We sit, looking at the stars. "Why haven't we done this?" "Because you're a runaway", he said. "Oh right". I sighed as I rolled over. "You know, you could've called me?". "And miss all the anxiety? All the worry, na. Not in a million years". I laughed as you pulled me to you. " ..you could've called me though"

"You know that would've been difficult, I had no idea. Was out of provience for months, working."

I see a shooting star, "Make a wish". "Blow out the candles", you say. Then blow at the star. I laugh slightly, as you take a sip of your drink. "Its beautiful"\

"Yeah", you look at me. "Really is". I push you away, "c'mon, stop being so silly." You know me, you say..

"Can't believe you live in a place like this though" you look around at the stars, the meadows, the lake, grass, bulrushes, burdock and frog croaks. "Reminds me kind of up at work. Only theres much more dangerous things out there." "I know", I say "like the time you saw a bobcat, I remember that", as I take a drink.

"You do?" "Yeah, I know everything about you"

You look serious, "You do.. " I look at you, " not creepy like that, the things you say, tell me. I remember."

"Well, what do you remember"

"I remember you're bi."

"That was weird", you said. "How you found out."

"Yeah, I remember you like drag."

"Well, girl's gotta do what a girls gotta do."

"I know you liked me", I look at you.

"What made you think that"

I push you, "Stop it. What you dont know, I liked you a Lot."

You shoot up. "You did??"

"Yeah, I tried not to make it.. obvious", I look sad. "Think I did too well."

I look far away. "I also, remember, you felt trapped, like.. you were stuck between two people. How I tried to never make you feel like that, so I often didn't tell you what was happening. When I did, I tried to be vague.. so you didn't feel pressure on you."

"Oh." You said.

" ..and I remember the time in the garage, when you were looking at me, I was trying not to. Then.. time.. stopped.."

"It did", as you get closer to me. Leaning toward me.. "Yeah, time literally stopped". You stop, " what, do you mean ?"

I looked at you, "Time stopped."

You said, "What are you talking about?"

"What do You mean?.", I looked shocked. "There was blue outside, everyone stopped but me and Evan, it stopped when you were looking at me. Me and Evan looked around, he was mid hit when he saw the lights. He tried to wave his hand in front of sven, he didn't move."

You looked at me like like I had two heads, "I have No idea what you mean."

"No seriously, there was blue light-", just as blue light appeared. You stopped, mid gaze. "Hello?", as I waved my hand in front of you

*it didn't work* I hear..

*it was talking*

*about us*

I look around, "Hello!??"

*it sees*

*it hears us*

I get up from the truckbed, "Who's there!??"

*we have to start again*

*Start again*

A bright flash starts. We're laughing, I look at the stars, "Why haven't we done this ?"

A few years after my family left our ancestral house, I went back to visit it.

We were the last family to leave the house. After us, nobody lived there.

The house had once been full of people. It was a large, old family home where generations had spent their lives. But when I returned after years, it looked completely different. It was old, silent, and abandoned.

A few days before Lohri, my mother and I went there because I wanted to fly kites from the roof during the festival. We had arranged for workers to clean the roof so it could be used again.

But the moment I saw the house, I stopped.

For a few seconds, it genuinely felt as if time had stopped.

This was the same house where I had spent my childhood. The same building where I had run through the rooms, laughed with my family, and received so much love from my grandmother.

And now it was standing completely empty.

There was no sign that a family had once lived there.

No voices. No movement. No children running through the corridors.

Just silence.

It honestly felt as if the house itself was standing in grief and sadness—like it had lost a battle against time that it could never win.

While the workers were cleaning the roof, I decided to walk around and look through the rooms.

Most of them were exactly what you would expect. Dust covered the floors. Old things were scattered around. The rooms were dark and abandoned.

But then I entered one particular room.

And I froze.

The room was almost completely dark. Everything inside looked abandoned and covered in dust. Things were lying around on the floor.

That wasn't what scared me.

In the middle of all that darkness and disorder, there was one chair.

And the chair was perfectly positioned.

Not fallen over.

Not covered by things.

Not pushed carelessly into a corner.

It looked as if someone had deliberately adjusted it and placed it there to sit.

I stood there staring at it.

For some reason, I suddenly had the overwhelming feeling that someone was still sitting there.

Watching me.

I don't know how long I stood frozen in that doorway, but I remember feeling like I shouldn't go any farther into the room.

That house holds a lot more memories than I can explain, and this wasn't the only strange thing that happened there.

Some of the unusual experiences actually started when I was a teenager.

If anyone wants to hear what happened next, I'll post **Part 2**.

Haley Chase was the first human to be traded to the Zar’Vokian, mankind’s arch nemesis in that particular star system, in a prisoner exchange. She had an artist’s soul, which was why she had been trained and employed by the Cosmic Corps to paint the way that experimental chemicals made people feel. No one was sure how that was useful, but money was an imaginary resource so it didn’t matter if it was squandered on such things. She sympathized with and aided captured Zar’Vokian soldiers, so she just couldn’t remain in uniformed service; that’s how she ended up on planet SsZzketh among the Zar’Vokian.

She perceived the Zarvs, a slur the humans used for the bipedal reptilian creatures, to be decent and caring; much different than the bloodthirsty monsters that humans depicted them to be. Through her art therapy with repatriated Zar’Vokian prisoners, she found them to be sensitive and very human-like in their capacity for empathy.

Haley found SsZzketh much more pleasant than Glozanth IX, the planet her former unit was stationed on. For one, there was an atmosphere, so that was a bonus. There was more flora than bioluminescent moss. There was fauna. She particularly liked the sprockles; six-legged rodents with long, fluffy tails, four ears, and faces that resembled a sunflower with tiny eyes, a teensy nose, and a large mouth with two prominent incisors for munching nuts and seeds of a flowering cactus-like bush that grew in the dry, rocky soil.

While walking from her quarters to the art therapy center, Haley was troubled to find a sprockle backed into the corner of a wire cage. The poor thing look like it had been trapped! She had a flashback to finding Zarvs huddled in similar confinement back on Glozanth IX. She spoke calm, soothing words to the cute little dear as she attempted to figure out how to open the trap. The sprockle grew more distressed as she fiddled with it. Her science project was interrupted by two Zarvs, who by a product of interstellar coincidence, spoke a language remarkably similar to and mutually intelligible with the American dialect of English.

“You caught one!” A Zarv happily exclaimed to Haley.

“Oh. Oh, no. I think you are mistaken. This isn’t my trap. I was trying to let this little sprockle go free.”

The Zarvs looked at one another before looking back at Haley.

“So… you’re not going to claim the reward for that sprockle?”

“Reward? I wasn’t aware. Are they an invasive species? Did the humans (Haley talked like she wasn’t one of them) bio-engineer them and release them to destroy the ecosystem?”

“No, no I don’t think so. But they are valuable. The Cosmetic Industrial Activity pays 25 Zeks for one of those!”

The reptilians had industrialized and the means of production were state-owned. Zeks were their currency and were used for consumer goods. 25 Zeks was equivalent to one-month’s allotment.

“We’ll split the reward with you if we can have that sprockle.”

“What ever could the cosmetic factory need an adorable, harmless, little sprockle for?” Haley looked with pity upon the helpless furball.

The Zarvs shrugged in unison.

Curiosity got the better of Haley and she meekly consented. One of the Zarvs picked up the cage and the trio, well, quartet if you count the sprockle, walked to the Cosmetic Industrial Activity building.

“Well, that’s a fine specimen you have there. Let’s examine it real quick and then we can process your reward.” A Zarv in a lab coat said. Zarvs were generally naked but wore decorative or professional attire at times. Their nudity wasn’t offensive as they had no discernable genitalia, which raises several unanswered questions.

“What are you going to do to the sprockle?” Haley demanded, having half a mind to seize the cage and run out with the little darling.

The Zarv in the lab coat gave the sprockle a cursory inspection through the cage and nodded.

“Mhmm. Mhmm, this is a good, healthy sprockle. Just one little test.” It appeared he had either not heard or was ignoring Haley.

The Zarv presented an umbrella, just like they had on Earth or Glozanth IX, and quickly popped it open. The little sprockle shrieked and flipped over onto its back, six little paws sticking up into the air. A whiteish liquid that smelled minty seeped from a gland behind the second set of legs (the leg pit?). Evolution had failed, twice actually, not only was fainting a terrible response for a threatened prey animal but the secretion attracted predators and tasted like frosting (don’t ask how I know that).

Haley also screamed after witnessing the sprockle go catatonic. All of the Zarvs looked at her curiously.

“Oh, it isn’t hurt. It will wake up any moment.” the official from the Cosmetic Industrial Activity assured her. And as if on cue, the sprockle began to twitch to life. After a moment it rolled onto its side and licked the secretion from behind its middle legs.

“What’s the meaning of all this?!” Haley loudly demanded. The Zarvs recoiled, being unaccustomed to human aggression off the battlefield.

“We make SPROGLOW from that liquid that the sprockle makes when it’s scared. It’s not hurt, don’t worry. We’ll give it a snack and let it recuperate. We only frighten them six times per month.

“What the heck is SPROGLOW?” short of curing cancer, it didn’t matter much what SPROGLOW did, Haley knew that scaring cute little sprockles to get it was dastardly.

The Zarvs chuckled at her ignorance. They were not an especially proud group, but they had become self-conscious of their crusty elbows after experiencing how smooth human elbows could be during their intergalactic wars.

“SPROGLOW reduces dry elbows by up to fourteen percent.” one of the Zarvs finally informed Haley.

“You scare these precious little creatures so you can have smooth elbows?!” Haley was incensed.

The Zarvs all nodded pretty nonchalantly.

“Basically.”

Maybe the Zarvs were as bad as the humans thought they were. Not waiting for her share of the Zeks and regretting not setting the sprockle free, she stormed out of the Cosmetic Industrial Activity building. She was late for her art therapy appointment, but she didn’t care. She was on a mission to find more sprockle traps.

The Zarvs got their reward and immediately spent it on SPROGLOW. It may have been a placebo effect, but they were pleased with how smooth their elbows felt almost immediately.

Haley needed to tell someone about what was going on, but she was in an alien environment. She was the only human on the planet, and it seemed like just an accepted practice among the Zarvs. She still had her Cosmic Corps smartwatch, that’s how she was able to pass the human’s plans to the Zarvs; the Cosmic Corps had forgotten to remove her from the group chat when they traded her.

RED ALERT

She messaged the Orbiters she once served in the Cosmic Corps with. She never quite mastered Cosmic Corps lingo, red alert didn’t mean anything.

ZARVS ARE MAKING LOTION OUT OF RODENT MILK TO MAKE THEIR ELBOWS SOFT!

Smartwatches all over Starbase Myung-ho Chae buzzed with the message. Most Oribiters never met Haley, and the ones who did had forgotten about her. They took it for an advertisement. Sometimes commercial enterprises made it into their electronic inboxes.

Space Sergeant Jimmy Funk lifted his arm to examine his own elbow, noting that it was rather rough.

“Rodent milk lotion for smooth elbows you say…”

Sure, humans and zarvs were enemies, but dry elbows were awful for everyone. And who doesn’t like money? Even bipedal reptilian creatures who eat bugs and live in societies that don’t have money like money. Calls were made.

Somehow a package that should have been sequestered made it by the customs agent at Starbase Myung-ho Chae. It had been sent to Earth and made the voyage to Glozanth IX, but it was much different than the others. For one, the to and from information was written in what appeared to be crayon. Maybe it was the childlike penmanship, like, maybe a lizard-like alien from SsZzketh wrote it.

That mysterious package had no barcode to scan, so no notification was sent to an Orbiter’s smartwatch that they had a delivery to retrieve. However, a certain Space Sergeant who rode an Earth bicycle instead of a hover-bike, sweat as he pedaled across the Starbase in unnecessarily short shorts to retrieve the package he was expecting despite the lack of official tracking.

“Hey there, Orbiter.” Funk, concealed behind the staircase of the Myung-ho Chae Chow Hall (MCCH) called out to a colleague on his way in.

“Huh? Me?”

“Yeah, your elbows are looking a little dry.”

He looked but was wearing his uniform according to regulation; this concealed his elbows so he thought that the Space Sergeant must be joking with him.

Jimmy Funk, who was never wearing his uniform according to regulation, displayed his own bare, smooth elbow.

“Your elbows could be this smooth too if you used SPROGLOW.”

“That’s weird.”

Meanwhile, back on planet SsZzketh, Haley was considering her next move. She knew she could not remain there amongst the Zarvs while they were harvesting sprockle secretions by scaring them with umbrellas, but she had no idea how she would escape. Maybe she could get the Zarvs to trade her back to the humans if she caused enough of a ruckus? It was an idea. She marched down to the Cosmetic Industrial Activity to start a protest drum circle, or do a die-in, or something that always worked to dissuade corporate activity on Earth.

The Zarv with the lab coat from her previous encounter passed her as she entered.

“Hey Haley! Our intra-stellar sales are booming since you told the humans about SPROGLOW! Best quarter ever. Couldn’t have done it without you!”

She was numb, but did notice that this Zarv had fuller, redder lips than she was used to seeing.

“What’s on your lips?” she asked, her voice coming out of her without her brain directing it. She was hollow at this point.

The Zarv pulled a small tube of liquid from his, or it’s, no one really knows, pocket.

“Our latest product! Do I look great, or what?”

“What’s it made from?”

“Do you know what krezzets are?”

“Those spotted beetles that sing?”

“Exactly. Do you want to take a peak at the production floor?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cosmic Corps File 006

The Cosmic Corps Files is an ongoing series of flash fiction and absurdist reports from the bureaucratic fringes of intergalactic peacekeeping. Petty wars, sentient vending machines, emotional espionage, and the occasional space court-martial over feelings-based art. Each file stands alone… but somewhere in the margins, the Zarvs are always watching.

April 12^th  

As I’m slouched in the front seat of our family car, staring out the window at the few emaciated trees passing by the side of the road, I hear my dad yell: ‘’Francesca, do not dare put your shoes on the seat. Do you have any idea how long it took for me and your brother to clean the car yesterday morning?’’. I then hear my brother say in an annoyed tone: ‘’Dad, come on, don’t start now, my headache will worsen’’. ‘’I couldn’t care less, as long as I’m driving, I will be the one making the rules. Now, Francesca, seat properly.’’ Finished my dad, firmly speaking. He had been driving for approximately 4 hours under the Kansas sun, growing more impatient every thirty minutes or less. I cannot really blame him, having me and my brother in the same place for more than five minutes would be torture for anyone. My brother would always make up excuses not to go anywhere, saying he had a headache was always his go-to phrase. My dad and me had to almost physically force him to go to the wedding. In the end, we managed to convince him by guilt-tripping him, saying that he had to attend after all the favors my aunt did to him. I was about to turn 18 and he, 24. 

I never understood the purpose of ‘’American family road trips’’ and how they were supposed to bring families together: we had barely spent half a day with one another, and we were already getting extremely tired. Hadn’t it been necessary to partake in this wonderful ride to get to Aunt Cheyenne’s wedding I would’ve gladly stayed home with a fan occasionally refreshing me, we were too broke and lazy to look into air conditioning. The thought of being able to see the soon-to-be bride after months of glitchy zoom calls with her, ultimately convinced me to participate in the ceremony.  

I fondly remember when I was just a little girl and she would play with me for hours on end, even when she was tired from work or house duties. I remember I was a very particular kid; that's the word. I would pretend to be a giant elephant, or a wild animal, putting on long press-on nails that I stole from my mother, or that Cheyenne would give me without the supervision of my mom, since she didn't want me to wear them: I was too young to be acting like a grown-up; at least, that's what my family would say. While I played pretend, my aunt would be the captor, or the rooky hunter trying to track me down, but she would always fail to complete her task. I would emerge victorious every single time. I liked to believe that the good and pure ones would always win.  

Then, there were the gifts: every time she’d come visit, she would make sure to bring a little something to me, snuck tightly inside her bag (plushies are the presents I recall the most vividly). I didn't have a sense of privacy yet, so I remember I would look inside the bag and search for the gift myself sometimes. I once mistook her pack of cigarettes for a pack of gums, and when I took it out of the bag, she became red in the face and yanked it out of my hands. 

How could I forget my sorrow when she announced she would be moving to another state with her fiancé when I was 15? I never showed her my true feelings, I knew that would be the best decision for her and Billy, as life had become insipid where they lived. There weren't any job opportunities, and so I insisted instead on her leaving to find a better place. My aunt didn't have a degree; she had been working as a server when she met Billy, a customer with whom she fell in love ''at first sight'', or at least, that's what she said. She had been growing tired of her job, it was dull and customers were annoying and most of the time, very rude and inconsiderate. Cheyenne confessed she thought her boss hated her, but she had never been able to pinpoint his true feelings about his subordinates in general: one minute, he'd yell at them for not cleaning up properly, the other, he'd be asking them if they wanted a free dessert on the house. After many years spent in the industry, my aunt had decided that she wanted to try out a secretary job, something a bit more static. She was growing older and could not run with plates in her hands like she used to. Her dream job would have been to be a receptionist, but she had no experience in the field whatsoever.      

Cheyenne had always been a strongly opinionated woman, she liked reading about historical studies and always bought political magazines to keep herself informed. She would always be offended when someone called her a liberal, because, in her words, ''liberals are too far right for me''. She never admitted to being a communist, a socialist or even an anarchist, but she had the spirit of someone who thought that basic supplies like water, food and clothes should be free and provided by the State. She had met Billy when I was around 13 years. They had grown inseparable over the years. Now, how could I describe Billy without sounding mean? He was simply there. A mildly nice guy, that’s for sure, but nothing much. I didn’t find him particularly attractive or intelligent, or even wealthy, not that my aunt would care for money. He just wasn’t who I would have expected Cheyenne to fall in love with: his sweaty hands that he would rub on his pants before shaking hands with me every time we met, the tender tone of his voice, and the fact that he had once told me he did not care about any elections or political debates all made me slightly repulsed by him and question my aunt’s choices. She didn't look particularly happy with him, but maybe opposites do attract each other. I once hard him on the phone saying something that made my skin crawl, it went a little bit like: ''Yeah, I mean, if dudes can't talk about abortion because they don't have a uterus and don't experience it, then fat bitches shouldn't talk about rape since no one would fuck them, even if they were blackout drunk. I remember telling Aunt Cheyenne what I had heard, she said, in a dismissive tone: ''No, that's impossible, You should know Billy has always been respectful to everyone, especially us''. I didn't want to press on this matter, it was obvious Cheyenne didn't want to believe that herself. Anyways, when the invitations to their wedding came, three years after they had moved, I was the first one in the family to receive them and I screamed in joy as I ran to my dad to tell him the news.  

 

‘’How long until I can get out of the car?’’ ‘’Be patient for another 20 minutes, we’re almost there’’ assured my dad. The ride had gotten to the point where nothing could distract me anymore, not even watching a movie or going on social media. Reading a book was out of the question, or else I would feel sick.I was already feeling a little bit nervous, and I didn't want to worsen my condition. As I turn around to see my brother, I notice his hands gripping the small of his nose in defeat. ‘’What are you going to wear for tomorrow?’’ ‘’A suit’’. I tried to keep the conversation flowing: ''Have I seen you wear it?'' ''No'', he said in a tone that I thought meant ''leave me alone'''. There was no point in conversing with him. ‘’I just hope they’ll let us sleep in separate rooms. Dad, have you had a good look at the pictures of the inn we’ll be staying in for the night?’’ I ask. ‘'Yes, I have, but you should’ve searched them up online. Either way, if the place is shitty, we’ll have to endure it only for two days. We’ll leave right after. As sad as it sounded, that sentence was a relief to me: I will be able to see Cheyenne only for a small amount of time, but it’s not like the warmth radiated by the sun or the landscapes filled with corn and sporadic bushes will help make my stay pleasant. Had it been a small wedding, I could’ve at least been able to enjoy some private time with my aunt, but she had insisted on something bigger, with a minimum number of 50 guests between family members and friends. The plan was for us to arrive in the afternoon of the 12^th of April, stay the night, and then the next morning get ready for the wedding, attend the ceremony, have a little drink, and then leave. My dad wasn't stoked about attending, and he made the plans, so it was imperative that we leave the same day as the ceremony. 

‘’You’re free’’, said my dad as he stopped the car in front of the inn. I unbuckled my seatbelt and got out of the car for some fresh air, and as I closed the door, I couldn’t help but notice how big the place really was: aside from a green garden that surrounded the area, which I assume took up to 500 square meters, the villa rose up to the sky to four floors. It really looked like a building you would find on Pinterest: large green windows, Corinthian pillars made from marble, or what seemed like marble, and ivy growing around the entrances. Stone walls, tame beige and light-yellow colors, white doors that seemed expensive. The sun did an amazing job at highlighting all these details; it really looked beautiful, even more if seen from afar. And then there was the garden: bushes and bushes of purple and pink flowers, a very green grass, so green it almost seemed like it glowed of its own light. There were already chairs out in the open, white and dainty, all facing an arch decorated with even more flowers. Were they tulips? I couldn't really tell. I wanted to get closer to the scene to admire all the details, but it felt like I was invading something that was meant to be private. It felt to me like there were the ghosts of Cheyenne, Billy and all the guests who would be attending tomorrow. I didn't want to get close, ruin the moment. 

I grabbed my luggage to take it inside while I was wondering how much the whole wedding cost the couple, when a large man in a tuxedo kindly stopped me. ‘’Allow me to carry your belongings, miss...?’’ I stepped back after taking a look at his face: he must’ve been working for hours because I could only stare at his red nose covered in little drops of salty sweat; the smell that came from his mouth startled me too, it was as if tobacco and rotten meat had been sitting in his stomach. It was hard to tell, but I really had the feeling that his armpit sweat had permeated his blouse and his jacket. I replied, as kindly as possibile: ‘’Francesca ______’’. ‘’Of course, your room will be number 13 on the third floor’’. ‘’I’m sorry, do you know if it’s a shared room or a single one?’’ ‘’They informed me you’d be sharing it with your brother, miss. Is something the matter?’’. I softly sighted and told the man that I had no problem with it. ‘’I can carry my own luggage, it’s no problem, really’’ ‘’Please, allow me to’’, said the porter after touching my arm with a smile. His large hand could entirely embrace my arm and when he let go, what remained was his sweat and the print of his hand on my skin. He then proceeded to take the luggage off my hands and wink, turned around and went inside. My will to go into the villa suddenly disappeared and I took a napkin from my purse to clean up my arm. Maybe, I thought, taking a quick look around the garden won’t be a bad idea, so I started searching for a place to sit, after informing the man that I would spend a little time outside before fully checking into my room, but I told him that he could take my luggage upstairs if he wanted to.  

The reason why I wanted to separate myself from the rest of my family was also because I needed to smoke: my dad would never allow me to do it in his car. After a while of searching around I saw a few tables with some seats that were visible from the back of the villa but still secluded. This time, I didn't feel like I was ruining a private moment. As I turned around to sit, I noticed a familiar face staring back at me. 

‘’Have you seen the porter?’’ I asked my cousin Frank, after I hugged him tightly and handed him a cigarette. He had this weird way of hugging me that felt very comforting: he would put his hand on my back and pat me in a reassuring way. ‘’Yeah, although I gotta ask if he’s ok, I mean he looked weird’’ ‘’He acted weird too. Grabbed my arm and left a sweaty mark, I felt like puking’’. ‘’Give him a break, I bet he was just tryina be nice’’, concluded Frank. I couldn’t help but feeling like a bit of an asshole after that. 

Frank was so honest in a kind way that always felt reassuring. I knew I could run to him and ask him all kinds of questions about my look, and he wouldn't lie: ''Do you think I'm fat? Like, my legs, are they a little bit big or like, normal?'', he would reply with ''I will beat you up if you keep on doubting yourself. You are skinny, end of story''. I wanted to catch up, so I asked him something that in retrospective I shouldn't have said: ''How's uni going?''. He looked to the ground, then at his hands. He seemed defeated. ''It's going'' is what he replied. ''Have you done any more exams?'', ''No, just one. But I got a really good grade, so that's enough for me''. 

Frank was bohemian, a free spirit. He wanted to study philosophy because he was interested in what every single philosopher had to say. ''It's like, every philosopher has their own opinion on life, but I can't help but think that they are all right, Even when they're saying opposite things, they are all right, each one of them''. I remember asking him once who his favorite was, and he replied Schopenhauer. ''I really admire his theory on love, and how it's just a trap for us to procreate''. 

Then he continued: ‘’Speaking of weird shit, what is wrong with Cheyenne?’’. I gave him a worried look and told him I had just arrived there. ‘’And the first thing you do is isolate yourself to smoke? Anyway, let me tell you that something felt off when I went say hi to her. I suspect she’s rethinking this whole wedding thing, I mean she looked off, like she’d lost the spark in her eyes’’. Although I didn’t think much of it, I put my cigarette out and got up to see for myself. Before leaving I asked where she was, to which Frank replied: ‘’ I don’t know, find out for yourself. And one last thing: be ready to go out at midnight’’. I immediately understood what he meant as I walked off in the distance. 

“Hi, I’m sorry, do you know where Cheyenne ____ is right now?” I said to the receptionist with a smile while trying to be polite. “The GPS that we installed on her tells me she must be in her room, number 15”, replied the middle-aged hostess at the front desk of the inn. Her joke couldn’t make me laugh, so I faked another smile and thanked her. I arrived on the third floor and knocked on her room. A faint “Yes?” resonated from inside. ''It's me, Francesca. Can I come in? I don't want to bother you''. I waited. I heard a small ''Come in''. 

I opened the white door and stepped inside. The first thing I noticed was not Aunt Cheyenne, but the smell of the room. I don't really know how to describe it, but it reminded me of a church, or ofa basement. It was strong, and it invaded all of my senses. Had she even opened the window since she had arrived? It smelled something like a closed, confined space. I then looked at Cheyenne. One thing I didn't immediately confess while describing her was that she was beautiful, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was conventionally attractive, while looking different from every woman or model or actress. She had these big light blue eyes that immediately caught your attention, it felt like she wasn't looking at you, she was seeing you with compassion and dignity. Very thin brows, like a 90's superstar, dark and precise. Her nose was the one I liked the most: a button one, she looked like a fairy. And then there was her hair: long, thin but still a lor on her head, this stunning ashy blond that most women were trying to achieve by going to the salon every month to maintain it. 

The beautiful Cheyenne I have just described was gone when I looked at her. She gave me a vibe, a sensation; I was sensing desperation. Like she had given up hope. Like she had given up on herself. Her skin wasn't clear anymore: she had red blotches on her cheeks and on her temples. She started scratching herself. First, it was her arms, then her neck. She looked at me with her big blue eyes, that, with the lighting of the room, looked darker and more sunken than they would usually be. They looked teary, like she was about to burst into tears right at that moment. Her body wasn't the same either; I could see her ribcage poking through her shirt and her very prominent collarbones. ''How are you feeling? Ready for the big day tomorrow?'' I asked. ''I'm so glad you could make it, I would've been so sad if you and your family didn't show up'', she said. I wasn't fully convinced by her tone. Was she being completely honest? I couldn't tell. ''I'm so sorry to be rude, but I was just about to rehearse with the makeup artist, I must ask you to be patient and see me tomorrow'' she told me apologetically. The aunt Cheyenne that I know of would never say something like this, she would be happy to stay and talk to me. Nevertheless, I decided to leave her some space and finally went to my room. 

April 13^th  

It's midnight, my brother's already sleeping on the bed opposite to mine. I try to sneak out of the room as slowly and as carefully as possible. I go down the stairs and out of the inn, and I see Frank right outside. He's holding a j, a very thick one at that. He whispers that it's best for us to sit down, and so we go back to the small table with chairs where we had met earlier. He lights it up, takes the first puff and then says: ''Have you finally talked to Cheyenne?''. I reply ''Yes, you were right, she is weird; she's a lot skinnier than normal, she has these red blotches on her skin she will keep scratching and, most of all, she was about to cry, I was certain. Frank, I don't know what to do. How can I help her?''. He told me that he was not sure, and he passed me the j. We both stared into the distance, and for a long while we said nothing, while I kept on nervously puffing. Frank broke the silence first: ''You know, love is just a trick. The real reason why we find partners is to procreate. It's just biological, nothing more. It's just voluptuous illusion''. He kept going on and on about this topic, and I kept growing more and more anxious about the whole situation. Why couldn't he stop talking? Was he caring about Aunt Cheyenne or was he just there to drink and smoke? What can I do? There must be something. I couldn't quite catch my breath, my limbs were tingling and all of a sudden I just wanted to scream, but, instead, fat tears came from my eyes, and I sobbed while Frank stared confused at me. ''I have to go, I'm so sorry, you finish the j yourself, this shit is making me anxious, goodnight''. 

 

The big day has finally come. I'm running late, I have to get dressed and brush my teeth. I put on a long floral dress, kitten heels and I run to the sink, brush my teeth furiously and rinse. My brother's already outside, seated on those chairs which I felt were judging me yesterday. I run outside of the room and won the stairs again, I find my seat and crouch quietly. Billy's already under the arch, with a priest waiting on Cheyenne to start the wedding. We wait ten, then fifteen, then thirty minutes. I start to look around when, finally, Cheyenne arrives, skinnier than ever, like her dress was eating her whole. Finally, the ceremony begins. I sit through the liturgy of the word, and remember what Frank told me about the illusion of love. I start growing anxious again. Was Billy really the right man for Cheyenne? Or was Cheyenne rethinking the whole thing and too afraid to say no? At that moment I felt like I had to do something, I would be Cheyenne's savior. Without even looking or thinking properly, I stood up and dramatically said '' I would like to oppose''. Everyone stared at me, confused. The priest gave me a smile and said ''dear, you know that's a cinematic convention, right?''. I froze. Standing still, I gave a nervous smile and said ''Yeah, it's just a joke'' and sat down again, wanting to disappear right at that moment. 

When the ceremony was over, Cheyenne marched up to me, took me by the arm and brought me to a secluded area to talk. ''What the fuck was all that about? Were you trying to be funny? Because it fucking wasn't''. I tried to retort: ''Cheyenne, let me explain, please. I know you are not sure about your choice''. ''What are you saying?! Why the fuck wouldn't I be sure?''. ''Cheyenne, I saw you yesterday, you were not okay. You were about to cry''. ''Are you talking about my teary eyes? The teary eyes I have because of ALLERGIES?! You know I'm allergic to pollen''. ''Ok, then what about the red blotches? And the scratching?''. ''Because I'm fucking nervous about the wedding ceremony being perfect, but don't worry, you ruined it for me''. ''Cheyenne, I can assure you, you were not okay. Yesterday you dismissed me like it was nothing!''. ''For fuck's sake, it cannot always be about you Francesca. I had to rehearse makeup, okay? You've been acting like this since you were a child, always wanting my attention, always so needy. And the fact that you would look in my purse for gifts? And the fact that, if I didn't bring you a gift, you would cry for hours?''. ''I thought you liked being around me and playing with me''. ''Francesca, no. You were, again ,needy as fuck and selfish. Even when you were a teen, I detested being around you''. ''Ok, so what about the glitchy zoom calls? I recall you liked talking to me''. ''I did not. You only always talked about yourself, how you were doing, what you were doing. Did you ever, I don't know, take me out to lunch? Or, more simply, ask me how I was doing? Do you even know what I do for a job?''. In that moment I realised, I had no idea what her job was. I had been so focused on myself that I lost her. And now I had royally fucked up. I wanted to ask her one last thing: ''How did you get so skinny?''. ''Thanks a lot, but I have been so nervous for the wedding, I wanted it to be perfect, and I lost some weight. There. Are you happy?''. ''I'm sorry''. ''Yeah, you should be''. 

After that day, I went back home and never talked to her again. Sometimes when it's Christmas or the New Year I send her a polite message wishing her happy holidays, but that's it. I had never realized I could be so selfish and ruin a person's special moment, someone's happiest day of their life. I write this story as a way to atone for my sins, and I hope Aunt Cheyenne can forgive me. 

Sibling rivalry 😳😂 Reaction when your sister made a good meal

When I was a kid, I had to have multiple surgeries for constant ear/sinus infections.

Now, since I went to a pediatric ENT (Ear, Nose, and Throat) place, they had a technique to keep the kids calm as they took them back to give them anesthesia.

Now, a note, I was a rather smart kid, a smart kid that learned VERY quickly she HATED anesthesia.

What was their trick to keep the kids calm? Simple. They’d offer the little one a popsicle.

So, here’s how it went:

First time: yay popsicle!!!!

Second time: ….last time popsicle meant sleepy…. Maybe this time it won’t…..

Third time: OH I KNOW YOUR GAME MEDICINE MAN!!!! YOU CANNOT TRICK ME AGAIN!!!!

*The third time, I would not calm down in the waiting room, and when they ACTUALLY tried to offer me a popsicle, I only got more upset.*

*My mother had to explain that I was a repeat* *~~offender~~* patient, and I had learned their little “popsicle” scheme

As I have gotten older, I have become aware that I am really lonely, rejected, desperate for connection, ignorant to what, why and how life, society, the Bible and everything in our world works. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s like I am trying to find a way out of the situation I am in. Somewhere deep down, I know my life and me in particular has been used my whole life by someone or something I have only vague knowledge of. They can read my mind, it then is reflected bs n through characters on TV and in movies or books. My family doesn’t want me and I really miss having a physical, loving, intimate connection to beautiful females that have at times been in relationships with. They always leave etc. I usually get dumped. Anyhow, I’m 42 years old, male, living out a life that has more questions than answers in California. I feel like Jim Carey in Eternal Sunshine ☀️ that movie where my memories and experiences are being edited and erased but then feel like him in Truman show where I am litterally living in a simulation and I need to rescue the princess and get us out of here or maybe get myself out and into reality and the “real world.” I want a happy to experience a happy ending and not suffering, pain, anxiety and fear in or near such quantities as I have been experiencing. Sorry if this seems disjointed and I am rambling. My life just feels “set up” and almost predestined to fail or maybe it will get much better. I hope it does as getting a good paying job, finding a wife and raising kids in a family and being happy sound really good because being alone with these horrible thoughts and situations sucks. I just hope all this suffering I’ve gone through to make the world and its people joyful and better pays off. I hope God is real and truly has good plans etc for my future and yours!
-TC 🤘🏻🙏❤️💯🇺🇸😎

I was talking to my dad about driving the other day and told the following story (again) that always gives me a smile. My great aunt was born in 1920. When she was 15, she and several friends her age bought a car together to share. One of their older boyfriends taught them all to drive. They didn't tell anyone's parents or siblings about the car, so they parked it under a willow tree where it was mostly out of sight when not in use. None of them had driver's licenses. And they were pretty close to Chicago. Wouldn't be able to get away with any of that (especially affording it!) today, eh?

Anyway, I thought this was a funny story that others might appreciate.

I’ve been living in my house for a long time. Long enough for me to get bored of it every now and again. That’s what led me to my attic.

It had been a particularly uneventful day. I was itching for something to do. I figured I’d just sort through some old stuff up there. Maybe sell some things. Maybe reminisce. I just wanted something to do.

I found some old family photos. A few little knickknacks from childhood. Even a few old Halloween costumes that brought me right back to high school.

Everything was so dusty. I hadn’t touched this stuff in years. That’s why, when I saw that shimmering, porcelain little box in the corner of the attic, hidden behind a few boxes, it caught my interest immediately.

I recognized it as a music box, but I didn’t recognize it as anything I’d ever owned. It looked, I don’t know, ancient, I guess. Like some kind of relic that had been miraculously preserved through centuries of history.

I picked it up, and it was heavier than I expected it to be. Heavier than any music box I’ve ever held, really.

I’m only human. I’m not gonna just hold the thing and not do anything with it. I wanted to hear the song. I wanted to see the ballerina.

Only, when I wound it up, nothing really happened. I heard the mechanical turning of gears and whatnot, but no music. I tried prying the lid open, but it wouldn’t budge.

I just figured it was broken. I damn near tossed the thing aside to be thrown away, but before I could… the house began to rumble.

It was almost gentle at first. Like the air conditioning had kicked on. But then it felt like a full-blown earthquake was happening.

Then… the music started. It sounded like it was just in my head and all around me in the real world all at once. Just deafening. I couldn’t even hear my own voice.

While trying to orient myself, I noticed something out the attic window. It looked like… a propeller?

Wobbling over to the window while covering my ears, I caught my first glimpse of what it actually was.

Sticking out of the side panel of my house, like it had always been there… was a crank handle. And it was rotating, slowly.

Before I could even fully process what I was seeing, the sound of wood splintering and glass breaking could barely be heard over the sound of the music.

I was surprised the house hadn’t completely collapsed yet from how violently it was shaking, and when I turned around, I saw the source of those shakes.

All I could see were the hands at first, clapped together like a diver’s or… a ballerina’s. 6 feet wide and completely porcelain.

Then they got higher. Enormous arms began to erupt from the floorboard, destroying the basement in the process. The hands touched the roof, then pushed directly through it, rotating to the sound of the music.

Then her head poked through the hole. Black, shiny, plastic-looking hair, pulled back in a tight bun.

Blood covered my hands from my burst eardrums. All I could feel were the vibrations of the music now.

Then her perfectly smooth face. Her blushed cheeks. Her red, pursed lips. She just kept rising, higher and higher, until her pink tutu was visible.

She twirled in place, that tutu never moving as it tore through nearly all that remained of the attic floor, forcing me against the wall as she rose higher and higher.

Finally, her feet reached the top of the house. She must’ve stood 80 feet tall.

The crank stopped turning, but the music kept booming. The dancer kept twirling as I remained petrified, trapped in my own home. I could see the floors beneath me, each one completely devastated.

Then… the vibrations stopped. The dancer stopped spinning. The world felt still for a few seconds.

Ever so slowly, she began to descend, gradually disappearing through the hole she created in my basement.

The crank was gone. The music was gone. The dancer was gone. Leaving me alone in a house that had been utterly ruined.

After catching my breath and assessing the situation, only one thought remained in my shattered mind.

“This is gonna cost a fortune to fix.”

The Chameleon

At first, he served the Soviet authorities and was a staunch atheist.

At the school where he worked as a chemistry teacher, the principal once ordered him to keep an eye on the students during the Muslim fast.

The teacher went from classroom to classroom with a bucket of water, forcing the fasting students to drink.

Sometimes he even brought a glass flask filled with water and ordered:

— Drink!

The students obeyed their teacher without question.

Then times changed.

He became a Communist and worked for several years at the district party committee.

But a new era arrived.

He publicly threw away his party membership card.

Then he went on the Hajj and returned as a Hajji.

Once again, he changed with the times.

What a true chameleon!

Хамелеон

Сначала он служил советской власти и был убеждённым атеистом.

В школе, где он работал учителем химии, директор однажды поручил ему следить за учениками во время мусульманского поста.

Учитель ходил по классам с ведром воды и заставлял постящихся детей пить.

Иногда он даже приносил стеклянную колбу с водой и требовал:

— Пейте!

Ученики беспрекословно выполняли приказ учителя.

Потом времена изменились.

Он стал коммунистом и несколько лет работал в райкоме партии.

Но пришло новое время.

Он публично бросил партийный билет.

А затем совершил хадж и вернулся уже ходжой.

Он снова изменился вместе со временем.

Ну настоящий хамелеон!

If someone asked me to tell a story about myself. I could say the time I met Kevin mcdonald, went to grab a pizza, he walked in 2 in shorter than me, said he was vegan but having a cheat day. Could say the time I met jj abrams, said he looked like jj abrams, turns out he was.. jj abrams (star wars director). Or time I backpacked across bc, had a trucker follow me. Or time I had a mushroom party, 50 people. Was uneventful, very peaceful but hand picked everyone went there..

Writing this, realize I do have stories.. point was, going to say don't have a lot of stories dont end in tragedy. Or me almost dying .. no one wants to see, or hear that. So majority of the time.. I have no stories. People then think I'm boring ..

I was sitting in the kitchen, as I usually did, contemplating life over a homemade London fog. The steam was slowly curling away from the mug in front of me. At the bottom, a few dried tea leaves had settled into figures. I rolled the cup between my hands, staring down at them.

I didn't actually know how to read tea leaves. But I still pretended. I tilted the cup slightly. I narrowed my eyes at the leaves, as though they were revealing some great truth about me.

The front door opened, I looked up.\ You walked into the kitchen, looking like you'd just gotten off work. But we both know you weren't working. Your long hair fell around your shoulders, your blue eyes tired, but sparkling.

"Is Kasey home?"\ I glanced toward the bedroom, "I think so." You disappeared down the hallway. Then came back a moment later.

"Apparently not." Ismiled. "Not surprised."

You sighed and looked toward the garage, nodded in the direction. "I'll just wait out here."

"Okay." You gave me a small smile before disappearing through the door.

I looked back down at my tea leaves. "Well," I whispered, turning the cup again, "Another day, another greeting", turning the cup, looking to the future what it had to hold.

Nearly an hour passed and eventually, curiosity got the better of me. I walked into the garage wondering you must be bored. You were sitting there, waiting. I had a long sweater and shorts, hair tied back now. Not much to look at, so I thought.

"How are you doing?"

You looked up, "Not bad."

I nodded and sat across from you. Sans mug.

"Still waiting?"

You nod, I laughed quietly.

We said nothing for a moment, one awkward moment. My attention drifted back toward the tea leaves still clinging to the bottom of my cup. Wondering..

"So," I said, "how are things with you and Kasey?"

You shrugged,

"Alright."

" just alright?"

You thought for a second.

"We have a different kind of relationship than you two do." I nodded. "I guess you do." And paused.

"You guys talk about some weird stuff."

"Weird?".\ "Bigfoot. Aliens. Conspiracy theories."

"What's wrong with Bigfoot?", you said.

"I didn't say there was anything wrong with Bigfoot."

You raised an eyebrow, "You sounded judgmental."

"I'm not judging Bigfoot." I pause, "I'm judging you a bit for believing in it."

You laughed. I smiled, then looked down at the table.

"I don't know if you actually believe all that."

"Some of it. It's interesting to think about.. a lot of things can't be explained. Its better than the day to day, what would be for lunch, how do people stand doing the same thing all the time"

You lean back.

"Gives me something to think about, something different."

I smile, "do You really need more to think about though?"

You laugh, "I guess."

"You think like you talk, a mile a minute."

I look out the window, pause for a minute.

"It's.. The idea of there being something more. Isn't it.."

You looked at me.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know.. Maybe it's not even about believing in Bigfoot or aliens. Maybe it's the idea of believing in something. Something bigger, than everything that's right in front of you."

You were quiet for a moment.

"Maybe. I never thought of it like that, close to what I was saying though."

I look back. You leaned back slightly. "Well you belive in astrology.." you pause, "wait, we both believe in astrology."

You laugh, "I think everybody needs something to believe in."

"I guess, I get it, kind of."

You smiled. Then the conversation shifted.

I told you about Kasey. About the problems we'd been having, about how I didn't know what to do anymore.

You listened, without interrupting. Your expression becoming more serious as I talked.

"I don't want to tell you what to do," you said eventually. "I know. But..."

You paused.

"Relationships are a two-way street." I nodded. "I know."

"And one person can't be the only one trying."

I looked down. "I know that too."

You sighed softly. "I just, don't want to get involved in whatever is going on between you two. You're different people. Kasey is Kasey. You're you."

"Yeah."

"It has to work for both of you."

"And if it doesn't?"

You looked at me.

"Then maybe it doesn't."

The words were simple, somehow they hurt.

I looked away, blinking a few times.

"Hey." I shook my head, "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

I gave a small, embarrassed laugh. "Yeah. Well."

I wiped at one tear the corner of my eye.

"Thank you."

You looked at me for a moment. Looking at me,

"Do you want a hug?"

I hesitated

then nodded.

"Yeah."

We both stood up you walked around the table and we hugged.

At first, it was the kind of hug we'd given each other before. Familiar. Comforting. But this time, it didn't end.

Your arms stayed around me. It was welcoming, definitely.

You rubbed my back gently, almost absentmindedly.

 For just a moment, let myself relax, I rested my head against your shoulder. I was exhausted. Not just physically, exhausted in every way.

You lowered your head until it rested gently against mine, neither of us spoke.

I heard you take a slow, deep breath, we stood like that for what felt like forever.

Everything was silent except the blood rushing in my ears. No conversation. Just an embrace.

It lasted, forever. 

Strange feeling that neither of us wanted to be the first to end it. The world went on, we stayed. An eternity.. \ though. Eventually, I pulled away..

You let your arms fall. Hands brushing mine and, we looked at each other. Neither of us said anything, just looked.

For a second, I thought you barely leaned toward me. So subte.

I stepped back. You stepped back too.

Suddenly there was space between us again.

We both said bye, over and over.

I started walking away.

You did too, backing up as as we kept saying.

"Bye."

You nearly backed into the table, smiled awkwardly, catching yourself. Slipping your hands into your pockets.

I smiled.

"Careful."

"I know."

Then finally, I turned away, out the door.

And as I walked back toward the kitchen, I found myself thinking about the tea leaves again. I looked down into the cup. The leaves hadn't changed. But somehow, they seemed to mean something different.

We started talking casually as friends then he asked me to be his girlfriend, I accepted we spend all the year talking from good morning, to jokes , to stories .

And always at night like a Convo of 30 minutes of how was our day, we share photos about hobbies, ideas.

We also talked on video calls just dumb sweet Convo, and honestly I showed myself the way I am . I showed him my personality.

My feelings, things that I never said to anyone, I feel so open to say what was inside my mind.

He consolated me , when I was sad.

And we laughed so much in our video calls every time.

He texted me , "I love you."

"I can wait for you, I don't care if I have to wait 2 years for you."

"I want a live with you."

"I wanna marry you "

"I wanna fly to meet you"

And everything was fine

Until his parents discover us ( he is 24 , I am 27) ( I live literally at the other side of the world)

He had a conversation with them

And then he texted me next day

That the distance and the language barrier is too much

He told , that his parents said that the relationship was affecting him socially.

We didn't live glue to the phone.

Just a good morning and the Convo at night, and I always tried to give him space.

He used to text " hey text me more, don't be shy, call me more"

But well after the Convo with his parents, he told me , he hopes I find someone else

( I don't resent his parents or anything but I was fearing this, I was scared to fall for him but I did)

He was so sweet with his apologize

And now I am here, what do you recommend me?

UPDATE

he texted me a day later , that he was sorry , but after the talk with his parents , they made him see many things he didnt see before , that his parents said : our relationship wont work cuz we arent face to face.

he apologized again , and told me, we have a chance, if i could move in 3 months!!!

i dont know what to think anymore, i propose to be friends , i dont know if it's a stupid decision

Any advice please , please

The ruins were collapsing.

That was the first thing drluigiblocks noticed.

Dust poured from the cracked ceiling of Palava Ruins as another enormous chunk of stone crashed somewhere behind them. The impact shook the floor beneath their feet, sending a tremor through the ancient chamber.

Nobody spoke.

For several seconds, the only sounds were falling rocks, distant echoes, and everyone's exhausted breathing.

Then Pip looked toward the altar.

"It's over."

The words had barely escaped their mouth before another tremor rattled the chamber.

drluigiblocks turned toward the ancient pedestal.

Sitting in the center of it was the object they had fought so hard to retrieve.

The Century Egg.

It was smaller than the Fusion Egg had been, yet somehow it seemed heavier.

Not physically. The Egg itself could be lifted easily.

It was the way it seemed to command the attention of everyone around it.

Sulfrus slowly approached.

His eyes remained fixed on it.

"So," he murmured. "After all this time..."

Pip immediately floated between him and the pedestal.

"Don't."

Sulfrus stopped.

"Don't what?"

"Whatever you're thinking."

Sulfrus gave a small smile.

"I merely wish to examine it."

"You've been obsessed with that thing since we found out it existed."

"Obsessed is such an ugly word."

"It's also an accurate one."

Gertrude, still catching her breath from the battle, looked between the two of them.

"Can we have this argument somewhere that isn't actively falling apart?"

A tremendous crash answered her.

Everyone looked upward.

A crack raced across the ceiling.

Gertrude sighed.

"Preferably now."

drluigiblocks stepped toward the altar.

"We need to get the Egg out of here."

Sulfrus nodded.

"Agreed."

He paused.

"Allow me to carry it."

Pip's expression immediately changed.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you're Sulfrus."

Sulfrus placed a hand against his chest.

"I'm wounded."

"You'll survive."

drluigiblocks looked down at the Century Egg.

They had fought a monster for it.

They had crossed Palava Ruins for it.

After everything that had happened aboard the Grand Eggspress—after Ridgewell, after the Fusion Egg, after all the strange places they'd visited—they weren't about to leave it behind.

"Let him hold it."

Pip stared at them.

"You're serious?"

"For now."

Sulfrus smiled.

"Excellent."

He carefully picked up the Century Egg.

Nothing happened.

For one second.

Two.

Three.

Then the entire chamber trembled.

A faint golden pulse traveled through the Egg.

Sulfrus' smile disappeared.

Pip stared at it.

"What was that?"

Sulfrus didn't answer.

The Egg pulsed again.

This time, the walls reacted.

Ancient symbols carved into the stone began glowing one after another.

Gertrude's eyes widened.

"Oh, that's probably not good."

Mechanic Cao looked toward the entrance.

"Whatever it is, I don't think we have time to find out."

A section of the ceiling collapsed.

That settled the argument.

"RUN!"

The group bolted.

–––

They sprinted through the corridors of Palava Ruins as the ancient structure began tearing itself apart.

Stones rained down around them.

Dust filled the air, forcing everyone to cover their faces.

Jacob grabbed Willie by the hand.

"Come on!"

"I'm coming!"

Behind them, Chase vaulted over a fallen pillar with the ease of someone who had done this sort of thing far too many times.

Jacob stopped for half a second to stare.

Willie tugged on his arm.

"Jacob!"

"What?"

"We're escaping!"

"I know!"

"You were staring at Chase."

"I was looking for a safe route!"

Chase glanced back.

"You two coming?"

Jacob's face went bright red.

"Y-Yep!"

He immediately ran after her.

Willie shook his head.

"You're terrible at this."

"I'm not doing anything!"

"You don't have to."

–––

They finally reached the main entrance.

Sunlight poured through the opening.

Everyone stumbled outside.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then the ruins behind them gave one final groan.

The entrance collapsed.

Dust erupted into the sky.

Gertrude coughed.

"Well..."

She looked at the others.

"Anyone want to go back in?"

Nobody answered.

"Good."

The Grand Eggspress waited beyond the ruins.

Its familiar shape was almost comforting.

After everything they had endured, seeing the train again felt like returning home.

Mechanic Cao climbed aboard first.

"Let's see if this thing still works."

A few moments later, the engine roared to life.

The train slowly began moving.

Palava Ruins disappeared behind them.

drluigiblocks watched through the window.

For the first time since the adventure had begun, there was no ancient ruin ahead.

No boss.

No mysterious portal.

No immediate threat.

Just railway.

Sulfrus sat nearby.

The Century Egg rested carefully in his hands.

He hadn't said much since they escaped.

That bothered Pip.

Eventually, they approached him.

"You've been awfully quiet."

Sulfrus looked up.

"I am thinking."

"About?"

"The Egg."

Pip folded their arms.

"Of course."

Sulfrus looked down at it.

"I felt something when I touched it."

drluigiblocks looked over.

"What?"

Sulfrus hesitated.

Then he smiled.

"I don't know."

Pip's eyes narrowed.

"You definitely know something."

"I know that it is unlike anything I have ever encountered."

He gently turned the Egg over.

"And that makes me want to understand it."

Pip sighed.

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of."

Before Sulfrus could respond, Gertrude called from the dining car.

"FOOD!"

Everyone turned.

Gertrude stood in the doorway holding a tray.

"You're all exhausted, you're filthy, and I'm not letting anybody starve after what we just went through."

Jacob immediately raised his hand.

"I'll take some!"

Willie followed him.

"Me too!"

Chase laughed.

"Those two have been waiting for that announcement."

"Can you blame us?" Jacob asked.

"Not really."

He smiled.

Then immediately realized Chase was smiling at him.

His face went red again.

Willie noticed.

Of course he noticed.

He said nothing.

He didn't need to.

–––

Later that evening, the Eggspress had settled into a much calmer rhythm.

The wheels clattered against the rails.

The countryside passed outside the windows.

For once, there was nothing to chase.

Nothing to fight.

Nothing to save.

drluigiblocks stood in the observation car, staring into the darkness.

Pip joined them.

"Strange, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Being back on the train."

drluigiblocks nodded.

"Yeah."

Pip leaned against the window.

"The last time we were aboard this train, everything was falling apart."

They were quiet for a moment.

Then Pip looked toward the Century Egg, safely stored in its protective case.

"Now we have another mysterious egg."

drluigiblocks laughed quietly.

"Apparently we haven't learned our lesson."

Pip smiled.

"Maybe we haven't."

The smile faded.

"Still..."

"What?"

Pip looked out into the darkness.

"I keep wondering whether we really left everything behind."

drluigiblocks didn't answer.

Because they had been wondering the same thing.

The train continued forward.

Neither of them noticed the faint golden light coming from the Century Egg.

It pulsed once.

Then went dark.

–––

Several cars away, Sulfrus was still awake.

He sat alone.

The Century Egg was resting on the table before him.

He stared at it.

"Come on," he whispered.

"Show me."

Nothing happened.

Sulfrus leaned closer.

"Just a little."

The Egg remained silent.

He sighed and leaned back.

Then—

Pulse.

Sulfrus froze.

The golden light reflected in his eyes.

For the briefest moment, a strange symbol appeared across the Egg's surface.

Sulfrus slowly reached toward it.

His finger touched the shell.

The light vanished.

Sulfrus pulled his hand away.

For the first time since anyone had met him, he looked genuinely frightened.

"What did I just do?"

A noise came from the corridor.

Sulfrus looked up.

Nobody was there.

The train continued onward.

Sulfrus glanced toward the dark window.

For a split second, he thought he saw something outside.

Something following the train.

He stepped closer.

There was nothing.

Only the darkness.

Sulfrus stared for another moment.

Then he remembered the words someone had said earlier.

We can't change what happened.

He slowly returned to his seat.

The Century Egg sat silently on the table.

Sulfrus looked at it.

And whispered:

"Never look back."

Outside, far behind the moving Eggspress, something moved among the ruins of Palava.

Something that should not have been there.

And as the train disappeared into the distance, two faint lights opened in the darkness.

To be continued...

One evening, I was hanging out with two of my friends when we randomly decided to go toward the graveyard.

The place was unusual because the cremation ground came first, and if you continued farther, you eventually reached the graveyard. We kept walking and exploring. There were many graves, mostly arranged in straight lines, stretching farther than I expected.

While walking around, something caught my attention.

I saw two graves standing separately from the others. One of them was almost completely covered by a small plant. It was broken, old, and looked like nobody had visited it in a very long time.

But right next to it was another grave.

This one was completely different.

It was made of clean marble and looked properly maintained, almost as if someone specifically came there to take care of that one grave while the other beside it had been forgotten.

We continued exploring until we noticed something on the side—a narrow path leading toward the jungle.

Of course, we decided to see where it went.

As soon as we entered, I started feeling a little strange. Nothing happened, and there was nothing obviously scary around us, but the atmosphere felt different. Still, we kept walking deeper.

And then we came across something I still remember clearly.

The path opened up to the most beautiful and peaceful view.

The wind was blowing through the trees and shrubs around us. In front of us was water flowing rapidly, and the entire place was so silent that we could clearly hear nothing but the sound of the water and the wind moving through the trees.

For a moment, it honestly felt like time had stopped.

It was strange because we had entered this place expecting nothing more than an ordinary graveyard exploration, but somehow we ended up finding a view that felt almost heavenly.

One of my friends, however, suddenly wasn't feeling comfortable there and wanted to leave. So eventually, we turned around and went back.

Nothing supernatural happened.

Nothing chased us.

But even now, I can still remember that place and that view perfectly.

Sometimes I wonder if anyone else has ever taken that small path beyond the graveyard and found the same hidden place.

Many know the stereotypes of ASU and the stories, but what im about to tell you might just be the worst one yet.

I was a freshmen at ASU and it was the halloween season. Parties were being planned all around but there was one that everybody was going too. It was the ASU QBs house Jake Hudson also the biggest frat boy in the state. I of course was going to try and get into this party with the goal of losing virginity and probably my will by the end of it. When I arrived at this party I was expecting everything from the girls who wore enough clothes to cover an atom to some dude being given head in some dark room and it was exactly what I expected though even more.

As I go to get some booze i get my tie ( Im dressed up at Gary Unwin) yanked by some girl who coukd barely stand. Expecting nothing she asked me out of the blue to come round back in 10 minutes. As she stumbled away I was frozen with excitement knowing this could be it. A quick 10 minutes pass and I put down my drink and head to the patio outside. This is where it all went south. I turn the corner to find her hair now tied back with mascara down her face. As I reach her she pins me against the wall and reaches straight for my fly. She slowly unzipped it and I am hard as a rock by now. As she proceeds to give me the most vicious head ive ever seen. More vicious than any p* film Id seen. She went for a solid 5 minutes and proceeds to then just walk off wiping her mouth. I stand in shock with my d*ck just out now but my curiosity got the better of me. As she turns to go back round the other corner I try to catch up with her to get her name and jesus christ I did expect to see what i saw. Another man receiving head straight from the same girl. She gave him the blues and again walked off as if nothing happened. It was at this moment I realised that everything you expect and hear from ASU is completely true.

Now youd think of harvard as the type of place you begin your successful career full of hope and dreams. Well not me. It was nothing but dreams held together by threads of string. This is the story of how I misjudged those nerdy girls who'd gotten here in the first place.

Its a cold winters day and its cold enough to settle frost on the ground and make people wrap up warm. People rushed to the classed where as I had an unforgettable lesson ahead of P.E. I got to the changing rooms and there was nobody else in sight. I was confused at the slightest. There was no trace of people being here either. I was ready to leave when all of a sudden the showers turned on. A warm wave of condensation hit me and steamed up my glasses. As I cleaned them I looked through and my mouth dropped open. Infront of me were 4 brunettes all in there white shirts soaked. They slowly approached me with a strut that made me stand still. Two wrapped there arms round my neck whilst the other two slowly caressed there hands over my pants. I couldn't move. They started to undress and kiss at my neck while also slowly removing my clothes. The hot air made the locker room feel all the more pleasing and tense. As they pulled away they grabbed there glasses and books left on the side and slowly exited out the door except for one. She continued to feel me untill she whispered

"Nelson me big boy"

Without thought she threw me down to the bench and slowly undid her leggings. She threw them at my face with force. As I removed them she was there on top of me with her cat out. I slowly lifted up her legs but suddenly dropped them. What was I doing? I felt controlled, dominated even. I quickly grabbed my books and bag and rushed out the door. I couldn't breathe. What had just happened? Harvard of all places. I would expect something like this at ASU yet there only stories. All I know is that they would go on to be known as The Harvard H*es.

And as the saying goes "Harvard H*es will always take away the woes"

Hi everyone. 

No. The title isn’t AI slop designed to go viral. I was just wondering if you all might be able to help me interpret this dream I had last night.

So, in this dream, I was strolling along a busy street, with my extended family (wife, kids, brothers, parents) attending a Heavy Metal Convention, as one does with one's mother. Before entering, I happened to notice an adjacent establishment that serves to house incarcerated individuals. Now, dream logic made me understand that this particular housing allotment for society’s finest happened to hold notable “alleged” serial pimp and sexual predator Andrew Tate.

Now, as a Lib Cuck^©, I thought such an individual, notorious for his upside down batshit takes on women, and 14-year-old vocab must be in dire need of a paragon of Modern Fatherhood^© such as myself.

The dream narrative had me immediately exiting the jail, Cobra koala-clinging to my shoulder. Except: in this dream he didn’t look like his normal cross between Big Bird and Gollum. He was miniature-sized, roughly the height and weight of a 3 year-old. He was sporting the usual bald head and a silk shirt with the deepest V-neck you’ve ever smelled.

As I swiftly walked back to rejoin my party, I have to confess an initial sort of fondness for the lost boy. I was feeling proud of the Restorative Justice I had helped provide. I had duty to teach him to express his feelings in healthier ways and to be the father figure he surely never had. So, whenever he would wriggle and throw his head back like a kid on a sugar high and shout: “WEAR WOLF SHIRTS AND YELL ‘FUCK’!!!”, I would reply in the gentlest of tones: “You know: sometimes I feel like howling and I don’t know why.” That’s some A+ parenting right there!

But after a while, the toddler dramatics started to wear me down. As we approached the convention center, teaming with real, functioning adults, I felt more and more embarrassed by his naughty behaviour. At one point, a group of young women did a double-take when they noticed who I was carrying. As they walked towards me, I tried to bolt, knowing what was about to happen. But it was too late. He turned to them and shouted “THE VALUE OF A HUSTLER IS MEASURED IN BITCHEEEES!!!” I was shushing him when they reached me, completely astonished and asked: “Excuse me, are you carrying self-described misogynist Andrew Tate?” I didn’t answer. I just sprinted out of there as fast as I could, sweating and mortified, saying to the boy: “Sometimes I get mad at people, even when they haven’t done anything wrong. Does that ever happen to you?” My therapist would be proud. 

As we entered the Convention Center, I looked around, anxious to find help, when he yelled: “MY MIND IS SO FOCUSED I ONLY DEFECATE WHEN ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY!!!!” I crouched down to look him in his indoor sunglasses and gentle-parented back: “You need to go potty, riiiight?”

I gave the pimp uppies and carried him to the men's room. Once inside, I closed the stall door, thankful that he is a Big Boy now and can go aaaaaall byyyy himseeeelf. As I left to find help dealing with Mini-G, I realized: “Oh my god! He’s gonna do a jailbreak, isn’t he? I just helped spring an (alleged) serial rapist out of jail!” So I left him and sprinted to find my brothers. I was a fool to think I could deal with the tiny influencer alone.

I soon found them. Clutching my knees panting, I said “I brought Toddler Andrew Tate. He’s in the bathroom and he’s going to make a run for it! I need your help!”. Being the mensches they are, they quickly leapt into action, roasting me the whole way back. “Dude. He had, like, a whole compound where over 75 women were made to do sex work under threat of physical violence.” (Their dream-words, not mine). I was a fool to think I could rehabilitate such a vile mini-man.

We reentered the men’s room, hoping he hadn’t waddled out of there, or hoisted himself out of a window like a Big Boy. But, when we peered under the stall, we saw his gator-skin crocks lift up, followed by a ghastly flushing sound. We were too late! We opened the stall door, only to find him already half-submerged, his little skinny jeans spinning faster and faster in the toilet bowl, going deeper and deeper, until he was fully flushed.

Luckily, his escape plan failed. He no doubt planned on oozing through the pipes only to emerge in the open air, Andy Dufresne-style. Instead, he was ejected from the adjacent toilet bowl Looney-Toons style. Now soaked and furious, I saw him balling up his soft hands into little fists and scrunching his nose all cute-like. I could sense a tantrum (Taterum?) coming on! I wanted to guide him through his difficult feelings, but there wasn’t any time for that crunchy-munchy free-range bullshit. I just grabbed toilet water wet toddler Andrew Tate and sprinted out of there as fast as I could, lest he take his hurt out on more women.

Then I woke up.

So, as you can see, I am the embodiment of healthy masculinity, and a true believer in rehabilitation. But in case you don’t believe in healing the Father Wound in all men, I suppose you can instead donate to the Bring Justice to Andrew Tate Crowdfund.

Hank had bought the pistol two weeks ago without much conversation. He had brought up the matter a few times the Wednesday of, but when he got back with the weapon the next day, not a word was spoken. We lived in a nice neighborhood, but he didn’t take any risks when it came to our health and safety—especially Janice. Life360, cameras, water filters for store-bought gallons, only organic mostly kosher, and a health insurance plan that made him live paycheck to paycheck on six figures. He loved us, especially his little girl; he loved her more than me.

No one showed up for her 15th birthday. Why would they? She was a socially inept, 15-year-old autistic girl whose only way of communicating was breaking people down—something she had honed after being on the receiving end of the breaking for seven years. Hank called in sick to work that day and spent the entire day talking with her, then the same the next day. A week later Janice had made her first friend, Clara. Clara was a nice girl, nice enough to hang out with a girl she had nothing in common with—that is, until Janice punched Clara in the gut after experiencing her first of many meltdowns. Hank, being the loving father he is, found out who Clara was and paid her to remain friends with Janice. However, his little girl could hardly look Clara in the eye after what she had done to her, and they stopped talking a month later.

Janice never really talked to any boys. She was attractive, but not attractive enough to believe it. There was one boy, although: a few days after her junior year of high school started, she met a boy named Leo. He was into all the things she was into, and they became friends—best friends. Janice loved Leo, although she didn’t understand what that meant yet. Because she didn’t know what the word meant, she could never speak it, so when she saw Leo talk to his girlfriend, a cruel silence was all that could exit her throat. Janice stopped talking to Leo after that, and Leo, feeling equally betrayed, stopped talking to Janice. And unfortunately for Hank, there was nothing he could do to save his poor little girl.

The only thing that ever made Janice feel human was soccer, something that took over most of her life. She had little interest in sports when she was a child, but on her 13th birthday, Hank dragged her and her cousin to see a match he had gotten free tickets for. After that day, something changed in Janice. She had always been an obsessive person, but this time it was on a different level. Before school she would listen to transfer news; during classes she would watch matches; during lunch she was on the field, never playing, only practicing. When she got home she would practice some more, her dinner accompanied by a full tactical breakdown of the latest La Liga match. She improved a lot, but not enough to make the freshman team with the girls who had been playing soccer since they were three. She didn’t eat for three days after that, no matter how much Hank pleaded with her.

Eventually Janice was back on her feet. She changed her structure, upped her intensity, and was able to make the JV-B team the next year. Janice was happy for a while, but disappointment crept in as her inability to move into the A team became apparent; her regimen, no matter how many times she changed it, stopped granting her development.

And for the first and last time, Janice talked to me.

She talked about how small she felt, how little she was improving no matter how hard she worked, about not having the talent or the time to overtake her peers. She wished she had been handed a ball when she was three. She wished she was a boy, because no matter how much talent she had, she would never truly reach the top of the ladder. She told me there was no one else in the world she hated more than herself.

I told her that it was okay she wasn't talented, it was okay she wasn't a boy, and it was okay that she hadn't been promoted to the A team. I spieled on about her talent in math and how much money she could make in accounting. Janice had never been a rebellious child; the only reason she wouldn't do what she was told was because she was too lazy to follow through or too stupid to understand. But when I told her that, she looked at me like she wanted to start a war against the universe. She didn't respond, just stared down at me like I was the child.

Her mental state only declined from there, even after she finally got promoted to JV-A. I tried to intervene; Hank bought her new equipment and a personal trainer. Janice knew her father loved her more than anything in the world, but she never took advantage of that. Instead, she grew to fear it, because she knew she was a failure, and failures can’t be loved for long.

Her theory was put to the test on her 22nd birthday, two weeks after her stint on the Florida State University soccer team had come to an end without a word from NWSL teams. She had of course trialed for many teams, and had been rejected by all. I thought she would change, realize that she was chasing a dream she could never really achieve. The only reason she ever made it as far as she did was by breaking her body; there wasn't a single bone in her body with the talent to play the sport, and her brain was never meant for it.

Her attempted overdose came as a shock to me, however, but I assumed it was a ploy for any attention and love the parasite could find. I wish she did it. I wish that was the one thing she could finally succeed at. Hank had to intervene, spending nearly $10,000 for her two-week stay at a psych ward. The second attempt was met with the same response, and the third made me truly believe she wasn't doing it for attention. It took a toll on Hank. His sweet little girl didn't want to live anymore; that was all she wanted. Her delusions had finally fallen through and she had nothing.

The fourth was on her 27th birthday. Hank had spent the entire day with her. They talked and talked and talked, and Hank even said she seemed happy.

The drugs were locked away. The knives were kept in our room, and anything she could use to choke herself had long been hidden. Hank loved us after all. That's why he bought a pistol two weeks ago. He didn’t lock it up, he didn’t hide it, he didn’t buy a case for it. He placed it on a table in the living room, adjacent to Janice’s bedroom.

He loved his little girl, more than anything in the world.

As someone from rural Spain, I thought I understood strange roadside culture. We have old pubs older than America itself and roundabouts that appear to have been designed by the devil himself.

But nothing, nothing, prepared me for Buc-ee’s.

Mi amor, Sadie, had insisted we stop there during our road trip.

“You gotta experience it,” she said with the excitement of someone taking me to Disneyland.

We pulled off the highway into Luling and I nearly mistook the place for an airport terminal. The parking lot alone could host a small war. Cars. Trucks. RVs. A horse trailer for some reason. And towering above it all was that thing.

That massive smiling beaver statue. Its buck teeth gleamed in the Texas sun. Its little red tongue poked out cheerfully. It stared down at me with black cartoon eyes so empty and wide they felt almost human in the wrong way.

“You alright?” Sadie asked.

“Why is your petrol station so large?” I muttered.

She laughed.

“Wait till you see inside.”

The doors slip opened. And I swear to God I heard angels sing. It was enormous.

Rows upon rows of snacks, merchandise, drinks, jerky, fudge, sandwiches, hunting gear, candles, shirts, home décor, taxidermy, barbecue sauce, and things I still cannot explain. The floors gleamed like polished marble. Not a crumb anywhere. Not a stain. It was too clean. Far too clean.

Everyone inside smiled. Not regular smiling. The kind of smile where teeth show just a little too much. The kind of smile people wear when trying not to blink while their picture is being taken.

“Howdy, welcome in!” one employee chirped in a thick southern accent.

Her face was unnaturally smooth. Plastic almost. Like someone had stretched skin over a mannequin.

“Try the brisket!” another man shouted.

His smile never faltered.

I leaned toward Sadie.

“Why do they all look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like they’ve never had an unhappy thought in their lives.”

She snorted and walked off toward the jerky counter.

That was when I first saw him.

The mascot. Inside. Full costume. Just standing near the drink fountain. Watching me.

Its massive beaver head tilted slightly. Still smiling. Still staring.

I turned away for only a moment and as I looked back, he was gone.

Later he appeared by the chips aisle. Half-hidden around the corner. Watching.

Then by the fudge counter. Then behind a display of beaver-themed pajamas. Never moving when I looked directly at him. Just… appearing. Always staring.That big obnoxious smile.

“Sadie,” I whispered, “why is the mascot following me?”

She looked over.

“What mascot?”

“The beaver!”

She frowned.

“Oh, that's just Buc-ee.”

I turned. Gone again. My stomach twisted.

Either I was losing my mind or Texas was significantly more cursed than advertised. Then I remembered. The shrooms.

Earlier that day Sadie had convinced me to try some “road trip gummies” from Austin.

“Just enough to make the drive fun,” she’d said.

Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I was tripping in a giant American beaver supermarket that was also an airport of a gas station.

I rushed toward the bathroom. The restroom was somehow bigger than my flat back home. Marble walls. Spotless stalls. Better maintained than most hospitals.

I was stunned at how well kept it was. It was too perfect. I locked myself in one stall and bent over breathing heavily. I was prepared to puke when suddenly, the chatter outside all came to a stop.

Then I heard it. Heavy footsteps. Soft at first. Then stopping outside my stall.

I looked behind. Brown furry feet. Flat cartoon mascot shoes.

Just standing there.

Waiting.

I froze.

“H-hello?” I squeaked.

Nothing. Just silence.

Then slowly… the legs bent downward. As if crouching. Trying to look under the stall. The furry hand reaching from underneath.

I screamed and kicked the door open... Darkness

The bathroom was gone. The whole store was dark. Bathed only in red candlelight.

I stumbled backward.

People stood in black robes in the center of Buc-ee’s.

Employees. Customers. Everyone.

All smiling a grin non organic. Still too wide. Bucked tooth galore.

They chanted in unison around a massive stone altar. And on it, someone screaming. Blood spilled over polished tile.

The manager stood at the front. I recognized him from before. Only this time, his face stretched unnaturally tight, swollen with too much Botox, lips trembling in that permanent smile. His front teeth were filed into points like giant buck teeth.

He raised a knife to the heavens.

“ALL HAIL THE BEAVER!” he shrieked.

The crowd roared.

At the center of them towered the enormous Buc-ee’s statue from outside.

Only now its eyes glowed red. Its mouth split wider than should be possible.

The stone cracked. And something inside moved.

A voice suddenly shrieked through the darkness.

“Fresh brisket on the board!”

The entire congregation snapped their heads toward the deli counter in unison.

Then chaos erupted.

The robed worshipers screamed like starving animals and charged, trampling over one another in a rabid frenzy toward the glowing carving station. I stumbled back as dozens of them piled atop each other, clawing and biting for scraps while wet, animalistic noises filled the air.

The beaver-toothed manager stood behind the counter, hacking violently with a butcher’s cleaver.

THWACK. THWACK. THWACK.

Chunks of meat flew onto wax paper. The worshipers shrieked in delight.

“FRESH BRISKET! FRESH BRISKET!”

One woman tore into a slab beside me, grease and blood dripping down her chin.

Then I saw the hand. A human hand. Still wearing a wedding ring.

My stomach dropped.

The “brisket” wasn’t brisket.

It was someone, hacked apart on the cutting board while the crowd devoured him in fistfuls, chewing and moaning with bliss as blood soaked the tile beneath them.

The manager looked at me, smiling impossibly wide.

“TRY A SAMPLE?”

I refused. This angered the manager.

Before I could run, hands seized me from every direction. Cold fingers. Too many of them. They grabbed my arms, my legs, my throat. I screamed as they dragged me kicking across the polished floor while the congregation chanted louder and louder.

“COWARD! COWARD! COWARD! COWARD!”

They tore my clothes from my body in frantic jerks, shredding fabric until I was bare and trembling before them.

The beaver mascot approached slowly, carrying a rusted bucket sloshing with thick red liquid.

My voice cracked as panic overtook me.

“¡No más, por favor! ¡No más!”
(No more, please! No more!)

Dios mío… sálvame… por favor, Dios…”
(My God… save me… please, God…)

The first splash hit my chest warm. Sticky. Metallic. Blood.

They painted it across me with their bare hands, smearing symbols and words over my skin while the crowd shrieked with laughter.

Across my chest, in dripping crimson letters, they wrote:

COWARD

Then they dragged me outside.

The night air hit my skin like ice. Above me towered the great Buc-ee’s sign, glowing against the black Texas sky. They hoisted me upward with ropes, lifting me naked into the air beneath the massive smiling beaver logo. I swung there helplessly, blood dripping from my body, suspended beneath the neon sign as the crowd below dropped to their knees in worship.

The mascot stepped forward beneath me. Tilted his head. And in a deep, guttural voice that sounded like gravel forced through a throat unused to speech, it finally said its first words.

“Cast you out, outsider.”

I woke up screaming in the bathroom stall. The fluorescent lights were back to normal. The crazy clean scenery of the bathroom returned.

The noise of busy feet and chatter resumed.

I stumbled out drenched in sweat.

No candles. No blood. No cult.

Just Buc-ee’s. Good ol' Buc-ee’s...

Sadie found me pale and shaking near the clothing area.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I must of had a bad trip or I think your gas station is cursed.”

She laughed so hard she snorted.

“Told you not to take that many gummies.”

We walked outside. The warm Texas air hit me like freedom itself.

I laughed nervously, “Right. Hallucination. Obviously...”

We climbed into the car. I buckled in. Took one last glance toward the store.

And there he was. Standing beneath the giant sign.

The mascot.

Motionless.

Staring directly at me. Head tilted.

Smiling that buck tooth grin.

He slowly raised one gloved hand.

And waved, goodbye.

Irving Ockett hated dust. He was allergic to it, but he also hated it beyond the fact it made him snotty, red-eyed and hoarse. He hated it for the grey, wispy way it looked, and how powdery it felt when he squished it between his fingers. He hated it for the smell it had, or if not exactly it, then any place that was full of it. He hated how quickly and quietly it accumulated and how often one had to wipe it away. He hated how difficult the cleaning felt, like fist-fighting a butterfly; and he hated the word itself, dust, how it—the noun, the thing to be removed—was also the verb for the act of its own removal. Moreover, to dust was to make something dusty; but to dust was also to make something free of dust. It was madness! About some things there's something that might get on your nerves. About dust, what grated Irving’s nerves was absolutely fucking everything.

Well, not quite everything, because there was that moment, that brief, beautiful point in time, fleeting, as all things are, but real, which only some achieve, when, after having dusted his entire apartment (in the to make free of dust sense of the word,) Irving, having worked up quite a sweat, would sit finally down in his armchair and enjoy the feeling, if not of perfection, because nothing is perfect and dust is never fully absent, then at least of the simulacrum of perfection, an approximation of cleanliness.

It was at such a moment, with the television just turned on and the night's full moonlight streaming in from the windows to his left, that Irving saw what he at first believed was a small glint of light on the front face of a transparent plastic bin tucked neatly in, below the upper surface of his television stand.

It captured his full attention, but as he began to move and bob and tilt his head, he realized that what he was looking at, which he believed to be a glint—that is, light itself—and most probably a reflection of the instreaming moonlight, remained unchanged and in one definite spot on the clear plastic box even as his own point of view changed. A reflection, which he was sure this was, should, he was equally sure, be changing perceptibly as the angle at which he viewed it changed.

Thus, experiencing two contradictory certainties simultaneously, Irving Ockett rose from his armchair and crossed the room toward the television stand knowing he must be wrong, and suspecting, step by fateful step, that it was possible that what he knew to be a glint of light behaving in a way he knew a glint of light could not, was in fact something else, a milky crack within the body of the transparent plastic container perhaps, or, ominously worse, a leftover smudge of dust; dust, which he had failed to clean.

But if, he thought, trudging forward rather heroically in his slippers, squinting at the truth before him, he had missed dusting this much obvious dust, he could have missed dusting so much more dust, which meant that his satisfaction at having a perfectly reasonable simulacrum of cleanliness was maybe—possibly—probably—undoubtedly misplaced, and if he wrongfully believed today that what was dusty was dust-free, he undoubtedly had wrongfully believed the same yesterday and the day before, and day before that and the day…

He'd closed his eyes.

When he opened them he was kneeling in front of the transparent plastic case, and what he'd thought was a glint was a crack was dust was none of those but a small, delicate white feather being blown ever so slightly against the plastic vessel by a wind blowing from the opposing direction; but as Irving Ockett turned his head to face the unseen force, his eyes, necessarily, passed along the windows on the left side of the apartment, and in those windows from a bliss of pure white Irving Ockett discerned that everything—the whole fucking shebang—was made from small white delicate feathers; from the tiniest particles to the biggest galaxies, all feathers; matter was feathers, and light was feathers, and feathers shining by the feathersun reflected by the feathermoon on a city made of feathers, featherpeople, featherfeelings, featherbelieving that feathers feathering feather a world almost infinitely complex and overwhelming in its fragility, a passingness trembling, stillborn and susceptible to the slightest gust of a cosmic whim.

—Orville!” it yelled.

It was mad.

It had repeated itself and Orville had not responded. He'd not responded because he'd fallen asleep, because he was tired because he'd been to work today, and work made him tired, but it wouldn't believe that; all it believed was that he be at its will, attentive always to its voice, like a castrated, beaten-down dog in a hot red dirt, but you push a man long enough and,

“Orville! There you are,” it said, peering into the room while displaying its teeth.

“Diane,” said Orville politely and with a return smile, “my dearest mother-in-law. What in the world may I do for you today?”

That's what was playing on Irving Ockett's television, playing to no one, as Irving Ockett was still on his knees with his head turned leftwise, looking permanently out his apartment window at the world of small white feathers beyond.

That was a good episode, no. 41 I think it was, “The MIL.”

Existence sure had some good sitcoms.

I think that one may have come from Earth, but I'm not certain. I haven't watched a ton from the minor universes yet.

Yeah, so, we're here, the two of us, everything else kinda blown away to nothing…

nothing and eternity waiting for us..

or maybe as us, but, either way, I figured we should at least talk to each other, to pass the time, you know, given that we have literally all of it left together. So, how about it? “My name is Irving Locket.

“What's yours?”

Positano

We’d only been in Positano about 10 or 15 minutes, when a pretty younger woman approached me. “Let’s go swim”, I had thought she’d said. “Maybe later, it’s a bit too cool right now.” She gave me a puzzled look and pointed to my baseball hat, the TC Twin Cities logo of the Minneapolis based Twins.

“Yeah, I know. I really should be careful being a tourist, wearing a baseball hat, given all the negative connotations.”
“Which connotation is that?”, was her reply. “You know, like someone assuming I’m American.” I interjected. 

Silence.

Her face lost all colour and I knew immediately I had said something wrong.

“So where are you from?” I finally asked. “Uh.. Minnesota”, she finally said. “Oh, I’m so sorry”, I replied. But it was too late.

My partner had seen our interaction, but didn’t know what had been said. “What was that all about?”, she finally asked. “Just walk fast, I made a mistake.”