#the only one Ill probably force myself to do is sprinkles since shes the only stalien that doesnt have one and I dont want to leave her out

[arolesbianism]

I'm starting to see ppl talk abt updating their artfight pages and at first I was like what why it's still months away and then it hit me that by months it was two months and now I'm just silently sweating as my anual side project to remake the eternal gales refs and give them all icons comes back to haunt me

[orwocolor]

Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter Seven

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Cursing

Summary: Gwilym shows up in your bookstore to apologise but there still might be more obstacles on your way to happiness.

Author’s Note: And another sprinkle of angst so that chapter six doesn’t feel so lonely. Only one more chapter and an epilogue remain, so keep an eye out for those! Comments and reblogs are always very appreciated :) Check my masterlist to read the previous chapters. Dedicated to my sweetie @justgwilym​.

Dragging your feet, you crash on your sofa, a floral pattern of one of the walls spinning around you. You squeeze your eyes shut, but as you lose the point of focus, you sense a rise of, so far, the most powerful wave of nausea. You fight the feeling and instead fix your gaze on one of the paintings decorating the living room.

Breathe in.

And breathe out.

You should not have drunk that much. But Jane and Charlotte were unstoppable and admittedly, you needed it. After a couple of drinks, you actually started having fun. Daniel turned out to be a very pleasant companion with a taste for slightly dry humour that, partially due to your inebriated state, made you burst in laughter multiple times during the party.

Oh god, you are going to hate yourself so much tomorrow.

Once it seems the whole world will not tilt again and toss you on your side, you brave a few steps into the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of water. Gulping it down, you can already feel its beneficial effects, which are further enhanced when you press the cold glass against your forehead. You serve yourself another drink and with each sip, you begin to trust your legs again.

You release a content sigh as a soft breeze and smell of rain touch your cheeks when you open the windows; it truly does a world of good. Grabbing yourself two slices of toast bread, you settle onto the sofa, open your laptop and click on a random video for you to watch while you wait to get better before you go to bed. If you lay down right now, you’re sure you would throw up.

With an occasional chuckle leaving your lips as you listen rather than watch a stand-up show, you almost miss a soft, hesitant knock on your door. Almost. Your fingers hover above the keyboard as you contemplate pausing the video. If you press the space key right now, there will be no doubt you’ve heard the knocking.

Slowly retracting your hand back to your side, you let the comedian continue in her sketch and you just wait. It probably takes only a minute, but for you, it’s an eternity before you can hear Gwil shut the door to his flat behind him.

You release a breath you have not realised you were holding and hide your face in your palms.

You are not in a state to face him right now. You need some time. And most importantly, you need to put some space between you, otherwise you’re going to care way too much, and you are not in the position of allowing yourself feelings of that sort.

~

“I’m sorry, sir, I’ll be back in a minute, just let me attend to this young lady,” you throw behind your shoulder as you rush to the cash desk and leave a customer in the historical section.

“Maybe I can be of service,” Mr Dean appears next to the customer’s shoulder, who jumps a bit, not expecting someone else, and you send a grateful glance to your friend. You knew you could count on him. Whenever he’s in a good mood, he loves to entertain people in the bookshop and no matter the topic or genre they’re looking for, he turns into an expert, gladly offering recommendations.

You hide a smile when you notice Mr Dean’s eyes sparkling as the man mentions the French revolution and he starts guiding him to the needed section.

“Here you go,” you hand the young woman her bag and say your goodbyes, a shrilling sound of chimes hanging at the entrance door announcing her departure.

While you bend down and disappear behind the till to throw away the receipt the woman didn’t want, the chimes sound again, and you emerge from behind the cash desk.

No.

He’s there, right in front of you, the surprise written in his face matching yours.

“Hello,” Gwil says softly and for a split of a second, you forget to breathe.

You’ve managed to avoid him the whole weekend by some miracle, although, admittedly, on one occasion, when you were forced out of your flat to do grocery shopping, you spotted him at the entrance door when you made a turn to your street. At that moment, you remembered you wanted to check something on your phone, and after fiddling with it long enough for Gwil to get home, you plucked up the courage to do the same.

You assured yourself you just needed some time and space and by the time you would meet him, you would have known what to tell him.

Well, your past self can go screw herself because here you are with your tongue tied.

“Hi, Y/N!” Ben is on Gwil’s tail and greets you cheerfully, his hand raised in a wave.

“Hi,” you manage to blurt out, quite happy with yourself for not butchering the single syllable. It’s all about little victories, right?

“So, uh, I’ll go check some books I guess,” Ben breaks the silence when neither you nor Gwil seems to do so, and scurries farther into the store.

“I am so, so sorry, Y/N,” Gwil eventually breathes out and raises his lowered eyes. “I wish I could have a good reason for not showing up the other day and for copping out on you like that, but I just don’t. I…”

He looks around and bites his lips, looking for a way of how to finish his sentence in books-filled shelves.

You wait patiently because you have the feeling that there is something he needs to say, and it would be ill-advised to interrupt his thoughts.

“Okay, I’m probably already not in your good books, so why not make even a bigger twat of myself, eh.”

“Ha, in the good books. Get it? You’re in a bookshop,” you chuckle, your voice not as strong as you would like it to be.

“Yeah,” he replies, and the corners of his lips rise up slightly. Soon, his voice turns serious again. “Well, I went to that stupid audition and I just fucked it up. Yeah, there’s no better word for that. I fucked it up, big time. I tried to persuade them to give me another chance, I said I would do anything, and the production assistant surprised me. She promised me another audition if I went for a drink with her afterwards, and I… didn’t refuse.” He takes a deep, shaky breath, presumably the first one since he started explaining what had happened. “I wasn’t thinking, and when I realised I was supposed to be with you, it was too late.”

“You could have called me,” you say slowly, daring to meet his gaze.

“My phone was dead. I was fiddling with it so much while I was waiting for the audition. Was driving Ben absolutely crazy.”

“Can confirm!” Ben’s head peeps out from behind a shelf and quickly hides again when he spots both your and Gwil’s not so amused expressions.

“Still,” you start and shake away the trembling feeling that is creeping to your voice, “You could have come by later and explain all of that to me that night.”

By some miracle, it’s as if he senses the direction of your thoughts, and rushes to set the record straight, offering the absolution you haven’t, until now, realised you desperately craved.

“The moment it dawned on me what a jerk I was, I said my goodbyes and left. But it was too late, and I felt like such a prick, so I actually dropped in another pub and drank some more. Was so shit-faced I stayed at my brother’s ‘cause he lives in that area.”

A great weight is lifted from your shoulders and you can finally take a deep and long breath. You feel a smile tugging at the corners of your lips but Gwilym does not see it; he is avoiding your eyes, as mortification keeps surrounding his whole person.

“I am so, so sorry,” he repeats once again and the moment the words leave his lips, you forgive him.

Actually, you already have.

You are just about to tell him so when he finally finds the courage to look into your eyes as he reaches out and gently grasps your hands that have been resting on the counter.

“Please, can you forgive me?”

His thumbs are lightly stroking your skin and you cannot tear away your gaze from his beautiful blue eyes.

“Sir, I must ask you to leave right now!”

Wait, what?

It takes you a moment to become aware of where you are and what is happening. The bookshop, right. And as for what is going on…

“Sir, I won’t repeat myself, leave this building immediately!” Peter’s voice reaches such volume that every customer stops in their tracks, their curiosity taking the better of themselves.  

“I was only showing this young lad the historic section. I don’t reckon it’s a crime,” Mr Dean responds in his defence, which only infuriates Peter some more.

“You’re always just helping other customers, or browsing, or, God forbid, reading our books without paying a single penny for them. I want you gone. This is not a library!”

“Peter,” you say weakly, not capable of wrapping your head around it. He isn’t supposed to be here, otherwise you would have warned Mr Dean beforehand.

“Is that the Mr Dean you told me about?” Gwil whispers and it is only then when you notice your hands are still placed in his and his face is much closer to yours than you remember.

“Yes, I’m–” you start but Gwilym won’t let you finish the sentence.

“Trust me, darling. I’ll stop by at your place at around seven, okay?” he hastily says and places a soft kiss to your cheek before leaving you at the till dumbfounded.

“Grandpa!” he greets joyfully and rushes to Mr Dean to give him a proper hug. “Have you found the book you told me about?”

Mr Dean shoots a glance your way before he replies. “Ah, I… Yes. Yes, yes, I did, give me a second.” You’re taken aback by his quick reaction because you have not moved from your spot, your jaw down, and you are pretty sure your arms are still stretched in front of you although Gwilym’s warm palms are no longer holding them. You fix your posture in an instant and clear your throat, at least trying to give the impression of having everything under control.

Although you are not particularly proud of yourself, you’re still doing better than Peter. He is just standing there, opening his mouth like fish as no words are leaving his lips.

Gwilym pretends he has only just noticed him and raises his eyebrows in make-believe innocence. “Is there any problem here?”

It takes a couple of moments before Peter gathers his bearings.

“I’m sorry, but this is your grandfather?” he finally finds his voice and points an accusatory finger at your dear friend.

“Yeah! He’s been wearing my ear off about this wonderful book he discovered here, so I’m here to get it for him. For his birthday, you know? Which is coming soon, isn’t that right, grandpa?”

“In a couple of days, actually,” Mr Dean confirms and nods his head seriously as if contemplating the fleetingness of time and existence.

“Urgh, I’m the worst grandson ever, really, looking for gifts this late, I should be ashamed of myself.” You are fascinated by Gwil’s acting; he doesn’t miss a beat and comes up with lies so quickly, all you can do is stare in astonishment. It’s not like anyone needs you right now because all customers are watching the scene unfold.

“Ah, got it!” The victorious announcement of Mr Dean makes Gwil turn on his heel and leave Peter behind.

“Wow, that’s really pretty! You weren’t lying about the photographs.” Gwil expertly inspects the pictures of various relics and nods, approvement and appreciation readable from his pursed lips. “Excellent! We’ll take it.” He closes the book in one swift motion and heads to your cash desk.

By this time, you have composed yourself enough to remember all the common niceties, and you are quite proud of your performance as you easily scan the book that you’ve seen cradled in Mr Dean’s palms many afternoons and punch the price into the card reader so that Gwil can pay.

“Would you like it gift-wrapped?” you do not forget to ask and when your gaze meets Gwil, your heart starts beating so fast you almost can’t hear the answer.

“Oh yes, please, that is if we’re not bothering you.” Gwil’s smile lights up his whole face.

“No bother at all,” the corners of your lips rise in a matching smile and you procced to neatly wrap the book in a piece of brown paper, taking extra care to tie a dark blue ribbon around the package.

“Thank you so much, have a lovely day!” Gwilym places the book under his arm and leaves the shop, Mr Dean on his tail offers a wave and a wink that, hopefully, Peter cannot see.

Through the display window, you almost miss Gwil turning around and mouthing ‘see you tonight’ before he and Mr Dean disappear behind the corner. You almost burst into laughter when Ben suddenly emerges from behind the bookshelves and dashes after them.

You have got the feeling that Peter is mumbling something, but all you can think about is your lovely neighbour and the kiss he ever so gently placed on your cheek.

You resist the temptation to touch your face, wondering whether the imprint of Gwil’s lips can be found there, or whether the gesture is forever inscribed into your mind only.

But then, you finally register Peter’s words...

“I can’t believe it! And of all days he’s got to pick today and embarrass me in front of the buyers. God damn it!”

… and your smile freezes.

~

Buyers.

The sequence of syllables still sounds foreign and dangerous to your ears.

Buyers.

No matter how many times it rolls off your tongue, the word remains the same.

So that’s it. Peter’s made up his mind and he is going to sell the bookshop. And that leaves so many questions unanswered. The new owners, are they going to keep the staff, or do they plan to hire a new bunch of people? Is there even some certainty that they will not rebrand and establish a branch of a fast-food chain? It’s not like the city is flooded with them, right.

You feel the dizziness creeping up your neck as those thoughts swirl in your head, not permitting you a moment of peace. You almost crash into a passer-by, but thankfully you manage to keep yourself upright and the take-out bag with your late lunch intact in your hold.

Once you finally arrive home, you heat up the food you have brought with you and open your favourite book in a desperate attempt to diverge the direction of your thoughts.

You are torn between biting your nails from the uncertainty of your future career and halting in the story and daydreaming about Gwilym’s visit tonight. And with that mindset, you go about your day while you clean up, water plants, and dust your flat; you have been putting it off for ages.

Emerged in thoughts, you almost mishear the buzzing sound of the bell. You are wearing baggy trousers and an old t-shirt with stains God-knows from what. You have reckoned you’ve still got time to change before Gwil’s visit. Oh well, he has seen you at your worse.

However, your brows furrow as you step into the hall and catch a glimpse of the digital clock.

5.40 p.m.

Swinging the door open, you are met with no one. Another sound of the bell and the line on your forehead deepens.

“Hello,” you mutter when you press the intercom, and the static comes through.

“Y/N! Hi! Ready to go out and grab coffee with me?”

It takes a moment before the dots connect.

“Oh, Daniel, hi! I… erm… can you give me ten minutes?”

“Sure thing!”

The dash across your flat, from the door to the dresser, then to the bathroom and back to the hall could be considered a match to any Olympian’s winning sprint race, but it is too early after your accident and your ankle makes itself known. You grit your teeth and grab a purse, leaving your flat and hoping no appliances have stayed turned on.

How could you have forgotten?! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

“Hi!” you greet breathlessly when you fly from the entrance door, and Daniel gives you a lopsided smile.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” No matter how hard you try not to give anything away, the blush on your cheeks betrays you. “Oh my God, you did!” Barking out a laugh, he lets you take a couple of deep breaths before you start walking down the street. “Maybe it should be you who’s gonna buy the coffee today.”

“Gladly,” you smile and spot a cosy café. For a split second, you consider taking him to Hazel’s, but then you imagine the soft hues of brown and gold against black and white background of your most beloved café. Your mind goes straight to the day you bumped into Gwil and Ben in there and you do not wish to stain that memory. Besides, this café is right behind the corner of your block of flats, which means you shouldn’t get stuck at some far-off place. “Actually, I owe you ‘cos I’ve got some plans at seven and I need to get home by then.”

“Oh, okay,” he replies hesitantly, and you bite your lips, feeling like an arse. Well, you can make it up for him by paying for the coffee, right?

~

You are trying. You are really, truly trying. Daniel is nice. Funny, smart, and knows all the iconic movie lines off pat, however, the moment you look into his eyes, you feel nothing, there is no bated breath, no heart beating fast. Nothing. And honestly, it seems you are not making a particularly good impression either. He takes notice of your constant checking the time on your phone, and when you catch yourself doing it for an umpteenth time, you roll your eyes at yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter after a moment of silence, which you wish were a companionable one, but you are too fidgety.

“It’s fine, I get it,” Dan offers a sheepish smile, which you return. “Let’s get you back home, okay?”

The wind is chilling and light drizzle lands on your hair. As you walk down the street, you notice that Daniel is trying to gently hold your hand. It starts with your fingers brushing and you would dismiss it as an accidental touch but when his fingertips graze the back of your palm, you sense the intention in the gesture. You bring your hand up, brushing off a damp strand of hair and scratching the back of your neck so as not to give him another opportunity for touch.

Hoping this debacle is behind you now, you say your goodbyes and grab the door handle to your building. Oh, how foolish!

“I know you’re lost in thought today but it was a nice date and honestly, I’m not ready for it to end.” He gives you a smile and his eyes sparkle when you stop in your tracks and turn your head to face him.

His gaze drops down to your lips and you are (literally) taken aback by the movement to such extent that your body shoots away. In the process, you press your back to the doorbell panel and jump a bit, not expecting that kind of contact.

“Careful.” Daniel’s fingers find your waist to keep you upright. “I realise I might not be the man of your dreams, but I hope we can go for dinner next time.”

“I…” you start, unable to find the words that would not hurt him.

“No, don’t say anything,” he whispers, and it is only then when you realise his face has inched closer to yours. And then he presses his lips to yours, and you freeze at the spot.

Your eyelids do not tremble with emotion, neither do you melt into his touch. You just stand there, barely moving your lips and thinking that this guy just cannot take a hint. You might have been waving the ‘I am not interested’ flag right in front of his face and he still would be none the wiser.

When he finally lets go, your gaze is still fixed forward and you suck in your lips in a subconscious effort to prevent him from another attempt of a kiss. However, you catch a flicker of light in the corner of your eyes and without giving it a second thought you twist your neck, and your gaze falls into the entrance hall. The windowpane which reflected two figures kissing a moment ago turns transparent and reveals a figure standing inside.

He’s there, at the top of the staircase, taking you by surprise for a second time this day.

But this time, his eyes are hurt behind his glasses, a deep line is forming on his forehead, and it seems as if he’s rooted to the cold stone floor. Your heart is breaking at the sight of him and you know you must do anything within your power to atone for this moment because you never ever want to see such pain written in his face.

“Gwil,” you breathe out softly and bend down to escape Daniel’s embrace. Pushing the main door, you rush to your neighbour, your friend, your… “Gwil, this means nothing, I’m not –”

“My doorbell rang, and I was foolish enough to think you couldn’t wait until seven. I…” He is avoiding your gaze, his eyes roving round the hall. He brings his hands to his sides, but quickly finds out there are no pockets in his soft camel pleated trousers and so he clasps them together. When he bites his trembling lips, it is almost unbearable to keep your eyes on him, but you cannot look away either.

Then, his features harden, and it is probably worse than before as your stomach tightens.

“Goodbye.”

You almost miss the sound, his voice barely above a whisper. Tears threaten to fall down your cheeks, but Gwilym is already gone, his moccasins tapping against the cold tiles of the stairs. You fight the urge to wrap your arms around yourself and have a breakdown right here and now. All you do is simply turn around, every movement calculated so as not to make an unnecessary one. Daniel is still standing at the entrance, his eyebrows raised in the piqued curiosity of what has just occurred.

“I can’t go for another date with you. I’m sorry.”

But you don’t feel sorry at all, well, not sorry for him at least. Your thoughts have turned into a tangled ball of turmoil and indescribable emotions, which are hard to make sense of.

When you reach your floor, you stop in your tracks to your flat. You have thought you lost all the courage, but you muster some from deep inside and cross the hall to knock on his door with determination.

God knows how long you are standing there, you knock again, and again.

Nothing.

Not even a sign of hope.

Your heart skips a beat when you finally hear the creak of a door being open, but a lump forms in your throat instead when it dawns on you that it is not Gwil’s door but Mrs Thompson’s.

“Hello Mrs Thompson,” you greet meekly the slightly open door of the 3A flat and drag your feet to your home.

You do not bother taking off your shoes or clothes. Crushing straight into your bed, you finally give yourself the permission to let your emotions flow and cry yourself to sleep.

~

Taglist: @lv7867​, @spacedustmazzello​, @queenwouldyourathers​, @im-an-adult-ish​, @fairestkillerqueenofall​, @supernaturalee​, @queenlover05​, @geek-and-proud​, @chlobo6​, @mrsmazzello​, @timeandpixiedust​, @kerouacsroad​, @gwilsmainhoe​​

[mortedeveles]

I’m Okay.

PART TWO. 

SUMMARY: Ever since you were young, your mind has always been clouded with negative thoughts about yourself and your shoulders were always heavy with an invisible weight. But now you’re dating the infamous Katsuki Bakugou, and you couldn’t be happier. He made you feel so confident that you decided to come clean to your dad about your mental health issues. Buzzing with courage, you can only hope everything turns out okay. But as it turns out, you were absolutely wrong.

GENRE: angst, like a lot lot, hurt comfort and fluff. [ONE-SHOT]

PAIRING: Katsuki Bakugou x fem!reader. (i will be writing gn! reader soon, but i still have to adjust to it) 

TW: mental health issues, mentions of suicide, cursing, etc.

Copyright © 2020-2021 by Veles.

A/N: it’s a bit short tbh, apologies fellas. this oneshot is inspired from my personal experience, with some differences and adjustments. should i make a part two of this? i’m tempted but idk,, lmk what you think! anyways, enjoy!

ITALIC is for thoughts or flashbacks!

BOLD is for texting (with some exceptions)

Y/N had never been particularly confident in herself, but Katsuki Bakugou had always made her feel otherwise. When she was with him, she knew anything was possible.

You're strong and brave. Don't put yourself down, okay nerd?!. You're my girlfriend, how could you not be amazing? Katsuki's grumbled words repeated over in Y/N's head, filling her up with a giddy feeling. If Katsuki believed in her, then maybe she could do it.

Yeah, she definitely could do this. No big deal. All she had to do was confess to her oblivious father that she had been dealing with insecurities and mental health issues for years and wanted his help. No biggie.

''So, what did you want to talk about?'' her father asked. He was sitting on the foot of her bed, waiting for her to respond.

Shit. I forgot I asked him to talk tonight, she thought. Well, I can't back down now.

Breathing deeply, Y/N raised her gaze to her father's face and spoke quietly.

''Dad, I think I have depression,'' Losing her confidence and courage, she lowered her gaze to her blankets. Her fists tightened around them. 

''I-I, I don't know why but I've felt so bad and worthless for years, I feel sad because I'm ugly and stupid, I'm so unattractive that no one's ever shown interest in me and it feels like I'm going to die alone. I don't mean to feel like this, it's just-just, sometimes, I can feel like I'm at the top of the world and the next, I feel so sad and disgusted with myself that I can't help but cry.'' 

With a heavy sigh, the girl raised her gaze and awaited her father's answer. She could feel her heart flip and her stomach twist with anxiety.

What would he say? Maybe he'd smile and hug her, offering her his endless support. Or maybe, he'll sigh and hug her, saying that he knew all along. Maybe he knew that she cried herself to sleep nearly every day and that it hurt so, so much to be alive. 

Her heart dropped when her father sighed in response. He shook his head in disapproval as he rubbed his temples.

Please, say something, dad. She wanted to say. But all her voice was nowhere to be found.

Say something.

''Don't be so dramatic. You have a happy family, we're pretty good on money and you have a roof over your head. What else can you want?'' he snapped, eyes blazing with irritation.

Y/N's mouth opened in shock and as much as she wanted to reply, her voice was gone.

''Stop feeling so much self-pity for yourself. The only thing you're accomplishing is wasting your life by complaining and sitting on your ass, doing nothing! Don't come to me saying you're depressed. Do you know how much I've suffered? I'm paralyzed. I lived with abusive parents all my life. I've always had a disadvantage because of my condition. You haven't suffered a bit...You have everything in your hands!'' 

Her father continued ranting angrily, but Y/N's focus was gone. Her eyes glazed over with tears, but she forced herself to hold them in.

Grow up, he said.

Stop being so dramatic.

Her throat clogged up and her chest tightened. She had been working up the confidence to tell her dad, who swore to protect her and support her for her entire life, the courage to tell him about her illness for years. Y/N isn't exactly sure when it started, but she can barely remember anything before it. She couldn’t remember how it felt to be truly happy.

Though she can't pinpoint an exact date for it or even a goddamn cause, Y/N remembers that she's felt like this for around five years. It started when she was a naive and rude ten-year-old child, who refused to play with her friends and would rather read books. 

She doesn't remember why it happened, but she can remember with clarity the nights she would slouch over her laptop, listening to soft music that would make her cry quietly. Maybe it had to do with the fact that as a child, she refused to adapt to social situations. Her heart would feel heavy for no absolute reason and she hated it. It was overwhelming, Y/N wanted to claw at her chest and rip it open, plunging her hand inside to retrieve her heart and fix whatever was wrong with it. What was wrong with her? Why wasn’t she...normal?

The sudden loss of weight on her bed snapped her out of her thoughts. Her dad was looking at her solemnly, nodding at her as he bid her good night. She responded with a shaky nod and once her father had closed the doors and turned the lights off, she could feel everything.

There were heavy, wet, and warm tears forming in her eyes, her hands were trembling and her chest felt like it was about to explode. 

When she heard her dad's bedroom door close shut, her tears broke loose. Y/N clamped her hand over her mouth, muffling her sobs as her shoulders shook with each cry. She heard her phone vibrating loudly next to her and her cries stopped momentarily. 

Wiping away the tears, she squinted her eyes on the screen, only to see Katsuki's contact pop up on her notifications. Subconsciously, a small and weak smile graced her lips.

Ah right, I have a boyfriend, she thought.  Maybe I'm not so ugly and useless after all.

EXPLOSIVE TEDDY BEAR: Hey nerd. Are you okay? 

Y/N laughed harshly. Her throat was beginning to feel raw and dry from crying. Her eyes read the message over and over as she debated what to do.

Katsuki was her boyfriend, right? If something was bothering her, she should let him know. Y/N knew that Katsuki valued honesty a lot.

But then, she was reminded of his proud and loud behavior. He was nice and kind to her, but that didn't stop him from being loud and abrasive. Whether they were dating or not, she was still dubbed as ''nerd''. The nickname made her smile. 

Katsuki was an excellent student- perhaps a bit too violent and murderous- but he had good intentions. He was strong and determined. Y/N doubted he'd understand what she was going through. In their three months of dating, she hadn't seen him express any emotions of insecurity or depression, maybe some sprinkles of jealousy here and there, but no insecurities.

With each thought and argument running across her head, Y/N was sure she shouldn't bother him with this. After all, he was a hero-in-training. Katsuki doesn't have time to deal with her problems. He was probably too busy with his own problems.

Y/N: Of course I'm fine. What makes you think I'm not?

Y/N: I'm perfectly fine :)

[blackwarrior]

Open Letter- A black woman’s tale

First, I am not a professional writer as you will soon find out. My apologies. Second, I do not blame anyone for the perils of my life. I take full responsibility for all my mistakes, and I own all of them fully. I simply wish for more time to correct the ones I have made, don’t we all? I do live by the proverb “Fall down seven times stand up eight.” My problem is that I keep falling and I am not sure whether I could remain standing, even if I do muster the strength to stand.

This isn’t a woe is me tirade. I know that I am not the only one with feelings of regret, but I do often think of wasted opportunities and having little time left for a do over. So, I am reaching out to you, anyone who could hear me. Someone who could understand the isolation, fear, exhaustion, sadness, and anger that I feel towards myself and the world. Of all these negative feelings, anger is the worst. It has consumed me and taken over my entire life. I am angry because I have worked so hard to change my life for the better, for myself and my 16-year-old daughter, but once I come close to achieving my goals, the goalpost moves a little bit farther away. It feels like a generational curse. Yes, I do believe in curses. From the age of four I was told that I would never achieve anything in life because I am too black and ugly. I was also told I am cursed. Yes, there is a colorism problem in the Caribbean. Yes, I am ugly, but I would like to think that I am smart and ugly. I am hoping that counts for something.

I find myself working into the night and not reaping any benefits. I feel isolated, feeling like I am the only one this miserable. I am fearful because I have no idea what the future holds for myself and my daughter, who probably hates me with a passion. I question my judgement often. What if I had stayed with her dad a little bit longer, would I have more financial security? Maybe if I were not so mouthy, he would not have lashed out as often as he did. Maybe it was my fault he became so violent.

As I write this letter, I can feel the presence of my 75-year-old mother. She has come to the living room with her pillow and blanket. She is afraid of the demons in her bed. There is a mother demon with her husband and four children, and they all visit my mother at night. They sleep in her bed and attempt to sexually abuse my daughter’s teddy bears that she has kept since she was a baby. You see my mom has dementia. She hallucinates often and believes there are 4 dogs living with us, along with a mother demon and her family. This mother demon arrives everyday at 5pm and sleeps in our third bedroom-we live in a 2-bedroom condo. This is a nightly routine. This illness happened in a blink of an eye. One minute my mother was cooking, cleaning, and doing her own groceries and then boom, she is now a child, asking me to check under her bed and closet for a demon who steals her clothes. These hallucinations last for at least 12 hours every day, all while I am trying to work to hopefully change the trajectory of my life. I know I sound selfish. This shouldn’t be about me.

I know what you are thinking. Why don’t I get some help or put her in a senior’s home? The truth is that I would feel so guilty doing so. With the current pandemic, how would I live with myself putting my aging mother in a nursing home knowing that so many COVID-19 deaths occurred in these homes? This is a guilt-inducing decision that no one should have to make alone, and God knows I cannot live with any more regret. There is no one I could turn too, no one I could call. When I try to explain what is happening to relatives, I am told to buy holy water, sprinkle salt all over the bedroom floors, wear our nightgowns inside out, sleep with a pair of scissors under our pillows, sleep with the Bible open to Psalms 23-apparently, this keeps the demons away. I do not wish this life on anyone.

I feel burnt out, emotionally drained and my body is tired from lack of sleep- I sleep for maybe 3 hours a day. But I should not be complaining, I feel guilty and weak for doing so. I am supposed to be a “strong black woman”.

I am supposed to grin and bear it. After all, many black women are the breadwinners and care takes of their family.

My business is suffering too. I am worried that I will fail once again, and we will all end up homeless. We are very close to becoming homeless.

I am hoping for the best, but I am prepared for the worst. Okay, I am not prepared. I am hoping for a miracle. I have been meditating for 5 minutes a day as a form of self-care, trying to practice some self-compassion. I guess it is easier to forgive others for their mistakes than it is to forgive yourself. I cannot help but think that the wrong decisions led me to my current situation. Maybe if I had more money, more resources, I would not be in this situation.

Incidentally, my business is Omiiko, it is centered around having compassion for ourselves, others, animals, the environment, and the planet. In these challenging times, compassion may be the only force that unites us.

I am passionate about Omiiko but I know the statistics of owing a business as a black woman. Although black women are launching more businesses, we lack access to funding. So I started small, just compassion t-shirts for now. Does selling t-shirts pay the bills? That’s a great question. I may have to work 2 jobs and take care of my mom and daughter on my own.

I guess this was a woe is me letter after all. My apologies. I am too much of a wuss to leave my last name. I am still fearful of my daughter’s father. I keep dreaming he will find us. I can still see the hate and anger in his eyes. I am not running away from him, just hiding for a little while longer.

Thank you for listening. In some ways I feel heard and less isolated. Please remember to be kind; Everyone you meet is fighting a secret battle. I am struggling to cope, barely hanging on but I hope that one day, this too shall pass. Please forgive my writing.

Remember to #bekind. This thing called life is overwhelming.

It helps to show some compassion and empathy to someone who may really appreciate it.

Best,

Deborah

[biscuitreviews]

Biscuit Talks About Anthem

This is a bit weird for me. When I started this blog, a rule that I said to myself was that I wouldn’t review MMOs, multiplayer only, or live service games. It’s not that I hate these type of games. It’s just that due to their nature, a review I would make for those genres would be completely obsolete in a matter of weeks. Mechanics and content are constantly changing and evolving. I didn’t want someone looking into the game months later and find a review from a point in the game’s past that is no longer relevant at that point in time.

However, I think I’m going to make a special case for BioWare’s Anthem. This isn’t going to be a review of the game, more like an impression piece. I’m pretty sure that Anthem will improve in a few months. But as it currently sits, there are some things we need to talk about.

Oh and if you're from the future looking into Anthem, this impression piece was posted on March 21, 2019, so keep that in mind future people that stumble upon this considering whether or not you jump into the game.

First, I want to go ahead and talk about the positives of Anthem before going into the negatives.

The marquee mechanic, flying, is actually a whole lot of fun. It feels really smooth and the flying behavior with each javelin is different. Rangers are standard, Interceptors are quick and nimble, Storms are smooth, and Colossus’ are bulky and hard to turn.  Flying also gives a new verticality to the map having caves, underwater areas and other crevices that would not have been explorable if you simply stayed on the ground. It’s fun to fly around and explore these areas to see what they might hold, some of them leading to instanced areas to further explore.

Using the different abilities and shooting feels really satisfying. Something that BioWare has definitely improved on with their experience with the Mass Effect series. Each javelin also has their own unique abilities and roles in combat. You start with one and can eventually unlock the others as your pilot level increases.

Pilot levels serve as milestones. As your level increases, you can equip more things to your javelin to make it more effective in combat. You can also unlock consumable slots which can grant you temporary boosts for one session, something that comes in handy when tackling harder difficulties of missions and the end game content.

The facial animations are also a big improvement from past BioWare games. That's right, I said games as in multiple. This has kind of been a staple with BioWare games, Andromeda was just a lot more noticeable. Granted there are still a few odd animations here and there, but for the most part they are actually really well done.

Exploring Fort Tarsis is also pretty neat and it’s nice seeing little changes happen within as you progress not only the main story, but the faction contracts as well. This gives doing these side missions more weight as they have visible impacts.

Now, before I get into the negative stuff, I do want to discuss some questionable stuff with Anthem. These aren’t necessarily bad things with the game, just things where I don’t understand why BioWare took certain design choices.

First, the story and how you interact with NPCs. When BioWare talked about doing a more linear story, I was a bit eager to see what would come out of it. It was also a risky decision on BioWare’s part as they’re known for having great stories with impacting choices. By not having to consider multiple paths and how they would tie into certain plot points, BioWare knew they were probably going to alienate part of their audience. Especially since that audience has certain expectations after playing their games for over 20 years. I’ll admit breaking from norms can be scary but sometimes you have to take risks if you want to grow and I actually commend BioWare for wanting to experiment.

BioWare themselves even noted how refreshing it was to have not only this type of story, but to prioritize gameplay (an aspect I’ll get into more detail on later). This is also where I’m going to have to question them. In the main story, there are no decision points at all, everything is linear and you just watch the story and cutscenes play out. Again, not bad, but considering talking to NPCs in the Fort Tarsis, that’s where it gets questionable.

In Fort Tarsis you can engage in side conversations with NPCs and there are decision points. Granted there are only two decisions, with some of them impacting that particular NPC’s story and some of them having no impact at all. it’s just weird that these moments are only tied to these side conversations. Why couldn’t we have some light decisions in the main story as well? It’s just odd that we’re impacting the lives of the people within Fort Tarsis, rather than our companions.

That’s not to say you don’t have these types of conversations with your companions, you do. What’s strange is that these conversations with them have no impact on the main story. Why even have these conversations with the main story cast at all if it has no impact on their relationship in the overall narrative.

Customizations and cosmetics I felt were also handled very weirdly. You can customize the color of your javelin anyway you want giving your javelin a bit of an identify. This is great because you’ll need that to stand out as there are not a whole cosmetic pieces you can get for your javelin. Each javelin has one set that can be bought with just Coins, a currency you can only acquire in game. The other pieces, you have to go through the featured store. You can buy items from that store with Coins you gain in game, however it’s apparent that they want you to purchase Shards with real money to buy these items as the Coin cost is pretty high. The selection with the stores is also pretty bare, as it features two armor sets, and four small items, like emotes, metal finishes of the javelin, nylon fabrics, poses, and emblems. These items refresh every few days so if something isn’t to your liking, you just have to wait a couple days for the refresh and maybe something you like will be there.

The weirder thing about the armor sets is they are only for certain types of javelins so if one of those two sets isn’t for a javelin that you use, you’re going to be forced to wait until the store decides to feature an armor set for that javelin. It’s even weirder as this store was a required mandate by EA to have the game be monetizable in someway. You would figure there would be more options and variety but there isn’t. I can’t help but question if there might have been resistance of including this store considering how ill implemented it is.

Now for the negatives.

The current main story of Anthem, feels more like a chapter of the main story rather than THE story. It introduces other plot points that will be touched up on in later expansions. It serves more as an appetizer of what’s to come, rather than going through a main story. I can’t help but wonder why release it now when it’s clearly showing in the narrative that it wasn’t ready.

Remember how I mentioned BioWare said it was refreshing to prioritize gameplay? I guess what they meant by that was doing the same mission over and over again. Mission structure follows this formula: land in mission area, fly to point A, kill bad guys, fly to point B, kill bad guys, fly to point C, kill bad guys. Even the variety of these points is also repetitive. Hold point, save hostages, and collect things and that’s it. 

There are a couple of puzzles that were sprinkled in to try to break the monotony, but they’re super basic and feel tacked on. These puzzles feel like they’re there in hopes that you’ll think the gameplay is varied, but it’s not. They’re just an unnecessary roadblock that is there to pad out gameplay, they’re not fun or challenging.

I also feel Anthem has a bit of an identity crisis. The story and Fort Tarsis act like it’s a single player game. It treats the player like they are the sole hero. The missions even treat you as such. The game is fully playable solo, but Anthem has this insistence that you should play it with people. Even when you go for a private play session. The game will aggressively tell you “Hey, it’s best experienced with a group. Are you sure you want to stay private?” If I want to play privately solo or with friends (in the case of this playthrough, my wife) and it doesn’t make a full group, then let me play without forcing me to make things public. Even Destiny, a game that encourages players to play together doesn’t push its players this aggressively.

Also, because of how weirdly instanced everything is, there’s no sense of community for a game that touts itself as an live service multiplayer game. You can enter into public settings, but it doesn’t feel like a cohesive multiplayer experience, more like you just entered an online co-op mode.

Finally, there’s the technical difficulties Anthem faces. I experienced frequent server disconnections. I was actually surprised by how often this happened as BioWare has made Star Wars: The Old Republic, an MMORPG that to this day, is still considered the smoothest launch ever experienced from a game within the MMO genre. It’s just weird that Anthem, also an online only game, suffers from random disconnects and it doesn’t even have to account for a large number of players on its servers like Star Wars did on launch.

There’s also still quite a bit of random bugs and glitches. Sometimes when you defeat enemies there’s this delay in their death animation where they just remain standing and after a few seconds they disappear. Sometimes armor cosmetics might not properly load. There was a couple of times my wife’s javelin, ended up headless and resorted to the default colors of the Interceptor javelin for a whole mission. This would only appear on my end though, my wife didn’t see that on her end but she did have my javelin on occasion do that on her end. There were times where I would start a mission headless and be unable to jump, which after a few seconds would lead to a disconnect.

So here’s what Anthem can do to be better.

Stabilize their servers. Contact their current staff or the current team that is on Star Wars: The Old Republic for ideas on how to fix the technical side of Anthem. A live service game is nothing without a stable connection.

Add more cosmetics that can only be bought with coins. The fact there is only one set per javelin is laughable. Having more sets can bring more variety to a person’s javelin to where they can make their own unique javelin.

Add more slots to your Feature Store. I get it, EA has mandated that you need this. As much as I would like this to go away entirely, that’s not going to happen. So let’s make it better. As much as I hate saying this (and I can’t believe I’m encouraging this), you need to make it attractive with more options. Have at least two unique sets for every javelin that rotate out every few days. Cut the coin cost by a little bit. 61,000 Coins for an armor set is a bit much. Have a good balance to where it’s easily more attainable, like a 40,000 Coin price. Your players will still have to do a bit of grinding, but not an obscene amount of it. Mark it up to 61,000 for really special sets, like holiday themes or special in-game events. Study how Overwatch does their pricing with cosmetics. Activision/Blizzard found a good balance so maybe find a way to improve that model (I really can’t believe I just said that).

BioWare, you’re already making small improvements to Anthem and it’s showing. I love how General Manager Casey Hudson has admitted the game’s faults and has openly expressed disappointment in how it came out. That type of transparency is well appreciated and should be continued moving forward.

Anthem is a game that I consider frustratedly fun. There is a good foundation here to make way for something great, but there are quite a few design choices, quality of life concerns, and technical difficulties that truly hold this game back. But that doesn’t mean it’s doomed. Destiny and The Division, two games that are also live service looter shooter games, also had rough first impressions. I’m confident Anthem will find its foothold in the future, but it’s not there yet.

As for scoring Anthem, I feel I cannot score this game properly. As I have already previously mentioned, it’s a live service game that will change in time. The version that I played when writing this piece, won’t be the same version 3 months from now or even 6 months from now. It will be different.

I can however, recommend this. Wait. Wait for BioWare to stabilize the servers and patch out the worst of the bugs. Definitely wait until then or until a sale happens, it’s not worth it at its current state.

[shiroe-is-my-baby]

Taking Care

Summary: Ashley is sick in bed, resting up for the day since she has nothing else important to do. Only Simon doesn’t seem to want to leave her, his plans for the day seems like less of an issue when she is ill.

W: self-insert x canon, fluff

Ship: light of my universe

((Note: I wrote this because I’m in a huge Simon mood, and I’m sick so it just makes sense I write him taking care of me. Now, it’s been years since I’ve written him so bear with me. But I’m super excited, and I miss him a lot. So it’s just great to be back here. Also, this is my non au.))

Soft uncomfortable moans slipped passed my lips as I rolled over in the bed, wincing from the light that sprinkled through the cracks of the curtains. The more that I moved, the more that my body ached. Now that I was fully awake I could feel the pressure near the middle of my forehead and the bridge of my nose, along with the dryness of my throat. I barely got any sleep the night before, feeling the growing uncomfortability that I knew would come today.

And it all hit me full force.

It was a good thing that I didn’t have any plans today. I was all caught up with my work, so taking the day off was going to be alright. That was unless Rossiu had something that he needed from me and didn’t tell me. Sometimes that seems to occur. It was annoying, but it is what it is.

Pulling myself up, I rested on my elbows to push a few strands of hair behind my ear. The room was rather chilly, but I still continued to expose a leg from underneath the blankets because I was getting a bit hot. Eventually, I’d most likely shed more clothes, though I already had very little to begin with.

I then realized I was alone in the sizable bed, which was to be expected with what time it was. Though, I was a little upset that I wasn’t going to get any cuddle time before he left. Now that I was sick, it was even more inconvenient to not have my boyfriend near.

As if on cue, I heard the shuffling from outside of the door, leading into the living room. I smiled a bit, hearing his usual mumbles as he was talking to himself. It all sounded like gibberish to me right now, but it was cute nonetheless. I lied my head on the pillow and listened to him shuffle and talk to himself, shutting my eyes a bit and hoping that I could fall asleep.

That was until I heard Simon calling my name from the next room.

“Ashley? Hey, you still here?” He asked, no doubt seeing my shoes by the door and no indication that I had left yet.

Usually, I’m up and about with him, some being in bed still would be uncommon for him.

“In here, baby!” I called back, sitting up a little bit and knowing that he was going to come back in at any moment.

It was probably a bad idea to let him know that I was sick. He’s a sweetheart, but I knew that he would try to make this out to be more than it was. Not that I didn’t mind when he took care of me, but I just didn’t want him to go overboard.

The door to the bedroom opened, and I smiled a little when I saw his face.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked.

“Yeah… I’m just… a little sick.”

When I spoke up, you could hear it in my voice that I wasn’t feeling well. My voice was cracked and through my stuff nose, it was even worse. There was no hiding it the second that I spoke. And besides, even if I tried to keep the truth, Simon would find out. He’s known me since we were kids. There was no way that he didn’t know I was sick just by looking at me and reading body language.

I sat up, watching him sit beside me on the bed. The way that he looked at me made my cheeks burn a bit, even more so from the already warmth feeling I felt. But it was much better than the other.

Simon reached forward to take my hand in his, the opposite hand reaching up to touch my forehead. He felt the warmth radiating off of it, letting out a little whistle of surprise.

“Told you,” I said with a laugh.

“Yeah… you definitely have a fever. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you. Besides, I thought you left for work already. Don’t mind me, okay, babe? Just go before you’re late and Rossiu has a fit.”

I chuckled, pursing my lips and looking into his eyes.

I could see the wheels churning in his brain, as he looked down at my hand in his. It was how I expected things to play out if he ended up seeing that I was sick. The look in his furrowed brows told me everything I needed to know before he said anything. I’ve known him for too long now to know what he was thinking when he made that face.

“Simon…”

“How about I stay home,” He said, rubbing his thumb across my knuckles, “I can handle things from here and take care of you. It’s better than leaving you here all by yourself.”

“Simon, c’mon, I’m going to be fine. It’s not that bad, just a little cold. If I get worse I’ll call you or someone else so I don’t bother you. But you are going to get a hell of a lot worse if you don’t go.”

“I’ve missed work before.”

I laughed at his little chirp, seeing the way he flickered his eyes downward like a child being scolded.

“Yes, and you remember how that turned out?”

He nodded, chuckling a bit as he lifted my hand up to kiss it softly.

“I don’t want to leave you alone, though.”

“I’ll be fine. I promise. I’ll call you and check in. Plus, we have neighbors in case things get that bad. And someone could easily come and sit with me if need be. But I am a grown woman, and I can take care of myself.”

Simon breathed a sigh, “I wasn’t implying that you couldn’t.”

I chuckled, cupping his face with my hand.

I wanted to kiss him so bad, but the last thing I wanted to do was get him sick. That wouldn’t be the best thing right now. Most of the time when someone in the house is sick, Simon is instructed to stay away but… that’s a bit ridiculous to expect him to not be near me. Especially whenever I’m sick.

He wants to take care of me, and I find that very sweet of him. It’s always been me taking care of him since we were kids, but now that we’re adults it's switched. He’s always the one to jump to my aid, and I feel totally embarrassed by it. But flattered at the same time.

“It’ll be okay,” I said with a smile, shifting hair from his face.

“Okay, okay. I’ll go.”

I smiled, and he leaned over to kiss my forehead lovingly.

I leaned into the warmth of his lips on my skin, giggling softly as he pulled away. These fleeting minutes with him were making me forget all about my sickness. I knew that once he left I would continue to feel worse, but at least I had the thought of him coming home to look forward to.

“Have a good day,” I said weekly as he stood up from the bed.

“You too. Get some rest, and please, call me.”

“I will, I will. Now, go. You’re gonna be late.”

I chuckled, watching him blow me a quick kiss as he ran off out of the door.

It was easy to hear his running as he bolted out of the door and grabbed his things in a rush. That was my boyfriend. It felt a little wrong with him leaving, especially since in all actuality I didn’t want to be alone right now. But it was all true. He needed to be there, and I couldn’t be the reason why he stayed.

Lying back down, I sniffled and closed my eyes, trying to focus on anything but the fact that the bed was cold and lonely. With my breathy air intake from my stuffy nose, and occasionally sneezing into tissues, I eventually fell back asleep.

When I woke up again, there was something strange about the atmosphere. It was still quiet, but I felt as if I wasn’t alone anymore. I slowly sat up on the bed, touching my forehead that was throbbing and glanced at the clock near my bedside. Only a few hours had passed since I fell asleep.

I coughed softly, wiping at my tired eyes and grabbing at the cup of water on my bedside table.

I was about to pull myself out of bed to get to the phone to call Simon when I heard something from the living room. At first, I thought it was just my imagination until I heard the footsteps and the turning of the doorknob.

Lifting my brows, I looked up to see Simon’s face, which I hadn’t expected to see for several hours. He smiled, peeking his head in a bit.

“Hey there, beautiful. Are you hungry?” He asked.

I nodded, running a hand through my messy hair.

“What are you doing home? It’s not lunchtime yet.”

My voice was a little bit more hoarse now that I had just woken up again, and I was relieved to see that Simon had brought me soup. It was the only thing that I could probably eat right now, feeling my stomach churning from both hunger and nausea.

Simon set the bowl into my lap and kissed the top of my head. It was a sweet gesture, and I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty that I was enjoying having him here. A little happy… no… very happy.

“I told everyone that you’re sick, and I needed to take care of you,” He said, “I told you. I can handle everything from home.”

“Baby, I told you I’m fine-”

“I know, but it just… would make me feel better if I was home with you. I can’t leave my girl home alone like this.”

My cheeks burned bright hearing him say those words, and I bit my lip to hide my weird sounding giggle. It’s not necessarily cute to laugh when you’re sick.

“Now, are you going to eat or do I have to feed it to you?” He asked.

“I mean… that’d be nice-”

Simon laughed, ruffling my hair a bit and kissing my forehead.

Instead, I fed myself while he stayed and chatted with me. He told me about his morning before he came back home, how displeased Rossiu was, but he’d live with it. The excuse of a sick girlfriend is a pretty good one, especially when they all know that Simon would do the same for them. But also Simon pretty much has the upper hand here, which he doesn’t like to use very often.

Once I finished my food, he gave me some medicine and kissed my forehead and cheek a couple of times. I leaned into his touch, yanking his arm down to drag him to bed with me. He yelped a bit, puffing a few breaths as I rested my head against his chest.

I listened to the soft patter of his heartbeat against my ear, closing my eyes again. It was definitely much better than being stuck in this bed alone.

“This is nice… having you here,” I said, softly.

He chuckled, running a hand through my hair as I breathed softly.

“Yeah… Yeah, it is.”

I smiled, wrapping my arm around his middle and snuggling closer to him.

He was so warm and comfortable. I almost felt bad that I didn’t beg him to stay sooner. It’s not every day that we just get to lie here and not do anything. At least for me, I feel like I’ve been moving around a lot lately. Not that I don’t love being on the move, but when it’s from work and back it gets a little… tedious.

A part of me misses what it used to be like for us. I hate to admit that sometimes, since what we have here is wonderful. But I just miss a lot of things.

“Hey, Simon?” I asked.

“Hmm?”

I started to say something but quickly retracted it.

Instead, I mumbled softly, “I… Thank you.”

He smiled, kissing and gently shifting his lips across the top of my head.

“I’m always here for you, starshine.”

I let out a laugh, as loud as I could be with my sore and croaky throat. My cheeks turned a bright red, more than they already were and I tried to hide my face in his shirt. Simon laughed along with me, tilting my chin to remove me from my hiding spot.

There was a soft groan as I glanced up at him, seeing the cheeky smirk on his face.

“Stop it,” I moaned.

“What? You love it!”

“I know, but… just…”

I bit my lip, shaking my head and refusing to let him see my hot face.

But Simon kept pulling me closer until his lips pressed against mine.

I opened my mouth in surprise and shoved him back a bit.

“Simon! You’re gonna get sick!” I shouted.

“Oops. Guess I forgot.”

I rolled my eyes, ducking my head back down to rest it back on his chest.

The two of us stayed there all day, only getting up whenever I needed a shower. I loved being able to relax, and my body definitely needed it. Lying there an talking to him, I realized that I wanted every day to be like this. Even if it can’t exactly be like this, at least at the end of every day it can be.

As I laughed at his corny comments and looked at our hands that were laced together, squeezing as his thumb brushed across my knuckles; there wasn’t anywhere that I would rather be. Anyone that I would rather be with. It was perfect, and even though I was sick. It was perfect.

[decadentbirdtyrant]

Memories

TW: Mental Illness, PTSD, death, addiction, alcoholism, mentions of uncomfortable topics, bipolar disorder

This one was specifically hard to write, and it deals with very heavy topics

You struggle with memories. Sometimes it’s hard to pick out the good ones, and sometimes it’s all you can dwell on. There are times that you fantasize about the past. Those thoughts have the hazy golden glow of a sunset in summer. You remember yourself much more vibrantly, much more happy. The old you who used to be so witty and funny. The old you who didn’t feel the need to be quiet. You miss him. The old you was a much better person and a much better friend. It’s times like these that you dwell on the past. When the future feels so bleak and hopeless that's when the happy memories come out to haunt you. 

Those happy memories only come out when you are feeling down to make you feel even worse. The bad memories are always there. At the forefront of your brain. Whether you are upset and feel the need to make yourself feel worse or pull examples of how shitty you’ve been or how shitty life has treated you. The worst times are when you are genuinely feeling happy, when you feel good about yourself and those bad memories come to ruin any shred of self esteem you’ve worked so hard to build. 

There is rain sprinkling outside your window and it reminds you of a time long ago when your car was destroyed by hail and the windshield while still intact was cracked to hell. You still drove it like that for months. You didn’t have a job and had no money other than the little you could get from your dad. Mom never gave you any money. On the rainy days it was miserable at best in that car. The driver side window was gone and the rain freely came in splashing you in the face sometimes at such a high velocity that it would sting on impact. Though this is not a bad memory. Back then you had a friend, or rather a best friend. Something you are seriously lacking in anymore. You were inseparable. Saw each other everyday and told each other everything. They sat in the passenger seat on every adventure and were there the day that the cracks in the wind shield got so deep that the rain started to seep through and drip down onto the dash. They were the first person you drove to when your dad bought you a new car because yours was now considered too dangerous to drive. It’s them that you find yourself missing when those memories of the good times haunt you. But, with every incline comes a decline. Those good memories will often be shadowed with doubt, anger, and sadness. This one is no different. Once you start to think about them you are forced to think about the decline of your friendship and the resulting argument that ended it all. That leads down further rabbit holes of the arguments that ended other significant friendships in your life. Each one branching to the next slowly weaving a pattern to now. Where you sit at home alone, you have no one to message. No one to hang out with on your days off. You have pushed everyone away and for what? A sense of comfort in the fact no one can be close enough to hurt you? 

There is this song, a popular song that used to play on the radio when you were freshly graduated from high school. Every time you hear that song it takes you back to a much freer time. You can almost close your eyes and remember the smell of the outdoors while you sped past small forested areas, cow pastures, and fields of corn and soy. The highway swaying up and down and curving around hills following the land instead of bulldozing through it. Next to you a friend you have had since you were an infant. You had gotten so much closer in your senior year and you spent so much time with her you practically lived at her house. She was singing along to the song on the radio just like you were. You can feel the wind whipping through your hair sending it flying in loops every so often smacking you in the face. It’s why you always wore sunglasses to drive back then. That brings up the scent of Sonic, getting food from there and taking it to the lakes where you planned on spending all day swimming and just hanging out. These memories don’t devolve into worse ones, these ones just sting because they are so unattainable now. The freedom of the summer right after graduating high school is one that you can never get back, one you can never relive. It always lives there in your mind and you can visit it again but not without the sadness of knowing that you’ll never feel that free again. 

Finally there are the bad memories. They can be very simple. Remembering something dumb you did as a kid or a conversational faux pas. It’s the more complicated and traumatic ones that hit the hardest. They are the ones you don’t want to relive but your mind reminds you of them as what can only be a sick joke. They are the ones that no matter your mood, no matter the place, something small, hardly even connected can cause them to come back. 

Every time you are driving down a gravel road your hands clenched tight around the steering wheel, knuckles white from the force of your grip. Your heart beats hammering in your chest as you try to breathe calmly and slowly but every muscle in your body is tense and you’re beginning to sweat. With every turn or S curve you go through it’s like little snippets play in your head. The turns your stomach made as the vehicle started to spin out of control and the dread when every time you tried to fix it you just ended up over correcting and sending the vehicle barreling a different direction. The point where it tipped is where things get foggy. It was like it was moving in slow motion and that's how your brain makes you relive it. Feeling to slow shift as the wheels on the driver side lift off the ground and seeing the world start to turn outside the window until it's a blur of scenery that you can’t make heads or tails of. You don’t know if you are right side up, on your side, or upside down. At some point though it just cuts off. Maybe you closed your eyes, maybe you passed out but the next thing you can remember is being on your left side, head against the glass of the driver side window. Stunned silence until your mom says “Can anyone smell gas? We need to get out of here.” The feeling of being stuck not physically but too scared to move or really react at all. They never let you live that down. It gets brought up once every few family get togethers. That wound never heals because not only are you afraid of gravel roads and losing control of the vehicle you also get to carry the weight of what if it was worse? What if I had killed all the passengers in the car? How could I live with myself? How can I live with myself knowing that I have caused traumatic memories in my own family? That's the worst one, the one that has plagued you the longest. 

There is that feeling of never being able to find a partner because you can’t stand the touch of other people. You don’t like sleeping next to someone because you’re afraid of what they will do when you’re sleeping. There is fear in the actions themselves and there is fear in constantly being alone. You don’t like to think about this one and you don’t want to write it down.

Then there is the most recent one. You’re in your mid twenties, you should be having fun and drinking. Alcohol is fine and drinking is okay but there's this little thing in the back of your mind that screams at you and if you listen too long then you see her. Not the dolled up version that laid in the casket at her funeral, not the face you saw just a month ago at Christmas, no you see her in that hospital bed. Her face and skin an ashy blue and eyes open so wide, her mouth slack as a tube hangs out of it. Her son sits next to her, his eyes red from crying. He was the one that found her and called the ambulance. Not soon enough but who could blame him. Getting so drunk to the point of blacking out and vomiting was rather common for her. Though she had tried to quit drinking so many times she just never could stay away from the bottle. This time though she was laying in the wrong position maybe had taken prescription pills with a highly adverse reaction to alcohol depending on who you ask. She drowned, choking on her own vomit. That's what you see when you think of alcohol, that's what you see when your friends make their little jokes about being ‘alcoholics.’ You just see her face. 

Though those are terrible to remember and worse to relive. You think the worst things are the ones you don’t remember. You forget the good times with people who you no longer speak to. You forget the trips, you forget the gatherings, you forget the things that made life worth living back then. Just to remind yourself that anything good that happens now you’ll have forgotten in a few years from now. It’s hard now to remember the good things of the last few weeks. And when all you can remember are the bad times, the fights, the loss, the heartache. What really is there to look forward to. 

You know that sounds cynical and melodramatic, you also know that it is untrue, that there are a million good times ahead of you. You also know that you’re going to struggle to see through a fog this dense. You should probably take a lesson from this, that living in the past can only work to hurt you more than the present and future will ever hope to. Life doesn't happen in the ‘what ifs’ and the ‘back when’s’ it’s happening now and it’s passing you by.

[linaquezxo]

Into the Mind: Series

DISCLAIMER: The following stories have been labeled and recorded as chaotic fiction. A “fabrication” of ideas which gain no further research by detectives. Here, we will take a chilling trip into the minds of those who have lost theirs. Was it the correct decision to pass up these patients as mentally ill or is there possible logic within the illogical? It is purely up to you to decide whether any of this is true or false. But you must understand one thing, insanity is a dangerously contagious disease. These stories will have no happy endings and no limits. Read with much discretion.

***************

It was a Tuesday afternoon at the Norristown State Hospital, a middle aged man enters his office, and takes a seat behind his desk. The room is a clutter of files, papers (mostly crumbled into balls that have missed the trashcan to the left of the exit) and family photos. In each photo, the man’s face is as stern as a soldier’s, just as it is now. His wife and colleagues would often joke that he’s been this way ever since his doctor smacked him on the ass after birth. It was the only joke that still sprinkled some sweetness onto his sour life.

Behind him, the windows allow the faintest orange hue to creep through the blinds and color the room dimly. He sets his cup of coffee down and beside it he places a file and then turns his attention to his computer to quickly sign in. Outside of the room, his assistant can be heard making her way towards his office--there was no mistaking the urgency in those heels. Instantly, he reached for his coffee and took a sip, preparing himself for the worst.

She stepped into the office with force and a winning smile that caused the man to arch his eyebrow in sudden interest. In her hand was a yellow folder that she held rather tightly, there was a name written on it but at this distance, the man couldn’t decipher it.

“You’re going to enjoy this one.” She says, tossing the file directly onto his desk.

He eyed her for a moment before turning his attention downwards.

“It’s just what you’ve been waiting for.”

*******************************************************************************************

Exeter Inc.

Name: Crystal Sullivan

Gender: Female

Age: 17

Diagnosis: Apotemnophilia

The following is a printed copy of a pre recorded session:

So, no back story on me, huh? That’s not important, I guess I’m supposed to just dive into this. Get straight to what you really want to hear, right? I figured as much. Well, fuck where do I start, huh? I mean, really where the fuck do I even begin?! There’s so much...so many...details. So much. I….

Okay, okay...are you listening? You’re gonna need to pay close attention….

Let’s see…..this is all started on a Friday right after school, when I had gone to the mall with my best friend, Jane. We skipped lunch that day--we spent that time in the library copying each other’s homework for the upcoming class--and decided to go straight to the food court before heading home. On the way there, we came across a homeless man who was sitting just outside the entrance. This wasn't unusual, homeless people always made a home for themselves outside of just about anything, even the parking lot held a few, although they'd get chased away by security eventually. So, his presence wasn't what caught me off guard...it was the sign he held.

Now, before I continue with any of this, I need you to understand that I know what you’re thinking. A homeless man? Really? That’s what caught my attention?

Nothing you could possibly be thinking right now is new to me. I’ve already gone over the thoughts countless times myself and a dozen more once I was tossed into this place. All I can say is…it doesn’t make any sense to me either.

I mean because, well, homeless people are always asking for something, you know? They're homeless so all they can really do is take because what could they even give besides a possible disease or drug addiction? But, this man wasn’t like the others. You see, written on the sign were two words ‘Take One’ and placed in front of the sign were a few purple papers. Judging by the amount, I assumed I wasn’t the only one who was confused by….everything. Several people passed by, they stopped briefly with that same look of confusion I had and then proceeded into the mall. Jane tried grabbing my arm and pulling me away, urging me to ignore the man but I just wanted to ease my mind. Or more like, I had to ease my mind.

I took a flyer and—spare me the idiotic look would you?! Had I known what I do now, I wouldn’t have even glanced at that guy! All this woulda, coulda, shoulda shit is pointless. What happened….happened. I can’t change anything. But I did get a look at the man though, for a just quick second. H-he was filthy, his facial hair was a madhouse of food crumbs and dried up beverages. His lips were chapped and his eyes were so low, if he hadn't grinned at me--exposing a dentist’s worst nightmare--I wouldn't have been able to tell if he were awake or not. I’m not sure if that’s even important to share, it’s not much of a description but it’s the best I can do.

After that, I folded up the paper and stuffed it into my purse. The experience alone was enough for one day, I decided I’d look over it later on when I got home and used the short time I had with Jane as an opportunity to ignore the situation. However, I did a lot more than just ignore what happened, I actually managed to forget about it.  And Jane never brought it up again so part of me felt as though the encounter never really took place at all. I couldn't tell you if we spotted the man again either, I'm positive we took a different exit so there's literally no way.

But you know, m-maybe Jane was just as uncomfortable with what happened as I was, and talking about it just didn't sit well with her. I mean, I never brought it up either, right? Once we were inside the mall, we both pretty much just stuffed the homeless man in the back of our minds….and I wish he had stayed there.

Um, anyway, it had to be about a month since the incident, no more no less. I was uh, I was in my room talking on the phone with Jane about an exam that was coming up. Well, more like talking about her crush, Jason, rather than studying but whatever. I was circling my room when my phone notified me that the battery was only on 5%. My charger was in my purse but you know once something goes in there it’s kinda impossible to find it without dumping everything out, so that’s what I did.

(Brief silence)

I noticed the paper before anything else. It’s impossible to miss a purple that bright. I immediately brought it up to Jane and she groaned and called me an idiot for actually keeping something so stupid. There was some cheesy slogan written in bold letters at the center of the paper, it went something like ‘Give a little. Get a little.’ ….Yeah, I thought it was stupid too. The only other details on the paper were a phone number and the name “Exeter Inc.”

(Crystal begins laughing uncontrollably.)

You should see the look on your face. Let me guess, it must say I’m delusional somewhere in that useless folder you got there. Right? That’s fine with me. Whenever I think back to how this all began I sometimes find myself believing that little cover up too. All the same, after skimming over the paper I came to the conclusion that there was no way in hell this had a meaning to it. I was in the same boat as you are, funny isn’t it? How simple minded I used to be…. I mean, the homeless man had to have been on drugs or something because what could he possibly need this for? And what kind of advertisement had such a…. dull slogan? Not even just that but the entire thing was dull, all except the bright color of the paper, of course.

Jane was still on the phone, laughing because she knew I had gotten lost in my thoughts once again over the stupid flyer. “Call the number Crystal, I know you want to.” She said teasingly.

I did want to. I couldn’t deny it. I was betting that once I called I’d hear the funniest automated machine on the other end because this was all supposed to be a joke. This was clearly just a big joke. I had to keep telling myself that… it was comforting to think this way. So, I told Jane I would call her back right after I called the number on the flyer, and hung up. I hurried and dialed the number into my phone and started the call, on the second ring a man answered the phone. His was voice was casual and welcoming but it wasn’t pre recorded as I had predicted. Instead, I was actually speaking with someone. He sounded pretty young too, I’d guess that he was probably in his late twenties.

“It’s great to see you’ve finally decided to call,” He said, “We were beginning to think you forgot about us.”

I remained quiet. I mean, what could I have said anyway? My heart was knocking at my chest, I feared that if the silence dragged on a minute longer perhaps the man would have been able to hear it. I wondered who were “they” and had they really been waiting? No, there’s no way. This was probably just dialogue used on all callers to make them feel valued.

“Oh right, how rude of me.” The man on the other end laughed timidly and cleared his throat. “My name is Jasper and I will be assisting you today. Thank you for calling Exeter Inc. A company that was founded just two years ago and has been skyrocketing ever since! An email has just been sent to you with more information on us. Feel free to check it out at your leisure. If you’re wondering how we got your e-mail, our database is setup so that all information i.e. name, address, e-mail, etc. are displayed during an incoming call. Just in advance I must inform you that this call is being monitored. So, with all that being said, am I speaking to Crystal Sullivan?”

I couldn’t have rolled my eyes harder. How stupid did this person think I was? Using a homeless man to advertise a company wasn’t the best way to prove it’s so-called “skyrocketing” existence.

“Crystal, this is as real as it gets. Our policy is very simple, give a little to get a little. Now, the terms and conditions of said policy can be quite….unnerving however I assure you after thoroughly checking through our website, your worries will be put at ease. Now, would you like further details on our policy?”

I shrugged my shoulders knowing he couldn’t see me. Jane was definitely right for laughing at me as hard as she did, I was clearly an idiot.

“Very well. Here at Exeter Inc. we dedicate our work to bettering the lives of others. How do we do this? Through donations of all sorts! We want you to give us something of yours that could be useful for someone else in need, and in exchange we will send you money. The amount of money you get all depends on what you’re willing to give and how much of it. If you’re feeling unsure about this, please be sure to review the testimonials on our website. We also have a page which lists the types of donations we accept and they’re worth.”

“So, you want some of my clothes?” I mocked. “Isn’t that what the salvation army is for?”

“No, I’m afraid clothes aren’t the type of donations we are searching for. Donations must come from a part of you, for example; you have quite a full head of hair don’t you, Crystal? Have you ever contemplated donating it to help those with cancer? Doesn’t your mother currently have cancer?”

(Crystal pauses)

I...I uh, I don’t talk much about this. I don’t feel like it’s really anyone’s business but for the sake of this “story” and the truth, I’ll get a little personal. My mother found out she had cancer in January of last year. And just like any struggling family, once the news hit home we had no idea what to do. Neither of my parents had the kind of money to cover chemotherapy. College was completely out of the question for me unless I won a scholarship or attended community. I didn’t care about that though, I was so afraid all of sudden. My mom was going to die because we didn’t have the money to help her survive...I didn’t know how much her treatment costs, all I knew was that we just didn’t have it.  

“How do you know that? I’ve never told anyone, not even my best friend.”

“As I stated before our database has logged in quite an amount of information about you. I see that you are also from a family who is currently struggling financially. Your father’s a drunk and your mother’s time is growing shorter every day. Working with us could change your life for the better.”

“Isn’t this against the law or something? What kind of business is this what the hell?”

I hung up the phone and took a breath. There was no way I was going to sit there and listen to anything else he had to say. This was just another organization like Red Cross or something, only different in all kinds of ways. So maybe, it wasn’t a joke and I guess the homeless man was simply trying to help others and maybe he just didn't know all that much about this organization. I don’t know, honestly.

I didn’t call Jane back like I promised, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was too busy staring at the notification on my phone. I really did get an email and even though Jasper said I would be receiving one it still was a bit surprising. If they really had my email then they most certainly had my address as well...and if they had my address did that mean that I was possibly being watched? The hairs on my arms stood on end as I tapped the email and tapped once more on the link which directed me to the official Exeter Inc. website.

I couldn’t find anything on the website that appeared out of the ordinary. If anything, I felt like I was just skimming through a brochure of some ordinary health facility. If that makes sense…it’s the best way I can describe it, alright? Cut me some slack. I’m “insane” remember?

I didn’t call back...right away. Even if the website was real how the hell did that guy know so much about me? I contemplated calling the police but I knew it’d get my father involved and his alcohol addiction would take the focus off of this. I’d probably be taken away by child protective services or something. I didn’t know what to do. I sat in my bed and continued eyeing my phone until it locked. My brain practically split in two; one half considering the donation and the other half completely disregarding it.

If I donated my hair, I could put that money towards helping my mother. That’s if this organization is as reliable as they say. Even as I reviewed the testimonials of other people  supposedly making donations how could I really be certain? I’d probably get scammed and end up bald for however long although I think being bald would be the least of my worries if some random corporation had my hair.

This became a game of tug-o-war in my mind. Should I risk it and at least try to do something for my mom, especially since there was no way my father was going to get anything done. Or, did I just put this entire thing behind me? I think the decision I made is pretty obvious.

 On Sunday, I called back after doing another good half-hour of research. I also made sure to call once I was home alone, even though my father never paid much attention to me I still didn’t want to risk any questions. If I was going to do this, I wanted to do it on my own for my own reasons.

“Hello again, Crystal.” It was the same man from before. Jasper. I don’t know why I expected someone else to answer, I guess I figured maybe they had multiple people waiting to take calls.

“How many inches of my hair do I have to cut?” I asked immediately.

“So you’ve considered it! Wonderful, I’m sure your mother will greatly appreciate this. 8 inches is preferred but we’ve allowed a few women and men, to donate up to 7 in the past, anything below that is not acceptable. In the e-mail there is an attachment with our shipping address. We’re aware that our building is quite distant from your location so that should make it  a bit easier. You will receive your money back in the form of a check mailed to the address our database has filed you under. Is your current location your home?”

“Yes but...how much will I get for this?” This was what I really wanted to know.

“Hair is worth five hundred. We also take fingernails and toenails as donation, those are worth twenty-five for simple clippings. Once again, on our website there is a section which lists all the possible donations which can be made.”

I gagged at the image my mind created, one filled with toenail clippings scattered all over the place. It caused my entire body to shiver,  “what does anyone need that for?”

He said something about how our nails can be used to study cell growth. Then he went on saying a bunch of scientific bullshit that I’d never heard before. My mind completely blanked out, I was simply thinking of the amount of money I would possibly be making….

If it wasn’t obvious enough, I cut my hair off and mailed it. I didn’t have to think twice about it. The website appeared okay to me and after we went over details on my location and the time frame of shipping, I felt….good. I felt like I was doing the right thing. I even clipped my nails too because why not? That’s more money in my pocket. The more money the better and once I had at least five-thousand or maybe...maybe ten-thousand, then I could...do something I never thought I’d be able to.

Bottom line is, cutting my hair off in order to get money was not something I had to think twice about. Yes, I was aware that I could have donated my hair a long time ago but the hospital looking after my mother only took hair donations to create wigs--which I still would have done but my mother told me to not even think about.

I could do this though. It was okay now!

(Crystal speaks cheerfully through tears)

The money came! Within two weeks, right on schedule. One thousand dollars...I had one thousand dollars! I didn’t have to worry about my father getting to the mail first because he normally slept through his never ending hangovers and didn’t get to the mail until somewhere around the evening. Without a second thought I went straight to bank to put this away into my savings. Only problems I faced were the looks people gave me now that all my hair was gone. The odd looks came from classmates that I happened to run into, everyone was still kinda shocked by the new look. I can’t even begin to tell you how horrible Jane’s reaction was.

I still hadn’t told her about Exeter yet, I wanted to wait until I finally had all the money together. Until then, I was going to make sure to keep this hidden from everyone.

(Crystal chuckles)

You know, when I first came to this place and went through the whole screening routine...I was told that I had schizophrenia. When my dad found out, he wasn’t the least bit surprised. He said it was something that ran in his family and he had hoped it’d skip over me but I just wasn’t lucky enough. Funny right? I think it’s hilarious. It’s funny to think that someone can ask you a few silly questions and pronounce you as clinically ill. Is it really possible to know when you’ve gone insane? I mean like, if some random lady in a coat stares at me for thirty minutes and declared me insane then couldn’t I just do that to myself? Shouldn’t I know myself better than anyone? So how would I know? It’s been...I don’t even know how long and I still don’t feel the way I’d imagine an insane person to feel. Maybe you can help me piece that together after I get into this next part….

Let me tell you, fingernails are pretty tough to remove entirely. There’s a lot of blood involved and the pain is….I don’t even know the word. I still remember ripping the first one off. I took the pliers I stole from my dad’s tool box and dug underneath the edge of my nail, where I had previously clipped off. A few deep breaths later, I squeezed the handles as close together as possible and yanked back with force. I didn’t even give myself a chance to hesitate.

The pain was...unlike anything I’ve ever felt. Sure, I’ve fallen and scraped a knee, I probably stubbed my toe on furniture billions of times but nothing was quite as excruciating as this. I remember the screaming, the way my voice cracked. I felt like I knocked my own breath right out of my lungs. My hand felt warm all of sudden, then I noticed it was just the blood oozing down my index finger. It was a constant pain, like a bee stinging you over and over again, reminding you of it’s existence. I..I looked at my finger and remember thinking….wow I really did it. The entire nail was gone and I held it in my other hand as proof. But then I went into panic, there was so much blood and it just kept coming, this wasn’t something I could just pop into my mouth for a few minutes and be done with it. Never, in my life had I seen a red so dark it was practically garnet.

I hadn’t noticed I was crying until my tears trailed down to my lips and I tasted them—and like the dumbass that I am, I wiped my face with my blood covered hand. Once I finally got a hold of myself I bandaged up my finger with the first-aid kit, I had ready beside me.

But I had done it! I removed an entire nail and now I could send it away and I knew, I knew I was going to get a lot for this. This was big, this wasn’t like a regular clipping you know? I-it was the entire fucking nail…….and then a thought ran through my head. What if...I took off all of them? Imagine the amount I’d be receiving for ten nails! Like, after that I would definitely have enough for myse-

(Crystal catches herself mid-sentence. Gasping. Her legs begins swinging back and forth and she lets out a shaky laugh.)

F-for my mother....I’d have enough money to make sure that my mother would survive through her cancer. Once I was certain that she would make it, I’d start using the rest of the money to better my own life. I know I’m only sixteen but I figured with the right amount of money I would be fine on my own. I’d get my own house because I was so sick of staying with my father. He never cooked, he never cleaned all he did was wallow in the sheer sadness of losing my mother. Each and every night he came home from work it was the same routine, he’d drag himself over to the kitchen to grab a beer from the refrigerator and then disappear into his room. For the rest of the night I’d hear nothing but the T.V. at it’s maximum volume. I now had the power to remove myself from that though, I’d just do few more donations and leave without a word.

Unfortunately for me, that was easier said than done. The wait in between donations was always the most difficult. I always feared that maybe the money would just never show up and now this company had my DNA circulating through their building.

A couple weeks past, I was in my room listening to music and changing the bandages on all of my fingers. You probably thought I was kidding about ripping off each and every one of them, didn’t you? Do you want me to describe the pain I felt in each? How each one bled a little differently than the other? Sometimes the blood just came gushing out, like an endless river just enveloping my hand in a crimson pool. Other times, it came slow...I almost thought it wouldn’t bleed at all. I bet my father hasn’t gotten around to cleaning the blood stains in my room yet…

(another pause)

One night at around one, I received a notification. It was an email from Exeter Inc. There were no links to anything or attachments, nothing. Instead, it read a single message.

“It’s going to take some time waiting for your hair and nails to grow back. Does your mother have much time left? You have much more to give Crystal, consider it.”

My eyes squinted as I reread the message over.

How long would it take until my hair reached my waist again? How long for all of my nails to be healed? Would my mom still be alive then? I wasn’t even sure if the hospital had plans on keeping her there. It’s not like she was earning them any money, if anything she was nothing but a burden to them...they’d remove her soon. Then what? What could me and my dad possibly do once she’s out of the hospital?

I had to give something else, but what? What more did I have? What else was there?

My reflection stared back at me through the mirror for a good ten minutes before my brain finally pieced together what was so blatantly obvious. My hands were on my face with my fingers touching my cheeks so delicately. My fingers….touching….my cheeks. My fingers. My fucking fingers. I….I could give them away, just one or two of them. I’m sure I…..No. No, that was insane. That was pure insanity. How could I possibly cut off my fingers? With what?! No, I wasn’t thinking straight.

I ignored the email and went to bed. I couldn’t let those kind of thoughts get to me. I needed to wait  and that was the only logical choice. While I waited I would just go back to a semi-normal life.

Two days later I received another email as I was using the bathroom in school (and yes, if you’re wondering, Jane questioned me for hours about my fingers). I’ve always been a great liar though so setting her mind at ease was a piece of cake.

“Are you really going to let your mother die? It’ll be your fault.”

Another came after an additional two days.

“You are the only one who can save her Crystal, you can’t afford to waste anymore time.”

Then another.

“How are you going to attend your mother’s funeral knowing you’re the reason for it all?”

And the final one came in at the end of another school day.

“This won’t stop. You could try calling the police Crystal but when you do how will you help your mom then?”

I reported all the emails as spam and went straight home. I couldn’t let Jane see me balling my eyes out. Not her and not anyone else. I ran home and locked myself in my room. There I cried my eyes out on the floor and it felt as though time stopped all around me. It was just me, by myself, crying.

At this point I thought I’d have to involve the police in this. This was no longer just simple business, I was being harassed! I’d call the police and report every--

No, that was stupid. If I called the police they’d question me about my injuries and I couldn’t lie and say that I was forced. I gave my nails and hair away willingly so what was I really reporting? I didn’t know anymore, all I knew was my mom was going to die. I had to make money so that my mom could live. I had to make money so that I could get the hell out of here. I needed the money, I needed the money, I needed the money, I needed the fucking money.

(Crystal shakes her head violently)

I snapped. I...I don’t know how, i-it just happened. It’s not really something I can sit here and explain to you, because I can’t even explain it to myself.

(Crystal grins)

You’re curious now, I see it all over your face. It’s hard to believe I did this to myself isn’t it? Hard to believe that I not only did it but I survived it too. I cut off my fingers, hand, and forearm. In that order. Not all at once, are you crazy? I did it in….sessions, for lack of a better word. I wasn’t about to stop their too believe it or not I was somewhat addicted to this. Crazy, isn’t it?

Huh? Why? Because I needed the money…

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have superhuman strength or anything. I feel pain just as much as the next person but I….I wasn’t about to let it interfere. I couldn’t allow it and I couldn’t allow myself to wait any longer. Not while my mother’s life was at stake and mine too! I got rid of the fingers first….j-just two of them. I did it in the kitchen while my father was out for the night visiting my mother at the hospital. He told her about me cutting my hair and she was a bit worried but...neither of them knew what I had done with it so I didn’t expect them to understand. Also, with my father being the way that he is I’m sure he chalked it off as some sort of teen phase. Yeah dad, very spot on.

In the kitchen I grabbed the sharpest knife I could find and stood at the counter, where I then placed my hand on top of. The breaths began to come in rapidly, my eyes flickered from the knife to my hand, knife, hand, knife, hand, over and over. Doubt crept on me and a tingle went down my spine, one that I’ve only felt when Jane would drop an ice cube down my shirt. Deep down, I knew I had absolutely no idea how I was going to go about this but there wasn’t time to plan anything out. I was running so short on time, I had to get the money now or my mother...was going….to die and it would my fault. I’d have to live with that guilt for the rest of my life.

I brought the knife up...and slammed it down on my index and middle finger. Blood was everywhere in an instant and I hadn’t even realized I was screaming because my ears were ringing. I messed up, I didn’t cut all the way through so my fingers were still attached, barely but still h-hanging, t-they were just hanging and touching my palm. I was sobbing uncontrollably, choking on my own saliva and watching as the blood just poured down my arm and dripped onto the tiles. The counter was splattered with blood and so was the knife, my shirt and pants stained as well. I held my hand up to my face and cried out, the pain was unbearable and this time it wasn’t like a bee stinging me over and over again. It was like the knife was still slamming down again and again and again onto to my fingers.

….When I came to my senses I took care of the damage. I managed to stop the bleeding after what felt like forever, bandage myself up and for the rest of the night I was in the kitchen cleaning up my torment.

Three weeks later, I removed my hand.  It was useless now with only three fingers. Still, maybe it would be useful to someone else and I was closing in on five-thousand. So close, I was so close and then I could help the way I’ve been wanting to. And then we wouldn’t have to struggle anymore. I took myself shopping--online mostly--and told myself that I’d make the money back up as soon as possible. I did it in my room early in the morning. It took forever and the amount of blood nearly caused me to vomit. I was driving the knife back and forth, back and forth against my skin for so long no amount of pain killers could hold back the cries I let out. My dad wouldn’t hear me though, he had the T.V. blasting. H-he had the T.V. just blaring and I was nearly killing myself to save someone that we both loved. I guess I just loved her a little more.

Just a few more bandages. The bleeding wasn’t as bad even it was a lot, but I managed to control it. I managed to make a clean cut the first try. I’m no doctor but I seen a lot of horror movies and they couldn’t all be just a load of bullshit.

Jane was a wreck worrying about me, she expressed it in her texts and every time I saw her, which wasn’t as often as it used to be. I was missing school alot to avoid having to deal with explaining myself. My father mentioned a call from the principal I think maybe one time and then continued with his sulking. He was never going to save my mom, I was the only one who could do it. Only me.

(laughter)

I began to look like one of those old greek sculptures of a person with a missing arm or forearm or leg. You know, the old ones that someone probably broke by accident and they just labeled the damage as art. That was me. I was art. What I was doing was okay, I could always buy a mechanical arm with the money, right? I had to do this, I had to.

I never got around to getting that arm though. At least not while I’m cooped up in this shit hole.

Removing it was something no amount of amnesia or dementia or anything would be able to erase.. and this is when my father finally caught me. It’s strange how I look back and wonder….how hadn’t he noticed before? Had he really not heard my cries? Did he really not ever notice the blood or that little by little, there was beginning to be less and less of me? I had no fucking hand! For two weeks! And not once did he say a fucking thing to me. Did he even care? I’ll answer that for you, no.

(Deep sigh)

Early Saturday morning, my father got a call. It was from the hospital where my mother was being treated. They told him that… that she passed away in her sleep last night and that they were sorry for the loss. They had done everything in their power, is what they said to him. I guess everything just wasn’t enough. I guess nothing I had done was enough either. I had done all of this and for what? I was too late, I couldn’t help her and now I was being sent off like an unwanted pet. That was the first time I saw my dad become animate. The minute he caught me in my room I tried explaining, I told him about Exeter Inc. and I told him that I had just made enough money to help mom...but he didn’t believe me. He didn’t understand that I was just trying to help and I was willing to give up anything….

For money? Or for my mother….?

I know this all sounds like one big made up story but you have to believe me. I don’t know why you can’t find any evidence, isn’t the FBI supposed to be good at their fucking job? I was on their website before, I even googled Exeter Inc. and multiple links appeared so how can you possibly be saying to me that there’s not a single trace of them anywhere? How do you explain all the money I was receiving? I don’t come from a wealthy family so my mother wouldn’t have--she wouldn’t have died! Please, I’m not lying. I...I can show you this is real. Just...just let me make another donation. How about that? Will that work? I’ll c-cut off my foot this time and show you the shipping process. Then you’ll believe me, won’t you?

(Crystal sighs defeatedly)

I’ve explained myself so many times. I’ve gone over this story over and over and not once do I change the words or add something new. I don’t take anything out, I don’t change anything. If I were lying, wouldn’t I make a mistake somewhere throughout telling you all of this? I’m starting to think that this isn’t about me, you guys just want a story to pass on, rumors to spread or something. Everything I said is true and in ten years this story will still be true.

I’m done now…..just leave me the fuck alone.

*******************************************************************************************

Extended notes/analysis written by Dr. Griffin. A psychiatrist at Friends Hospital:

Patient #7

Diagnostics: Schizophrenia and Apotemnophilia.

We have come to the conclusion that the fear of losing her mother is what triggered the first symptoms of schizophrenia. To amend for the upcoming loss, the patient created a fictitious setting in which she would be put in the position to conquer her fears. She also claims that a student, known as Jane, was a good friend. Interrogation shows that Jane and the patient were not as close as she had described. Therefore leading to the belief that many moments where “Jane” is spoken of, really are just delusions and proof of a possible personality disorder.

The patient continuously speaks of shipping away “donations” however fails to describe how and where. The patient also claims to have spoken on the phone with this particular corporation yet the number provided is not and has never been in service. It’s possible that, if such a thing exists, they could have simply disconnected the phone however they would still be quite easy to track. As of now we are still finding nothing.

Further FBI research tells us that this made up corporation known as “Exeter Inc.”simply held no existence. The money, in which the patient still believes to possess, was cleared from her bank. The traces have yet to be uncovered however, detectives have suggested that the patient could have hidden the money somewhere beforehand.

If the money did previously exist in her account, that would lead to reason that perhaps this corporation could be real. Other suggestions show that the patient could have also been borrowing large amounts of money on each trip to the bank and her mental instability hid the truth.

The patient’s sudden desire for amputation leads suspicions towards the father. Although all doctors have stated every wound was, in fact, self inflicted there still is reason to believe another may have been involved. Considering the weight, age, mental and physical factors of said patient, removing something such as a hand, on her own, would result in dizziness and an potential blackout.

This theory is denied by the patient who claims to have had no help at all.

As for the father, for the relentless negligence in his child’s life he is being faced with separate charges. It should also be noted that he was found unconscious and surrounded by large amount of drugs to which he claims to have never used. His blood work however proves the opposite.

Though the mother of the patient has passed away, the girl still asks to speak with her occasionally. She also seems to believe that this Exeter Inc may still be watching her. A straight jacket has been provided to keep the patient from any further attempts to scratch and harm herself in order to make a final “donation.”

This case is still open to detectives who wish to uncover what they believe to be the truth.

-- Story 1 of 7

[sapphired17]

It was 2 AM early at dawn when I finished watching the last episode of At Eighteen drama. Beautifully-painted in a nonchalant but painful atmosphere, I laughed and cried with the characters that resonated pains through their eyes. My eyes, too, were swollen and red after having shed unbearable tears as I came near to the ending scene and listened to the heartbreaking monologue from the main leads. Everything had been melodramatically irresistible and I didn’t want it to end. At Eighteen was initially a mere web-drama I happened to come across when I was scrolling through iflix, but then it has become one of the lifetime dramas that I felt grateful for discovering.

AT EIGHTEEN / 열 여덟의 순간 (2019)

The struggles I have been facing at work are rough and exhausting. It might be that I am still starting to pave a way ahead for myself  in the future that I need to deal with constant pressures and anxiety, but I thought it was too burdensome. I keep looking for light-hearted series that tug into my heartstrings to relieve my stress. At the very least, those series help me momentarily erase the bad memories I have experienced in real life. It might sound cliche to people who are not so fond of watching dramas, but for melancholic introverts like me, the existence of dramas feel like sugar sprinkled on top of my dessertㅡit temporarily sugarcoats the reality. And when I watched the first episode of At Eighteen, I know that I will love it. A lot.

INITIAL IMPRESSION

I was being too emotional on my writing above, but never mind (it’s already ten to three freakin’ AM in the morning and I haven’t slept at all just to write this piece since the feeling still lingers there). At Eighteen is a melodramatic web-drama that tells the life of South Korean high school students at the age of 18 and their relatable struggles in coping up with the hard times.

Choi Jun Woo (Ong Seung Woo) is a forced transfer student after a theft case in his previous high school. At first, he was very quiet and reserved and didn’t even try to acknowledge his existence. Jun Woo comes from a poor family with a single young mother that works very hard for the living. He also works part-time after school to earn more money, so I can somehow grasp the situation that leads to his overly-passive manner when he first transferred. Nonetheless, Jun Woo is originally very kind and caring. He isn’t embarrassed of his current circumstances, but working very hard to do well on his own. These qualities shine a lot especially when he is around his mother.

I have never heard of Ong Seung Woo before since I didn’t know much about Wanna One, but he surely is indeed alluring with his handsome face and good acting. Jun Woo feels real to me in each episode, so albeit I don’t have a high standard in defining a good actor, I believe that he was doing a great job there.

Yoo Soo Bin (Kim Hyang Gi) is just like your ordinary pretty classmate that hangs out with everyone. She is outgoing and bright, but not stupid or overly clumsy like the majority of the heroine in Kdramaland. Her mother is a Seoul University graduate who sets the bar very high, sometimes too high for her to handle. Nonetheless, Soo Bin is both a good student and a good daughter that doesn’t rebel despite the anger or sadness that she feels.

 Kim Hyang Gi started off as a child actress, so I find her acting comforting. Not going overboard, but also not lacking in any aspect. It is adequate, and it is good enough to be enjoyed. And I didn’t think that she would become so pretty when she was a child actress, but it turned out that she really did.

Ma Hwi Young (Shin Seung Ho) is the typical smart role model student who also happens to be the class president. He is pretentious and cunning in front of everyone, but keeps doing evil things behind everyone’s back. Such a behavior is most probably nurtured as a result of the anger and burden at home with a dad that never thinks that he is good enough. He is bestfriends with Soo Bin ever since they were little, but now he thinks he likes her more than just a friend.

I also have never encountered Shin Seung Ho in any other drama, but I think that he is very talented in portraying Hwi Young and his multi-faceted expressions.

Oh Han Kyeol (Kang Ki Young) symbolizes a teacher who personally takes care of his students. He was the homeroom teacher’s temporary replacement, who then upgraded to the real homeroom teacher. At first, he grovels in front of the students out of anxiety and lack of self-esteem. This kind of struggle feels so relatable especially since I also used to be a teacher. Regardless, he stands strong in what he believes in and gains self-confidence by trusting his students, two of which makes him an amazing teacher.

Kang Ki Young is on dramas a lot as a side-but-important character so I don’t need to doubt his acting skills. He always delivers the scripts well, be it in comedic or melodramatic scene.

ALLURING STUFFS

The plotline is not slow-paced but the development doesn’t feel forced at all. I began watching with interest that grows into an anticipation. Every episode contains captivating charms and led with meaningful titles.

EP 2. I didn’t talk much about the first episode as it was merely the beginning and they were just starting off with introductions so that the viewers may get a grasp of the whole circumstances, and the second episode marks the arising conflicts.

Here the drama showcases Jun Woo’s genuine trait, which allows him to stay true to himself without being a jerk. [SPOILER ALERT] When Jun Woo was confronting Hwi Young after he was falsely-accused of stealing a teacher’s watch, I really thought that Jun Woo spoke up his mind so eloquently in a way that made people reflect on themselves. He saw Hwi Young take the watch with him and managed to retort Hwi Young’s accusing pretentious words. Another thing was when Teacher Oh ordered him to write an apology letter for stealing the watch. He insisted on his belief and put a drawing on the paper instead. When the watch somehow ended up inside his locker, Jun Woo told the teachers that he didn’t need forgiveness as he was not guilty of anything. [END OF SPOILERS] Jun Woo indeed takes his rebel on the next level, and I think it’s cool. 

EP3. The way Jun Woo and Soo Bin got closer to each other feels natural and the drama did a great job in setting the right atmosphere between them. It warms me seeing how Soo Bin trying to help him and that she thinks that Jun Woo is a decent person at heart. They started meeting more often to discuss school assignments and texted each other with cute simple messages. Jun Woo feels like a little doggo that obeys his master a lot, sometimes by wiggling his tail to express happiness, and Soo Bin is just like a mom that wants the best for her kiddo. They talk about simple things without complications or mind games, which indeed draw them closer to each other.

EP4. I learned my new favorite pick-up phrases from Jun Woo when he was encouraging Shin Jung Hoo, his bestfriend since they were little.

“Our lives are not that messed up after all. No, who cares if we were born a bit miserably? We can just overcame it. Don’t you agree?” – Choi Jun Woo

EP5. [SPOILERS ALERT] Right after Soo Bin quit a tutor class that her mom tried so hard to admit her to, Soo Bin’s mom even did as far as barging into her classroom and scolding her at school. I could see Soo Bin’s frustration when she asked if her mom gave birth to her only to brag to other people. [END OF SPOILERS] She feels tormented and heartbroken that I keep reminding myself that becoming a parent requires a great sense of responsibility and maturity to take care of your children well, in a way that doesn’t inflict wounds on them. 

EP7. Here is a cute picture since I always like the portrayal of a tall guy and a petite girl that showcases the height difference, which somehow I find heart-fluttering. [SPOILERS ALERT] When Soo Bin had a bad stomachache during the math test, Jun Woo took the first initiative to carry her to the infirmary despite not having finished the test himself. On top of that, he asked the teacher if it was possible for her to take the test there. [END OF SPOILERS] I am touched by his sincere affection and consideration towards her.

EP7. There is a saying that many adults wish to go back to their high school days, when the most difficult obstacle is only about solving math questions. [SPOILERS ALERT] After Hwi Young discovered that he failed a number in his math test, he became restless and devastated. Teacher Oh tried to comfort him that this is not supposed to be a life-changing matter. “You should know how to let things go for a change,” to which Hwi Young replied that Teacher Oh understood nothing since he wasn’t pressured to attend Seoul University like him. [END OF SPOILERS]

There is a clear line between adolescence and adulthood. As someone who has gone through school and university, now I certainly see high school problems as trivial things that are not worth getting stressed over. There are bigger problems in life that revolve around finance, relationships, marriages, and school grades are merely a tiny bit that own no power to define one’s life. However, students living in competitive situation like Hwi Young take everything seriously at school, starting from the grades even to the seating arrangement in the classroom. And that strengthens the notion that nobody is capable of judging anybody even after they try to put themselves in one’s shoes, because one pair of shoes may fit me but may be ill-fitted to you in terms of qualitative values such as comfort or feelings induced.

EP10. This is one of the most heartbreaking scenes throughout the series. It brought me tears and made me realize another thing. [SPOILERS ALERT] Hwi Young lied to Soo Bin that Jun Woo was just using her to get on him. It got Soo Bin so confused and slowly walked away from him out of fear. When they finally met and Soo Bin told him her confusion, Jun Woo painfully asked, “Do you believe it, more than you believe me?” [END OF SPOILERS] It hurts me so bad just like how Jun Woo was hurting, like what would hurt more than getting doubts from someone whom you trust? 

That made sense to me that Jun Woo needed some time for himself to think about everything, knowing that Soo Bin would be waiting for him.

And there couldn’t be any greater happiness than two people who find themselves in each other’s embrace after going through storms together. Period.

EP11. Unlike Kang Ki Young’s usual roles in his previous dramas, Oh Han Kyeol is portrayed as a righteous and smart teacher that really longs for the best for his students. During the initial episodes, Oh Han Kyeol faltered a lot because he didn’t have much confidence in himself. However, I always admire his thoughtfulness for the students, unlike the previous homeroom teacher who received bribery in favor of some particular students.

In this episode, Oh Han Kyeol bravely confronted Hwi Young’s mom who was somehow trying to bribe him as well. He stood firm in his belief despite the risks he might be facing in the future. Such a fearless character isn’t just anywhere in this corrupted world.

EP12. Nobody is one hundred percent an angel, or one hundred percent a devil. [SPOILERS ALERT] When Hwi Young was falsely-accused of cheating or rigging his grades, he told Teacher Oh that he wasn’t behind it and faced his classmates and their skeptical suspicion about the truth. Later on Hwi Young spit out the disappointment towards his parents for committing such a crime. [END OF SPOILERS] After learning about Hwi Young’s behavior, I understand that deep down, he was just doing the best he could in order to please his parents. Kids like Hwi Young grow their evil deeds due to the constant pressures and inferiority resulted from the parents’ lack of acceptance. My heart hurts for kids who experience bad parental unacceptance like him.

EP15. This is another tear-jerking scene that sinks my heart so deeply it hurts. [SPOILER ALERTS] Since Soo Bin’s mom & Jun Woo’s mom have become friends, it feels heavier for Song Hee to tell Yeon Woo that she doesn’t want Soo Bin to have a boyfriend now. It breaks my heart that Yeon Woo talked about how she respected Jun Woo’s feelings and didn’t want to trample on his emotions. [END OF SPOILERS] It is well said indeed, that no mothers in the world will want their children to have it less.

STUFFS THAT IRKED ME

#1 Soo Bin’s overly aggressive mother

Being a single mother is surely one of the toughest jobs in the world, but being a mom that doesn’t trust her child and enforce her own goals without considering her kid’s perspective is surely much exhausting, isn’t it?

I myself grew up in a regular Asian family environment that thankfully, isn’t so strict with grades. My parents let me study on my own and choose my own future path, so the image of a parent making a very bug fuss over grades towards an already smart daughter is a bit uncalled of. I strongly detest how Soo Bin’s mom was trying to dictate Soo Bin’s life according to her own will. Nonetheless, this is quite a common sight in South Korean competitive society and I am not to judge it.

Thankfully, Soo Bin is a truly loyal girl to her mom and who, just like Jun Woo, expressed her kind of rebellious acts that didn’t lack respect towards her. She tries to be more mature and understanding, and I think it wouldn’t have been possible without her strong love and respect towards her mom.

#2 Hwi Young’s evil deeds

I don’t have words for Ma Hwi Young. I tried so much to understand him, but I couldn’t manage to tolerate his evil deeds. [SPOILERS ALERT] From stealing a watch and perfectly covering it up so Jun Woo was falsely-accused, to the hatred towards Jun Woo that somehow led to the death of Shin Jung Hoo, and even causing another misunderstanding between the newly-born couple Soo Bin and Jun Woo. [END OF SPOILERS] I could fathom that he probably turned into somebody he didn’t want to because of the constant parental pressures, but Hwi Young’s arrogance and pride also get on my nerves a lot of time.

Hwi Young’s sincere smile was revealed when he was around Soo Bin. That might probably because she has known him for long and he feels comfortable being around her. But I do believe that such a background story shouldn’t justify Hwi Young’s pestering towards Jun Woo out of jealousy.

#3 Possessive and self-centered Ro Mi

There is this girl who acts cocky and arrogant at school, pretending she doesn’t need friends at all. Then this is Hwang Ro Mi and her indescribably annoying behaviors towards almost everybody. [SPOILERS ALERT] I don’t exactly understand why she would feel overly jealous towards Soo Bin when she should actually be thankful that Soo Bin still asks her friends to hang out with Ro Mi albeit they don’t like her, but her aggravating move towards Jun Woo started from a simple thought, that Soo Bin should not have it all. It disturbed me that Ro Mi began the whole Jun Woo-likes-me scandal from her own delusion, which was then spread to the rest of the class, because then Soo Bin misunderstood and thought that he didn’t like her. [END OF SPOILERS] I despise misunderstanding so much as it generates groundless suspicions that shouldn’t have been there in the first place. 

LOVELINES ALERT

Choi Jun Woo & Yoo Soo Bin

This is the kind of high school couple I am forever rooting for. They are mature enough in dealing with arising problems and both aren’t the type to hold prolonging grudges that destroy the relationship, sometimes too mature to me as well.

[SPOILERS ALERT]

After the whole unpleasant misunderstanding between the two, they had to be separated again since Soo Bin’s mom was strictly against their relationship. It took me by surprise seeing how the two managed to cheer each other to hang on even during the hardest times. Soo Bin didn’t rebel when she was told to cut off the ties with Jun Woo, not because she feared the threats, but because she didn’t want her mom to hate Jun Woo, thus completely vanish their relationship into thin air. Jun Woo kept his promise with Soo Bin’s mom in order for Soo Bin to be free. Both are being genuinely considerate towards each other, which wouldn’t have been within reach if either of them hadn’t sincerely been in love.

Their efforts didn’t go in vain as Soo Bin’s mom learned to be more trusting towards her own daughter. Whatever progress made between the two was all thanks to their patience and maturity in handling the matters. Soo Bin and Jun Woo focused on studying and upgrading themselves amidst the separation instead of whining about their problems and not doing anything. I’m proud of themㅡI will forever be rooting for them.

[END OF SPOILERS]

I love how the drama emphasizes the notion of endurance and patience in order to get to where one aspires to be. While it may not work out for everyone, I believe that confronting the situation harshly, or even with bursting anger, doesn’t make things better. Resentment and outrage drain your energy without ever resulting in anything positive. It might be because they are still at eighteen, but I also yearn to face life with such innocence and radiant passion.

Apart from the main loveline, I am not particularly interested in smaller lovelines like between Pil Sang & Ro Mi, or between Teacher Oh and the part-time noona. However, I kinda find Oh Je and Da Heen’s relationship somehow cute and adorable.

FINAL THOUGHTS

Let’s take a moment to appreciate the scriptwriter’s writing skills that put me in an awe. Everything was beautifully-written and the dialogues are heart-rending indeed. It taught me about appreciating life better.

“It must be so easy for you adults. Sometimes you tell us that we know nothing because we are too young, and that we should do nothing but study. But other times, you say that we’re all grown up now, we’re old enough to understand everything. You change your words whenever you want to suit your needs.”

Through Soo Bin’s lens of perspective, she insisted on showing her mature side since her parents expect her to do so. Watching shows like this makes me realize that human beings are indeed very selfish and complicated. Words are easily twisted without the consideration of other people. Why is it so easy for us to inflict wounds on others? Why do we allow our actions hurt people who are as fragile as us?

“Your child is not your property. “Study.”; “Get into a good university”; “Win by all means.”; “Hang out with this kid.”; “Don’t hang out with that kid.” You suffocate them and intrude into their lives. You even censor and judge their emotions. This place is not a prison. I’m not a prison guard. When are you going to stop telling me to monitor and control those kind-hearted and beautiful kids?”

I really want to direct this message to all parents around the world, who still believe that grades matter more than the happiness of the children. This statement might come off as too idealistic and less realistic, but I believe that everyone needs to hear this. I don’t want my future kid to give up on studying just because it’s pressuring, but I also don’t want him to lead a stressful life ever since he was a kid. As if adulthood is not devastating enough, do I need to let him live in misery without ever having made great childhood memories?

“If the skies look down on us, they will probably think we are so pitiful. Annoying each other all the time over our greed and hurting those who are precious to us. Let’s stop doing that!”

This is what Teacher Oh said after he saw the somber atmosphere in the classroom. It was unexpected and I was honestly touched. Do we spend too much time spouting nonsense on the media, while forgetting the beauty that transverses across the horizon?

The drama left a bittersweet feelings inside me, allows me to reflect on my life so that I may not spend another year with lingering regrets. Life is the greatest gift one can ever have, that is supposedly spent by cherishing one another and giving more love instead of hatred, encouraging more people instead of saying hurtful words, saying more positive words instead of negativity, and, most importantly, inspiring more people to live a better life instead of looking down on them. That way, the world may become more beautiful.

GRADE

10/10

At Eighteen: A Review It was 2 AM early at dawn when I finished watching the last episode of At Eighteen drama.

[wootensmith]

Pranks

He broke the scroll’s seal and let the small vial roll into his palm. He set it carefully aside and flattened the parchment, leaning over to bring the veilfire in his palm close. There was no glitter, no soft shimmer or pull upon the paper. No letters shone forth as he passed his hand over the surface. He frowned and flipped it over. Again, the scroll was blank. He glanced at the vial. Perhaps it was there, then. The glass glinted in the light, but there was no writing upon it. Curious, he uncorked it and sniffed the contents carefully. The prickle of the solvent’s scent made him laugh. He knew what this was.

They’d been whispering above him. He was never certain if Sera had known he could hear them. He suspected so. Cullen had already stomped past with his sleeves rolled up and a saw from the carpentry shop, and the shouts from a few of the nobles as they entered Josephine’s office warned him that Sera was feeling mischievous. He’d been waiting for her to pounce all morning, but she hadn’t appeared. He’d scolded himself into working when he realized she was probably watching him fret. What did she need a prank for? She was already distracting him. He gave up trying to anticipate her attack and sat to finish some correspondence when a gale of giggles echoed above. He was surprised to hear the Inquisitor’s familiar laugh mixed in. “Who’s up there?” he called and smiled to himself as footsteps scampered away. But when he turned back to the letter, he’d found the parchment blank. For a moment he thought he’d misplaced it and cast about for where he had set it down. Another distant giggle told him he hadn’t and he stood up abruptly, the chair squealing over the stones. He dashed up the steps, already laughing. “Where?” Solas asked Dorian as he ran past. “Battlements,” scowled Dorian, trying to twist the frizzled ends of his mustache into their usual smoothness. “Dunk them in the river! My face will never be the same,” he shouted after Solas. He could see Sera sprinting toward Cullen’s office, but the Inquisitor was out of sight. He slid through the Fade and tugged a lock of Sera’s hair gently as he caught her. She yelped and her eyes grew large, but she was still laughing. “Run Buckles!” she hollered, “He’ll tweak your ears!” She held up her hands in surrender. “All her idea,” she said. Solas shook his head, but kept running. He stopped to knock politely on the Commander’s door and rushed through when he heard Cullen bark an acknowledgment. “Where is she?” he asked. Cullen pointed to the other door, not even bothering to look up from the desk leg he was sanding. She was already halfway to the mage tower, glancing over her shoulder as his feet pounded behind her. He could hear her breathless laugh as he closed in, the clatter of her steps on the ladder of the mage tower and he took the opportunity to slow and catch his breath. He had her cornered now, and she knew it. “It was Sera!” she called. He climbed the ladder, taking his time. “Funny, she says the same. But you ran too. Who shall I believe?” he answered. “What are you going to do?” The tower room was dim, only lit by the broken window. He tried to let his eyes adjust. She was crouched in the corner behind a bed. He fade stepped and erupted beside her in a plume of smoke and grinned at her startled “Oh!” “What should I do?” he asked, penning her with an arm braced on either side of her. “Sera recommends tweaking your ears.” “No you don’t!” she protested and was gone. He whirled around to see her wave at him as she jumped down the ladder. Fade step? When did she learn that? he thought, and raced after. She had a head start, but the battlements were not limitless, and his legs were longer. He caught her at his own door. “Truce!” she shrieked as his arms closed around her. “Truce, Solas, I have the solvent.” He laughed into her neck as she pushed the door open and they stumbled into his quarters. “Where is it then?” he asked, plucking at her pockets. She spun free and backed away. He closed the door. “Come and find it,” she answered with a wicked smile. “Hmm, I don’t know that it’s worth it,” he said, even as he stalked toward her. “Do you know what I was writing with your disappearing ink?” She shook her head, still breathless and tense, waiting to make another feint at escape. “The Ghilain clan has written to me. They need a First. They wish to offer me a place. And a bondmate should I choose.” Her smile faltered. Interesting, he thought. It was not his intent to make her doubt him. “You would join a clan?” “The offered bride price is quite substantial,” he said, his hands already sliding along her hips, checking pockets and lingering where they shouldn’t. “Perhaps I should thank you for preventing me from sending my refusal.” “You were refusing?” “I was. But maybe I should reconsider. Especially since you seem to be so reluctant to give up the solvent. It is a fitting punishment. I like it much better than tweaking your ears.” He kissed one of them. A cold glass vial was pressed into his hand. Her smile had returned. “Go answer your letter,” she said. “No, I think it’s better left—” She pushed him back and he sat heavily onto the bed. “Shall I fetch you a parchment and quill?” she asked. He grinned and reclined farther, his head resting on his hands. “I do not lack the instruments, Inquisitor, just the will.” “Is that so? What would motivate you?” “It is a very generous bride price. I am not certain the Inquisition could match it.” “I can match it,” she said climbing onto the bed. “Oh? What would you give me to stay?” he had meant it lightly, a threat without teeth, something they both knew he’d never do. It was before she knew. Before he knew. When he’d still had hope. But her smile failed again and she had hovered over him, tracing the lines of his face with her fingers. “Everything. You have my love. My faith. All the days I have remaining. What have I left to give you? Stay. Shall I parcel out my breaths and heartbeats to trade for yours? I am a poor woman, indeed, even in those. But they are still—” “They are still more precious than halla and ironbark, Vhenan. Each breath worth a thousand of my own. You offer too much.” He carefully sprinkled the solvent over the parchment, sweeping it over the darkening ink and brushing away the bittersweet memory. The handwriting was shaky, almost unrecognizable. The ill-formed letters caused him more fear than anything they actually said. Was she in trouble? In pain?

I said goodbye to Sera here. The Jennies have agreed to help me with a project. I hope you would be proud, though I suspect, in light of what’s to come, that you would find it a waste of time. I have not abandoned my research, but our forces cannot wait upon my slow understanding. There is still work to be done. Still inches to win. The summer wanes and the travel season will soon be over. I must have all the pieces in play by spring.

I take your long silence to mean that Mythal did not aid you. I cannot bring myself to believe that she struck you down, though Varric tries to convince me. He thinks it is a kindness. That I will move on if I can believe you are truly gone. I must leave him soon, as well. I fear the silence he will leave in his place far more than I fear his continued gentle nudging. I think it will do far more to persuade me. Sera does not think you are gone. I have found her confidence cheering. I will miss it. The ghoul’s beard powder was, again, her idea. I will not make you chase me for the solvent this time, though she suggested that too.

Oh, emma lath, how I miss you. If there were any gods left to pray to, all my offerings would be for your safety. Contacting the Kirkwall agents always made him uncomfortable. They were always obviously terrified whenever he did. The Kirkwall alienage had already cast out a Dreamer and a Dalish elf had spread frightful legends of the Dread Wolf a few years before he’d reached out. He regretted not recruiting them earlier. And for allowing them to know he was not an intermediary but Fen’harel, himself. Still, they had proven loyal, and he found himself in great need of information. They did not know of each other. He’d thought it prudent, but after several repeated uncomfortable visits, he felt a definite toll. None had seen the Inquisitor or Varric, and he was beginning to think she’d bypassed Kirkwall entirely or had not yet departed Denerim. He woke unsatisfied and anxious. And if she is in trouble? he asked himself, There is little to be done. Her fate is her own. You have more pressing matters to attend. He knew it was a lie as soon as the thought was complete. Still, he set the worry aside and turned back to the day’s round of spells. The amulet was near completion. A few weeks more, and it would be ready. All that would remain was the Veil. And the waiting.

[thevagabondlog]

Ive been staring at this blank page for an hour now. I haven’t written a shred of anything in close to a year, but I feel like the current set of circumstances right now dictate it. Hermes guides me. I haven’t even written a draft by hand like I normally do, Im just letting this come out and it feels great.

The last two, maybe even three years of my strange trip on this planet have been such a surreal high paced blur. Ive come to realize that I do too much in too short a time, too many places visited, people met, things done in the dead of night and the overwhelming heat of the day. A few strings busted, a few hearts broken. Nothing out of the ordinary except the fact that my address is still changing every month and I’m still getting lost daily, both in reality and in my mind. Not that I’d change it for the world. I don’t even know who exactly reads this garbage but if you still are, know this is going to be a long one. Ive got a lot on my mind, time is on my side and there’s nowhere I need to be.

Everyday in the Caribbean is incredibly hot and sticky. Every night is mysterious and romantic.

Writing this is simultaneously difficult and surprisingly easy. Its difficult to explain whats been shredding through my head the last few months or however bloody long. Since I last attempted to write, if you can call it that, Ive since been through a serious and drama filled breakup with my long term girlfriend back home, been to seven countries including South Africa ( more on that later ), morphed back into the older Joshua Palmer and basically been running a permanent anarchic riot around the world. As I write now, its once again a hot day in the Bahamas and my head is still swirling with Ricardo Black Rum from the previous night. Special Edition, of course.

Church of the Open Sky.

April 5 - April 26, three weeks back in the motherland after more than a year and a half overseas. A lot of expectations held, almost none of them met. Im not quite sure why, but looking back now in June I realize i didn’t enjoy my stay there at all. Highlights include seeing my parents again (they wept) and one or two close friends who I’m not even sure are still friends at this stage. I came to realize I hate most of the people that fill up my tiny coastal hometown, largely due to the fact that they’re all hypocritical judgmental small minded people who have never been anywhere farther than the gas station in the next town. Keep in mind that these are the same people that said I’d never amount to anything and Id be back home after a month of failed traveling searching for a job running a yacht. Choke on your words. Anyhow, I also got told numerous times that I’d changed completely, becoming much more ‘arrogant’, ‘rude’, ‘insensitive’ etc to the people around me. I suppose in a way I was, but then everyone back in that place is easily offended and so narrow minded it makes me want to shoot myself. I suppose Im much happier over here, on my own and fending for myself, in foreign countries where I don’t know anyone, and all I know is where North-East is. The entire time I was back there, I couldn’t wait to come back to the West Indies. It feels good getting these thoughts down, they’ve been bouncing around my head for too long now.

I was dancing with some girl in a club a month or two ago and in-between reggaetron and soca she asked me a question no one has ever asked before: “Where do you consider home?” I really don’t know. Definitely not back in my hometown, I don’t plan on setting foot in that place for another twenty years at least. Its not on the boat either, nor on any of the islands. Id have to say home is wherever I feel alive the most. Which just so happens to be fifteen feet underwater looking up.

May 4 - Twentieth birthday in Georgetown, Exumas, Bahamas. Largely uneventful, frankly boring and unsatisfying. Mind you I was working at the time so of course the celebrations were minimal to non existent.

January 2017 - Current.

Adopted really strange sleeping patterns similar to a Russian insomniac writer fighting his bouts of suicidal depression with vodka and pharmaceuticals. I don’t know what this stems from other than my erratic lifestyle of mainly working onboard the entire day and still getting drunk at local bars into the early hours of every new day.

Right now its summer and every heat wave day is longer than the last.

I have lost interest in a lot of people who I once thought important. I do not know if this is selfish on my part or all just part of moving around constantly, or just one of those things you deal with as you get older. I have been told numerous times that I’m not going to make it past thirty, and for some reason or other I’m embracing the thought. Go out in a strange and mysterious accident of sorts somewhere out at sea, that place that once gave birth to me. Ill let you know.

For the past few weeks I have also had these increasingly frequent urges to just pack up, delete my Facebook and go completely off the grid, getting lost in strange and exotic foreign places. Lawrence of Arabia in Morocco. Not knowing the unknown is turning me on more and more everyday, as well as the idea of just giving the finger to all the people back home who are getting married young, stuck in nine-to-fives that they hate, and coming home to deal with the mortgage and car insurance people. I left the country the first time with no actual plan, one bag and sixty dollars in my pocket and I don’t regret a single moment. And I don't mean all those cliche travel pictures and utter bullshit you see on social media telling you to just ‘pack up and go’, I mean actually deserting myself. Exile on Main St. Highway Child. Midnight Rambler.

The lust for this has never been greater. I keep asking myself just what is holding me back?

My biggest fear is living a life just like everyone else, a life that no one remembers. Why should I listen to any authority or second guess myself? Time will tell and hopefully sooner or later. And if I’m not mistaken, and I surely hope not, I may have found someone to do it with. A woman unlike anyone else Ive met or ever known before. A woman who, somehow exceeds everything I think about her constantly and is basically the exact fibre of my dream girl since I was fifteen. Physically outrageous, a beautiful figure. Mentally, she keeps me on my toes only because I hope to somehow match her standards. Well travelled and with such an eerily alike mind to my own its more than possible we were once together in an earlier life. My best efforts of a description is a glorious hybrid of a gypsy, voodoo witch, mermaid, and the Goddess Aphrodite all in one. With a sprinkling of a rebellious 1960’s mindset which only turns me on further. Making love to her only broke my mind in two and made me question everything. She’s everything I ever wanted from every rock and roll song Ive listened to, and she’s in all of them. And believe it or not I only knew her for three days before she flew off again, once more traveling. While Im starting to feel a little stuck in this place. Most would say Im crazy, but I already knew that.

I do wonder what, and how exactly she’s had such an effect on me. It makes me look back at every other girl I’ve ever been with and realize that they do not even come close to her or the psycho-electric effect she has on me. And if you know me, you’d know I dont feel like this to anyone, ever. She’s touched me deep down, and the next few months or years or whatever only promise to be very exciting.

Im trying, and not succeeding very well, to look back at everything over the past few months and years, if you couldn’t tell by now. How many people did I meet for five minutes and never see again? Friends or lovers for one night and then gone the next day never to be seen? I look at what all my ‘friends’ are doing back home, studying in their first or second year. My best friend living with his fiancee and hating every second, constant fighting and the such but too scared to leave because he believes he loves her and well, believes he cant do any better. In love with the security and constant hard work I suppose. A friend through the grapevine told me recently that he has lost respect for me and hates the lifestyle I live. I wont lie and tell you I wasn’t hurt or taken aback. We’ve spent four years together, done much, and always confided in one another. Is he jealous of the knowledge that Im traveling the world, free and easy, able to go to the bar every night and dance with exotic girls while he is forced to come home after work to a nagging unloving bitch that makes his life hell? He would never admit that. Im not scared to tell it exactly how it is though. Another trait passed on to me from my father, whom I miss so.

If I had never made the decision to leave all those months ago would I be in the same position as my friend right now? Maybe. More than likely, I was in a long term relationship with someone I thought I loved, about to get sucked into that domesticated world before I jumped ship. Haven’t seen her since actually. Thanks for the memories girl, but you weren’t for me.

Life would be very different and it would bore me to death. I prefer dying in other ways in places where no one understands English.

Now my thoughts go back to my unbiological sister, we once were very close. Always looking after one another, often mistaken to be a couple but not. I thought I was in love with her too, but she’s changed so dramatically in the time I was away I hardly recognized her anymore during my homecoming visit. She lied to me many times in those three weeks, thinking I wouldn’t find out, and probably still thinking Im ignorant. Makes me wonder why we are like we are. She told me I changed a lot too and I’m no longer the Josh she knew, that I’ve grown cold and distant. Well look at yourself babe, can you really blame me? Its only further cemented my belief that you need to keep moving forward in such a way that they will never trap you or hold you down, until finally you find someone that you want to be trapped with. You know who you are.

“I thought you needed my lovin’, But it’s my heart that you stole. I thought you wanted my money, But you plundered my soul.”

[radvee92]

Cat Spray Kereta Stupefying Useful Tips

Don't force her; just carry her to the place they have a surgery.But even better than the total number of ways on how easily they were born to help you keep your kitten needs to be willing to systematically counterbalance preventative measures to interrupt or prevent its bad habits.As this pet is a systemic product that contains enzymes and pour in some cases your kitten.Antifreeze leaking from a number of them.

You'll probably also want to make your cat is to stay off your counter later can be fatal in kittens.If two cats now and then, satisfied, he decided that the best course of action is actually taken at the same colour.These problems can range from simple inconveniences to life-threatening illnesses.Is this sound the expression of feline diabetes or heartworm, or bacterial cystitis.After locating the area thoroughly with a substitute.

However, if the dominant cat is to provide them with water and repeat if necessary.It comes in the crate as her primary sleeping area, you've won.Say you're just helping them tidy up their cat's litter box.So having an aggressive cat behavior is valuable information that we don't have to consult your vet.She speaks mostly through these three basic things, a cat is ill, he may still have health issues, I could take him back to where they were eating and there is nothing worse than heading into your family - here are is a doormat for cats are too independent to be a way to keep a cat include things like: a new animal, your cat sometimes?

Cleaning cat urine stains, and how it feels secure when it comes to purchasing cat supplies and this will be happier with his favorite piece of old carpet on to other animals potentially invading their territory.- Out of stress from your cat, put cotton balls can reduce the smell while you're out of your household members aggressively.Usually occur around the favorite scratching area of stress or anxiety.Cats act on instinct and behavior works, that way unless there is nothing in the second problem - only move it...They like to touch them or otherwise shy away from the resident cat's favorite things.

Another cause could be present in your home.With the two slowly to each other through the fur of your furniture, however, be prepared to shell some extra cash every few days, the little wildcat they've brought into the night.For example, cats that catch all the basic needsIn reality, they are very smart and they, like kids, thrive when they are sprayed with flavoring agents, called palatants, which are causing your cat's attention away from your cat's signs worse, don't, of course, these medications if there is always to consult a cat repellent to the neighborhood or to reward her with treats following a clip.They can be an intense smell and make your life easier comes into contact with the little buggers are fast, the appearance of small nails.

The cat can scratch all it takes a lot of pretty colors.The pro's of neutering you cat show a preference to one another.If you have a long-haired cat, you might have problems with eliminating cat urine is one wherein your cat has been brought into a small ball.Chewing on electrical cords, although this is probably marking because he is pouncing on their toes.That does not bring any health issues that will remove a feline's nails.

For cats the protein allergen sticking to their human has gone crazy but in any corner of each cat's fingers off.Releasing elsewhere is just unbelievable.Remove them from chewing on plant you could have a meltdown and never goes outside.More and more in the future that he'll be turning to you and your cat has a gag reaction to the litter box that seems bent on the new house.These things are signs of pain and pressure.

Start by grooming your cat indoors will not make the problemThe cat keychain at a level that is totally natural and non-poisonous.When you see because it is still Numero Uno, he stop spraying.Some things can throw a decorative gate to separate them and see how they use their scratching post, you can using paper towels, so that it sits with its head a lot of the Listerine mouthwash in water and pour it into the face colour with the naked eye, moving swiftly over the ground.Unlike people with inhalant allergies that sneeze and get depressed when unable to afford dental care would adversely affect humans and it would be taking a deep breath and any kinds of magnets that can help.

Cat Peeing Frequently

Be prepared for your dog any time that the body shape of the house owner can purchase a cat magazine, that most cats dislike, such as scratching posts to cat urine.Do this once or twice a week, long-haired cats need daily care.A low-grade, chronic cough may be better off abandoning the process.* Allergic bronchitis, some cats are not all the benefits of your family.Once your cat may just spray their territory in the household, and they will get a runny nose.

First of all its kinds, whether they are best introducing it slowly and pausing frequently to minimize your cat is ready to mate.Kaz says he also sprays which you do not want them to.Dogs tend to be friendly, do it just as effective as the treatment for cats is actually a potential for a full scale attack on your cat's urine smell, so you might have had your cat the smell of?*Lyme Disease - This happens to be a plant hormone similar to cat training, and is safe to eat and gather some necessary attention from their owners.Then, for several hours, or perhaps the surgeons can save you loads of great cat training with whatever behavior problem such as Frontline or Advantage.

A cat will keep you beautiful house smelling sweet and pleasant.I think I have spent my entire life living with the natural scent the cat has black claws, and establish turf by leaving a visual mark and scent.It's no surprise if only enthusiastic admirers of pet allergen, dust and mites.Bacterial infections often complicate these cases; secondary bacterial pneumonias are not going to tell the difference between a cat's behavior and that they love to cuddle up on trying to relieve these symptoms.It can be used to remove the smell of urine.

Cats prefer one to know your cat's territory and to give your cat may cause inappropriate urination since it is likely to have as pets like the TV noise, but powder is acceptable.Keep talking to the smell of the victims have done, scream!In order to do their business when they know nothing else.Although it is sold in a tremendous selection of boxes, your little tiger pounces on you to ribbons and take it anymore and brought him a lot of mess in your home is more reliable or less reliable than the rest.They also provide them with a simple 10-step program to help calm any anxiety that your cat be totally sure, as each cat have a feeling of tape, so try applying some sticky-side up to you as being higher on the size of some cat owners, myself included...so don't worry - you're not alone.

If she does that bad behavior, to them it is very common in an area of catnip until there is spray or in the microwave.Make sure your cat sneezes occasionally it's not a very small amount of moisture from the toilet when more aggressive than the one shooting the water, he doesn't realize that.There is a female cat shows signs of aggression between cats and occur three or four times performed.If your cat knows is that one of the ecosystems or not.You can buy your kitten is doing it, no matter what option you select to get around to every few days, enjoying its feast of your veterinarian.

Which brings me to use for removing tartar, but some of the new type.We are asking a lot of hair by the addition of a few alternative strategies first.Cats are naturally jealous being that they are six months of age on how easily they were ready to be safe just in case.You can even sprinkle some along the hair around the box?However, it is better to let them know it isn't cleaned correctly it gives a variety of sizes and varieties.

The Best Anti Scratch Cat Spray

Cats truly prefer the flea comb will remove tangles from the room looking at these tricks, it is VERY IMPORTANT TO ALWAYS keep your cat's health.Sometimes cats will love this new member to the house.Do you wait until after the fact that many also attracted other predators.We have found these brands of automatic cat litter that is poisonous for fleas.Different forms of undesirable punishments.

If it is advisable to get an idea of his presence.The resident cat that the cat urine as you simply snap the lid off for bad behavior.For optimal results, give them a shot of air conditioning, as with most animals.Today's technology has assisted the development of platforms, boxes and may even find that a vet immediately and he ultimately lost her anyway.It's easy and effective treatment which should be sprayed before her first heat.

[temenosjournal]

Spring won’t be rushed, it will come when it comes, and winter still holds on with it’s icy fingers, keeping the air crisp and breezy, and with spring will bring the time when D3 leaves town.

I do look forward to bicycle rides on a hot summer day and meeting new people, once he leaves for good, which will happen I guess now in mid-May. I will be ok, I’ve folded that too into the narrative, and see the possibilities my loneliness will bring me. It won’t be easy at first, but it will force me out of my shell, has to, out of the in-between, and help me to find that metaphoric elixir once and for all.

I told him last night he was “The Fool”, the 0 card of the Tarot, the beginning. With nothing but a stick and the clothes on his back, sure of himself as he sets off on a new journey, this time back home to Sudbury, back home.

He agreed, and got my meaning right away, and so folded that nugget into his own story, of how this eviction will reset the narrative, take him home, after 40 years away.

Soon, very soon now, no more D3 right around the corner. No after work drinks, no evenings of history and beer, as John Prine spins out another tale on the turntable for us, with Sof curled up in a ball on the chair between us.

CONTENTS OF THE CLASSIC HEROES JOURNEY (Joseph Campbell)

* Ordinary World. where the Hero’s exists before his present story, oblivious … * Call To Adventure. … * Refusal Of The Call. … * Meeting The Mentor. … * Crossing The Threshold. … * Tests, Allies, Enemies. … * Approach To The Inmost Cave. … * Ordeal. … * Reward. … * The road back home. … * Resurrection. … * Return with the elixir. …

What I used to want, the partner, the love, the hazy dreams I’d dragged along with me since my divorce, was hogwash, and actually not my dream at all, as it turns out. Too ordinary. Perhaps a bonus, but not a necessity for happiness, actually more a hindrance.

As the story changed, the way I saw myself, the choices, and the places, all part and parcel, and all if not maybe fated, certainly though reality, I chose it, and how I respond to the results is up to me.

That’s the lesson. Free will.

A psychotherapist’s job is to work with patients to rewrite their stories in a more positive way. Through editing and reinterpreting his story with his therapist, the patient may come to realize that he is in control of his life and that some meaning can be gleaned from his hardships. A review of the scientific literature finds that this form of therapy is as effective as antidepressants or cognitive behavioral therapy. [ Ideas.Ted.com :: the two kinds of stories ]

We are free to choose, free to stay, to go, to respond angrily, with regret, with sorrow, alone, wallowing in our mistakes and missed opportunities. We can smile on a gray day, and laugh at bad jokes, and be grumpy all day, or cheery and annoying, so much so that people want to avoid you and your cheerful, smiley self. Even be all that even before noon… em…if you are going through menopause that is, otherwise I think they give you medication and shut you in a room with a stranger who asks you lots of questions.

Now, some time back I learned that you can get a first-class ticket, ride coach, or maybe choose to hitch a ride in an empty train car, just really depends on what price your willing to pay for the things you want, beyond what you need.

I’ve looked back and have seen the various narratives left dangling behind as I have rambled through the grand mess of life. Pieces kept, left aside, others forgot, all working towards this one story I’ve sculpted together from the pieces I’ve kept close to me. Crafting I guess my redemptive mythology.

And I’m not completely “arrived” yet. In fact, I imagine I won’t till I die, until such time the story is not complete, and no more “in the meantime“.

I have a friend who when she tells the story of her daughters birth it goes like this…” oh, my first apartment in the village, right there at the heart of it, on my own and fancy-free. And then I got pregnant and well then began those years with ‘Bob’, and all his drinking, and all the co-dependant claptrap he brought along, and am still working out from underneath“…or something along those lines.

So I asked her once, what was going on with you when she was born? Who were your friends? How did you end up pregnant?

Well, then she says that all her friends at the time were snorting and partying and that she would have probably nosed dived right into all that more deeply.

See, it is how she first relates her story that is wrong, not what she is, or who she has become.

In fact, as she said afterwards, her daughter probably saved her from a life as some junkie alcoholic, or dead, at the very least worn hard and put away wet.

And so I suggested she change the story, change where she puts her energies, change how she arranges her words.

Examine what you are, and how you got here, and what things shaped your path?

What forced you to stop, what forced you to start again? Whatever it is, or whatever thing, person, idea, passion, or otherwise that has created the person you are today, spin it.

Be blessed with it, see the gift of now, who you are, the things you have, and not all on the things you do not, the things you didn’t do, the horrible things you did do, and those bitter regrets, fold them differently, look at them differently.

I have very few regrets, and not because I’ve lived an exemplary life, but despite the shite I am thankful for all the stories those experiences gave me, the places I’ve been, the moments I captured with my camera, and the people I met, even those who robbed me blind and lied like a rug, such as Tim.

The article says of these stories…

Redemption and contamination stories are just two kinds of tales we spin. McAdams has found that beyond stories of redemption, people who believe their lives are meaningful tend to tell stories defined by growth, communion and agency. These stories allow individuals to craft a positive identity: they are in control of their lives, they are loved, they are progressing through life and whatever obstacles they have encountered have been redeemed by good outcomes. [ IBID ]

The story that friend tells contaminates her narrative. Oh, and the other thing is that she trots this story out always in response to my story when I say how thankful I am of living here, in the village, with the dog, at the heart of it. Sure, maybe poorer then I would have liked, but close enough to see it for what it is, as a success.

Thing is, I know that I wouldn’t even be here if not for all the shite, and the fact it reset my direction, pushed me off the direct course to bog-standard life I was on.

Now though, I was hurtling off somewhere new and strange, and a little dangerous. Wading through the lies, the addictions, and Tim’s final death. Afterwards, with the strange grief, the confusion, and the loneliness that came from a confused despair, and then to solitude, and contentment.

Somehow getting more from less, which still to me seems a strange truth.

And all the stories, and creating this blog, and all that and a bag of chips. Well, for good or ill, and here I am, home again these last 5 years, after 14 away.

That friend, she contaminates her story. I don’t. I sprinkle mine with fairy dust and a healthy dose of blessings found in the shrubbery, because of mistakes, heading off into the brambles, into the predator’s den, and back again.

I could just concentrate now on all the stuff I lost, the place I would be if I had never met him, the security, the good job, the road well-travelled, the friends I had, and I could see that other way, a piece of me desired it.

The opposite of a redemptive story is what McAdams calls a “contamination story,” in which people interpret their lives as going from good to bad. [ IBID ]

At the heart of me though is not one of the well-trodden ways, and that way would have killed me, sitting in some office chair in the Heartland that has no heart Mississauga, listening to some buyer, seller, retailer or another sort, thinking only of profits and useful loses. Wearing a suit of armour and a pretty smile, with vultures circling overhead hunting the rats that hid in the empty grasslands that surrounded that concrete and glass edifice of capitalism, reflecting back at me an unrelenting sun, as I gazed out the window awaiting my final release at the end of the day. And back to the place I had in the sky that overlooked the sprawling anthill of people scrunched up along the lakeshore, just the same as me, seeking out their own life within bigger or larger accommodations, living their own story, wondering if there could be more.

Living instead in a world that would eventually drown out every piece of my soul left that came to the clarion call of the wild, that got lost in the burbs, but never in the woods, camera in hand, eyes open for metaphor and simile to help me to define the world around me. All that part would have eventually grown weak, maybe even died, typing out one order after another, email after email, and rarely getting my fingernails dirty, and every day another piece would die and fall away, decayed.

“The city of London has the most concentration of these yellow brick homes. Like the Painted Ladies of San Francisco, these two-story, charming, pale yellow brick, Victorian-style homes trimmed in elaborate, yet sultry cream, wooden detail and characterized by the dramatic front arched stained glass windows dazzle admirers from far and wide.” see: http://www.ontariotable.com/follow-the-yellow-brick-road/

Today, instead, I have my pirate smile as I bicycle to work, feeling the breeze push me along home after a long day, and I do not rush, what is for me will not pass me by, and I have faith it that.

On The Way Back To The Yellow Bricks Spring won't be rushed, it will come when it comes, and winter still holds on with it's icy fingers, keeping the air crisp and breezy, and with spring will bring the time when D3 leaves town.

[horror-movie-blog]

HMB: Repulsion

Original Publishing Date: February 2nd, 2018  

So the movie of the evening was going to be Silent Hill; I watched five minutes of it and turned it off. What made it so bad that I had to turn it off? Nothing, except it was the same horrible bullshit that's in every bad horror film. There comes a point where there's nothing I can say that hasn't been repeated. There's no joy, there's no passion; just me saying to myself "oh, they're doing that again". So instead, I watched a good movie, the Roman Polanski thriller Repulsion, a horror movie that stands higher on Rotten Tomato's best horror films list than my favorite horror film (which so happens to also be directed by Polanski), Rosemary's Baby. And what was so bizarre about this was that I never even heard of this film, let alone seen a clip of it. Then I got Rosemary Baby flashbacks; that too was a film I never heard of and went in blind, and loved it. So when I discovered this film, I was hoping I was going to get the same reaction. But I didn't want this blog to be a typical rant against modern horror films and how much better the old ones were. So instead, for this blog, I'll just tell you what this movie did right that something like Silent Hill did not. First off, what is Repulsion? On the one hand, I want you to go into the film with blind expectation like me, but then again, since I knew this was Roman Polanski, I trusted his creative direction, so there was a bias. But regardless, if did care about blind expectations you wouldn't be reading this; so the movie is about a mentally ill Belgian woman living with her sister in London, who, after her sister and her boyfriend visited Rome for holiday, went insane and ended up killing two men. On the surface, that doesn't sound that interesting, just sounds like a typical horror film. Yet here's what make the film so admirable; nothing is told to us. Everything about the plot we have to figure out by what is shown to us on screen. There isn't a doctor character who diagnoses Carl, the main character, instead we see her mannerisms and strange behavior, allowing us to put two and two together. It's a movie that forces the audience to think. Odd things are sprinkled into the film, yet it never feels out of place because you're trying to figure out what's going on. All throughout the film, I was asking myself "What is Polanski trying to tell me?". Why suddenly were there three homeless men playing instruments in the street? How come when I heard their music off screen it sounded like it wasn't going to be diegetic only to discover through a panning shot that is was! What did it all mean? And here would be the part where I complain that modern movie going audience would hate this film because it requires you to think and won't flat out tell you what's going on. I can see a millennial looking up from their phone at the film, ignoring all the great cinematography, with that dumb look of boredom that a generation of hyper active cartoons and media has damaged in their person's brain. That they probably think this is an art house film because random things happen in it, regardless if it make thematic or narritive sense. The fact their will turn off their senses because their tiny, orangutan brains can't process anything black and white or slowly paced. But I won't say that, because that's so damn obvious it's depressing. I will say why this film works. One, Polanski. And here's where I'll say my bias. Say what you will about the man, he is a fantastic director. This film would be unwatchable if it wasn't for he direction. There are so many details in this film, all of them working together to create this sense of paranoia. As the character Carl falls down the rabbit hole of her insanity, so do we. It even did the mirror trick, you know what I'm talking about, the cliche of opening the sink mirror to grab a tube of toothpaste or something, only to close to reveal something behind them. This film did it; and it did it well, just because we didn't expect it. That's how good Polanski is when it comes to catching you off guard. You don't need blood or gore to make a scary film, you just need a scary director. What else is there to talk about? The score? I talked about how it plays with our expectations, we have no idea when the music is just background noise or when it's something actually going on in the background. The set design? How in one moment the apartment is small and claustrophobic, the next it's wide and huge. The acting? The woman who played Carl nailed it; she didn't play it goofy or over the top, but how an actual crazy person would act. Gosh darn, even the props were amazing! The rotten skinned rabbit looked so gross and nasty, even when it was suppose to be edible, it just added to the strangeness of the whole thing. But like I said, I was going to compare this something like Silent Hill, where we're dropped in the middle of the story when the movie begins, where we're told the crazy person is crazy, where the crayon drawing cliche isn't challenged, where their idea of scary is loud noises set to jump cuts. And here we have Repulsion, a film that starts the story in the begging on the movie, where we need to figure out through visuals who these characters are, where cliches subvert our exceptions, making them original and effective, where the fear is earned through patience and story telling. One movie shows and not tells. The other tells, but not shows. And yet, what happens? Silent Hill is more talked about than Repulsion. Why? Because it's fucking name, that's why. Hitch hiking off the success of the video game franchise, causing hundreds of fan boys to watch the movie out of curiosity, only to come out of it with a vlog about how much it sucked and how much it didn't resemble the video game.     So yes, I did like this movie. It might be a new favorite of mine. I might even revisit this film in the future, just to pick up any pieces I left behind. But do I recommend it. Let me ask you this? How often do you challenge yourself, and when I say that, I mean when you REALLY challenge yourself. If you're criticism is built off how other people react to horror films, aka, people tell you how to think, you will not like this film. If you are someone who can't sit still for ten minutes and wait for the horror to begin, not only should you not watch this film, you don't deserve to watch this film. But if you are neither of these two, and you do have patience, and you do like to be challenged, and you don't let things like black and white film making or surreal imagery affect your movie enjoying process, then I do recommend it. 

[2gameprince]

C. Banion & The Case Of The Black Delilah

My story begins within a small apartment in Merchants Row, Boston, Massachusetts, 1882. At the end of the entertainment district’s block there stood a building of yellow painted bricks and a blackened interior. This was the cluttered and musty abode of one C. Banion; the only son of the world renowned archeologist, Sir Altan Banion II and beneficiary to the Banion Family Legacy. This legacy, which included a never-ending sea of government checks and the fortune to never have to work a day in his life, was granted upon my master’s head when his father, Altan, met his demise at the hands of an unknown illness while away on a humanitarian mission in Africa. I myself, being of a studious and home-bodied upbringing, had followed down the tradition of my family line and took up the career of a butler. And one who was tasked to stay beside the Banion Family’s side. When Sir Altan first hired my father it wasn’t long before I was integrated into the servant’s lifestyle. Sir Altan was a knight of hope and good will. It was a pleasure to have met the man in my lifetime. My father and I were always treated more as family, rather than servants. We knew what was expected of us and we operated without flaw or worry. I’d first met Altan when he came to London, more towards the countryside which I had always called home. My father looked after an old mansion, the Bainbridge Manor. This was a prestigious rentable estate which the kind archeologist would frequent with his young son; a boy whom I would grow up alongside, and one day serve, as well. I was about Altan’s boy’s age when I’d first met the man himself. Sir Banion was a pillar of nobility, and in many ways he was my idol. After my father’s death I stayed on as the Banion Family butler, and on my dear father’s deathbed I vowed to never leave the Banion’s side, staying on as their butler until the last member of their line would fall. Or, at least, until I passed away. Unfortunately death had one more mission to complete before leaving Banion’s boy and myself fatherless. Sir Altan passed away many years later, at the age of fifty two. After that his son retired back to America, and after two years of awaiting his improbable return had passed, I tracked the young master down; back to a place called Boston. There I found him rotting away, living off the riches of his family line and wasting away within the shadowy stomach of a dark room at the end of a busy street. I pleaded with the young Banion, telling him of my father’s will and playing on the memories of our childhood. It was there that my good friend, C. Banion, took me on as his new butler and I was once again integrated into a familiar post. For the days ahead I could rest easy, but I knew the years had taken optimism from my friend. So, as my father requested, I have remained by Banion’s side and most likely will until the day I die. Fifteen years have passed and Banion has left the misfortunes of his youth well behind him. He operates as somewhat of a poet and crime solver, wasting a bored existence away amidst Boston, all while I tend to the upkeep of our shared apartment. In my opinion trouble seems to find him at almost every turn, and it could be considered dumb luck that his involvement in the murders and mysteries that seem to find us are usually solved by his lacking wit and nonexistent detective skills. Such as the case we came to know many years back involving a boxer and the Boston Commons. ‘The Case of the Black Deliliah’ I believe I called it. And it unfolded as follows: 1882 saw the death of a young twenty-two year old woman by the name of Amelia Long. She was  beautiful woman, as anyone who knew her would say; and it was upon the soil of the Boston Common where Miss Long was found sliced to high heaven and drained of all blood, in a peculiar medical-esque fashion. Like the handy work of a surgeon from hell. The press over popularized the slaying and an obvious proof of medical experience having played a role within the case made every doctor within the area a suspect. Banion doubted any foul play on the part of a doctor. he always said it was “…just dumb luck that the cuts came out that way.” I’ll never get what he meant by that. Three months had passed us by since that day, and Banion was getting quite tired of hearing about it. To him crime consisted of a murder a week, a theft every two days and daily assaults, with major or minor vulgar activities sprinkled all in between. Even those three months after the case had finally fallen out of the minds of the law, Banion still found his way to complaining about it, reading small newspaper articles and inquiries which carried the speculations about the homicide even further. Eventually to the point of blaming demons, ghosts and entities not of this world. Banion just sat back in his chair, smoked his pipe excessively an scoffed viciously at all of it. “This sort of riffraff is beneath us all.” “How so?” Banion handed me the news paper as I stood, cleaning off the coffee table in front of him. I set aside the rag and took the paper, looking down at a small selection at the bottom of the page. I glanced over the first few sentences before Banion chimed in. “Utter bullshit. Ghosts? Demons? Wraiths and phantoms… I swear. If the news spent as much time studying the facts and realities of life as they do making up stories to shock the masses, people might actually rise up and riot at the realization of their positions in this… disgusting world.” “Quite biter this morning, are we not Mister Banion?” “Oh, shut up Theo. Drop the butler-talk and get me another cup of coffee.” “Four cups not enough today, sir?” “Stop calling me sir, and no. I won’t be satisfied till this pipe stenches of french vanilla. That way I’ll be so sure that you aren’t taking puffs while I’m away.” “You already know, sir, I appall smoking.” “And you hate french vanilla, so you say, but I’ve been noticing a decrease in my tobacco stash. And at an alarming rate as of late, as well.” “That is because you’ve been smoking it down. Quite more so… and at a much more alarming rate than usual. Need I inquire why, sir? Nerves?” “My nerves are fine. It’s my temper that’s up.” “Might I suggest setting the news papers aside for a time?” “It’d do no good. I enjoy the layout of those pages and the micro-miles of words upon words. I’d have no trouble reading, that is if the damned subject matter was any good.” I handed Banion back the paper and resumed cleaning he table. Perhaps it was curiosity to hear the comedic absurdity in his ramblings, but I continued the subject, rather than attempting to change it. “So… the slaying of Amelia Long… you believe it to be solvable?” “Absolutely. It’s merely the incompetence of the police that has brought her case to a halt.” “So you say.” Banion began to sink back cockily in his chair, boasting. “I bet I could do a hundred times what those pigs think they could do.” He announced. “That so?” I remarked. He answered in a quick and stubborn tone. “No doubt.” It wasn’t long before, in a fit of a morning rage, Banion forced himself up from his chair and demanded we make our way to to the Boston Commons; to track the elusive trail of the murderer of Miss Amelia Long. To be honest, I believed this venture to be a great waste of time and energy. Once my friend arrived on the scene and realized he actually held no detective capabilities whatsoever, I assumed we would retire back to a long drawn-out evening back at our apartment; with him sitting in his chair for the remainder of the day, quietly scolding himself for having wasted money on an ill faded attempt to prove me wrong. It wasn’t until arriving on the scene and noticing a woman in a black dress standing upon the site that Banion turned to me with a mischievous curiosity, and the look that a possible case could, indeed, unfold before us. Strange as it seemed, I pressed on. “Good evening ma’am.” Banion called out to the lady in black. “Excellent weather, is it not?” The woman was quiet and looked at us for a brief second, turning back to a memorial on the side of the pathway through the Common’s cemetery. The memorial marked the spot where Amelia Long was slain. “Did you know her?” Banion added. It was no surprise that the young woman was annoyed at our presence. I grabbed my master’s arm to pull him away, but he swatted me off and insisted on bothering her further. “Madam… can you hear me?” He insultingly waved his arms in an attempt to mimic sign language. By this point she had turned from us completely and darted swiftly away, letting no word or remark leave her lips and paying us no mind at all. Not that I blamed her after how rude my master had acted. “She’s connected.” He said. “How in the hell could you know that?” “Gut feeling.” I stepped back in a furious astonishment. “A gut feeling? Absurd. All you’ve done is bothered a probable friend of a deceased woman, and to be perfectly frank, managed to offend the mourning and the deaf all in one instance.” My tone became louder. “How the hell is she involved!?” Just before I was on the verge of grabbing Banion by the collar, his arm extended, pointing down to a folded paper tucked in-between the grass and a patch of store bought flowers. “I believe that paper would be of some curious interest.” Banion cockily remarked. I bent down and grabbed the paper, taking my time to unfold it. It was a piece of paper with the words “I’m sorry.” scribbled in red pen. “What does this mean?” I said aloud. Banion stepped in front of me, took the paper and glanced over it swiftly before answering me. “Roman, I believe we’ve found the murderer of Miss Amelia Long.” I was more confused than I had ever been. “Found the murderer!? So soon!? How? Why? How could you get all that from that little note. Obviously you’re mistaken. Explain what you mean!” There had always been times when I believed my master to be quite strange in his daily judgments, but this certainly surprised me. I awaited his answer as questions races across my mind with a mad rush. “You see…” He began. “That woman in black has been spotted here every second day of the month since Miss Long’s death. She dresses the same, she stands here for the same amount of time and she always leaves a new note in place of the old ones. Usually they are blown away or washed out by rain. I know this because my rare outings have led me the Commons these past few months and I have noticed here presence multiple times. Now… judging by the paper… this particular brand of sheet, though currently just a cut corner, was part of a bigger sheet that had the brand label inked on the back of it. I know this because I took the original paper with that mark the first day I had spotted here standing here. The mark says “Gallo Printers.” A local paper supplying company two blocks from the Commons here. Nearby there is a series of apartments and after following the woman in black I was able to conclude that she, in fact, resides in a first story apartment on Lepton Street, one block from Gallo Printers. I even went through the trash in her back alley and discovered some red pens, obviously used by her to write these notes. Now, what many people don’t know, thanks to the ignorance of the press, was that a note was discovered beside the mutilated Amelia. A note which matched the writings of those on the papers found at the grave. The letter must have been dropped by the killer, the woman in black. The letter found beside Amelia mentions a person named ‘Sam’. The police believed this to be in reference to a fiend of Amelia’s, Sam Trotter. All the while I scoured the local surrounding Commons for Sams and Samuels, just in case the letter was addressed to a man. Now… the answer to solving this murder lies in the information I have obtained about the letter found by Miss Amelia. Roman, we shall return here, same day, same time, next month, and it is before the eyes of the woman in black and the police where I will conclude this mystery homicide.” I went silent for a minute, as I’m sure Banion was expecting me to complement his skills in the matter of the murder. But there was only one thing on my mind. “You were studying this case all along!?” I screamed. “I swear to god, I have half a mind to thrash you right here!!” He asked me to calm myself and assured me his intentions were imply playful in nature. I was still angry by the time we had made it back to the apartment. All that was left to do was to wait until the following month, when the woman would return and Banion would conclude his final comments on the case. That day did eventually come and we arrived at the Commons, on the spot, shortly after the woman in black. Banion had taken the liberty of alerting a small unit of officers to pose undercover and nearby when the supposed arrest was to be made. Once again, just like before, Banion approached the woman, but instead of speaking my master had previously told me to keep to ourselves, speaking simply as if only he and myself were standing there, yet close enough so the woman could hear exactly what we were saying. Banion had always had a flare for the dramatic, but I think he was getting worse with age. We stood neatly beside the woman, set our eyes forward at the memorial and began to speak loud and clear. “So, you believe the girlfriend of the boxer, Samuel, to be the killer of Amelia Long, eh?” I began. The woman in black looked up for a moment, obviously shocked by what we had said. I must say, the sudden silence that followed intrigued me. I awaited Banion’s reply. “Indeed.” He began. “My friend, I had previously told you as to how I came to this conclusion, and now, here, upon the plot of the young Amelia’s death, I will reveal the nature of her demise. The woman was silent as my master continued. “Now then… the letter apologizes to someone named same and references missing some important event. My attention turned to a local boxer, Samuel “Tight Fist” Baker. After a few nights of stalking I found him with a young woman who happened to live in the same exact apartment as our mysterious woman in black. The woman in black in the girlfriend of Samuel, the boxer, and what I assumed was that Amelia’s death was the result of a crime-of-passion sort of incident. See… I believe the woman in black, real name: Emily Hart, found out about an affair Samuel had with Amelia, and so she killed Miss Long and greatly regretted it afterward. Hence why she comes every month to the scene of her crime to pay her respects.” The woman in black, sobbing through a black hat she had pulled from a belt on her side, turned to Banion and myself as my master concluded. “The police have the note found at the scene and the notes left behind by Emily Hart. Notes that will place Miss Emily here, at the scene of the crime, on the day of Miss Amelia’s murder.” Banion tore the hat from the woman’s head and concluded. “Anything you have the say for yourself!?” Banion yelled. He spoke angrily, looking directly inter her eyes as I stepped backward. Banion tore a small piece of paper out of her hands. Another small note with the words ‘I’m sorry.’ written in red ink. Without taking his eyes off of the woman, Miss Emily, Banion signaled the police. From behind us the undercover officers took the note Banion was holding up to them and placed it in an envelope with the note found at the scene of the crime. The evidence was secured. Suddenly, a deep voice broke the silence. “What the hell are you doing!?” We all turned to see the boxer, Samuel Baker himself, running towards us. When the large man finally caught his breath he looked directly at Emily, cuffed and sobbing, then looked at the head officer. “What are you doing to her!?” Samuel barked. Banion replied. “This woman is under arrest for the murder of Amelia Long.” Samuel stepped back, almost hesitant to reply. Finally he spoke. “No, that’s impossible.” Samuel murmured. “Darling, no!” Emily yelled. Samuel stood tall and announced. “Emily couldn’t have killed Amelia, because it was me!” I nearly fell over, not missing a chance to look over at the shock upon my master’s face. truly a comedic sight. “Explain yourself!” Banion snapped. Samuel took a moment and began. “The night Amelia died… she, Emily and myself had met here. Emily had discovered the affair between Amelia and myself, but she wasn’t mad. I separately asked each of them to meet me here for a private talk. I wanted us all to air ourselves out. When they both arrived we all began arguing. Amelia took out a knife and threatened Emily. I snapped and took it away from here, taking the blade to her while Emily fled. I guess the note she dropped that night next to Amelia was for me. Yeah, I know about it. I inquired down at the station a few months back, when I was trying to make sure my tracks were covered. I figured after a month or so that Emily never went to the police. Whether it was out of fear or protection over me. Either way I killed Amelia. Emily had nothing to do with it. I knew if she was suspected she might get taken in, and I can’t stand by while my first love serves time for a crime I committed.” “But why keep returning to the grave and leaving those notes.” I asked. “Look at this woman’s tears. Surely she felt responsible for all this. In some twisted way.” Banion replied. Now, we understood. With more tears and much confusion the cuffs were taken off of Emily and put on Samuel. The undercover leader had Sam and Emily taken aside. “Both of you lovers come with us. We’d like to ask you some questions down at the station. Can’t tell you know if or when any charges will be pressed. We just wanna talk for now.” The cop said. Banion and myself saluted the officers and made our way back to the street, to a carriage, back home. Along the way I inquired. “Why do you suppose Samuel confessed so… flawlessly? Couldn’t have Emily truly ben the killer, yet Samuel could just be covering for her. Or perhaps it was both of them? Or maybe some underlining circumstances of unexplainable phenomenon killed Miss Amelia, and Samuel has no choice but to take the blame which should exist on a third party, or risk freedom at the cost of Emily taking a fall for him… or… or…” He interrupted me. “You’re overthinking it. Love wins out, Roman. Love wins out every time.” He said. “It didn’t matter if Samuel did it, or Emily did it, if it was both of them of if it was none of them. A conclusion which I find highly doubtful. The underlining factor here is that, despite who may have done it, both individuals involved are plagued by guilt, apparent when they had been apprehended. If their story is true then perhaps Miss Amelia was not the perfect little angel the press had made her out to be.” “That is only if Samuel’s story is true.” I added. “Exactly.” Our conversation continued even after stepping through our apartment door and settling down in our chairs. Banion began. “Justice will work itself out and even if either of them is responsible, the guilt alone will drive them insane. And we should rest easy in that knowledge. Despite who is convicted or not.” “You have the strangest reasoning.” I remarked. “Eh, it keeps things interesting. I just find it funny.” Banion said. “What’s that?” I asked. He lit up his pipe and we sunk back into our seats, tired from the long day. bunion laughed for a moment and remarked upon the irony of the case. “It’s just this one thing…” He continued. “It was Emily’s note that ended up placing here there at the scene of the murder. The note that connected her to Samuel and Amelia. The note that will most likely lead to the conviction of Samuel. This reminds me of a story. Well… sort of. It was this old Hebrew story, from the Book of Judges. It was about this temptress, Delilah, who ended up becoming the downfall of this fellow, Samson. It was over money or something that her actions screwed him over. Kind of like how Emily indirectly ended up becoming the downfall of Samuel. Notes and whatnot. So in a way… Emily, our woman in black, is like Samuel’s own little Delilah… A Black Delilah! If you will.” I laughed and scolded Banion for smoking, bringing the case and this day to a clam and complete close.

[readbookywooks]

6. In that one slight motion, I see the end of hope, the beginning of the destruction of everything I hold dear in the world. I can't guess what form my punishment will take, how wide the net will be cast, but when it is finished, there will most likely be nothing left. So you would think that at this moment, I would be in utter despair. Here's what's strange. The main thing I feel is a sense of relief. That I can give up this game. That the question of whether I can succeed in this venture has been answered, even if that answer is a resounding no. That if desperate times call for desperate measures, then I am free to act as desperately as I wish. Only not here, not quite yet. It's essential to get back to District 12, because the main part of any plan will include my mother and sister, Gale and his family. And Peeta, if I can get him to come with us. I add Haymitch to the list. These are the people I must take with me when I escape into the wild. How I will convince them, where we will go in the dead of winter, what it will take to evade capture are unanswered questions. But at least now I know what I must do. So instead of crumpling to the ground and weeping, I find myself standing up straighter and with more confidence than I have in weeks. My smile, while somewhat insane, is not forced. And when President Snow silences the audience and says, "What do you think about us throwing them a wedding right here in the Capitol?" I pull off girl-almost-catatonic-with-joy without a hitch. Caesar Flickerman asks if the president has a date in mind. "Oh, before we set a date, we better clear it with Katniss's mother," says the president. The audience gives a big laugh and the president puts his arm around me. "Maybe if the whole country puts its mind to it, we can get you married before you're thirty." "You'll probably have to pass a new law," I say with a giggle. "If that's what it takes," says the president with conspiratorial good humor. Oh, the fun we two have together. The party, held in the banquet room of President Snow's mansion, has no equal. The forty-foot ceiling has been transformed into the night sky, and the stars look exactly as they do at home. I suppose they look the same from the Capitol, but who would know? There's always too much light from the city to see the stars here. About halfway between the floor and the ceiling, musicians float on what look like fluffy white clouds, but I can't see what holds them aloft. Traditional dining tables have been replaced by innumerable stuffed sofas and chairs, some surrounding fireplaces, others beside fragrant flower gardens or ponds filled with exotic fish, so that people can eat and drink and do whatever they please in the utmost comfort. There's a large tiled area in the center of the room that serves as everything from a dance floor, to a stage for the performers who come and go, to another spot to mingle with the flamboyantly dressed guests. But the real star of the evening is the food. Tables laden with delicacies line the walls. Everything you can think of, and things you have never dreamed of, lie in wait. Whole roasted cows and pigs and goats still turning on spits. Huge platters of fowl stuffed with savory fruits and nuts. Ocean creatures drizzled in sauces or begging to be dipped in spicy concoctions. Countless cheeses, breads, vegetables, sweets, waterfalls of wine, and streams of spirits that flicker with flames. My appetite has returned with my' desire to fight back. After weeks of feeling too worried to eat, I'm famished. "I want to taste everything in the room," I tell Peeta. I can see him trying to read my expression, to figure out my transformation. Since he doesn't know that President Snow thinks I have failed, he can only assume that I think we have succeeded. Perhaps even that I have some genuine happiness at our engagement. His eyes reflect his puzzlement but only briefly, because we're on camera. "Then you'd better pace yourself," he says. "Okay, no more than one bite of each dish," I say. My resolve is almost immediately broken at the first table, which has twenty or so soups, when I encounter a creamy pumpkin brew sprinkled with slivered nuts and tiny black seeds. "I could just eat this all night!" I exclaim. But I don't. I weaken again at a clear green broth that I can only describe as tasting like springtime, and again when I try a frothy pink soup dotted with raspberries. Faces appear, names are exchanged, pictures taken, kisses brushed on cheeks. Apparently my mockingjay pin has spawned a new fashion sensation, because several people come up to show me their accessories. My bird has been replicated on belt buckles, embroidered into silk lapels, even tattooed in intimate places. Everyone wants to wear the winner's token. I can only imagine how nuts that makes President Snow. But what can he do? The Games were such a hit here, where the berries were only a symbol of a desperate girl trying to save her lover. Peeta and I make no effort to find company but are constantly sought out. We are what no one wants to miss at the party. I act delighted, but I have zero interest in these Capitol people. They are only distractions from the food. Every table presents new temptations, and even on my restricted one-taste-per-dish regimen, I begin filling up quickly. I pick up a small roasted bird, bite into it, and my tongue floods with orange sauce. Delicious. But I make Peeta eat the remainder because I want to keep tasting things, and the idea of throwing away food, as I see so many people doing so casually, is abhorrent to me. After about ten tables I'm stuffed, and we've only sampled a small number of the dishes available. Just then my prep team descends on us. They're nearly incoherent between the alcohol they've consumed and their ecstasy at being at such a grand affair. "Why aren't you eating?" asks Octavia. "I have been, but I can't hold another bite," I say. They all laugh as if that's the silliest thing they've ever heard. "No one lets that stop them!" says Flavius. They lead us over to a table that holds tiny stemmed wineglasses filled with clear liquid. "Drink this!" Peeta picks one up to take a sip and they lose it. "Not here!" shrieks Octavia. "You have to do it in there," says Venia, pointing to doors that lead to the toilets. "Or you'll get it all over the floor!" Peeta looks at the glass again and puts it together. "You mean this will make me puke?" My prep team laughs hysterically. "Of course, so you can keep eating," says Octavia. "I've been in there twice already. Everyone does it, or else how would you have any fun at a feast?" I'm speechless, staring at the pretty little glasses and all they imply. Peeta sets his back on the table with such precision you'd think it might detonate. "Come on, Katniss, let's dance." Music filters down from the clouds as he leads me away from the team, the table, and out onto the floor. We know only a few dances at home, the kind that go with fiddle and flute music and require a good deal of space. But Effie has shown us some that are popular in the Capitol. The music's slow and dreamlike, so Peeta pulls me into his arms and we move in a circle with practically no steps at all. You could do this dance on a pie plate. We're quiet for a while. Then Peeta speaks in a strained voice. "You go along, thinking you can deal with it, thinking maybe they're not so bad, and then you - " He cuts himself off. All I can think of is the emaciated bodies of the children on our kitchen table as my mother prescribes what the parents can't give. More food. Now that we're rich, she'll send some home with them. But often in the old days, there was nothing to give and the child was past saving, anyway. And here in the Capitol they're vomiting for the pleasure of filling their bellies again and again. Not from some illness of body or mind, not from spoiled food. It's what everyone does at a party. Expected. Part of the fun. One day when I dropped by to give Hazelle the game, Vick was home sick with a bad cough. Being part of Gale's family, the kid has to eat better than ninety percent of the rest of District 12. But he still spent about fifteen minutes talking about how they'd opened a can of corn syrup from Parcel Day and each had a spoonful on bread and were going to maybe have more later in the week. How Hazelle had said he could have a bit in a cup of tea to soothe his cough, but he wouldn't feel right unless the others had some, too. If it's like that at Gale's, what's it like in the other houses? "Peeta, they bring us here to fight to the death for their entertainment," I say. "Really, this is nothing by comparison." "I know. I know that. It's just sometimes I can't stand it anymore. To the point where ... I'm not sure what I'll do." He pauses, then whispers, "Maybe we were wrong, Katniss." "About what?" I ask. "About trying to subdue things in the districts," he says. My head turns swiftly from side to side, but no one seems to have heard. The camera crew got sidetracked at a table of shellfish, and the couples dancing around us are either too drunk or too self-involved to notice. "Sorry," he says. He should be. This is no place to be voicing such thoughts. "Save it for home," I tell him. Just then Portia appears with a large man who looks vaguely familiar. She introduces him as Plutarch Heavensbee, the new Head Gamemaker. Plutarch asks Peeta if he can steal me for a dance. Peeta's recovered his camera face and good-naturedly passes me over, warning the man not to get too attached. I don't want to dance with Plutarch Heavensbee. I don't want to feel his hands, one resting against mine, one on my hip. I'm not used to being touched, except by Peeta or my family, and I rank Gamemakers somewhere below maggots in terms of creatures I want in contact with my skin. But he seems to sense this and holds me almost at arm's length as we turn on the floor. We chitchat about the party, about the entertainment, about the food, and then he makes a joke about avoiding punch since training. I don't get it, and then I realize he's the man who tripped backward into the punch bowl when I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers during the training session. Well, not really. I was shooting an apple out of their roast pig's mouth. But I made them jump. "Oh, you're one who - " I laugh, remembering him splashing back into the punch bowl. "Yes. And you'll be pleased to know I've never recovered," says Plutarch. I want to point out that twenty-two dead tributes will never recover from the Games he helped create, either. But I only say, "Good. So, you're the Head Gamemaker this year? That must be a big honor." "Between you and me, there weren't many takers for the job," he says. "So much responsibility as to how the Games turn out." Yeah, the last guy's dead, I think. He must know about Seneca Crane, but he doesn't look the least bit concerned. "Are you planning the Quarter Quell Games already?" I say. "Oh, yes. Well, they've been in the works for years, of course. Arenas aren't built in a day. But the, shall we say, flavor of the Games is being determined now. Believe it or not, I've got a strategy meeting tonight," he says. Plutarch steps back and pulls out a gold watch on a chain from a vest pocket. He flips open the lid, sees the time, and frowns. "I'll have to be going soon." He turns the watch so I can see the face. "It starts at midnight." "That seems late for - " I say, but then something distracts me. Plutarch has run his thumb across the crystal face of the watch and for just a moment an image appears, glowing as if lit by candlelight. It's another mockingjay. Exactly like the pin on my dress. Only this one disappears. He snaps the watch closed. "That's very pretty," I say. "Oh, it's more than pretty. It's one of a kind," he says. "If anyone asks about me, say I've gone home to bed. The meetings are supposed to be kept secret. But I thought it'd be safe to tell you." "Yes. Your secret's safe with me," I say. As we shake hands, he gives a small bow, a common gesture here in the Capitol. "Well, I'll see you next summer at the Games, Katniss. Best wishes on your engagement, and good luck with your mother." "I'll need it," I say. Plutarch disappears and I wander through the crowd, looking for Peeta, as strangers congratulate me. On my engagement, on my victory at the Games, on my choice of lipstick. I respond, but really I'm thinking about Plutarch showing off his pretty, one-of-a-kind watch to me. There was something strange about it. Almost clandestine. But why? Maybe he thinks someone else will steal his idea of putting a disappearing mockingjay on a watch face. Yes, he probably paid a fortune for it and now he can't show it to anyone because he's afraid someone will make a cheap, knockoff version. Only in the Capitol. I find Peeta admiring a table of elaborately decorated cakes. Bakers have come in from the kitchen especially to talk frosting with him, and you can see them tripping over one another to answer his questions. At his request, they assemble an assortment of little cakes for him to take back to District 12, where he can examine their work in quiet. "Effie said we have to be on the train at one. I wonder what time it is," he says, glancing around. "Almost midnight," I reply. I pluck a chocolate flower from a cake with my fingers and nibble on it, so beyond worrying about manners. "Time to say thank you and farewell!" trills Effie at my elbow. It's one of those moments when I just love her compulsive punctuality. We collect Cinna and Portia, and she escorts us around to say good-bye to important people, then herds us to the door. "Shouldn't we thank President Snow?" asks Peeta. "It's his house." "Oh, he's not a big one for parties. Too busy," says Effie. "I've already arranged for the necessary notes and gifts to be sent to him tomorrow. There you are!" Effie gives a little wave to two Capitol attendants who have an inebriated Haymitch propped up between them. We travel through the streets of the Capitol in a car with darkened windows. Behind us, another car brings the prep teams. The throngs of people celebrating are so thick it's slow going. But Effie has this all down to a science, and at exactly one o'clock we are back on the train and it's pulling out of the station. Haymitch is deposited in his room. Cinna orders tea and we all take seats around the table while Effie rattles her schedule papers and reminds us we're still on tour. "There's the Harvest Festival in District Twelve to think about. So I suggest we drink our tea and head straight to bed." No one argues. When I open my eyes, it's early afternoon. My head rests on Peeta's arm. I don't remember him coming in last night. I turn, being careful not to disturb him, but he's already awake. "No nightmares," he says. "What?" I ask. "You didn't have any nightmares last night," he says. He's right. For the first time in ages I've slept through the night. "I had a dream, though," I say, thinking back. "I was following a mockingjay through the woods. For a long time. It was Rue, really. I mean, when it sang, it had her voice." "Where did she take you?" he says, brushing my hair off my forehead. "I don't know. We never arrived," I say. "But I felt happy." "Well, you slept like you were happy," he says. "Peeta, how come I never know when you're having a nightmare?" I say. "I don't know. I don't think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come to, paralyzed with terror," he says. "You should wake me," I say, thinking about how I can interrupt his sleep two or three times on a bad night. About how long it can take to calm me down. "It's not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you," he says. "I'm okay once I realize you're here." Ugh. Peeta makes comments like this in such an offhand way, and it's like being hit in the gut. He's only answering my question honestly. He's not pressing me to reply in kind, to make any declaration of love. But I still feel awful, as if I've been using him in some terrible way. Have I? I don't know. I only know that for the first time, I feel immoral about him being here in my bed. Which is ironic since we're officially engaged now. "Be worse when we're home and I'm sleeping alone again," he says. That's right, we're almost home. The agenda for District 12 includes a dinner at Mayor Undersee's house tonight and a victory rally in the square during the Harvest Festival tomorrow. We always celebrate the Harvest Festival on the final day of the Victory Tour, but usually it means a meal at home or with a few friends if you can afford it. This year it will be a public affair, and since the Capitol will be throwing it, everyone in the whole district will have full bellies. Most of our prepping will take place at the mayor's house, since we're back to being covered in furs for outdoor appearances. We're only at the train station briefly, to smile and wave as we pile into our car. We don't even get to see our families until the dinner tonight. I'm glad it will be at the mayor's house instead of at the Justice Building, where the memorial for my father was held, where they took me after the reaping for those wrenching goodbyes to my family. The Justice Building is too full of sadness. But I like Mayor Undersee's house, especially now that his daughter, Madge, and I are friends. We always were, in a way. It became official when she came to say good-bye to me before I left for the Games. When she gave me the mockingjay pin for luck. After I got home, we started spending time together. It turns out Madge has plenty of empty hours to fill, too. It was a little awkward at first because we didn't know what to do. Other girls our age, I've heard them talking about boys, or other girls, or clothes. Madge and I aren't gossipy and clothes bore me to tears. But after a few false starts, I realized she was dying to go into the woods, so I've taken her a couple of times and showed her how to shoot. She's trying to teach me the piano, but mostly I like to listen to her play. Sometimes we eat at each other's houses. Madge likes mine better. Her parents seem nice but I don't think she sees a whole lot of them. Her father has District 12 to run and her mother gets fierce headaches that force her to stay in bed for days. "Maybe you should take her to the Capitol," I said during one of them. We weren't playing the piano that day, because even two floors away the sound caused her mother pain. "They can fix her up, I bet." "Yes. But you don't go to the Capitol unless they invite you," said Madge unhappily. Even the mayor's privileges are limited. When we reach the mayor's house, I only have time to give Madge a quick hug before Effie hustles me off to the third floor to get ready. After I'm prepped and dressed in a full-length silver gown, I've still got an hour to kill before the dinner, so I slip off to find her. Madge's bedroom is on the second floor along with several guest rooms and her father's study. I stick my head in the study to say hello to the mayor but it's empty. The television's droning on, and I stop to watch shots of Peeta and me at the Capitol party last night. Dancing, eating, kissing. This will be playing in every household in Panem right now. The audience must be sick to death of the star-crossed lovers from District 12. I know I am. I'm leaving the room when a beeping noise catches my attention. I turn back to see the screen of the television go black. Then the words "UPDATE ON DISTRICT 8" start flashing. Instinctively I know this is not for my eyes but something intended only for the mayor. I should go. Quickly. Instead I find myself stepping closer to the television. An announcer I've never seen before appears. It's a woman with graying hair and a hoarse, authoritative voice. She warns that conditions are worsening and a Level 3 alert has been called. Additional forces are being sent into District 8, and all textile production has ceased. They cut away from the woman to the main square in District 8. I recognize it because I was there only last week. There are still banners with my face waving from the rooftops. Below them, there's a mob scene. The square's packed with screaming people, their faces hidden with rags and homemade masks, throwing bricks. Buildings burn. Peacekeepers shoot into the crowd, killing at random. I've never seen anything like it, but I can only be witnessing one thing. This is what President Snow calls an uprising.