to their lawyer and financial advisor to take care of this.

DEMENTIA

My mother’s dementia has been the most challenging part for my sister and me over the past several years, but if you think this is in your future, it doesn’t have to be. As a society we’ve gotten better at talking about mental health, and that should also extend to dementia. As with any other health problem, early detection and intervention will lead to better outcomes. In my mother’s case, we attempted to intervene in 2017 but were unsuccessful. My mother was finally diagnosed in January 2021, but at this point she had progressed to mild dementia, and has been unable to process or accept the diagnosis. This has caused her to have worse anxiety because she’s upset about forgetting things, and fewer coping skills because she doesn’t recognize what is wrong with her. While early intervention may not prolong the life of your parent by much, it will lead to better quality of life - which is why you have read this far in the first place, you want your parents to be safe and cared for!

A primary care doctor will do a preliminary screening for dementia, so it is important for this screening to be on your parents’ radar as soon as possible. At this point, it is not automatically done at a certain age; you have to ask for it (which is idiotic, but that’s our health care system, so…). The screening will be important because it will hopefully give you peace of mind that any memory problems are age-related, and not a cause for concern. If not, it will allow the doctor to refer your parent to a specialist and get the appropriate interventions. While there is no cure for Alzheimer’s, there are some drugs that show promise, but also processing and accepting the diagnosis are important for implementing coping skills.

If your parents are diagnosed with dementia, there are loads of resources out there to help. It’s really hard for children to cope with this disease in their parents, as it’s the beginning of the role-reversal where YOU become the parent. Some tips that have resonated with me are that, in dementia, the brain still processes emotions normally, even if memories are starting to erode. So when you inevitably get impatient, frustrated, or even angry with your parent, keep this in mind: they won’t remember why you got angry, they will just remember how you made them feel. Depression and dementia go hand-in-hand because dementia patients get told so often “don’t you remember?” “I already told you that!” and so on. I am by no means perfect in how I handle my mother, but this tip has helped me find patience and calm.

If you’re like me, and you’ve seen both of your grandmothers and your mother decline due to dementia, you have more than a little concern about what the future holds for you. I recommend reading Remember by Lisa Genova (author of Still Alice). The book eased my anxiety about memory lapses I’ve noticed in myself, as lately I regard any lapse as a harbinger of dementia. She also has tips for improving your memory and for preventing Alzheimer’s - which my mother and likely my grandmother had. The number one tip? Sleep.

REACH OUT!!

I was fortunate to have many good friends lend their ears to me while I’ve been in the process with my parents, and several who have been through this and offered their advice and support as well. It was invaluable to have this support system, so I offer that to you. Please reach out if you have questions, want advice, or just want to vent about what you’re going through. If you like, add comments about your own experience below. 

[etraytin]

Quarantine, Day 86

June 5 

Paperwork time is here again, let's all rejoice till we get migraines! Today the houseguests departed after breakfast, promising to be back anytime if MIL needs them, which was very nice of them. With just the four of us in the house once more, we turned our attention to the stuff that comes next. In the morning, MIL was determined to get a bunch of stuff cleaned out of the bedroom and the closet. She let my husband pick through all his dad's clothes for things he wanted (and I think she may have given the sisters a go as well, not sure) and then boxed up the remainder. All the leftover medical things got packed up, socks and shoes and belts from the drawers. She found one of FIL's favorite belts, dark brown leather and a large round buckle with a sculpted belly button on it. It was intensely weird and my husband wanted it immediately. 

In the back of the closet, she found FIL's old backpack guitar, which nobody including him knew how to play but was special because the company that made it is headquartered in the town where my husband grew up. It was very out of tune and the thinnest string was broken entirely. She decided she very much wanted it fixed up and playable and asked if I could make that happen. A couple emails and a phone call, and husband and the kiddo were off to town to the music store. They came back in only about an hour with a tuned and strung guitar. I think that was the happiest I've seen MIL in the past several days. Kiddo spent some time noodling around with it,, and it's amazing how much nicer just fooling around sounds when a guitar is in tune! It's a pretty little thing that looks more like a ren faire instrument than a guitar, but it plays nicely. I bet there are guitar lessons on YouTube somewhere. 

There was a lot of funeral home detail to work out too, even though FIL's planning was comprehensive. He was a thorough, careful man who obviously spent a lot of time considering the fact that he was fifteen years older than his wife and lifting as many end of life burdens as possible from her shoulders. His will was concise and easy to find, his obituary prewritten eight years ago, then updated four years ago and only awaiting plugged-in information. He prepaid for his cremation package and arranged what funeral home would do the work, and when the time comes that we can have a service, he left several pages talking about what he would like. Even with all of that, the process of winding up a life takes time and paperwork. I am technically a lawyer (one MPRE score away from being a double lawyer!) but I know enough to know when I'm out of my depth. We've still got an appointment pending with the attorney next week, only now it will be estate administration instead of asset protection. I had to fill out an entirely new questionnaire! At least it was easier than the first one. The attorney will be able to give us the nitty gritty details about what might wind up in probate and whether we need to do probate at all, plus lots of stuff I probably haven't even thought of yet. 

Side note: did you know it costs 125 dollars to ship cremains in the mail? I did not know that thing. In other news, we are going to make sure we stay in town long enough to personally pick up the four separate boxes MIL requested (one for each kid) and thereby save many many monies. Everything about dying is more expensive than you would imagine. The price for obituaries is basically ridiculous. I guess it's just one more way of supporting print journalism. We're also going to wind up buying like 20 copies of that day's paper, even more support! 

The rest of today's work was mostly making calls and inquiries to different banks and utilities to confirm that we can basically do fuck-all until we have the death certificate in hand, but that once we do, things should go pretty smoothly. I found a website called Peacefully that is basically a series of checkable lists of all the things you need to do after somebody dies. It's been very helpful so far. There's a lot of stuff that I never would've even thought of, just because I've never had a close family member die in a situation where I was even a little responsible for settling things. My last grandparent died when I was 26, but I was in my final year of law school and living far away, so I had nothing to do with that except picking out a few little things from her house before the big estate sale. (I got her jewelry box that plays Fur Elise, one I wound up about a thousand times in childhood and that still smells just a tiny bit like her house.) It's very different to be right up in it, but I'm glad that I'm not trying to help from 400 miles away, or worrying about MIL having to do it all herself. 

Today was also notable for being the last day of school! Kiddo missed the first half hour because we were all distracted this morning with Nana's closet, but he got there in time for most of the school meeting and to see the slide show of the year. There was also a goodbye drive-through at the school this afternoon; he was bummed he couldn't go, but happy that one of his classmates' parents filmed it and sent it to the teacher for him. He watched it tonight before bed, waving to the teachers wistfully as the video played. I really, really hope he can get back into school in the fall! He misses it. Now it's the start of the most anti-climactic summer vacation ever and we have to find stuff for him to do for three _more_ months. Internet, don't fail me now! 

Speaking of finding things to do, we got back on the Avatar train and watched a bunch tonight, with popcorn and everything. I love Toph so very, very much, and so does the kiddo. He appreciates someone who is twelve and can kick the asses of everyone in the room. It is also funny how everyone in the universe continues to be fully immune to bashing damage with the exception of Zuko, who still shakes his many head traumas off very quickly. It's also funny watching how in a TV Y7 show, a character fights with two sharp swords and never actually uses the blades on anybody. I half expect to hear a Phineas and Ferb-style "We're O-Kay!" from the minions at the end of each battle. After that was bedtime and a little bit of podcast, though not nearly so much as last night. He did come into my bedroom a little later because he kept having scary thoughts, apparently mostly about Nana getting sick and dying, but we were able to talk his mood around so that he got to bed at a reasonable hour. That is excellent, he needs the sleep. 

[kusunogatari]

[ Frozen Flames and Shadowed Lights || Chapter Six ] [ @yukaikokoro @abyssaldespair ] [ Hatake Kakashi, Kottakawa Kumiko ] [ Blood, gore, animal death ] [ Verse: Divine Light ] [ Previous || Next ]

After a night of fitful rest, Kakashi rises with the sun - even after a few months off from his life on the road, old habits die hard. With the same efficiency and care, he repacks his few removed belongings into his saddlebags, ready to haul them down from the inn room to the stable beyond. Today, it seems, his real journey begins. With Kumiko now joining him, and the first landmark left behind...the rest seems to loom before him, the trail she traced upon the map fresh in his mind.

Once Kumiko rises and does the same, they take their leave, thanks given to the innkeep as they cross to the stalls. Drawing up the cinch on his gelding, Kakashi can’t help a perked brow at his companion’s mount. “Quite the beast you’ve got,” he notes.

Glancing over, Kumiko gives a soft snort. “He’s rather fancy, isn’t he? It comes with the rank...and he’s the horse I’ve come to trust most. He bore me down here...so I’m sure he can make the return trip, and then some. The horses from the north are just as tough as everything else born above the snow lines.”

“I don’t doubt it. He’s a magnificent animal.”

“Thank you.” Kumiko nods to his own. “Something tells me you’ve quite the bond with yours as well.”

“Aye. I’d probably keel over if someone could tell me the miles we’ve covered together.” He gives the gelding a pat on the neck. “There’s few places he hasn’t taken me across the continent. He’s even helped with a few contracts.”

“Oh really?”

“Let’s just say he’s a lot less skittish than most equines you’d meet.”

Small talk over, the pair mount up, carefully navigating through the streets as not to trample anyone. Already the main roads are bustling, and it takes longer than Kakashi expected to finally make it back out onto the open road.

“So,” Kumiko then begins, reins held loosely in one hand. “Seeing as we’re to spend at least a few weeks together, is there anything I should know about the infamous vom berech?”

“...before I answer that, mind telling me what that means?” Berech he’s heard before, and he...vaguely knows the term’s meaning. “Suigin called me the same.”

“It’s, well…” A pause to think how to explain. “Berech is a bit of a catch-all term for those who are both el’tahl, and el’ven. Typically it’s attributed to halfbloods or quarterbloods, but the more literal translation from old tongue is ‘between’. Not much of the first language remains - when the lands were divided and cultures began to branch out, it was lost and splintered. Then Common was made of a mish-mash of many languages. But you can still find bits and pieces.”

“And the ‘vom’? What’s that mean?”

“It, er…” A hesitation. “It sort of means…‘something created from nothing’…? Or perhaps ‘created’ is enough. I think Suigin was referring to the fact that your ven comes from something originally outside your body.”

“Ah...that makes sense.” Kakashi heaves a small sigh. “...well, I suppose that ties into your question, so maybe I’ll loop back around to it, eh?”

“I don’t mean to pry - don’t think I’ll wrestle from you what you won’t want to tell.”

At that, he gives a dry smile. “Even if you tried, I’d doubt you’d succeed,” he assures her. Still, he lapses into silence, thinking where to begin. “...I was born in a large city in the old Igni lands. Both of my parents, to my knowledge, were simple el’tahl folks. My mother died when I was very young - I remember little of her. And my father was part of the city guard. He raised me for a few years, but took his own life after an incident that brought shame to the family.”

Kumiko’s eyes widen. “...I’m sorry.”

“...it was a long time ago. From there, I was taken into the barracks early and started training to follow his career. When I was young, I made a few el’ven friends. Rin was one, and...Obito was the other. The one who gave me this,” he adds, gesturing to his vermillion eye. “Rin’s family is mostly terra mages, but she branched out into flora, and worked in an apothecary shop raising plants and making medicines. Obito was berech igni, an orphan from a large clan that was like the ruling class of the city. The three of us were always running around, sticking our noses into trouble. And then, of course...there was the time it finally went wrong.

“We were outside the city a ways, looking for new specimens of plant for Rin to start cultivating, and then there was a ruckus nearby. Rin insisted we go look, and we found a group of mage hunters attacking a lux mage. Rin know what she was in a moment, and insisted we help. Where Rin went, Obito followed, so...we joined the fray. It was a fairly even struggle, but I got clipped in the eye by a blade. Things started going downhill, and then suddenly...they all vanished. Rin later theorized the mage used the rest of her strength to send them through time portals. But...she’d acted a little too late.”

Pain shadows Kakashi’s face, and Kumiko glances aside. “...Obito had been run through just as they disappeared. And with so little ven left, the lux mage couldn’t save him. So instead...she asked if he’d give me an eye to replace the one I’d lost. Obito agreed, and she managed to perform the transplant before she…” A fade to silence. “...Obito passed not long after. We buried her, having no idea what funeral rites lux mages’ culture entails. But we knew Obito’s clan would want him back.

“Before she died, the mage told us to take a ‘treasure’ she had hidden in the hollowed tree at the edge of the clearing. And that treasure...turned out to be Ryū.”

“What?! So...that woman was…?”

“Her mother. Rin and I took her with us...Rin reported Obito’s death to the igni mages, and they went to fetch him, cremate him as is their way. But I was afraid to stay in the city. I thought they’d see my eye, and assume I’d killed Obito to take it. After all...there were no hunter bodies - they’d all disappeared. All that was left was his corpse, and the signs of a struggle. And Rin had concerns about the igni clan getting their hands on Ryū. So...we fled. For a while we stuck to the road, and it was while traveling we found out Obito’s eye changed me enough to let me use some igni ven. It scared me, at first...so when Rin found a little village to hide Ryū in, I decided to leave. I didn’t want to bring them trouble, or hurt them on accident before I trained how to use my new power. Instead, I started doing contracts. Mostly killing pests...which led to beasts. I was making a decent living, and then...a few months ago, Rin found me and told me all Ryū was up to, trying to remake the Summit. So I came back, let her wrangle me into being her advisor, and...now, here we are. And here she’s not…”

“...we’re going to get her back,” Kumiko affirms, tone sure. “...I guess now I know why you were so distraught. She means more to you than I realized, like family...I’m sorry if I came across as aloof to that fact.”

Kakashi waves a hand. “No harm done.” A pause, and then a glance. “...so? What about you, lady Kumiko?”

Snorting at the title, Kumiko thinks for a moment. “I was born an only child to the main family within my clan: Tamotsu and Yuka Kottakawa. As ours is the strongest, we were chosen to act as leaders within the realm of Glaciris. That mantle fell to my father from his, and to me when the time came. But, while he has trained and groomed me to be his successor...he and I have vastly different ideals for our lands, and our people.”

There’s a light sigh. “...my father agrees with the old ways. Of being cold, and cut off from the rest of the continent. His pride holds us to a different standard, and insists we tend to our own affairs, and our affairs only. While he is content to rule at a distance...I cannot keep myself so far from my people.” A warm smile blooms across her face. “More than once, I snuck from the manor and wandered the city. I wanted to see the people and places I would come to lead. And that was...when…”

Kumiko’s features darken. “...when Nori was assigned to me. When my father realized there was no holding me back, he instead insisted I be protected when I went. But I would not stand for that. Instead, I had Nori train me how to fight...how to survive. While I had been trained in the beginnings of channeling ven, I wanted to know how to wield a blade. What if my element was taken from me? I had to have another skill to rely on. All of that, as I walked the streets of my city, made me realize...I would never be as my father is. As he wants me to be. He holds himself far and away from our people, but that is not a road I can take. I want to warm them to me, as I seek to warm them to the world. I want to inspire unity both within our lands, and beyond them. El’tahl and el’ven alike...I want them to trust me. To have faith in me. When they began approaching me on our walks, I knew it was my destiny.

“So, I doubled down on my studies. Threw myself into learning all I would need to know, and becoming embroiled in the politics of the north. And it was that dedication that saw me chosen as the representative of Glaciris for the new Summit.”

Kakashi watches as Kumiko smiles to herself - it’s more than clear her words are fully backed by actions and intentions. “...my people have much to learn, and far to go...but I will not give up on them. I will lead them to a brighter future.”

The hunter gives a curl of his own lips, chuckling. “It’s quite the sight to imagine, you learning your swordplay and butting heads with your father. True, a leader cannot be everywhere, cannot know everyone...but I think I prefer your method to his.” A thoughtful pause. “...I’ve never known anyone from the north well, so I’ve no judgment to make. But if your actions are half so strong as your words, I’ll wager you meet your goals.”

“I hope so, Kakashi.”

From there, their journey fades into a companionable silence broken by random quips. But with so many miles and hours to go, most pass with little interruption. The plains of the heartland soon overrun with trees, and the path lines with dense forest, shaded as the afternoon ages. For a time, the ride is pleasant...but the pair’s keen senses soon realize something is...amiss.

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Glancing to one another in a silent bid to be on guard, they both startle as a ruckus sounds a ways down the road. Both horses jolt, dancing in the dirt as their riders work to soothe them.

“Easy,” Kakashi murmurs, calming the gelding to a snorting standstill. Something sounded like...snapping wood? Almost as if a tree had fallen, but...there’s no wind. Nor any wagon tracks to suggest someone out to fell them.

“What do you suppose that was?” Kumiko asks quietly, reassuring her stallion as he huffs a breath.

“I can’t say for sure...but it stinks of trouble,” he replies, brow furrowing. “For now, I think it’s best we get off the road. Circle around to the other side and keep our eyes peeled.”

“Agreed.”

Dismounting, they instead lead their hoses to the left, abandoning the path and carefully stalking through the trees. The tall trunks and broad canopies mean little light for undergrowth. Nice in that it makes it easier to see...but also to be seen.

A few minutes of silence eventually give way to growing noise. Another silent agreement, the pair tethering their horses in a thicket before creeping onward alone. Peering around a turn in the road from behind a fallen log, they both tense at what they see.

A wagon, goods splayed all over the road, is completely overturned. Nearby, an ox lies dead, neck clearly broken. The other is still tethered to the cart...and atop it, tearing into flesh with a wicked beak...is a gryphon.

“Twelve above,” Kumiko whispers.

“Guess that explains the noise we heard…what in the hells is it doing so close to town…?”

“...wait…” Patting Kakashi’s arm, she points. “...look!”

Cowering under the splintered wreckage of his cart, the driver is somehow still alive, currently unnoticed as the beast occupies itself with his livestock.

“...well I’ll be damned.”

“We have to do something!”

Sighing curtly, Kakashi nods. “...all right...can you create an ice wall?”

“A small one, probably. There should be enough moisture for me to draw from.”

“Good...when I give the signal, make a wall between the gryph and the cart. Use that to get him out of there, and back here into the trees. With those wings and that bulk, the gryphon won’t want to follow. I’ll be a distraction.”

“Will you kill it?”

Kakashi considers the wreckage. “...the cart’s not worth saving, and the oxen will spoil before they can be used. I doubt much of his merchandise is whole, either. I could just leave it to finish up the mess, but…” He drags a hand down his face. “...it’s too close to town. And now that it knows it can find easy prey on the road, it’ll just strike again.”

“...can you kill it?”

“Only one way to find out.” Before she can argue, he vaults over the log and heads toward the road, posture crouched and pace quick. 

Swearing lightly under her breath, Kumiko follows, remaining hidden behind a trunk and awaiting Kakashi’s signal.

Making it to the cart, Kakashi taps the driver, who flinches with a yelp. Slapping a hand over his face, the hunter makes a curt gesture for silence. 

Above them, the creature pauses...and then returns to its feast.

“My companion will come for you,” Kakashi whispers. “When she does, follow her back into the trees, and stay down. I’ll take care of the beast.”

“Oh, Twelve bless you sir - bless you!”

Sighing at the unnecessary noise, Kakashi peeks around, then waves back to Kumiko.

In a sprint, she gestures to the path before her. Water condenses from the air and the nearby forest, cooling at her urging and forming an icy barricade.

Squawking, the gryphon flutters in surprise as Kakashi runs out the other side. 

“Oi! This way, bird brain!” he calls, sending a stream of fire from a palm into the creature’s face.

A shrill shriek cuts through the air, rattling Kakashi’s brain with the sound. Teeth grit, he watches Kumiko reach the cart, dragging out the driver and dashing back for cover.

Okay, good…

Summoning more ven, he directs dual jets to the wagon, the dried wood catching like tinder. Smoke billows up from the wreckage, and the beast shies from it with an angry cry.

Drawing his sword with a twirl, Kakashi squares off against his new quarry. Seems to be a young male, juvenile...not as big or strong as an adult, but more limber, and faster. No wonder he took an easy meal where he could. Odds are, he’s been having trouble hunting regular prey on his own. Also why he’s so close to town: likely driven out of any other established territories.

“Sorry friend, but you’re too dangerous to leave here,” Kakashi murmurs, watching as the beast crouches with a hiss. Bird talons dig into the dirt for a steadying grip...and then with a lunge, it leaps across the gap, beak wide open.

Tucking and rolling to one side, Kakashi makes to loose more flames...but the element sparks and flickers. What?! Out already?! But I -?

A screech gives him just enough warning to dodge again, trying to land a hit with his flailing blade. It grazes along a rear leg, blood arcing as the gryphon screams. Hardly deadly, but...it might slow it down.

Beyond the treeline, Kumiko settles the cart driver in their previous hiding place. “Stay here, don’t move, and don’t make any sound.” Accepting his shaking nod, she turns on a heel and sprints back to the road, watching as Kakashi dances with his foe. The cart is aflame, belching black smoke as the pair strike and dodge. Assessing the situation, her eyes narrow as she notices Kakashi seem to lag.

...he didn’t instruct for her to interfere, but…

Determined, she closes some of the distance before kneeling, palms planted to the ground. Ven bleeds into the earth, looking for something…

Aha!

With a growing roar, she struggles to drag up the water from beneath the ground, the liquid seeping up and following her command. As the gryphon moves her way, she begins firing shards of ice. The sharp projectiles earn a shriek as they cut through feathers and into flesh, garnering the beast’s attention to her, instead.

“Kumiko!” Kakashi shouts in warning.

Unphased, she slides under as the monster pounces, water shadowing her arms and rippling. Almost as if time slows, she raises her limbs as the hybrid’s underbelly glides over her...and with a thrust of energy, the element strikes forward, hardening into condensed ice that spears through into its abdomen.

A strangled cry of pain sounds, the beast landing in a heap as Kumiko comes to a stop. Panting, she struggles back to her feet...but it’s clear the fight is over.

Kakashi stares with widened, mismatched eyes.

...he...was not expecting that.

“...we should end its misery,” she then murmurs, wiping the sweat from her brow.

“...aye.” Closing the gap, Kakashi - wary of the talons - drives his blade up behind a foreleg, and into the beast’s heart. It gives a dying bleat of pain...and then goes limp.

Silence...save for the crackling of cart wood.

Withdrawing his sword, Kakashi cleans the gore from it before sheathing it, looking to the beast somberly. “Well...a life for a life, I suppose.”

“You were right - it’s far too close to town. Just a matter of time before a human fell prey,” Kumiko agrees, a hand upon his shoulder. “But...what shall we do with the driver? He has no way to the next city without his wagon.”

“And we’ve no time to backtrack,” the hunter muses. “I’d rather not take him with us for a week to the town beyond, either.”

“My...my good sir? And lady?”

The pair turn, and Kumiko’s expression flattens. “I told you to remain where I left you!”

Flinching, the salesman replies, “I...yes - I-I know. But I heard things go quiet, so…?”

“It’s dead,” Kakashi confirms, sensing his question. “You’re safe...though your goods are forfeit.”

“That’s no matter in the face of my life! You have my eternal thanks, good people. I...I have no coin on my person, but -?”

Kakashi shakes his head, raising a hand. “I wasn’t hired. There’s no price. Besides...it needed to be done.”

“Please, may...may I have your names?”

“Kakashi Hatake. And the lady is Kumiko Kottakawa.”

Bowing and bowing, the man finally dares to step into the road, skirting the carcass nervously. “Please, I hail from the town just south. If you should ever pass by again, seek out the Oakheart Trader! I’ll gladly settle the debt then! I insist!”

“It will be some weeks before we head that direction again,” Kumiko warns. “But your honor is appreciated. I’m afraid we’ve pressing business - we cannot take you back to town…?”

“Oh, fret not! I passed a patrol on my way out - they will surely soon about-face and find me, for I doubt the smoke will go unnoticed for long. I’m certain there will be help before sundown! You have done more than enough, kind sir and lady. Thank you, thank you!”

A bit unnerved at the praise, Kakashi just gives an awkward nod...then reaches to his side, unbuckling the dagger he took from the Luxerian armory. “Here. It may not save you from a beast of this ilk, but...I’ll not leave you undefended. And it should sell for some to help amend for your losses.”

Eyes wide at the pristine dagger, the man only becomes all the more reverent. “Your generosity, sir...it knows no bounds…!”

Trying to wave him off, Kakashi offers, “Stay in the treeline, and with your back to a tree. Wait for that patrol, and be sure to report all you saw.”

“I will, thank you! Safe travels, lord and lady!”

As the pair move to retrieve their horses, Kumiko gives a small snicker. “I think you’ve an adoring fan, Kakashi. Something tells me if you ever enter that shop, he’ll never let you leave!”

“Best leave that to you, then...after all, you were the one to strike the deciding blow.”

She waves the sentiment aside. “We worked together. Call it even.”

“As you wish.”

     Aaand with that, we officially enter non-thread territory! We started this scene, but Kakashi bailed on me and blog stuff changed before it finished. I am...NOT the best at fight scenes, obviously xD Tbh it feels a little short, but...oh well. It’s mostly just a filler fight and an event for these two to bond a bit more!

[youcantunringthebell]

Mother’s Day for Anthropologists

I’ve considered how to write this for two decades' worth of Mother’s Days and never did it, but it feels like this is the one, because I just stood up with the sudden compulsion to find my two favorite pictures of my mother and felt terrified that I’d somehow lost them.

They were in a cardboard box in my bedroom closet that I’ve been carrying from place to place since I moved out of her house. I think of it as my "before" box -- every memento collected before I was 23.

That year, I was excommunicated from the Jehovah's Witnesses. My mother and stepfather reported their suspicions about my behavior to the congregation's elders and arranged a meeting to decide whether or not I was repentant. I made it easy for them. My sin was announced at a worship service that I did not attend, and I was dead to everyone there.

After that, my communications with my mother were these:

She called to ask that I return the key to her house, so my boyfriend mailed it back with a letter chastising her and my stepfather.

She called to tell me that I should save the stamp rather than invite any of my family to my wedding.

When my grandmother lay dying, we stood in the hospital hallway and discussed what dates and times I could come sit at the hospital. When Grammy died, we discussed the funeral arrangements and spoke briefly at the funeral.

Mom called me in Tampa to say my sister Jennifer gave birth to a baby girl, and it was a shame that I wouldn’t get to see my niece unless I returned to the family religion.

My brother asked Mom to apologize to me as a condition of getting to see his infant son – her only grandson. She wrote a two-page letter apologizing for being an incapable mother and explaining that it was because she was still in high school when she had me. There was no mention of cutting me off.

She texted me in January 2014 to say my grandfather had died, and I didn't have to come to the funeral. That was her last contact with me.

In my first favorite picture of Mom, she’s 18 and taking a nap with me. She’s living in her in-laws’ house while their son finishes college. She’s up and ruined the life of their only child, a boy on the basketball team at Widener University, and they let her know what she’s done by creating a thick air of disapproval in their house. She’s wearing a Widener t-shirt and sleeping peacefully with her baby when that boy lovingly snaps a picture, and it’s the biggest fuck-you scene for her in-laws that I can imagine.

My father was probably schizophrenic, but in the insular religion they joined when I was 3, he wasn’t diagnosed or offered professional therapy, just prayed for. He took off without explanation and called her from Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas one night, apologized, and overdosed while lying in the bathtub. Mom told the medical examiner to cremate him and do whatever with the ashes.

My father left her alone with no higher education, no job, and daughters ages 7, 4 and 6 weeks.

I think that is when she got steely.

She remarried three years later -- a sweet, awkward guy who obviously didn’t know the force of nature he’d inherited or else just loved being led around by the balls -- and we all moved from Philadelphia to his hometown in Missouri. There was lots of talk about Bible-based submission to one’s husband, but everyone knew who was running the show.

Here are my three happiest memories of my mother after that:

When my middle school physical education teacher attempted to fail me in the gymnastics portion of the course, my mother marched into her office and said she’d accept my F the moment my teacher could produce a 6-foot-tall girl of 11 who could turn a perfect cartwheel. My grade was elevated to a C. Also that year, I became determined to turn a perfect cartwheel so I could prove I’d been worth defending. My sister Jennifer taught me how.

I failed my first driver's test because I couldn’t parallel park. Even worse, the guy who administered the test delivered a harrowing story to my mother about how I’d just kept backing over the curb after hitting it. I told Mom I couldn't face going back to school, where of course I’d bragged to everyone that I’d return with my license, but she dropped me off in time to catch the last few minutes of second period anyway. By lunch, there was one of those giant mums with the googly-eyed faces glued on waiting for me in the office. In pipe-cleaner arms, it held a note that said, “Yes, Virginia, they do administer the test again on Tuesday of next week. Love, Mom.” That’s when I cried the hardest, because I didn’t think anyone should love me after I’d been so stupid.

Because Mom believed that Armageddon was coming literally any day and my time would be better spent saving lives, she forbade me to go to college, where I would just fornicate and start believing in evolution. At age 17, raised as I was, I had no idea how to go up against her on that point. Here’s the happy part: She directed me to get a part-time job at the local newspaper to support my ministry. I took a history paper on the Bolshevik Revolution to the tri-weekly Democrat Advertiser as my only clip and landed my first reporting job. It opened up a life of daily experiences and newsroom coaching that supplemented my formal education.

So here we are at Mother’s Day, me shouting my story into the social media wilderness. Feels right after all this time of feeling nothing.

Here is my truth: When I see all these Facebook profile pictures switch over to old photographs of my friends' moms, it’s like being an anthropologist. I can tell that some people’s mothers weren’t hard and unyielding and did not dole out tiny doses of approval for their daughters to grasp at. I’m also at the age where many of my friends have lost their mothers, and they are experiencing a pain this time of year that I simply cannot comprehend. (I am truly sorry for when that confusion has come off as indifference.)

That brings us to my other favorite picture of Mom.

She is 31 and the mother of five. I am 13 and the only person in the family who cares about taking pictures, paying to develop them with my babysitting money sometimes. We’re at a summer convention of Jehovah’s Witnesses. She's supposed to be sweetly kissing her infant son for the picture, but instead she’s grasping him tightly with one arm and looking at the camera with such fierceness, it’s clear she’d kill anyone who tried to hurt that baby.

Except her. Because in the end, she’s willingly given up both of us in favor of her religious beliefs about the way we live our lives.

This Mother’s Day, like all the others, she’s waiting for Armageddon. Only now, she thinks her God will kill my brother and me, and she’s made her peace with that. And now I’ve made peace with what she thinks of me.

Written in 2017.

[lupinepariah]

Source: White Dragon by Sandara

Frustrations

This is going to carry a pretty hefty trigger warning.

If there's one frustration I have in my life it's how, due to my autism, to my family I'll always be that "ass-burgers r-word" which means that none of them ever really listen to me. It wouldn't be so bad if I was known for giving bad advice, certainly, but that isn't the case. I love to research, it makes me happy, I enjoy cross-referencing, correlating, and seeking out evidence to back up any claims I might make. I'm not a fan of baseless assumptions of any kind. This doesn't mean that, say, I count myself amongst the "skeptisizm" community. I don't. In their case they often use poorly researched, no name studies to back up their cognitive dissonance.

I like reading medical papers. I'm interested in where they're published, along with how emprical they are and what controls were used. I think that this is a talent because no one else in my family seems to be able to do so, and what I want to use this talent for is to help. I just want to help. It doesn't turn out that way though, sadly, as I often find that I'm ignored and that had they listened they could've avoided no end of suffering. In that context, it feels like a burden and I really loathe being right.

I mean, there are things I'd love to be right about. Who wouldn't. Jormag in Guild Wars 2 is a good example of that. I'd be so happy to be right about that. I'll talk more about that later. In the case where those who don't listen suffer, though? I'd often wish I was wrong.

It's bizarre because my family will think of me as a know-it-all and also an "ass-burgers r-word." It's a bizarre cognitive dissonance. I don't rub it in, either. I mean, I don't think of myself as having above average intelligence. It makes me uncomfortable. I know I'm more strange than the average, perhaps even a little bit more creative too, but that doesn't mean that I'm more able-minded or that I have a stronger intellect. I've never had that egotism and I'm not prone to even humble bragging, that isn't what this is. I'm not trying to put anyone down.

I'd just rather be wrong than someone getting hurt or suffering. Sadly, I have a track record of being right which just makes this all the more frustrating. What makes it worse is that they know that this is the case too. I don't brag about it but it's obvious. I mean, they could look at the evidence and realise that perhaps I do have valid advice to share... or they could look at what's different about me from them and use that to feed their cognitive dissonance. I mean, I'm the "ass-burgers r-word" of the family so clearly I must be wrong, they couldn't have been wrong.

I'm going to get into some examples now because I need to vent, I'll be vague about it however as I'd rather my extended family didn't see this. It wouldn't be the end of the world but it would result in more rowing and shouting that I just don't want.

There was a time not so long ago when I was telling my sister that though her girlfriend's mother has cancer, it's not the end of the world. They were trying to convince said mother to just accept it with dignity and go quietly but I had other ideas. I did my research and I found that for her specific kind of cancer there were trials going on in my country that were looking for volunteers. I wanted to get my sister's girlfriend to push for her mother to be included in those trials. It didn't work. I'm the "ass-burgers r-word" of the family, what could I know?

No, I was told, you're not a cancer expert so we'll just help her to die and not listen to a sole word you have to say.

They let the mother die. It turned out a little later that the trials were a resounding success.

My mother died recently. It happened due to her medication being co-morbid with another she was already taking. My family has a bad habit of never reading the side effects. I was extolling the virtues of this to one of my family a month ago, and to them I was just being a smart-aleck "ass-burgers r-word" who thought they knew things like real people do. I feel I should carry more anger for them in my heart than I do but I just feel tired, cynical, and cold if I'm honest. I've felt worse and my mind isn't really fit for hatred. So, yes, they didn't read the side effects of a medication and because of this my mother... died. I haven't been dealing with it all that well but I understand that this is just how life is for me. It's just left me feeling more cold to them than ever.

I do have physical problems, mind you. I'm prone to seizures and I get the shakes so I do need a carer to help me out with things. At one point said carer, one of my family, decided that they were going to take my dog to the vet as they were being unresponsive. Then they had the dog put down, and even cremated, all without my knowledge. I was asleep, you see. Now, reading into what my dog had? I could've saved my dog's life and they would've continued to live happily for a few years still. I had a good relationship with my dog. I treat dogs well because I was almost raised by them. I've mentioned this prior—I think—but my parents were so neglectful that dogs did more to raise me than they did. The only time I got attention from them was of the drunken and abusive kind.

If they'd woken me up, I would've done some quick research and made a decision that would've saved my dog's life. Sadly, I'm an "ass-burgers r-word" so my opinion doesn't matter. I'm not even a fully conscious, real person. I don't have a mind. I mean, I get neurotypical professionals telling me that I lack empathy and Theory of Mind all the time (despite having more empathy than anyone in my extended family). So why would a homunculus like me care about a dog?

It's frustrating and I have so many wounds, so much hurt. I mean, there are thousands of examples like this I could state. There's one in the works right now! I have a grandmother. At one point in the past my great grandmother was living in the living room—downstairs in a two floor house—because they found the stairs too difficult to climb. At one point we had to have an insepctor come to the home. I told my grandmother that we needed to move the bed out of the room, otherwise the inspector would write us up.

No, I was told, that's not something to worry about because the inspector is a good, lovely person who cares more about random strangers than doing their job.

That worked out well, as you can imagine. It's just frustrating. So, like I said, my mother died. My grandmother is having survivor's guilt right now. This is unfortuante. This is an aunt in my family (my grandmother's other daughter) who's a parasite. She's a horrible create that my grandmother had to break ties with due to how said parasite ruined her life. I mean, this parasite was exploiting my poor grandmother for decades before they called that relationship off. I tried to tell my grandmother. I even did calculations to show just how much the parasite was stealing from my grandmother in actual money, property, food, and commodities.

No, I was told, you don't understand people. You're too simple-minded. Your aunt is a good person.

Since my mother died, my grandmother has been in a state. She's been feeling lonely, vulnerable, and in a right mess. I've been trying to get her to talk to a bereavement counselor. I want her to get therapy. I just want to help her. She won't let me. She won't let me help. She won't listen to me. The one she will listen to is the parasitic aunt. I mean, I know why the parasite is here. Now that my mother is dead—my mother stood with me against the parasite—the parasite wants to exploite my grandmother's vulnerability to get into her will. She wants to take everything my grandmother has, she wants to steal all of my grandmother's belongings away from my sisters and I so that she can pawn them off. She has no sentimental attraction, it's just a way to make money.

My grandmother, being vulnerable, is falling for it. Hook, like, and sinker. The parasite is a sociopath thorugh and through, she's an expert at manipulating people. I'm not. My autism tends to preclude the ability to manipulate people. I don't have the social skills to be charismatic, exactly. Now, if a mind is open to reason, I can be very persuasive and I can make a damn good argument. The problem is is that the person has to be open to listening to reason. I can prove my points with mountains of evidence as what I loathe more than all else are baseless accusations.

I was accused of baseless accusations when interacting with a medical "professional" in my family. They had gotten on the faecal transplant train and they were excited about it. It was my opinion that all it would take is a superbug we can't monitor for very accurately and a compromised immune system. That's all it would take and then we would see some deaths. I knew it would happen.

No, I was told, you don't understand medicine. There's no way that any bug could get through the screening process, it's completely flawless and without any chance for false negatives, there's just no way anything could go wrong.

Indeed. I guess that's why no one has died and faecal transplants haven't been banned? Oh wait. Yes they have. Sadly it took people dying for it to finally happen. It should've happend long before that. Long, long before. Anyone in their right mind would've figured this out, right? I mean, it's not that hard?? You just look into what superbugs commonly escape faecal screening and you then research what effect they would have on a compromised immune system. Isn't it that easy? So why didn't everyone figure it out???

The thing is? It doesn't matter. To everyone in my family I'm just the "ass-burgers r-word." I have a simple mind. I can never be right about anything. I swear they even edit their own memories (which is something you can do with enough cognitive dissonance) to reflect their own biases and the lies they tell themselves. I'm not doing it to be right, though! I'm not doing it to climb some nonsense, worthless social ladder that I don't care about! I'm not doing it for one-upmanship!!! I'm doing it because I care, because I want to help.

No one listens. No one ever does. I try. I try to talk to them. I try to get them to talk to me, to one another. I try to get them pas their stubbornness and their willful ignorance. I try.

This is why Jormag in Guild Wars 2 has become such a mood for me. I get it Jormag. I do. There's manipulations at play here and you just hate all the suffering, you want to help. Your power, after all, is persuasion, not manipulation. It's more akin to hypnosis and a very good argument. It's not mental domination. I just... feel Jormag. I really do. I get this feeling that they know what's going on and they want to help, they're trying to help, but no one wants to listen. They get that there are manipulations happening, that there are illusions everywhere, that people are being fooled, suffering is happening because they won't listen.

It's frustrating when people won't listen and won't let you help them. It's a real mood. I think this is one of those reasons I've become so clingy with Jormag. Jormag just... sounds like a frustrated therapist. They sound like someone who knows what's going on and they really just want to help. Except because of preconceived notions, biases, baseless assumptions, and prejudices no one is listening to them. No one wants to believe them.

This is why the Icebrood Saga storyline is... It's frustrating right now but it could be very cathartic. I mean, it's why I want Icebrood to be a story about preconceived notions and why these kinds of biases and prejudices are flawed.

I just love dragons and I have a lot of feelings right now.

Really, my mother wouldn't be dead right now had they just listened. There has been so much death and suffering because they won't listen. They're too lazy to do research but I'm not. Would it hurt so much to swallow your pride and listen to someone who's bothering to take the time to stay up late reading medical documents and journals?

Yes, I have autism, but that doesn't mean that I should be ignored if I have something important to say.

[earthyalchemist-blog]

Living in a land of no tomorrows

In seconds my life changed. I went from a happy but tired pregnant woman to a scared heartbroken one. Tired, because I had just come off a night shift and settling in to get some sleep. Life wasn't all roses and butterflies for my six month pregnant body. I was uncomfortable always nauseous and lethargic. Not your average blissfully pregnant mom to be. But I was still happy to be healthy, to have a loving husband and a great little girl in school looking forward to having a sibling. Parents who were excited looking forward to having another grandchild to hold and cuddle. Everything changed. My whole world changed forever with one phone call at 11 am March 24rd.

My husband calls and asks me to sit down then gently whispers “ Your parents were in an accident, dad has passed and mom has been taken to the hospital. I am going to text you a phone number call her , she is from victim’s services. She has been trying to find next of kin for them since last night.

I don’t think I processed what he said, in fact I felt like I was not even in my body. Its like my soul had been pushed out and away and I was looking at myself from somewhere else. I won’t go into the back and forth between him and I but I did hang up eventually and call the number. The automated message said “this number could not be dialed” so I was relieved for a second. I called back Walter and said “no its a mistake its a hoax, the number is bogus”. I hang up from him and call my dad’s cell it rings and rings and no one is picking up. I start to cry because all I want in that moment is to hear his voice. All I want is to erase the past 15 minutes and start over. All I want…. all I want. All my wants flood in and none of them make any sense. The pit in my stomach is now a deep hole that is growing wider. I am sobbing uncontrollably. Its hard to breath the baby is pushing against my ribs. I ignore the sweat  that is now trickling down my forehead mixing with tears streaming down my face. Its a cold damp 35 degree day outside. I call my mom’s cell also ringing and goes to voicemail. I call back, my hope quickly dissipating into desperation. I don't know how long I sat at the dining table looking at the post it I’d used to write down names and numbers Walt has now texted me. I still have not processed anything. I was incredibly calm when I make the call to the lady. My voice steady but soft. I had to compartmentalize my feelings to get through the moments I was living, the day, the weeks the months. To get through my life. I only focused on the breath I was taking as if to slow down time. Silly me, time slows for no one. I tap into the strength that my mother raised me to have. I will not breakdown on the phone with a stranger. I asked her where, when, what. She asked me to call the detective. I did. I asked him the same and was able to piece together that they had been traveling somewhere I knew where. Its something they always did late at night. That the accident happened at 10:30 a collision, mom didn't have a seat belt buckled simply draped over her  right shoulder. I knew why that was too. The rest was a blur all I wanted to know was how my Mom was doing? I know this sounds cold  and almost clinical. I wanted to know about the parent I still had. I wanted to get to her as fast as I could so I can manage her grief. I wanted to tell her about Dad and hold her and fix it and take care of her. They wouldn't tell me how she was. Only that she was in the ICU and that someone will be here to talk with me when I come. I was 5 hours away. Walter was already on his way to pick up our daughter from school and I had thrown some stuff in a bag for all of us. I really didn't care what it was only that I needed a few things to get us by. I wasn't really thinking or planning. The phone calls started pouring in as we all got into our minivan with one child and two dogs in tow. Mom and dad weren't exactly tech savvy so they didn't have my name or relationship saved in their cells. The detective was able to get my information from Dad’s work their HR department had me as an emergency contact for both my parents since they both worked for the same hospital.

Delaware was home to both of us. Walter was born and raised there as well so we had family, a place to stay and people to help. None of this made any difference to me. We reached the hospital and I walked into the ICU and I knew. I knew I had lost both my parents. I can’t tell you how I knew only that a voice told me. The same voice that was there for me in all my low points through my life. The voice that steeled my heart to deal with what was in front of me. The same voice that taught me to compartmentalize my pain, to stand even when the world under my feet was crumbling. I stood for days, weeks, months as we cremated my Hindu parents and scattered their ashes and did their last rites. I stood as I had to explain their gruesome deaths to everyone from the attorney I hired to help, to the call center rep at for the mortgage company. My words became easier to say, my explanations devoid of feeling. The process of handling the business of living after the death of two people who had jobs, businesses properties and full busy lives don't leave much room for grieving or mourning. It is filled with the cold truths and details that no one wants to handle but needed to be.

After almost 2 years to the month I can tell you I still haven't grieved. Not in the way I imagine one should. Death, especially an untimely one never finds closure. Its like they’d been plucked away mid sentence. Its as if I was cheated and my baby is now a 20 month old who has never seen her grandparents except in photographs. I labored in a hospital room with only my husband by my side. My family overseas offered many times to come and help me. I wanted to do it alone because those whom I wanted by my side weren't able to make it. I guess I was angry and a little petulant about it. I had my little girl and in the depths of my joy of seeing her beautiful face I knew I was an orphan and no one can ever fill that void. In my early days when I felt like I was treading water barely alive I was angry at the sheer unfairness of my circumstances. I asked many times “why me God”? And that little voice always answered  “because it isn't about you”. Those days shook my faith to its core but I always knew the my strength came from my faith.  Everything happens for a reason and while I may never accept the loss as a gift. I understand it is NOT about me. It was always about them. They had lived their life together, so much in love that one would not make it long without the other. This was the way they died, as they lived together. Nowadays my days are filled with babies and everyday humdrum of being mother, wife and entrepreneur. But every once in a while when I am tired and alone my mind does wander back to those moments. I wonder what their last moments were like. If Mom knew that dad was gone, did he come to take her with him. Are they here watching me. I think I know the answer to all of that. I am the sum of my experiences and when I look into my little one’s eyes I see a faint twinkle of my dad and mom in there. So what do you do when there are no tomorrows left? You will  to live your today to the fullest and leave nothing unsaid. Cherish every moment you have with your loved ones and make those memories. Live in a land of no tomorrows.