Outdoor tall directors chair
33 [M4F] CA/USA IF hell isn’t real then how do you explain trying to date in your thirties ? Fun fact: hell is real 😂 looking for my angel though!
2023.05.29 01:28 DigitalWeepingGhost 33 [M4F] CA/USA IF hell isn’t real then how do you explain trying to date in your thirties ? Fun fact: hell is real 😂 looking for my angel though!
Am I the only one who finds Dating in your 30’s so….confusing? I mean you’re in this awkwardly sweet spot of being too old or too young for people. I try to date somebody in their late 20’s (27+) I’m too old, try to date somebody my age (30+) and I’m too young. Im I’m living in a personal dating hell lol. SO here I am on Reddit, dragging myself from shores of the digital cesspools we call dating apps. I’m putting a serious effort in finding a warm, loving, loyal, genuine respectful person to call my life partner and enjoy life together. As Ozzy Osborne says “I’m shooting my shot in the dark” (great song btw)
I am a 33 year old professional from the east coast currently living in Southern California for the past 4 years and been single for 5 years sadly. I have an amazing career as a clothing designer and graphic artist and a clothing brand owner all of which is my dream jobs and occupations. I got to meet celebrities and work with them on numerous projects which is always exciting. My social life here is kinda dull since moving to California. I only get to interact with people if it’s networking in the industry, unfortunately I’m a shy guy. But when I open up to being comfortable I’m a total charismatic gem. I’m a very loyal, chivalrous, respectful, loving, genuine, thoughtful, monogamous, spontaneous, funny, patient, open minded, adventurous, intellectual. I’m also Very goal driven, motivating, and a supportive man always wanting the best for you and your life. I Can be clingy but not in a stalker smothering way, more so the type of guy who craves giving my undivided affection and attention to who I’m with 110%. I want the person I’m with feel loved and thought about 24/7. Willing to relocate wherever for the right one if it gets to that point, Just to be with you ❤️.
Physically…I look like a potato 😂 jk I’m 6ft tall 180 lbs (but definitely in shape) Mixed race of black and Chinese, nice light brown /caramel skin, long braided auburn colored hair ( alien hair honestly because it naturally changes colors with the temperature outside) 6 tattoos 2 nose piercings, brown eyes and I was always told I have nice eyes and godly eyelashes 🫥 which idk how to take but yea it’s a thing i guess lol. Heres pics of me :) https://imgur.com/a/9I9JwxJ
I dress very nicely from what I was always told. Most of the time I have a punk & streetwear meshed aesthetic.
My day to day bullshit aka hobbies and interest: •I’m a nostalgia whore •Making art is my ❤️ •Designing clothes for my brand •Go to the beach •Workout 5-6 days a week •Reading •Practice choreography and dance (I used to be in a competitive dance battle group Let me teach you some moves 💃🕺) •learning about space or nature •cooking (yes I can out cook you, don’t try it 😂) •infatuated with nature and the outdoors •learning and teaching new things •listening to good music •Gaming and streaming on twitch during the weekends and some weeknights after work. •old horror movies, sci fi and old kung fu flicks but I like a lot of movies. •I read manga and watch anime BUT let me put a disclaimer…THIS doesn’t mean I want to talk about this stuff all day everyday lol. Yes let’s watch something together or discuss a theory or two, but don’t wake up with it on your mind first thing in the day. It’s a turnoff tbh.
What I’m looking for in you? Yes…we all have a preference that’s totally normal. But some people are unreasonably picky lol. So first off ill say that I don’t care what religion or race you are or If you want kids or have one already. Those things don’t determine who will love me and vice versa. So come and talk to me I won’t reject you. However I do need a woman that’s:
•Goal driven and goal oriented. •Monogamous •Knows what she wants in life and in a man •Funny and FUN, smart, respectful, not afraid to commit (like me), loving, imperfect, genuine, seriously loyal, feminine, supportive, educated, non political, outgoing, loves to travel/explore. •looking for a serious long term relationship •Cultured •Physically active and healthy (not saying you need to be a model or even close but at least be active or in shape like I am. I used to be obese years ago and I don’t plan on going back and I see WAYYY too many woman demanding a fit male but don’t even workout themselves.) •Drug free and std free (I’m 420 and psychedelic friendly) •26+ in age living in the U.S, definitely a plus if you live in California.
So hopefully you made it this far, hopefully I caught somebodies eye, hopefully the love of my life is reading this…please send an introduction of yourself with a SFW selfie. Open a long distance to close distance relationship thing if you’re within the U.S. Thank you for reading this. There’s so much more about me for you to learn, in a good way lol.
TLDR: I need a boothang to make my queen ❤️😊
submitted by DigitalWeepingGhost to R4R30Plus [link] [comments]
I am a 33 year old professional from the east coast currently living in Southern California for the past 4 years and been single for 5 years sadly. I have an amazing career as a clothing designer and graphic artist and a clothing brand owner all of which is my dream jobs and occupations. I got to meet celebrities and work with them on numerous projects which is always exciting. My social life here is kinda dull since moving to California. I only get to interact with people if it’s networking in the industry, unfortunately I’m a shy guy. But when I open up to being comfortable I’m a total charismatic gem. I’m a very loyal, chivalrous, respectful, loving, genuine, thoughtful, monogamous, spontaneous, funny, patient, open minded, adventurous, intellectual. I’m also Very goal driven, motivating, and a supportive man always wanting the best for you and your life. I Can be clingy but not in a stalker smothering way, more so the type of guy who craves giving my undivided affection and attention to who I’m with 110%. I want the person I’m with feel loved and thought about 24/7. Willing to relocate wherever for the right one if it gets to that point, Just to be with you ❤️.
Physically…I look like a potato 😂 jk I’m 6ft tall 180 lbs (but definitely in shape) Mixed race of black and Chinese, nice light brown /caramel skin, long braided auburn colored hair ( alien hair honestly because it naturally changes colors with the temperature outside) 6 tattoos 2 nose piercings, brown eyes and I was always told I have nice eyes and godly eyelashes 🫥 which idk how to take but yea it’s a thing i guess lol. Heres pics of me :) https://imgur.com/a/9I9JwxJ
I dress very nicely from what I was always told. Most of the time I have a punk & streetwear meshed aesthetic.
My day to day bullshit aka hobbies and interest: •I’m a nostalgia whore •Making art is my ❤️ •Designing clothes for my brand •Go to the beach •Workout 5-6 days a week •Reading •Practice choreography and dance (I used to be in a competitive dance battle group Let me teach you some moves 💃🕺) •learning about space or nature •cooking (yes I can out cook you, don’t try it 😂) •infatuated with nature and the outdoors •learning and teaching new things •listening to good music •Gaming and streaming on twitch during the weekends and some weeknights after work. •old horror movies, sci fi and old kung fu flicks but I like a lot of movies. •I read manga and watch anime BUT let me put a disclaimer…THIS doesn’t mean I want to talk about this stuff all day everyday lol. Yes let’s watch something together or discuss a theory or two, but don’t wake up with it on your mind first thing in the day. It’s a turnoff tbh.
What I’m looking for in you? Yes…we all have a preference that’s totally normal. But some people are unreasonably picky lol. So first off ill say that I don’t care what religion or race you are or If you want kids or have one already. Those things don’t determine who will love me and vice versa. So come and talk to me I won’t reject you. However I do need a woman that’s:
•Goal driven and goal oriented. •Monogamous •Knows what she wants in life and in a man •Funny and FUN, smart, respectful, not afraid to commit (like me), loving, imperfect, genuine, seriously loyal, feminine, supportive, educated, non political, outgoing, loves to travel/explore. •looking for a serious long term relationship •Cultured •Physically active and healthy (not saying you need to be a model or even close but at least be active or in shape like I am. I used to be obese years ago and I don’t plan on going back and I see WAYYY too many woman demanding a fit male but don’t even workout themselves.) •Drug free and std free (I’m 420 and psychedelic friendly) •26+ in age living in the U.S, definitely a plus if you live in California.
So hopefully you made it this far, hopefully I caught somebodies eye, hopefully the love of my life is reading this…please send an introduction of yourself with a SFW selfie. Open a long distance to close distance relationship thing if you’re within the U.S. Thank you for reading this. There’s so much more about me for you to learn, in a good way lol.
TLDR: I need a boothang to make my queen ❤️😊
2023.05.29 01:28 Koshkaboo Moving 1500 miles, little furniture, will need storage
So I posted a year ago when I was looking at options for what was then a 1200 mile move. That one didn't happen. But, we now will be moving in just under a month. We are moving from Texas to Delaware. Critically, we will be moving without having a new house yet. Our plan is to go to Delaware and rent and AirBnB or a short term corporate rental apartment while looking. Likelihood is we find something and move in within 2 to 3 months, but could be longer.
We have already decided we are not moving most of our furniture. It is either old enough that it is not cost effective to move or we don't want to keep it or we are not sure it will fit into the new house. We do have other things to move. DH and I have one car (Volvo XC60) and will be transporting 2 cats. We have some things we either must have with us over the next few months (clothes, computers) or are things movers can't move (important papers). We have some expensive to replace porcelain figurines that we are uncertain want to do.
Our options are really between a full service mover (major van lines not a broker) who can store our stuff and will pack or cobbling together a move with either Relocubes (2 most likely) or PODs.
Things we are moving:
Ascent Trainer - Very large and was expensive and in great shape. We can't possibly sell it for anything close to what we paid for it. It is not that old so don't want to throw out something that cost that much. It will fit upright in a PODS (not sure about a Relocube)
4 chairs - 2 expensive desk chairs just over a year old (one of them cost over $4k). 2 leather recliners. One is only a couple of months old. The other is about 11 years old and works great. If we needed space we could get rid of it (originally cost over $2k)
Inexpensive cabinet - Sentimental value
Glass table that sits on 3 unattached legs - This is art glass and not replaceable. One time UPS shipped legs to us, packed by UPS and they were shattered when they got here. So this is pretty fragile.
Christmas tree - Expensive, already in a box
3 TVs - 75", 40" and about 55" (OLED). These are all only a couple of years old. We could get rid of the 40" maybe.
20-50 boxes - We already packed away about 10 boxes of stuff last year. Depending on how draconian we want to be on getting rid of stuff we could have another 10 to 40 boxes. These are mostly clothes, bathroom stuff, office stuff and kitchen stuff. When we moved into this house we moved about 100 boxes and we are not taking all of that with us, so I think 50 at max is about right.
Cat Trees - bought from Chewy and a little over a year old. We will take if we have room. If not, could just discard and rebuy
Some decorative stuff - 2 or 3 large vases (one is an art piece floor vase). Several pictures. A few are small, 3 of them are large (maybe 6' tall)
Computers/monitors - 2 desktop computers, 2 notebook computers and 6 monitors. Some of these will come with us in our car
3 or 4 boxes of expensive porcelain figurines. The replacement cost on these is a lot. So unless we use a full service mover who packs our stuff and we insure, we will move this ourselves.
So, our options as I see them:
1. Use a full service van lines to move everything except the clothes we need and the computers/monitors we will need over the next few months.. We may be able to get most in the car. If we can't get it all we could ship some of it by UPS (pay for them to pack it and then insure it). This is by far the easiest and most protective solution. But, given a 1500 mile move even with almost no furniture I suspect this will be insanely expensive (we do plan to get quotes). We would need them to store our stuff for likely 2 to 3 months or longer. Any ideas on likely cost? I like this because we could pay them to pack the figurines and the art glass, etc and would pay for insurance.
2. Use either a POD or 2 Relocubes. Pack all in there except the porcelain and the computers/monitors and our close. We hire someone to pack them, pay for storage and later pay to unpack. Hope nothing too much is broken. In the meantime, DH and I drive to Delaware with the cats and what fits in the car. Rest up a bit, then board the cats and drive back to where we started and pick up the porcelain (a friend will store it for us) and anything else we couldn't fit in the car). Then we drive back. Of course, this requires a total of about 4500 miles driving. We are a retired couple and this does sound exhausting.
Any thoughts as to which option is less expensive? Things we can't do: We can't drive 2 vehicles as DH and I are older and may want to switch off driving on the one car. DH doesn't feel comfortable driving a truck.
submitted by Koshkaboo to moving [link] [comments]
We have already decided we are not moving most of our furniture. It is either old enough that it is not cost effective to move or we don't want to keep it or we are not sure it will fit into the new house. We do have other things to move. DH and I have one car (Volvo XC60) and will be transporting 2 cats. We have some things we either must have with us over the next few months (clothes, computers) or are things movers can't move (important papers). We have some expensive to replace porcelain figurines that we are uncertain want to do.
Our options are really between a full service mover (major van lines not a broker) who can store our stuff and will pack or cobbling together a move with either Relocubes (2 most likely) or PODs.
Things we are moving:
Ascent Trainer - Very large and was expensive and in great shape. We can't possibly sell it for anything close to what we paid for it. It is not that old so don't want to throw out something that cost that much. It will fit upright in a PODS (not sure about a Relocube)
4 chairs - 2 expensive desk chairs just over a year old (one of them cost over $4k). 2 leather recliners. One is only a couple of months old. The other is about 11 years old and works great. If we needed space we could get rid of it (originally cost over $2k)
Inexpensive cabinet - Sentimental value
Glass table that sits on 3 unattached legs - This is art glass and not replaceable. One time UPS shipped legs to us, packed by UPS and they were shattered when they got here. So this is pretty fragile.
Christmas tree - Expensive, already in a box
3 TVs - 75", 40" and about 55" (OLED). These are all only a couple of years old. We could get rid of the 40" maybe.
20-50 boxes - We already packed away about 10 boxes of stuff last year. Depending on how draconian we want to be on getting rid of stuff we could have another 10 to 40 boxes. These are mostly clothes, bathroom stuff, office stuff and kitchen stuff. When we moved into this house we moved about 100 boxes and we are not taking all of that with us, so I think 50 at max is about right.
Cat Trees - bought from Chewy and a little over a year old. We will take if we have room. If not, could just discard and rebuy
Some decorative stuff - 2 or 3 large vases (one is an art piece floor vase). Several pictures. A few are small, 3 of them are large (maybe 6' tall)
Computers/monitors - 2 desktop computers, 2 notebook computers and 6 monitors. Some of these will come with us in our car
3 or 4 boxes of expensive porcelain figurines. The replacement cost on these is a lot. So unless we use a full service mover who packs our stuff and we insure, we will move this ourselves.
So, our options as I see them:
1. Use a full service van lines to move everything except the clothes we need and the computers/monitors we will need over the next few months.. We may be able to get most in the car. If we can't get it all we could ship some of it by UPS (pay for them to pack it and then insure it). This is by far the easiest and most protective solution. But, given a 1500 mile move even with almost no furniture I suspect this will be insanely expensive (we do plan to get quotes). We would need them to store our stuff for likely 2 to 3 months or longer. Any ideas on likely cost? I like this because we could pay them to pack the figurines and the art glass, etc and would pay for insurance.
2. Use either a POD or 2 Relocubes. Pack all in there except the porcelain and the computers/monitors and our close. We hire someone to pack them, pay for storage and later pay to unpack. Hope nothing too much is broken. In the meantime, DH and I drive to Delaware with the cats and what fits in the car. Rest up a bit, then board the cats and drive back to where we started and pick up the porcelain (a friend will store it for us) and anything else we couldn't fit in the car). Then we drive back. Of course, this requires a total of about 4500 miles driving. We are a retired couple and this does sound exhausting.
Any thoughts as to which option is less expensive? Things we can't do: We can't drive 2 vehicles as DH and I are older and may want to switch off driving on the one car. DH doesn't feel comfortable driving a truck.
2023.05.29 01:28 DigitalWeepingGhost 33 [M4F] CA/USA IF hell isn’t real then how do you explain trying to date in your thirties ? Fun fact: hell is real 😂 looking for my angel though!
Am I the only one who finds Dating in your 30’s so….confusing? I mean you’re in this awkwardly sweet spot of being too old or too young for people. I try to date somebody in their late 20’s (27+) I’m too old, try to date somebody my age (30+) and I’m too young. Im I’m living in a personal dating hell lol. SO here I am on Reddit, dragging myself from shores of the digital cesspools we call dating apps. I’m putting a serious effort in finding a warm, loving, loyal, genuine respectful person to call my life partner and enjoy life together. As Ozzy Osborne says “I’m shooting my shot in the dark” (great song btw)
I am a 33 year old professional from the east coast currently living in Southern California for the past 4 years and been single for 5 years sadly. I have an amazing career as a clothing designer and graphic artist and a clothing brand owner all of which is my dream jobs and occupations. I got to meet celebrities and work with them on numerous projects which is always exciting. My social life here is kinda dull since moving to California. I only get to interact with people if it’s networking in the industry, unfortunately I’m a shy guy. But when I open up to being comfortable I’m a total charismatic gem. I’m a very loyal, chivalrous, respectful, loving, genuine, thoughtful, monogamous, spontaneous, funny, patient, open minded, adventurous, intellectual. I’m also Very goal driven, motivating, and a supportive man always wanting the best for you and your life. I Can be clingy but not in a stalker smothering way, more so the type of guy who craves giving my undivided affection and attention to who I’m with 110%. I want the person I’m with feel loved and thought about 24/7. Willing to relocate wherever for the right one if it gets to that point, Just to be with you ❤️.
Physically…I look like a potato 😂 jk I’m 6ft tall 180 lbs (but definitely in shape) Mixed race of black and Chinese, nice light brown /caramel skin, long braided auburn colored hair ( alien hair honestly because it naturally changes colors with the temperature outside) 6 tattoos 2 nose piercings, brown eyes and I was always told I have nice eyes and godly eyelashes 🫥 which idk how to take but yea it’s a thing i guess lol. Heres pics of me :) https://imgur.com/a/9I9JwxJ
I dress very nicely from what I was always told. Most of the time I have a punk & streetwear meshed aesthetic.
My day to day bullshit aka hobbies and interest: •I’m a nostalgia whore •Making art is my ❤️ •Designing clothes for my brand •Go to the beach •Workout 5-6 days a week •Reading •Practice choreography and dance (I used to be in a competitive dance battle group Let me teach you some moves 💃🕺) •learning about space or nature •cooking (yes I can out cook you, don’t try it 😂) •infatuated with nature and the outdoors •learning and teaching new things •listening to good music •Gaming and streaming on twitch during the weekends and some weeknights after work. •old horror movies, sci fi and old kung fu flicks but I like a lot of movies. •I read manga and watch anime BUT let me put a disclaimer…THIS doesn’t mean I want to talk about this stuff all day everyday lol. Yes let’s watch something together or discuss a theory or two, but don’t wake up with it on your mind first thing in the day. It’s a turnoff tbh.
What I’m looking for in you? Yes…we all have a preference that’s totally normal. But some people are unreasonably picky lol. So first off ill say that I don’t care what religion or race you are or If you want kids or have one already. Those things don’t determine who will love me and vice versa. So come and talk to me I won’t reject you. However I do need a woman that’s:
•Goal driven and goal oriented. •Monogamous •Knows what she wants in life and in a man •Funny and FUN, smart, respectful, not afraid to commit (like me), loving, imperfect, genuine, seriously loyal, feminine, supportive, educated, non political, outgoing, loves to travel/explore. •looking for a serious long term relationship •Cultured •Physically active and healthy (not saying you need to be a model or even close but at least be active or in shape like I am. I used to be obese years ago and I don’t plan on going back and I see WAYYY too many woman demanding a fit male but don’t even workout themselves.) •Drug free and std free (I’m 420 and psychedelic friendly) •26+ in age living in the U.S, definitely a plus if you live in California.
So hopefully you made it this far, hopefully I caught somebodies eye, hopefully the love of my life is reading this…please send an introduction of yourself with a SFW selfie. Open a long distance to close distance relationship thing if you’re within the U.S. Thank you for reading this. There’s so much more about me for you to learn, in a good way lol.
TLDR: I need a boothang to make my queen ❤️😊
submitted by DigitalWeepingGhost to r4r [link] [comments]
I am a 33 year old professional from the east coast currently living in Southern California for the past 4 years and been single for 5 years sadly. I have an amazing career as a clothing designer and graphic artist and a clothing brand owner all of which is my dream jobs and occupations. I got to meet celebrities and work with them on numerous projects which is always exciting. My social life here is kinda dull since moving to California. I only get to interact with people if it’s networking in the industry, unfortunately I’m a shy guy. But when I open up to being comfortable I’m a total charismatic gem. I’m a very loyal, chivalrous, respectful, loving, genuine, thoughtful, monogamous, spontaneous, funny, patient, open minded, adventurous, intellectual. I’m also Very goal driven, motivating, and a supportive man always wanting the best for you and your life. I Can be clingy but not in a stalker smothering way, more so the type of guy who craves giving my undivided affection and attention to who I’m with 110%. I want the person I’m with feel loved and thought about 24/7. Willing to relocate wherever for the right one if it gets to that point, Just to be with you ❤️.
Physically…I look like a potato 😂 jk I’m 6ft tall 180 lbs (but definitely in shape) Mixed race of black and Chinese, nice light brown /caramel skin, long braided auburn colored hair ( alien hair honestly because it naturally changes colors with the temperature outside) 6 tattoos 2 nose piercings, brown eyes and I was always told I have nice eyes and godly eyelashes 🫥 which idk how to take but yea it’s a thing i guess lol. Heres pics of me :) https://imgur.com/a/9I9JwxJ
I dress very nicely from what I was always told. Most of the time I have a punk & streetwear meshed aesthetic.
My day to day bullshit aka hobbies and interest: •I’m a nostalgia whore •Making art is my ❤️ •Designing clothes for my brand •Go to the beach •Workout 5-6 days a week •Reading •Practice choreography and dance (I used to be in a competitive dance battle group Let me teach you some moves 💃🕺) •learning about space or nature •cooking (yes I can out cook you, don’t try it 😂) •infatuated with nature and the outdoors •learning and teaching new things •listening to good music •Gaming and streaming on twitch during the weekends and some weeknights after work. •old horror movies, sci fi and old kung fu flicks but I like a lot of movies. •I read manga and watch anime BUT let me put a disclaimer…THIS doesn’t mean I want to talk about this stuff all day everyday lol. Yes let’s watch something together or discuss a theory or two, but don’t wake up with it on your mind first thing in the day. It’s a turnoff tbh.
What I’m looking for in you? Yes…we all have a preference that’s totally normal. But some people are unreasonably picky lol. So first off ill say that I don’t care what religion or race you are or If you want kids or have one already. Those things don’t determine who will love me and vice versa. So come and talk to me I won’t reject you. However I do need a woman that’s:
•Goal driven and goal oriented. •Monogamous •Knows what she wants in life and in a man •Funny and FUN, smart, respectful, not afraid to commit (like me), loving, imperfect, genuine, seriously loyal, feminine, supportive, educated, non political, outgoing, loves to travel/explore. •looking for a serious long term relationship •Cultured •Physically active and healthy (not saying you need to be a model or even close but at least be active or in shape like I am. I used to be obese years ago and I don’t plan on going back and I see WAYYY too many woman demanding a fit male but don’t even workout themselves.) •Drug free and std free (I’m 420 and psychedelic friendly) •26+ in age living in the U.S, definitely a plus if you live in California.
So hopefully you made it this far, hopefully I caught somebodies eye, hopefully the love of my life is reading this…please send an introduction of yourself with a SFW selfie. Open a long distance to close distance relationship thing if you’re within the U.S. Thank you for reading this. There’s so much more about me for you to learn, in a good way lol.
TLDR: I need a boothang to make my queen ❤️😊
2023.05.29 01:27 DigitalWeepingGhost 33 [M4F] CA/USA IF hell isn’t real then how do you explain trying to date in your thirties ? Fun fact: hell is real 😂 looking for my angel though!
Am I the only one who finds Dating in your 30’s so….confusing? I mean you’re in this awkwardly sweet spot of being too old or too young for people. I try to date somebody in their late 20’s (27+) I’m too old, try to date somebody my age (30+) and I’m too young. Im I’m living in a personal dating hell lol. SO here I am on Reddit, dragging myself from shores of the digital cesspools we call dating apps. I’m putting a serious effort in finding a warm, loving, loyal, genuine respectful person to call my life partner and enjoy life together. As Ozzy Osborne says “I’m shooting my shot in the dark” (great song btw)
I am a 33 year old professional from the east coast currently living in Southern California for the past 4 years and been single for 5 years sadly. I have an amazing career as a clothing designer and graphic artist and a clothing brand owner all of which is my dream jobs and occupations. I got to meet celebrities and work with them on numerous projects which is always exciting. My social life here is kinda dull since moving to California. I only get to interact with people if it’s networking in the industry, unfortunately I’m a shy guy. But when I open up to being comfortable I’m a total charismatic gem. I’m a very loyal, chivalrous, respectful, loving, genuine, thoughtful, monogamous, spontaneous, funny, patient, open minded, adventurous, intellectual. I’m also Very goal driven, motivating, and a supportive man always wanting the best for you and your life. I Can be clingy but not in a stalker smothering way, more so the type of guy who craves giving my undivided affection and attention to who I’m with 110%. I want the person I’m with feel loved and thought about 24/7. Willing to relocate wherever for the right one if it gets to that point, Just to be with you ❤️.
Physically…I look like a potato 😂 jk I’m 6ft tall 180 lbs (but definitely in shape) Mixed race of black and Chinese, nice light brown /caramel skin, long braided auburn colored hair ( alien hair honestly because it naturally changes colors with the temperature outside) 6 tattoos 2 nose piercings, brown eyes and I was always told I have nice eyes and godly eyelashes 🫥 which idk how to take but yea it’s a thing i guess lol. Heres pics of me :) https://imgur.com/a/9I9JwxJ
I dress very nicely from what I was always told. Most of the time I have a punk & streetwear meshed aesthetic.
My day to day bullshit aka hobbies and interest: •I’m a nostalgia whore •Making art is my ❤️ •Designing clothes for my brand •Go to the beach •Workout 5-6 days a week •Reading •Practice choreography and dance (I used to be in a competitive dance battle group Let me teach you some moves 💃🕺) •learning about space or nature •cooking (yes I can out cook you, don’t try it 😂) •infatuated with nature and the outdoors •learning and teaching new things •listening to good music •Gaming and streaming on twitch during the weekends and some weeknights after work. •old horror movies, sci fi and old kung fu flicks but I like a lot of movies. •I read manga and watch anime BUT let me put a disclaimer…THIS doesn’t mean I want to talk about this stuff all day everyday lol. Yes let’s watch something together or discuss a theory or two, but don’t wake up with it on your mind first thing in the day. It’s a turnoff tbh.
What I’m looking for in you? Yes…we all have a preference that’s totally normal. But some people are unreasonably picky lol. So first off ill say that I don’t care what religion or race you are or If you want kids or have one already. Those things don’t determine who will love me and vice versa. So come and talk to me I won’t reject you. However I do need a woman that’s:
•Goal driven and goal oriented. •Monogamous •Knows what she wants in life and in a man •Funny and FUN, smart, respectful, not afraid to commit (like me), loving, imperfect, genuine, seriously loyal, feminine, supportive, educated, non political, outgoing, loves to travel/explore. •looking for a serious long term relationship •Cultured •Physically active and healthy (not saying you need to be a model or even close but at least be active or in shape like I am. I used to be obese years ago and I don’t plan on going back and I see WAYYY too many woman demanding a fit male but don’t even workout themselves.) •Drug free and std free (I’m 420 and psychedelic friendly) •26+ in age living in the U.S, definitely a plus if you live in California.
So hopefully you made it this far, hopefully I caught somebodies eye, hopefully the love of my life is reading this…please send an introduction of yourself with a SFW selfie. Open a long distance to close distance relationship thing if you’re within the U.S. Thank you for reading this. There’s so much more about me for you to learn, in a good way lol.
TLDR: I need a boothang to make my queen ❤️😊
submitted by DigitalWeepingGhost to ForeverAloneDating [link] [comments]
I am a 33 year old professional from the east coast currently living in Southern California for the past 4 years and been single for 5 years sadly. I have an amazing career as a clothing designer and graphic artist and a clothing brand owner all of which is my dream jobs and occupations. I got to meet celebrities and work with them on numerous projects which is always exciting. My social life here is kinda dull since moving to California. I only get to interact with people if it’s networking in the industry, unfortunately I’m a shy guy. But when I open up to being comfortable I’m a total charismatic gem. I’m a very loyal, chivalrous, respectful, loving, genuine, thoughtful, monogamous, spontaneous, funny, patient, open minded, adventurous, intellectual. I’m also Very goal driven, motivating, and a supportive man always wanting the best for you and your life. I Can be clingy but not in a stalker smothering way, more so the type of guy who craves giving my undivided affection and attention to who I’m with 110%. I want the person I’m with feel loved and thought about 24/7. Willing to relocate wherever for the right one if it gets to that point, Just to be with you ❤️.
Physically…I look like a potato 😂 jk I’m 6ft tall 180 lbs (but definitely in shape) Mixed race of black and Chinese, nice light brown /caramel skin, long braided auburn colored hair ( alien hair honestly because it naturally changes colors with the temperature outside) 6 tattoos 2 nose piercings, brown eyes and I was always told I have nice eyes and godly eyelashes 🫥 which idk how to take but yea it’s a thing i guess lol. Heres pics of me :) https://imgur.com/a/9I9JwxJ
I dress very nicely from what I was always told. Most of the time I have a punk & streetwear meshed aesthetic.
My day to day bullshit aka hobbies and interest: •I’m a nostalgia whore •Making art is my ❤️ •Designing clothes for my brand •Go to the beach •Workout 5-6 days a week •Reading •Practice choreography and dance (I used to be in a competitive dance battle group Let me teach you some moves 💃🕺) •learning about space or nature •cooking (yes I can out cook you, don’t try it 😂) •infatuated with nature and the outdoors •learning and teaching new things •listening to good music •Gaming and streaming on twitch during the weekends and some weeknights after work. •old horror movies, sci fi and old kung fu flicks but I like a lot of movies. •I read manga and watch anime BUT let me put a disclaimer…THIS doesn’t mean I want to talk about this stuff all day everyday lol. Yes let’s watch something together or discuss a theory or two, but don’t wake up with it on your mind first thing in the day. It’s a turnoff tbh.
What I’m looking for in you? Yes…we all have a preference that’s totally normal. But some people are unreasonably picky lol. So first off ill say that I don’t care what religion or race you are or If you want kids or have one already. Those things don’t determine who will love me and vice versa. So come and talk to me I won’t reject you. However I do need a woman that’s:
•Goal driven and goal oriented. •Monogamous •Knows what she wants in life and in a man •Funny and FUN, smart, respectful, not afraid to commit (like me), loving, imperfect, genuine, seriously loyal, feminine, supportive, educated, non political, outgoing, loves to travel/explore. •looking for a serious long term relationship •Cultured •Physically active and healthy (not saying you need to be a model or even close but at least be active or in shape like I am. I used to be obese years ago and I don’t plan on going back and I see WAYYY too many woman demanding a fit male but don’t even workout themselves.) •Drug free and std free (I’m 420 and psychedelic friendly) •26+ in age living in the U.S, definitely a plus if you live in California.
So hopefully you made it this far, hopefully I caught somebodies eye, hopefully the love of my life is reading this…please send an introduction of yourself with a SFW selfie. Open a long distance to close distance relationship thing if you’re within the U.S. Thank you for reading this. There’s so much more about me for you to learn, in a good way lol.
TLDR: I need a boothang to make my queen ❤️😊
2023.05.29 01:08 MyFuneralHomeStories Chapter Two: three drinks, Two dead & One Candy Bar
I was pouring drink number three when my phone rang… I'm 20 years old, a little drunk and in about an hour, I will have almost shot my colleague in the chest in front of three police officers and two frozen dead bodies. Weird. I can't say that I'm mentally ready for what I'm about to see this evening, who’s ever really ready to walk into a garage with a Chevy Cavalier riddled with bullets and two frozen gang bangers inside. My name is Grant and These are My Funeral Home Stories.
Chapter Two: three drinks, Two dead & One Candy Bar
It's about six o'clock on the 3rd Tuesday in February and factoring in the windchill, it's negative 14 degrees outside. I've been off of work for about an hour and I'm not on call tonight…So naturally, I'm just finishing up my second drink and considering whether to order pizza or Chinese tonight. I use my finger to stop by drink from bubbling over and the phone rings. It’s Andy, one of the directors from the funeral home that’s on call when Ned and I are off AND apparently the person he's on call with this evening is unreachable…If it's your job to be on call, you don't want this to happen. It's almost the equivalent of a no call no show at any other job. If you're on call, the only thing you have to do is wait for the phone to ring and when it does ring, you answer it. It’s really not that hard.
Andy is calling me to ask if I would fill in and go on a police call with him. There was a shooting and apparently there are two frozen dead bodies in a car… inside the police station. OK. Why are they at the police station? Great question. Apparently it was too cold outside to investigate and process the crime scene so they moved the crime scene into a heated garage inside a police station. This all sounds incredibly interesting to me but there's only one problem… I'm drunk. Well, on my way to drunk and I'm not old enough to drink. I'm not going anywhere near a police station. I explained to Andy that I'm in no condition to drive to the funeral home and he'd have to find someone else. He interrupted me and said, “ but you're not old enough to drink. Stay put. I'm picking you up. See you in 10.” He hung up the phone before I had time to argue.
Welp. Looks like I'm going to the police station against all better judgment. I finish my third drink as I put on my black 3 button double breasted black suit by Chaps that I picked up at Kohls. (Side note: all my other suits were at the dry cleaners. I hate this suit. It makes me look like a walking rectangle.) It's our funeral home’s policy that we dress cleanly and professionally while in public. This means you ruin a lot of good dress clothes but at least you look sharp… and you can write off your dry cleaning as a job related expense.
I run a razor over my face sans shaving cream because I’m in a hurry and our funeral home also has a strict no facial hair policy. No mustaches, no goatees and definitely no beards. I'm not sure why this is a rule, It just is. I take an extra long look at myself in the mirror to make sure I have myself in order. The last thing I want to do tonight is walk into a police station looking like a sloppy, drunk unshaven underage mess. Could I get fired for getting an underage drinking ticket while on a death call? I sure hope not. I hear a horn honking in the driveway. I peak out the front window, Andy’s out front in our 2004 black Pontiac minivan. It’s a pretty slick…Instead of back seats, our van has a polished oak floor with rollers spaced evenly down the length of the van. These rollers aid in sliding caskets in and out without scratching the van or caskets.
I’m almost ready. I decided to wear a heavy wool four button top coat, scarf and rubberized dress boots by Ecco, all black of course. (Side note: Always spend extra money on ‘nicer’ boots. You don't want your socks wet on death calls.) Although I hate the suit I have on, I am wearing my favorite necktie. It's white, black and navy blue diagonally striped made from handwoven silk by Ralph Lauren. Very sharp. Remember this tie… my favorite tie, it’ll come up again later. On my way out the door I stuffed a handful of garlic flavored chips in my mouth and pulled a Nestle Butterfinger candy bar out of the pantry. The garlic will help cover up the three Jack and Cokes I just had and put a little food in my stomach. The Butterfinger…well, that's my reward. I'll eat it on the way home. I fucking love Butterfingers and why not reward myself for what I'm about to do? I'm not even on call tonight. I deserve it.
From my house to the police station, it’s about 10 minutes… a straight shot with no traffic. Andy starts nervously giggling almost immediately when my door closes and buckle my seatbelt. Funeral Directors are generally interesting people but our pal, Andy, he's a real card. I'm going to tell you a few things about Andy and hopefully won't sound too judgmental in the process. Andy had a gastric bypass surgery three years ago and as has lost about 150 pounds andI don't think he's gone clothes shopping since his weight loss. All of his suits look like they're about five sizes too big. His skin is loose around his jawline giving him a permanent droopy dog expression. It's weird seeing someone whose clothes and skin don't fit their body. He's a nervous guy and he's always afraid of getting in trouble…but somehow he's blindly confident. That's it for the positives.
Andy talks the most deliberate and malicious shit about everyone in the office. It's pathological at this point, I'm not sure he's even aware of it. You really have to watch what you say around this guy… I mean, if you don't want it repeated or used against you, don't say it around Andy. Andy's jumped from funeral home to funeral home around the country settling in towns just long enough to fuck things up and make a quick exit. He’s was a total creep and we found out a few years later that he was stealing from one of our funeral homes. He had his moments but for the most part, I didn't want anything to do with this guy…Especially after drinking almost half of my $36 bottle of Gentleman Jack. Actually, I'm probably just drunk enough to enjoy his company.
We turn on to Roosevelt, the police station is on our right. Andy has managed to keep the van under control even with the several inches of black ice and snow covering the roads. Andy tells me that we're to call a number when we're outside the police station parking garage and an officer will open the giant chain gate to let us in. The car with the dead bodies is in a separate heated garage inside the building to thaw out for processing.
It just dawned on me, I'm kind of hammered and last time I checked I'm still not old enough to drink… I feel my anxiety levels rising…I’m not super eager to walk into a police station in my current condition. My plan is to keep my head down and stay as far out of the officers’ breath smelling distance as possible. I'm so happy I decided to eat those chips before I left. I can still taste the garlic. Garlic breath is better than booze breath. I'm fairly certain they won't lock me up for having bad breath.
Andy calls the number, the gate opens and we drive down a pretty drastic slope and enter the garage filled with a fleet of police cars. There must be 40 decked out Chevy Impalas polished up and ready for dispatch. We pull forward and an officer signals us to stop next to a plain gray door in the center of a the cinder block wall on our right. Andy loaded two stretchers in the van this evening. One standard, one oversized, we get out of the van and unload both without incident. The officer walks to the back of the van and tells us to follow him.
We walk through the gray door and quickly move through three different beige hallways, no windows, just ugly plain cinderblock. I realized that I've completely lost my bearings. When we come to the end of the hallway with another gray door. I feel a combination of claustrophobia and vertigo hit me all at once or maybe that was drink number three kickin’ in. The officer opens the door and Andy and I wheel our stretchers into a 20 by 20 garage lit by the brightest fluorescent lights I've ever experienced. The temperature of the light in this room is unnerving among other things.
'Welcome to the crime lab garage' I think to myself. Immediately upon entering the room, I'm almost knocked to the floor by a smell that burns my nasal cavities. It wasn't the smell of rotting flesh or piss and shit, I’ve smelled all those things before. This was new. It’s so unique but the more Im exposed to it the more I realize I’ve smelled this before at the funeral home but I can’t place it….Then it hits me almost as intensely as the smell itself. Ammonia, that's it! It smells like someone took two or three large bottles of ammonia and just poured them all over the room. I look at Andy as we park the stretchers. We make eye contact and I pointed my nose while simultaneously making a confused face. “What the fuck is that?” I whisper.
Andy pulls two pair of blue heavy duty surgical gloves out of the front pocket of his stretcher, hands me a pair and then proceeds to blow my mind. He quietly tells me that the strong ammonia odor is coming from the blood. Apparently when someone dies suddenly all the blood cells in the body make one last screaming effort to stay alive and dump a ton of waste into the bloodstream. The waste is what gives the blood a strong scent of ammonia. You know when someone says they can smell blood in a movie or TV show? I think If this is what they're talking about.
Now that I have my gloves on and have adjusted to the smell, I take off my overcoat and suit jacket and tuck my tie between two buttons on my white dress shirt. This is simply precautionary. There is nothing worse than dipping your tie into something gross. It's almost always UNcleanable.
In this moment, I'm able to take in my surroundings. Perhaps it's the alcohol but something feels off. Under rows and rows of fluorescent lights there’s a maroon Chevy Cavalier riddled with bullet holes with all four of its doors and trunk wide open. Upon initial inspection, my eyes are drawn to two dead men in the backseat and rusted hood with a smattering of bullet holes. It seems that most of the shots were through the windshield, windows and door panels.The windshield is barely able to hold itself up.
Andy and I walk around the car to figure out our plan of attack. He flips open a black vinyl body bag, unzips it and places it on the ground next to the car and he tells me his plan. “If they’re frozen in a seated position, we won't be able to move em that easily… So we'll wiggle them out, lay them on the body bags and zip up the disaster pouch around them.” This sounds good to me. We move in.
We decided to start with the body in the driver's side backseat. The door’s already open and the hinges appear to be hyper extended. The crime scene techs probably bent the hinges while they were scrubbing the scene. Now up close, I’m finally able to take in the two dead men sitting in the backseat in front of me. These guys must have been a couple years older than me, both wearing Timberlands, black jeans and black jackets… like big puffy down jackets. One man has a New Era baseball cap on backwards while the other has a black stocking cap atop his head. I didn't see any logos but the brain matter, bullet holes and blood may have made it hard to notice. The ammonia smell inside the car is completely overwhelming. Blood is literally covering everything in the backseat. Chunks of thawing brain and meat are all over the headrest. I pick up a piece near the seat belt and squeeze it with my middle finger and thumb. It's still a little frozen so it crunches a bit before turning into mush between my fingers. I wiped my hand on a clean part of the interior.
Bullet holes are weird…For something that can end your life so quickly, they don't leave much of a mark on their way in…BUT the way out is a totally different story. I have no idea how many times these men were shot but they’re covered and destroyed by bullet holes. Chin, hands, thighs under the eyeballs and everywhere else. There wasn’t a part of either of these men’s bodies that didn’t have at least one bullet hole… I didn't see their feet though…if I’m being completely transparent.
This is gore. This is a complete horror show. Someone wanted these men dead… like seriously dead. Was it the driver or could it have been the front seat passenger? There must have been someone sitting in the front seat, right? Why else would two grown men sit in the backseat together if there was an open front seat? By the number of holes, I come to the conclusion that at least two people had to have shot up this car….Far too many holes for one shooter and it was definitely people they thought they were close to…
With half my body in the car, the smell of ammonia is blending with the smell of shit…which is undoubtedly oozing from one or all of the many holes in these men's stomachs. Thankfully, the taste of the garlic chips and whiskey I had earlier keeping me from gagging. Both men looked like they were sleeping like someone's dad or brother in the backseat on a road trip but riddled with holes and covered and smelly blood and falling human chunks.
There's only enough room for one of us in the car’s backseat door opening so Andy gets in the driver's seat backwards and reaches back around the front seat to help shimmy the body out. I press the button and unbuckle the seatbelt, it whips back into its home position startling Andy and I. Everything in this car is covered with blood or some sort of human matter. My gloves are literally covered in blood from just unbuckling the seatbelt and now the taste of the ammonia smell is dripping its way into my mouth through my throat. The officers are having some sort of quiet discussion standing by the door we came in earlier. It's not uncommon for police officers to be completely apathetic about crime scenes when the funeral home arrives. The investigation is basically over tonight these officers couldn't care less about their scene. They just wanted to get these bodies moved out of the garage so they could get home to their families. I get that… but their lack of supervision is troubling, especially with what happens next.
I am now completely hunched over the body in the back passenger seat while Andy is supervising from the front turned around in the driver's seat with his gloved hands on the headrest. I tell Andy that I think I'm strong enough to grab this man’s right forearm and slide his body out on my own. When I grabbed the man's forearm, I immediately feel something isn't right. I've grabbed lots of dead people's forearms before. None felt like this though. It was so hard and rigid….don’t get me wrong I understand this man is frozen BUT whatever I'm grabbing on to isn't human. It's something else. It's hard and feels like metal one of those cheap metal canes you'd buy at a drugstore. The three drinks circulating through my bloodstream make me curious but pensive. I tell Andy that I'm not touching a man's arm and that there's something else in this man’s jacket.
I interrupted the police officers conversation. “Hey, something isn't right here.” An officer and I switch places as he pulls out a tactical knife and starts cutting away the sleeve to the blood soaked down jacket. “It’s a FUCKING GUN.” I look over his shoulder and see the open sleeve of a jacket revealing a sawed off shotgun. The inside of the coat was some sort of bright orange material so the short barrel of the shotgun stand out…and so did the trigger but not because of its color. It stood out because of frozen dead man’s finger hooked over and frozen around it. Did I mention the gun was cocked. This means that the slightest movement would have caused a sudden discharge… The gun would have fired directly into the driver's seat, the seat where Andy was supervising from AND apparently Andy and I noticed this at the same time.
The next sound we hear was an officer saying, “Gun! Loaded gun!”
Andy and I step back while the officers deal with the gun… he's freaked out…I can tell by the blotchy greenish yellow color he skin has turned in the last 30 seconds. Andy says, “I don't like guns. I don't like guns.”
“It's cool, man. Nobody got shot.” I say not being too sympathetic. I'm definitely drunk now and the idea of a frozen dead man shooting my partner in the chest is kind of hilarious, even if it would have been my fault. I giggle internally. Andy quickly moves towards the door and says, “I need to get some fresh air” and scurries out like an asshole letting the door slam behind him. Almost at the same moment the door closed. The three officers approached me from behind, “We got it out….It was loaded. Your buddy's lucky you didn’t shoot him in the chest.” I just snicker and tell the officers my partner needed some air and that I'll make the removals myself. How hard could it be? I'll just grab and pull.
Frozen bodies move in one piece while regular room temperature bodies are just floppy deadweight. These fellas are frozen solid…they felt like moving a heavy chair or peculiar shaped table out of your friend's car. Square peg in round holes, it was actually considerably easier than I anticipated.
The sound of the two bodies hitting a cold cement after pulling them out was very satisfying…a simple loud hollow frozen thud. I'm surrounded by awfulness and all I can think about is how proud I am that I just handled this crime scene on my own. I can't wait to eat that Butterfinger waiting for me in the car. It's a fitting reward but also something to get rid of this ammonia and garlic taste overpowering my senses at the moment.
Andy still hasn't come back and we're about to zip up the last body bag. An officer had put on a pair of gloves to help me maneuver the second man's rigid bent knees into the body bag. This man's body was like a complicated Tetris piece. Once in, we each grab a zipper on either side of the black vinyl bag and zip our respective ends until they meet in the middle. I nod my head at the officer and say, “That's how it's done!”
The officer looks at me sternly and says, “Did you just come from a party?” I look at him confused and respond, ”What?”
The officer tells me that he just got a waft of alcohol. “It reeks like booze over here.” I closed my mouth quickly and my heart begins to beat out of my chest. I must smell like a distillery… so much for those garlic chips. Laughing, I say, “On a Tuesday? Come on, man!” The officer stands up and says, “Let's run a tox screen on these guys to find out how fucked up they were before getting blasted.”
Looks like a dodged a bullet. How did he smell my whiskey breath over the ammonia smell? Does my breath just smell like straight rubbing alcohol? I feel bad that these dead guys got blamed for MY alcohol breath but, at least, I won't be walking out of here with an underage drinking ticket.
Calming down and feeling relieved. I looked down on my shirt and see that my necktie, my very favorite Ralph Lauren necktie, had fallen out of my shirt at some point and had been dipped into some smelly smelly blood. Fuck! Of course I ruined my favorite necktie on a night I'm not even supposed to be working. I undo the knot and throw the tie into a biohazard bag. The rest of the removal was kind of a blur because I was laser focused thinking about that Butterfinger I left in the car. The alcohol plus all the blood smell I kind of made my stomach sour. My mouth starts to water thinking about that candy bar.
One of the officers helps me wheel the stretchers out to the van in the main area of the police station parking garage. I can see exhaust coming out of our van. It's on? Did we leave the van running? I open the back of the van to find Andy laying down in the center of the wooden roller board taking up the entire back of the van. The sound startles him and he quickly jumps up to a seated position and says, “I'm sorry man, guns really freak me out. I almost got shot…. I thought I was gonna pass out.”
I notice a yellow rapper sitting next to his right leg. He noticed that I noticed. “Oh yeah, I owe you a candy bar.” He says in a nonchalant manner.
All at once, my dislike for Andy hit me like a tidal wave. I ruined my favorite tie and this asshole ate my candy bar? Andy, sensing my disappointment and anger, didn't say another word and I imagine what it would have been like if that shot gun would have gone off.
My name is Grant and these are My Funeral Home Stories.
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Chapter Two: three drinks, Two dead & One Candy Bar
It's about six o'clock on the 3rd Tuesday in February and factoring in the windchill, it's negative 14 degrees outside. I've been off of work for about an hour and I'm not on call tonight…So naturally, I'm just finishing up my second drink and considering whether to order pizza or Chinese tonight. I use my finger to stop by drink from bubbling over and the phone rings. It’s Andy, one of the directors from the funeral home that’s on call when Ned and I are off AND apparently the person he's on call with this evening is unreachable…If it's your job to be on call, you don't want this to happen. It's almost the equivalent of a no call no show at any other job. If you're on call, the only thing you have to do is wait for the phone to ring and when it does ring, you answer it. It’s really not that hard.
Andy is calling me to ask if I would fill in and go on a police call with him. There was a shooting and apparently there are two frozen dead bodies in a car… inside the police station. OK. Why are they at the police station? Great question. Apparently it was too cold outside to investigate and process the crime scene so they moved the crime scene into a heated garage inside a police station. This all sounds incredibly interesting to me but there's only one problem… I'm drunk. Well, on my way to drunk and I'm not old enough to drink. I'm not going anywhere near a police station. I explained to Andy that I'm in no condition to drive to the funeral home and he'd have to find someone else. He interrupted me and said, “ but you're not old enough to drink. Stay put. I'm picking you up. See you in 10.” He hung up the phone before I had time to argue.
Welp. Looks like I'm going to the police station against all better judgment. I finish my third drink as I put on my black 3 button double breasted black suit by Chaps that I picked up at Kohls. (Side note: all my other suits were at the dry cleaners. I hate this suit. It makes me look like a walking rectangle.) It's our funeral home’s policy that we dress cleanly and professionally while in public. This means you ruin a lot of good dress clothes but at least you look sharp… and you can write off your dry cleaning as a job related expense.
I run a razor over my face sans shaving cream because I’m in a hurry and our funeral home also has a strict no facial hair policy. No mustaches, no goatees and definitely no beards. I'm not sure why this is a rule, It just is. I take an extra long look at myself in the mirror to make sure I have myself in order. The last thing I want to do tonight is walk into a police station looking like a sloppy, drunk unshaven underage mess. Could I get fired for getting an underage drinking ticket while on a death call? I sure hope not. I hear a horn honking in the driveway. I peak out the front window, Andy’s out front in our 2004 black Pontiac minivan. It’s a pretty slick…Instead of back seats, our van has a polished oak floor with rollers spaced evenly down the length of the van. These rollers aid in sliding caskets in and out without scratching the van or caskets.
I’m almost ready. I decided to wear a heavy wool four button top coat, scarf and rubberized dress boots by Ecco, all black of course. (Side note: Always spend extra money on ‘nicer’ boots. You don't want your socks wet on death calls.) Although I hate the suit I have on, I am wearing my favorite necktie. It's white, black and navy blue diagonally striped made from handwoven silk by Ralph Lauren. Very sharp. Remember this tie… my favorite tie, it’ll come up again later. On my way out the door I stuffed a handful of garlic flavored chips in my mouth and pulled a Nestle Butterfinger candy bar out of the pantry. The garlic will help cover up the three Jack and Cokes I just had and put a little food in my stomach. The Butterfinger…well, that's my reward. I'll eat it on the way home. I fucking love Butterfingers and why not reward myself for what I'm about to do? I'm not even on call tonight. I deserve it.
From my house to the police station, it’s about 10 minutes… a straight shot with no traffic. Andy starts nervously giggling almost immediately when my door closes and buckle my seatbelt. Funeral Directors are generally interesting people but our pal, Andy, he's a real card. I'm going to tell you a few things about Andy and hopefully won't sound too judgmental in the process. Andy had a gastric bypass surgery three years ago and as has lost about 150 pounds andI don't think he's gone clothes shopping since his weight loss. All of his suits look like they're about five sizes too big. His skin is loose around his jawline giving him a permanent droopy dog expression. It's weird seeing someone whose clothes and skin don't fit their body. He's a nervous guy and he's always afraid of getting in trouble…but somehow he's blindly confident. That's it for the positives.
Andy talks the most deliberate and malicious shit about everyone in the office. It's pathological at this point, I'm not sure he's even aware of it. You really have to watch what you say around this guy… I mean, if you don't want it repeated or used against you, don't say it around Andy. Andy's jumped from funeral home to funeral home around the country settling in towns just long enough to fuck things up and make a quick exit. He’s was a total creep and we found out a few years later that he was stealing from one of our funeral homes. He had his moments but for the most part, I didn't want anything to do with this guy…Especially after drinking almost half of my $36 bottle of Gentleman Jack. Actually, I'm probably just drunk enough to enjoy his company.
We turn on to Roosevelt, the police station is on our right. Andy has managed to keep the van under control even with the several inches of black ice and snow covering the roads. Andy tells me that we're to call a number when we're outside the police station parking garage and an officer will open the giant chain gate to let us in. The car with the dead bodies is in a separate heated garage inside the building to thaw out for processing.
It just dawned on me, I'm kind of hammered and last time I checked I'm still not old enough to drink… I feel my anxiety levels rising…I’m not super eager to walk into a police station in my current condition. My plan is to keep my head down and stay as far out of the officers’ breath smelling distance as possible. I'm so happy I decided to eat those chips before I left. I can still taste the garlic. Garlic breath is better than booze breath. I'm fairly certain they won't lock me up for having bad breath.
Andy calls the number, the gate opens and we drive down a pretty drastic slope and enter the garage filled with a fleet of police cars. There must be 40 decked out Chevy Impalas polished up and ready for dispatch. We pull forward and an officer signals us to stop next to a plain gray door in the center of a the cinder block wall on our right. Andy loaded two stretchers in the van this evening. One standard, one oversized, we get out of the van and unload both without incident. The officer walks to the back of the van and tells us to follow him.
We walk through the gray door and quickly move through three different beige hallways, no windows, just ugly plain cinderblock. I realized that I've completely lost my bearings. When we come to the end of the hallway with another gray door. I feel a combination of claustrophobia and vertigo hit me all at once or maybe that was drink number three kickin’ in. The officer opens the door and Andy and I wheel our stretchers into a 20 by 20 garage lit by the brightest fluorescent lights I've ever experienced. The temperature of the light in this room is unnerving among other things.
'Welcome to the crime lab garage' I think to myself. Immediately upon entering the room, I'm almost knocked to the floor by a smell that burns my nasal cavities. It wasn't the smell of rotting flesh or piss and shit, I’ve smelled all those things before. This was new. It’s so unique but the more Im exposed to it the more I realize I’ve smelled this before at the funeral home but I can’t place it….Then it hits me almost as intensely as the smell itself. Ammonia, that's it! It smells like someone took two or three large bottles of ammonia and just poured them all over the room. I look at Andy as we park the stretchers. We make eye contact and I pointed my nose while simultaneously making a confused face. “What the fuck is that?” I whisper.
Andy pulls two pair of blue heavy duty surgical gloves out of the front pocket of his stretcher, hands me a pair and then proceeds to blow my mind. He quietly tells me that the strong ammonia odor is coming from the blood. Apparently when someone dies suddenly all the blood cells in the body make one last screaming effort to stay alive and dump a ton of waste into the bloodstream. The waste is what gives the blood a strong scent of ammonia. You know when someone says they can smell blood in a movie or TV show? I think If this is what they're talking about.
Now that I have my gloves on and have adjusted to the smell, I take off my overcoat and suit jacket and tuck my tie between two buttons on my white dress shirt. This is simply precautionary. There is nothing worse than dipping your tie into something gross. It's almost always UNcleanable.
In this moment, I'm able to take in my surroundings. Perhaps it's the alcohol but something feels off. Under rows and rows of fluorescent lights there’s a maroon Chevy Cavalier riddled with bullet holes with all four of its doors and trunk wide open. Upon initial inspection, my eyes are drawn to two dead men in the backseat and rusted hood with a smattering of bullet holes. It seems that most of the shots were through the windshield, windows and door panels.The windshield is barely able to hold itself up.
Andy and I walk around the car to figure out our plan of attack. He flips open a black vinyl body bag, unzips it and places it on the ground next to the car and he tells me his plan. “If they’re frozen in a seated position, we won't be able to move em that easily… So we'll wiggle them out, lay them on the body bags and zip up the disaster pouch around them.” This sounds good to me. We move in.
We decided to start with the body in the driver's side backseat. The door’s already open and the hinges appear to be hyper extended. The crime scene techs probably bent the hinges while they were scrubbing the scene. Now up close, I’m finally able to take in the two dead men sitting in the backseat in front of me. These guys must have been a couple years older than me, both wearing Timberlands, black jeans and black jackets… like big puffy down jackets. One man has a New Era baseball cap on backwards while the other has a black stocking cap atop his head. I didn't see any logos but the brain matter, bullet holes and blood may have made it hard to notice. The ammonia smell inside the car is completely overwhelming. Blood is literally covering everything in the backseat. Chunks of thawing brain and meat are all over the headrest. I pick up a piece near the seat belt and squeeze it with my middle finger and thumb. It's still a little frozen so it crunches a bit before turning into mush between my fingers. I wiped my hand on a clean part of the interior.
Bullet holes are weird…For something that can end your life so quickly, they don't leave much of a mark on their way in…BUT the way out is a totally different story. I have no idea how many times these men were shot but they’re covered and destroyed by bullet holes. Chin, hands, thighs under the eyeballs and everywhere else. There wasn’t a part of either of these men’s bodies that didn’t have at least one bullet hole… I didn't see their feet though…if I’m being completely transparent.
This is gore. This is a complete horror show. Someone wanted these men dead… like seriously dead. Was it the driver or could it have been the front seat passenger? There must have been someone sitting in the front seat, right? Why else would two grown men sit in the backseat together if there was an open front seat? By the number of holes, I come to the conclusion that at least two people had to have shot up this car….Far too many holes for one shooter and it was definitely people they thought they were close to…
With half my body in the car, the smell of ammonia is blending with the smell of shit…which is undoubtedly oozing from one or all of the many holes in these men's stomachs. Thankfully, the taste of the garlic chips and whiskey I had earlier keeping me from gagging. Both men looked like they were sleeping like someone's dad or brother in the backseat on a road trip but riddled with holes and covered and smelly blood and falling human chunks.
There's only enough room for one of us in the car’s backseat door opening so Andy gets in the driver's seat backwards and reaches back around the front seat to help shimmy the body out. I press the button and unbuckle the seatbelt, it whips back into its home position startling Andy and I. Everything in this car is covered with blood or some sort of human matter. My gloves are literally covered in blood from just unbuckling the seatbelt and now the taste of the ammonia smell is dripping its way into my mouth through my throat. The officers are having some sort of quiet discussion standing by the door we came in earlier. It's not uncommon for police officers to be completely apathetic about crime scenes when the funeral home arrives. The investigation is basically over tonight these officers couldn't care less about their scene. They just wanted to get these bodies moved out of the garage so they could get home to their families. I get that… but their lack of supervision is troubling, especially with what happens next.
I am now completely hunched over the body in the back passenger seat while Andy is supervising from the front turned around in the driver's seat with his gloved hands on the headrest. I tell Andy that I think I'm strong enough to grab this man’s right forearm and slide his body out on my own. When I grabbed the man's forearm, I immediately feel something isn't right. I've grabbed lots of dead people's forearms before. None felt like this though. It was so hard and rigid….don’t get me wrong I understand this man is frozen BUT whatever I'm grabbing on to isn't human. It's something else. It's hard and feels like metal one of those cheap metal canes you'd buy at a drugstore. The three drinks circulating through my bloodstream make me curious but pensive. I tell Andy that I'm not touching a man's arm and that there's something else in this man’s jacket.
I interrupted the police officers conversation. “Hey, something isn't right here.” An officer and I switch places as he pulls out a tactical knife and starts cutting away the sleeve to the blood soaked down jacket. “It’s a FUCKING GUN.” I look over his shoulder and see the open sleeve of a jacket revealing a sawed off shotgun. The inside of the coat was some sort of bright orange material so the short barrel of the shotgun stand out…and so did the trigger but not because of its color. It stood out because of frozen dead man’s finger hooked over and frozen around it. Did I mention the gun was cocked. This means that the slightest movement would have caused a sudden discharge… The gun would have fired directly into the driver's seat, the seat where Andy was supervising from AND apparently Andy and I noticed this at the same time.
The next sound we hear was an officer saying, “Gun! Loaded gun!”
Andy and I step back while the officers deal with the gun… he's freaked out…I can tell by the blotchy greenish yellow color he skin has turned in the last 30 seconds. Andy says, “I don't like guns. I don't like guns.”
“It's cool, man. Nobody got shot.” I say not being too sympathetic. I'm definitely drunk now and the idea of a frozen dead man shooting my partner in the chest is kind of hilarious, even if it would have been my fault. I giggle internally. Andy quickly moves towards the door and says, “I need to get some fresh air” and scurries out like an asshole letting the door slam behind him. Almost at the same moment the door closed. The three officers approached me from behind, “We got it out….It was loaded. Your buddy's lucky you didn’t shoot him in the chest.” I just snicker and tell the officers my partner needed some air and that I'll make the removals myself. How hard could it be? I'll just grab and pull.
Frozen bodies move in one piece while regular room temperature bodies are just floppy deadweight. These fellas are frozen solid…they felt like moving a heavy chair or peculiar shaped table out of your friend's car. Square peg in round holes, it was actually considerably easier than I anticipated.
The sound of the two bodies hitting a cold cement after pulling them out was very satisfying…a simple loud hollow frozen thud. I'm surrounded by awfulness and all I can think about is how proud I am that I just handled this crime scene on my own. I can't wait to eat that Butterfinger waiting for me in the car. It's a fitting reward but also something to get rid of this ammonia and garlic taste overpowering my senses at the moment.
Andy still hasn't come back and we're about to zip up the last body bag. An officer had put on a pair of gloves to help me maneuver the second man's rigid bent knees into the body bag. This man's body was like a complicated Tetris piece. Once in, we each grab a zipper on either side of the black vinyl bag and zip our respective ends until they meet in the middle. I nod my head at the officer and say, “That's how it's done!”
The officer looks at me sternly and says, “Did you just come from a party?” I look at him confused and respond, ”What?”
The officer tells me that he just got a waft of alcohol. “It reeks like booze over here.” I closed my mouth quickly and my heart begins to beat out of my chest. I must smell like a distillery… so much for those garlic chips. Laughing, I say, “On a Tuesday? Come on, man!” The officer stands up and says, “Let's run a tox screen on these guys to find out how fucked up they were before getting blasted.”
Looks like a dodged a bullet. How did he smell my whiskey breath over the ammonia smell? Does my breath just smell like straight rubbing alcohol? I feel bad that these dead guys got blamed for MY alcohol breath but, at least, I won't be walking out of here with an underage drinking ticket.
Calming down and feeling relieved. I looked down on my shirt and see that my necktie, my very favorite Ralph Lauren necktie, had fallen out of my shirt at some point and had been dipped into some smelly smelly blood. Fuck! Of course I ruined my favorite necktie on a night I'm not even supposed to be working. I undo the knot and throw the tie into a biohazard bag. The rest of the removal was kind of a blur because I was laser focused thinking about that Butterfinger I left in the car. The alcohol plus all the blood smell I kind of made my stomach sour. My mouth starts to water thinking about that candy bar.
One of the officers helps me wheel the stretchers out to the van in the main area of the police station parking garage. I can see exhaust coming out of our van. It's on? Did we leave the van running? I open the back of the van to find Andy laying down in the center of the wooden roller board taking up the entire back of the van. The sound startles him and he quickly jumps up to a seated position and says, “I'm sorry man, guns really freak me out. I almost got shot…. I thought I was gonna pass out.”
I notice a yellow rapper sitting next to his right leg. He noticed that I noticed. “Oh yeah, I owe you a candy bar.” He says in a nonchalant manner.
All at once, my dislike for Andy hit me like a tidal wave. I ruined my favorite tie and this asshole ate my candy bar? Andy, sensing my disappointment and anger, didn't say another word and I imagine what it would have been like if that shot gun would have gone off.
My name is Grant and these are My Funeral Home Stories.
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2023.05.29 01:04 MyFuneralHomeStories Chapter Two: 3 drinks, 2 dead & 1 Candy Bar
I was pouring drink number three when my phone rang… I'm 20 years old, a little drunk and in about an hour, I will have almost shot my colleague in the chest in front of three police officers and two frozen dead bodies. Weird. I can't say that I'm mentally ready for what I'm about to see this evening, who’s ever really ready to walk into a garage with a Chevy Cavalier riddled with bullets and two frozen gang bangers inside. My name is Grant and These are My Funeral Home Stories.
Chapter Two: three drinks, Two dead & One Candy Bar
It's about six o'clock on the 3rd Tuesday in February and factoring in the windchill, it's negative 14 degrees outside. I've been off of work for about an hour and I'm not on call tonight…So naturally, I'm just finishing up my second drink and considering whether to order pizza or Chinese tonight. I use my finger to stop by drink from bubbling over and the phone rings. It’s Andy, one of the directors from the funeral home that’s on call when Ned and I are off AND apparently the person he's on call with this evening is unreachable…If it's your job to be on call, you don't want this to happen. It's almost the equivalent of a no call no show at any other job. If you're on call, the only thing you have to do is wait for the phone to ring and when it does ring, you answer it. It’s really not that hard.
Andy is calling me to ask if I would fill in and go on a police call with him. There was a shooting and apparently there are two frozen dead bodies in a car… inside the police station. OK. Why are they at the police station? Great question. Apparently it was too cold outside to investigate and process the crime scene so they moved the crime scene into a heated garage inside a police station. This all sounds incredibly interesting to me but there's only one problem… I'm drunk. Well, on my way to drunk and I'm not old enough to drink. I'm not going anywhere near a police station. I explained to Andy that I'm in no condition to drive to the funeral home and he'd have to find someone else. He interrupted me and said, “ but you're not old enough to drink. Stay put. I'm picking you up. See you in 10.” He hung up the phone before I had time to argue.
Welp. Looks like I'm going to the police station against all better judgment. I finish my third drink as I put on my black 3 button double breasted black suit by Chaps that I picked up at Kohls. (Side note: all my other suits were at the dry cleaners. I hate this suit. It makes me look like a walking rectangle.) It's our funeral home’s policy that we dress cleanly and professionally while in public. This means you ruin a lot of good dress clothes but at least you look sharp… and you can write off your dry cleaning as a job related expense.
I run a razor over my face sans shaving cream because I’m in a hurry and our funeral home also has a strict no facial hair policy. No mustaches, no goatees and definitely no beards. I'm not sure why this is a rule, It just is. I take an extra long look at myself in the mirror to make sure I have myself in order. The last thing I want to do tonight is walk into a police station looking like a sloppy, drunk unshaven underage mess. Could I get fired for getting an underage drinking ticket while on a death call? I sure hope not. I hear a horn honking in the driveway. I peak out the front window, Andy’s out front in our 2004 black Pontiac minivan. It’s a pretty slick…Instead of back seats, our van has a polished oak floor with rollers spaced evenly down the length of the van. These rollers aid in sliding caskets in and out without scratching the van or caskets.
I’m almost ready. I decided to wear a heavy wool four button top coat, scarf and rubberized dress boots by Ecco, all black of course. (Side note: Always spend extra money on ‘nicer’ boots. You don't want your socks wet on death calls.) Although I hate the suit I have on, I am wearing my favorite necktie. It's white, black and navy blue diagonally striped made from handwoven silk by Ralph Lauren. Very sharp. Remember this tie… my favorite tie, it’ll come up again later. On my way out the door I stuffed a handful of garlic flavored chips in my mouth and pulled a Nestle Butterfinger candy bar out of the pantry. The garlic will help cover up the three Jack and Cokes I just had and put a little food in my stomach. The Butterfinger…well, that's my reward. I'll eat it on the way home. I fucking love Butterfingers and why not reward myself for what I'm about to do? I'm not even on call tonight. I deserve it.
From my house to the police station, it’s about 10 minutes… a straight shot with no traffic. Andy starts nervously giggling almost immediately when my door closes and buckle my seatbelt. Funeral Directors are generally interesting people but our pal, Andy, he's a real card. I'm going to tell you a few things about Andy and hopefully won't sound too judgmental in the process. Andy had a gastric bypass surgery three years ago and as has lost about 150 pounds andI don't think he's gone clothes shopping since his weight loss. All of his suits look like they're about five sizes too big. His skin is loose around his jawline giving him a permanent droopy dog expression. It's weird seeing someone whose clothes and skin don't fit their body. He's a nervous guy and he's always afraid of getting in trouble…but somehow he's blindly confident. That's it for the positives.
Andy talks the most deliberate and malicious shit about everyone in the office. It's pathological at this point, I'm not sure he's even aware of it. You really have to watch what you say around this guy… I mean, if you don't want it repeated or used against you, don't say it around Andy. Andy's jumped from funeral home to funeral home around the country settling in towns just long enough to fuck things up and make a quick exit. He’s was a total creep and we found out a few years later that he was stealing from one of our funeral homes. He had his moments but for the most part, I didn't want anything to do with this guy…Especially after drinking almost half of my $36 bottle of Gentleman Jack. Actually, I'm probably just drunk enough to enjoy his company.
We turn on to Roosevelt, the police station is on our right. Andy has managed to keep the van under control even with the several inches of black ice and snow covering the roads. Andy tells me that we're to call a number when we're outside the police station parking garage and an officer will open the giant chain gate to let us in. The car with the dead bodies is in a separate heated garage inside the building to thaw out for processing.
It just dawned on me, I'm kind of hammered and last time I checked I'm still not old enough to drink… I feel my anxiety levels rising…I’m not super eager to walk into a police station in my current condition. My plan is to keep my head down and stay as far out of the officers’ breath smelling distance as possible. I'm so happy I decided to eat those chips before I left. I can still taste the garlic. Garlic breath is better than booze breath. I'm fairly certain they won't lock me up for having bad breath.
Andy calls the number, the gate opens and we drive down a pretty drastic slope and enter the garage filled with a fleet of police cars. There must be 40 decked out Chevy Impalas polished up and ready for dispatch. We pull forward and an officer signals us to stop next to a plain gray door in the center of a the cinder block wall on our right. Andy loaded two stretchers in the van this evening. One standard, one oversized, we get out of the van and unload both without incident. The officer walks to the back of the van and tells us to follow him.
We walk through the gray door and quickly move through three different beige hallways, no windows, just ugly plain cinderblock. I realized that I've completely lost my bearings. When we come to the end of the hallway with another gray door. I feel a combination of claustrophobia and vertigo hit me all at once or maybe that was drink number three kickin’ in. The officer opens the door and Andy and I wheel our stretchers into a 20 by 20 garage lit by the brightest fluorescent lights I've ever experienced. The temperature of the light in this room is unnerving among other things.
'Welcome to the crime lab garage' I think to myself. Immediately upon entering the room, I'm almost knocked to the floor by a smell that burns my nasal cavities. It wasn't the smell of rotting flesh or piss and shit, I’ve smelled all those things before. This was new. It’s so unique but the more Im exposed to it the more I realize I’ve smelled this before at the funeral home but I can’t place it….Then it hits me almost as intensely as the smell itself. Ammonia, that's it! It smells like someone took two or three large bottles of ammonia and just poured them all over the room. I look at Andy as we park the stretchers. We make eye contact and I pointed my nose while simultaneously making a confused face. “What the fuck is that?” I whisper.
Andy pulls two pair of blue heavy duty surgical gloves out of the front pocket of his stretcher, hands me a pair and then proceeds to blow my mind. He quietly tells me that the strong ammonia odor is coming from the blood. Apparently when someone dies suddenly all the blood cells in the body make one last screaming effort to stay alive and dump a ton of waste into the bloodstream. The waste is what gives the blood a strong scent of ammonia. You know when someone says they can smell blood in a movie or TV show? I think If this is what they're talking about.
Now that I have my gloves on and have adjusted to the smell, I take off my overcoat and suit jacket and tuck my tie between two buttons on my white dress shirt. This is simply precautionary. There is nothing worse than dipping your tie into something gross. It's almost always UNcleanable.
In this moment, I'm able to take in my surroundings. Perhaps it's the alcohol but something feels off. Under rows and rows of fluorescent lights there’s a maroon Chevy Cavalier riddled with bullet holes with all four of its doors and trunk wide open. Upon initial inspection, my eyes are drawn to two dead men in the backseat and rusted hood with a smattering of bullet holes. It seems that most of the shots were through the windshield, windows and door panels.The windshield is barely able to hold itself up.
Andy and I walk around the car to figure out our plan of attack. He flips open a black vinyl body bag, unzips it and places it on the ground next to the car and he tells me his plan. “If they’re frozen in a seated position, we won't be able to move em that easily… So we'll wiggle them out, lay them on the body bags and zip up the disaster pouch around them.” This sounds good to me. We move in.
We decided to start with the body in the driver's side backseat. The door’s already open and the hinges appear to be hyper extended. The crime scene techs probably bent the hinges while they were scrubbing the scene. Now up close, I’m finally able to take in the two dead men sitting in the backseat in front of me. These guys must have been a couple years older than me, both wearing Timberlands, black jeans and black jackets… like big puffy down jackets. One man has a New Era baseball cap on backwards while the other has a black stocking cap atop his head. I didn't see any logos but the brain matter, bullet holes and blood may have made it hard to notice. The ammonia smell inside the car is completely overwhelming. Blood is literally covering everything in the backseat. Chunks of thawing brain and meat are all over the headrest. I pick up a piece near the seat belt and squeeze it with my middle finger and thumb. It's still a little frozen so it crunches a bit before turning into mush between my fingers. I wiped my hand on a clean part of the interior.
Bullet holes are weird…For something that can end your life so quickly, they don't leave much of a mark on their way in…BUT the way out is a totally different story. I have no idea how many times these men were shot but they’re covered and destroyed by bullet holes. Chin, hands, thighs under the eyeballs and everywhere else. There wasn’t a part of either of these men’s bodies that didn’t have at least one bullet hole… I didn't see their feet though…if I’m being completely transparent.
This is gore. This is a complete horror show. Someone wanted these men dead… like seriously dead. Was it the driver or could it have been the front seat passenger? There must have been someone sitting in the front seat, right? Why else would two grown men sit in the backseat together if there was an open front seat? By the number of holes, I come to the conclusion that at least two people had to have shot up this car….Far too many holes for one shooter and it was definitely people they thought they were close to…
With half my body in the car, the smell of ammonia is blending with the smell of shit…which is undoubtedly oozing from one or all of the many holes in these men's stomachs. Thankfully, the taste of the garlic chips and whiskey I had earlier keeping me from gagging. Both men looked like they were sleeping like someone's dad or brother in the backseat on a road trip but riddled with holes and covered and smelly blood and falling human chunks.
There's only enough room for one of us in the car’s backseat door opening so Andy gets in the driver's seat backwards and reaches back around the front seat to help shimmy the body out. I press the button and unbuckle the seatbelt, it whips back into its home position startling Andy and I. Everything in this car is covered with blood or some sort of human matter. My gloves are literally covered in blood from just unbuckling the seatbelt and now the taste of the ammonia smell is dripping its way into my mouth through my throat. The officers are having some sort of quiet discussion standing by the door we came in earlier. It's not uncommon for police officers to be completely apathetic about crime scenes when the funeral home arrives. The investigation is basically over tonight these officers couldn't care less about their scene. They just wanted to get these bodies moved out of the garage so they could get home to their families. I get that… but their lack of supervision is troubling, especially with what happens next.
I am now completely hunched over the body in the back passenger seat while Andy is supervising from the front turned around in the driver's seat with his gloved hands on the headrest. I tell Andy that I think I'm strong enough to grab this man’s right forearm and slide his body out on my own. When I grabbed the man's forearm, I immediately feel something isn't right. I've grabbed lots of dead people's forearms before. None felt like this though. It was so hard and rigid….don’t get me wrong I understand this man is frozen BUT whatever I'm grabbing on to isn't human. It's something else. It's hard and feels like metal one of those cheap metal canes you'd buy at a drugstore. The three drinks circulating through my bloodstream make me curious but pensive. I tell Andy that I'm not touching a man's arm and that there's something else in this man’s jacket.
I interrupted the police officers conversation. “Hey, something isn't right here.” An officer and I switch places as he pulls out a tactical knife and starts cutting away the sleeve to the blood soaked down jacket. “It’s a FUCKING GUN.” I look over his shoulder and see the open sleeve of a jacket revealing a sawed off shotgun. The inside of the coat was some sort of bright orange material so the short barrel of the shotgun stand out…and so did the trigger but not because of its color. It stood out because of frozen dead man’s finger hooked over and frozen around it. Did I mention the gun was cocked. This means that the slightest movement would have caused a sudden discharge… The gun would have fired directly into the driver's seat, the seat where Andy was supervising from AND apparently Andy and I noticed this at the same time.
The next sound we hear was an officer saying, “Gun! Loaded gun!”
Andy and I step back while the officers deal with the gun… he's freaked out…I can tell by the blotchy greenish yellow color he skin has turned in the last 30 seconds. Andy says, “I don't like guns. I don't like guns.”
“It's cool, man. Nobody got shot.” I say not being too sympathetic. I'm definitely drunk now and the idea of a frozen dead man shooting my partner in the chest is kind of hilarious, even if it would have been my fault. I giggle internally. Andy quickly moves towards the door and says, “I need to get some fresh air” and scurries out like an asshole letting the door slam behind him. Almost at the same moment the door closed. The three officers approached me from behind, “We got it out….It was loaded. Your buddy's lucky you didn’t shoot him in the chest.” I just snicker and tell the officers my partner needed some air and that I'll make the removals myself. How hard could it be? I'll just grab and pull.
Frozen bodies move in one piece while regular room temperature bodies are just floppy deadweight. These fellas are frozen solid…they felt like moving a heavy chair or peculiar shaped table out of your friend's car. Square peg in round holes, it was actually considerably easier than I anticipated.
The sound of the two bodies hitting a cold cement after pulling them out was very satisfying…a simple loud hollow frozen thud. I'm surrounded by awfulness and all I can think about is how proud I am that I just handled this crime scene on my own. I can't wait to eat that Butterfinger waiting for me in the car. It's a fitting reward but also something to get rid of this ammonia and garlic taste overpowering my senses at the moment.
Andy still hasn't come back and we're about to zip up the last body bag. An officer had put on a pair of gloves to help me maneuver the second man's rigid bent knees into the body bag. This man's body was like a complicated Tetris piece. Once in, we each grab a zipper on either side of the black vinyl bag and zip our respective ends until they meet in the middle. I nod my head at the officer and say, “That's how it's done!”
The officer looks at me sternly and says, “Did you just come from a party?” I look at him confused and respond, ”What?”
The officer tells me that he just got a waft of alcohol. “It reeks like booze over here.” I closed my mouth quickly and my heart begins to beat out of my chest. I must smell like a distillery… so much for those garlic chips. Laughing, I say, “On a Tuesday? Come on, man!” The officer stands up and says, “Let's run a tox screen on these guys to find out how fucked up they were before getting blasted.”
Looks like a dodged a bullet. How did he smell my whiskey breath over the ammonia smell? Does my breath just smell like straight rubbing alcohol? I feel bad that these dead guys got blamed for MY alcohol breath but, at least, I won't be walking out of here with an underage drinking ticket.
Calming down and feeling relieved. I looked down on my shirt and see that my necktie, my very favorite Ralph Lauren necktie, had fallen out of my shirt at some point and had been dipped into some smelly smelly blood. Fuck! Of course I ruined my favorite necktie on a night I'm not even supposed to be working. I undo the knot and throw the tie into a biohazard bag. The rest of the removal was kind of a blur because I was laser focused thinking about that Butterfinger I left in the car. The alcohol plus all the blood smell I kind of made my stomach sour. My mouth starts to water thinking about that candy bar.
One of the officers helps me wheel the stretchers out to the van in the main area of the police station parking garage. I can see exhaust coming out of our van. It's on? Did we leave the van running? I open the back of the van to find Andy laying down in the center of the wooden roller board taking up the entire back of the van. The sound startles him and he quickly jumps up to a seated position and says, “I'm sorry man, guns really freak me out. I almost got shot…. I thought I was gonna pass out.”
I notice a yellow rapper sitting next to his right leg. He noticed that I noticed. “Oh yeah, I owe you a candy bar.” He says in a nonchalant manner.
All at once, my dislike for Andy hit me like a tidal wave. I ruined my favorite tie and this asshole ate my candy bar? Andy, sensing my disappointment and anger, didn't say another word and I imagine what it would have been like if that shot gun would have gone off.
My name is Grant and these are My Funeral Home Stories.
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Chapter Two: three drinks, Two dead & One Candy Bar
It's about six o'clock on the 3rd Tuesday in February and factoring in the windchill, it's negative 14 degrees outside. I've been off of work for about an hour and I'm not on call tonight…So naturally, I'm just finishing up my second drink and considering whether to order pizza or Chinese tonight. I use my finger to stop by drink from bubbling over and the phone rings. It’s Andy, one of the directors from the funeral home that’s on call when Ned and I are off AND apparently the person he's on call with this evening is unreachable…If it's your job to be on call, you don't want this to happen. It's almost the equivalent of a no call no show at any other job. If you're on call, the only thing you have to do is wait for the phone to ring and when it does ring, you answer it. It’s really not that hard.
Andy is calling me to ask if I would fill in and go on a police call with him. There was a shooting and apparently there are two frozen dead bodies in a car… inside the police station. OK. Why are they at the police station? Great question. Apparently it was too cold outside to investigate and process the crime scene so they moved the crime scene into a heated garage inside a police station. This all sounds incredibly interesting to me but there's only one problem… I'm drunk. Well, on my way to drunk and I'm not old enough to drink. I'm not going anywhere near a police station. I explained to Andy that I'm in no condition to drive to the funeral home and he'd have to find someone else. He interrupted me and said, “ but you're not old enough to drink. Stay put. I'm picking you up. See you in 10.” He hung up the phone before I had time to argue.
Welp. Looks like I'm going to the police station against all better judgment. I finish my third drink as I put on my black 3 button double breasted black suit by Chaps that I picked up at Kohls. (Side note: all my other suits were at the dry cleaners. I hate this suit. It makes me look like a walking rectangle.) It's our funeral home’s policy that we dress cleanly and professionally while in public. This means you ruin a lot of good dress clothes but at least you look sharp… and you can write off your dry cleaning as a job related expense.
I run a razor over my face sans shaving cream because I’m in a hurry and our funeral home also has a strict no facial hair policy. No mustaches, no goatees and definitely no beards. I'm not sure why this is a rule, It just is. I take an extra long look at myself in the mirror to make sure I have myself in order. The last thing I want to do tonight is walk into a police station looking like a sloppy, drunk unshaven underage mess. Could I get fired for getting an underage drinking ticket while on a death call? I sure hope not. I hear a horn honking in the driveway. I peak out the front window, Andy’s out front in our 2004 black Pontiac minivan. It’s a pretty slick…Instead of back seats, our van has a polished oak floor with rollers spaced evenly down the length of the van. These rollers aid in sliding caskets in and out without scratching the van or caskets.
I’m almost ready. I decided to wear a heavy wool four button top coat, scarf and rubberized dress boots by Ecco, all black of course. (Side note: Always spend extra money on ‘nicer’ boots. You don't want your socks wet on death calls.) Although I hate the suit I have on, I am wearing my favorite necktie. It's white, black and navy blue diagonally striped made from handwoven silk by Ralph Lauren. Very sharp. Remember this tie… my favorite tie, it’ll come up again later. On my way out the door I stuffed a handful of garlic flavored chips in my mouth and pulled a Nestle Butterfinger candy bar out of the pantry. The garlic will help cover up the three Jack and Cokes I just had and put a little food in my stomach. The Butterfinger…well, that's my reward. I'll eat it on the way home. I fucking love Butterfingers and why not reward myself for what I'm about to do? I'm not even on call tonight. I deserve it.
From my house to the police station, it’s about 10 minutes… a straight shot with no traffic. Andy starts nervously giggling almost immediately when my door closes and buckle my seatbelt. Funeral Directors are generally interesting people but our pal, Andy, he's a real card. I'm going to tell you a few things about Andy and hopefully won't sound too judgmental in the process. Andy had a gastric bypass surgery three years ago and as has lost about 150 pounds andI don't think he's gone clothes shopping since his weight loss. All of his suits look like they're about five sizes too big. His skin is loose around his jawline giving him a permanent droopy dog expression. It's weird seeing someone whose clothes and skin don't fit their body. He's a nervous guy and he's always afraid of getting in trouble…but somehow he's blindly confident. That's it for the positives.
Andy talks the most deliberate and malicious shit about everyone in the office. It's pathological at this point, I'm not sure he's even aware of it. You really have to watch what you say around this guy… I mean, if you don't want it repeated or used against you, don't say it around Andy. Andy's jumped from funeral home to funeral home around the country settling in towns just long enough to fuck things up and make a quick exit. He’s was a total creep and we found out a few years later that he was stealing from one of our funeral homes. He had his moments but for the most part, I didn't want anything to do with this guy…Especially after drinking almost half of my $36 bottle of Gentleman Jack. Actually, I'm probably just drunk enough to enjoy his company.
We turn on to Roosevelt, the police station is on our right. Andy has managed to keep the van under control even with the several inches of black ice and snow covering the roads. Andy tells me that we're to call a number when we're outside the police station parking garage and an officer will open the giant chain gate to let us in. The car with the dead bodies is in a separate heated garage inside the building to thaw out for processing.
It just dawned on me, I'm kind of hammered and last time I checked I'm still not old enough to drink… I feel my anxiety levels rising…I’m not super eager to walk into a police station in my current condition. My plan is to keep my head down and stay as far out of the officers’ breath smelling distance as possible. I'm so happy I decided to eat those chips before I left. I can still taste the garlic. Garlic breath is better than booze breath. I'm fairly certain they won't lock me up for having bad breath.
Andy calls the number, the gate opens and we drive down a pretty drastic slope and enter the garage filled with a fleet of police cars. There must be 40 decked out Chevy Impalas polished up and ready for dispatch. We pull forward and an officer signals us to stop next to a plain gray door in the center of a the cinder block wall on our right. Andy loaded two stretchers in the van this evening. One standard, one oversized, we get out of the van and unload both without incident. The officer walks to the back of the van and tells us to follow him.
We walk through the gray door and quickly move through three different beige hallways, no windows, just ugly plain cinderblock. I realized that I've completely lost my bearings. When we come to the end of the hallway with another gray door. I feel a combination of claustrophobia and vertigo hit me all at once or maybe that was drink number three kickin’ in. The officer opens the door and Andy and I wheel our stretchers into a 20 by 20 garage lit by the brightest fluorescent lights I've ever experienced. The temperature of the light in this room is unnerving among other things.
'Welcome to the crime lab garage' I think to myself. Immediately upon entering the room, I'm almost knocked to the floor by a smell that burns my nasal cavities. It wasn't the smell of rotting flesh or piss and shit, I’ve smelled all those things before. This was new. It’s so unique but the more Im exposed to it the more I realize I’ve smelled this before at the funeral home but I can’t place it….Then it hits me almost as intensely as the smell itself. Ammonia, that's it! It smells like someone took two or three large bottles of ammonia and just poured them all over the room. I look at Andy as we park the stretchers. We make eye contact and I pointed my nose while simultaneously making a confused face. “What the fuck is that?” I whisper.
Andy pulls two pair of blue heavy duty surgical gloves out of the front pocket of his stretcher, hands me a pair and then proceeds to blow my mind. He quietly tells me that the strong ammonia odor is coming from the blood. Apparently when someone dies suddenly all the blood cells in the body make one last screaming effort to stay alive and dump a ton of waste into the bloodstream. The waste is what gives the blood a strong scent of ammonia. You know when someone says they can smell blood in a movie or TV show? I think If this is what they're talking about.
Now that I have my gloves on and have adjusted to the smell, I take off my overcoat and suit jacket and tuck my tie between two buttons on my white dress shirt. This is simply precautionary. There is nothing worse than dipping your tie into something gross. It's almost always UNcleanable.
In this moment, I'm able to take in my surroundings. Perhaps it's the alcohol but something feels off. Under rows and rows of fluorescent lights there’s a maroon Chevy Cavalier riddled with bullet holes with all four of its doors and trunk wide open. Upon initial inspection, my eyes are drawn to two dead men in the backseat and rusted hood with a smattering of bullet holes. It seems that most of the shots were through the windshield, windows and door panels.The windshield is barely able to hold itself up.
Andy and I walk around the car to figure out our plan of attack. He flips open a black vinyl body bag, unzips it and places it on the ground next to the car and he tells me his plan. “If they’re frozen in a seated position, we won't be able to move em that easily… So we'll wiggle them out, lay them on the body bags and zip up the disaster pouch around them.” This sounds good to me. We move in.
We decided to start with the body in the driver's side backseat. The door’s already open and the hinges appear to be hyper extended. The crime scene techs probably bent the hinges while they were scrubbing the scene. Now up close, I’m finally able to take in the two dead men sitting in the backseat in front of me. These guys must have been a couple years older than me, both wearing Timberlands, black jeans and black jackets… like big puffy down jackets. One man has a New Era baseball cap on backwards while the other has a black stocking cap atop his head. I didn't see any logos but the brain matter, bullet holes and blood may have made it hard to notice. The ammonia smell inside the car is completely overwhelming. Blood is literally covering everything in the backseat. Chunks of thawing brain and meat are all over the headrest. I pick up a piece near the seat belt and squeeze it with my middle finger and thumb. It's still a little frozen so it crunches a bit before turning into mush between my fingers. I wiped my hand on a clean part of the interior.
Bullet holes are weird…For something that can end your life so quickly, they don't leave much of a mark on their way in…BUT the way out is a totally different story. I have no idea how many times these men were shot but they’re covered and destroyed by bullet holes. Chin, hands, thighs under the eyeballs and everywhere else. There wasn’t a part of either of these men’s bodies that didn’t have at least one bullet hole… I didn't see their feet though…if I’m being completely transparent.
This is gore. This is a complete horror show. Someone wanted these men dead… like seriously dead. Was it the driver or could it have been the front seat passenger? There must have been someone sitting in the front seat, right? Why else would two grown men sit in the backseat together if there was an open front seat? By the number of holes, I come to the conclusion that at least two people had to have shot up this car….Far too many holes for one shooter and it was definitely people they thought they were close to…
With half my body in the car, the smell of ammonia is blending with the smell of shit…which is undoubtedly oozing from one or all of the many holes in these men's stomachs. Thankfully, the taste of the garlic chips and whiskey I had earlier keeping me from gagging. Both men looked like they were sleeping like someone's dad or brother in the backseat on a road trip but riddled with holes and covered and smelly blood and falling human chunks.
There's only enough room for one of us in the car’s backseat door opening so Andy gets in the driver's seat backwards and reaches back around the front seat to help shimmy the body out. I press the button and unbuckle the seatbelt, it whips back into its home position startling Andy and I. Everything in this car is covered with blood or some sort of human matter. My gloves are literally covered in blood from just unbuckling the seatbelt and now the taste of the ammonia smell is dripping its way into my mouth through my throat. The officers are having some sort of quiet discussion standing by the door we came in earlier. It's not uncommon for police officers to be completely apathetic about crime scenes when the funeral home arrives. The investigation is basically over tonight these officers couldn't care less about their scene. They just wanted to get these bodies moved out of the garage so they could get home to their families. I get that… but their lack of supervision is troubling, especially with what happens next.
I am now completely hunched over the body in the back passenger seat while Andy is supervising from the front turned around in the driver's seat with his gloved hands on the headrest. I tell Andy that I think I'm strong enough to grab this man’s right forearm and slide his body out on my own. When I grabbed the man's forearm, I immediately feel something isn't right. I've grabbed lots of dead people's forearms before. None felt like this though. It was so hard and rigid….don’t get me wrong I understand this man is frozen BUT whatever I'm grabbing on to isn't human. It's something else. It's hard and feels like metal one of those cheap metal canes you'd buy at a drugstore. The three drinks circulating through my bloodstream make me curious but pensive. I tell Andy that I'm not touching a man's arm and that there's something else in this man’s jacket.
I interrupted the police officers conversation. “Hey, something isn't right here.” An officer and I switch places as he pulls out a tactical knife and starts cutting away the sleeve to the blood soaked down jacket. “It’s a FUCKING GUN.” I look over his shoulder and see the open sleeve of a jacket revealing a sawed off shotgun. The inside of the coat was some sort of bright orange material so the short barrel of the shotgun stand out…and so did the trigger but not because of its color. It stood out because of frozen dead man’s finger hooked over and frozen around it. Did I mention the gun was cocked. This means that the slightest movement would have caused a sudden discharge… The gun would have fired directly into the driver's seat, the seat where Andy was supervising from AND apparently Andy and I noticed this at the same time.
The next sound we hear was an officer saying, “Gun! Loaded gun!”
Andy and I step back while the officers deal with the gun… he's freaked out…I can tell by the blotchy greenish yellow color he skin has turned in the last 30 seconds. Andy says, “I don't like guns. I don't like guns.”
“It's cool, man. Nobody got shot.” I say not being too sympathetic. I'm definitely drunk now and the idea of a frozen dead man shooting my partner in the chest is kind of hilarious, even if it would have been my fault. I giggle internally. Andy quickly moves towards the door and says, “I need to get some fresh air” and scurries out like an asshole letting the door slam behind him. Almost at the same moment the door closed. The three officers approached me from behind, “We got it out….It was loaded. Your buddy's lucky you didn’t shoot him in the chest.” I just snicker and tell the officers my partner needed some air and that I'll make the removals myself. How hard could it be? I'll just grab and pull.
Frozen bodies move in one piece while regular room temperature bodies are just floppy deadweight. These fellas are frozen solid…they felt like moving a heavy chair or peculiar shaped table out of your friend's car. Square peg in round holes, it was actually considerably easier than I anticipated.
The sound of the two bodies hitting a cold cement after pulling them out was very satisfying…a simple loud hollow frozen thud. I'm surrounded by awfulness and all I can think about is how proud I am that I just handled this crime scene on my own. I can't wait to eat that Butterfinger waiting for me in the car. It's a fitting reward but also something to get rid of this ammonia and garlic taste overpowering my senses at the moment.
Andy still hasn't come back and we're about to zip up the last body bag. An officer had put on a pair of gloves to help me maneuver the second man's rigid bent knees into the body bag. This man's body was like a complicated Tetris piece. Once in, we each grab a zipper on either side of the black vinyl bag and zip our respective ends until they meet in the middle. I nod my head at the officer and say, “That's how it's done!”
The officer looks at me sternly and says, “Did you just come from a party?” I look at him confused and respond, ”What?”
The officer tells me that he just got a waft of alcohol. “It reeks like booze over here.” I closed my mouth quickly and my heart begins to beat out of my chest. I must smell like a distillery… so much for those garlic chips. Laughing, I say, “On a Tuesday? Come on, man!” The officer stands up and says, “Let's run a tox screen on these guys to find out how fucked up they were before getting blasted.”
Looks like a dodged a bullet. How did he smell my whiskey breath over the ammonia smell? Does my breath just smell like straight rubbing alcohol? I feel bad that these dead guys got blamed for MY alcohol breath but, at least, I won't be walking out of here with an underage drinking ticket.
Calming down and feeling relieved. I looked down on my shirt and see that my necktie, my very favorite Ralph Lauren necktie, had fallen out of my shirt at some point and had been dipped into some smelly smelly blood. Fuck! Of course I ruined my favorite necktie on a night I'm not even supposed to be working. I undo the knot and throw the tie into a biohazard bag. The rest of the removal was kind of a blur because I was laser focused thinking about that Butterfinger I left in the car. The alcohol plus all the blood smell I kind of made my stomach sour. My mouth starts to water thinking about that candy bar.
One of the officers helps me wheel the stretchers out to the van in the main area of the police station parking garage. I can see exhaust coming out of our van. It's on? Did we leave the van running? I open the back of the van to find Andy laying down in the center of the wooden roller board taking up the entire back of the van. The sound startles him and he quickly jumps up to a seated position and says, “I'm sorry man, guns really freak me out. I almost got shot…. I thought I was gonna pass out.”
I notice a yellow rapper sitting next to his right leg. He noticed that I noticed. “Oh yeah, I owe you a candy bar.” He says in a nonchalant manner.
All at once, my dislike for Andy hit me like a tidal wave. I ruined my favorite tie and this asshole ate my candy bar? Andy, sensing my disappointment and anger, didn't say another word and I imagine what it would have been like if that shot gun would have gone off.
My name is Grant and these are My Funeral Home Stories.
Here this episode wherever you listen to podcasts:
Apple - https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/my-funeral-home-stories/id1462188362?i=1000437632125
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YouTube: https://youtu.be/UYVL66uyfAE
Download the 45 minute Epilogue & Commercial Free Episodes & Seasons: www.MyFuneralHomeStories.com
2023.05.28 22:51 ratpack_uncensored Imagine being Arnold in that True Lies scene
Imagine being Arnold in that scene and having to be all like "damn, Jamie Curtis, you fuckin' fine, all sexy with your tight body and horrific androgynous monster face. I would totally have sex with you, both my character and the real me." when all he really wants to do is fuck another 16 year old in his dressing room. Like seriously imagine having to be Arnold and not only sit in that chair while Jamie Lee Curtis flaunts her disgusting body in front of you, the favorable lighting barely concealing her stretchmarks and leathery skin, and just sit there, take after take, hour after hour, while she perfected that dance. Not only having to tolerate her monstrous fucking visage but her haughty attitude as everyone on set tells her she's STILL GOT IT and DAMN, JAMIE LEE CURTIS LOOKS LIKE THAT?? because they're not the ones who have to sit there and watch her mannish fucking gremlin face contort into types of grimaces you didn't even know existed before that day. You've been fucking nothing but a healthy diet of blondes and supermodels and later alleged rape victims for your ENTIRE CAREER coming straight out of the boonies in Austria. You've never even seen anything this fucking disgusting before, and now you swear you can taste the sweat that's breaking out on her dimpled stomach as she sucks it in to writhe it suggestively at you, smugly assured that you are enjoying the opportunity to get paid to sit there and revel in her "statuesque (for that is what she calls herself)" beauty, the beauty she worked so hard for with personal trainers in the previous months. And then the director calls for another take, and you know you could kill every single person in this room before the studio security could put you down, but you sit there and endure, because you're fucking Arnold. You're not going to lose your future political career over this. Just bear it. Hide your face and bear it.
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2023.05.28 22:22 Hedgehog_5150 Janissary: The Joy Ride Ch7
Credit to u/bluefishcake for writing the original SSB story and building the sandbox for us to play in.
And a big thanks to the authors and their stories that inspired to get off my ass and put my fingers to keyboard. RandomTinkerer (City Slickers and Hayseeds), Punnynfunny (Denied Operations), CompassWithHat (Top Lasgun), Rhion-618 (Just One Drop), UncleCieling(Going Native), RobotStatic (Far Away), Kazevenikov (The Cryptid Chronicle), Also to the editor # Fan Beta Readers and KLiCkonthat
As always comments, complaints, and suggestions are welcome.
This is a fair use notice. Any and all aspects of this may be used on and within this subreddit only, with attribution. All other uses are exclusive to the author.
/**************/
PO Jyhnex led Robert to the conference room where he had set up a paper and pencil for him, as per his request. She had also set up a digital whiteboard in case Robert needed it. Robert began drawing the first thing on his mind, occasionally expressing pieces of his thought experiment as he allowed himself to disconnect from the world around him. This was different from meditation as it was inwardly directed and allowed him to fly into the universe.
Closing his eyes, he imagined himself walking on the surface of the sun, feeling the solar wind as if it were a gentle mist of water from a sprinkler. The magnetic field lines reacted to his touch like the strings on a harp, playing the music of the stars. This was the place where Robert could start any journey he wanted. He remembered the quote about a demon that lived in the air, which people believed would kill anyone who challenged it. They had long ago slain that demon, but there was a new one that lived in the void. Many had challenged it, but all had died, leaving behind only the simplest of atoms as a result. Robert was not there to challenge the demon, but to understand it.
He willed himself to warp spacetime and move among the stars. As he passed the stars, the light they emitted danced and flickered on the boundary of the warp field, creating a distracting white noise, it demanded his attention, but it would have to wait for a later time. He was here to observe the gravity waves generated by objects moving in the universe, such as planets around stars, stars around each other, and the dances of colliding black holes. They created an endless discordant white noise on the fabric of the universe. The universe had a frequency, and the phase field had a frequency. When they aligned, phase travel became efficient and easy. Many parameters made up the phase frequency, but mass and warp field distortion rate were the two most important. The warp field distortion rate was by far the largest factor. The sweet spot for phase travel was between 0.35 and 0.55 against the Keriverax Barrer Scale, which was the brick wall at the end of phase travel. It was also the home of the demon that lived in the void.
At 0.4KBS, the gravity waves would slide around the warp field like the flow of air over a wing. At this speed, there was almost no distortion from the turbulence in his wake. This was his starting point. In his mind, he pushed up to 0.57KBS, where the gravity waves began to stick to the warp field for just a moment, maybe one or two picoseconds at most, before releasing like a stretched rubber band. He slowed his perspective of time to watch the interaction between the warp field and the gravity wave, playing with the different aspects of the warp field. He repeated his runs over and over again until he defined four quantitative pieces that, if applied correctly, could move the sweet spot up to 0.65KBS, maybe even 0.7KBS.
Pulling back from the warp field and examining it from the outside perspective, there was nothing left that he could alter from inside the field. On the outside, he left the gravity waves, and there was nothing he could do to alter them, but they were definable. It was time to go home, and he would explore more next time.
/***************************************************/
PO Jyhnex: Sorry about that. It's my fault.
PO Jyhnex: (private mode) Lt Cmdr Ashix, grab Dr. Norroe. You both are going to want to see this.
When Lt Cmdr Ashix and Dr. Norroe arrived, there were already a few others watching through the conference room windows. Robert was standing at the main table that had been dragged over to the far side of the room. He was using the digital wall screens like a whiteboard. PO Jyhnex moved over to stand between them., "Commander, we were told to let him do this, right?" She asked, just be sure that they had the confirmation of the orders to allow Robert to have limited access to the things he needed to continue his work.
Lt Cmdr Ashix licked her lips, not really understanding what she was seeing. "Yes and no. We wanted to guide him in the direction of what we think we understand. I do not know if this applies. Doctor, what do you think?"
Dr Norroe stood in delighted amazement watching Robert work. He was writing with his eyes closed, moving his head as if seeing or listening to something that was not there, and sweating heavily. She understood what he was doing. He was visualizing the problem in his mind and was trying to express it as fast as he could. Then he switched hands just as Lt Cmdr Ashix interrupted her and asked, "I am not sure, Petty Officer. Have you noticed that he was switching hands?"
PO Jyhnex pointed to an area away from where he was working and said, "Yes, and he changed languages every time he does."
Lt Cmdr Ashix asked, "What do you mean?"
Dr. Norroe slowly smiled and said, "In theory, he is working on the problem in both sides of his brain, as an analytical and a spatial awareness problem."
PO Jyhnex said, "I know this is going to sound like a complete turox shit question, but has anybody held a mirror up to these undecipherable symbols?"
Dr Norroe and Lt Cmdr Ashix just looked at the Petty Officer. "Your report said he has a human learning disability where his brain interprets symbols backward. Maybe he is writing them backward."
Lt Cmdr Ashix sent a private message to her colleague, "Vevreix, please join me over at Congress Room 3 and bring your glasses." A few moments passed when she received her reply.
C. Vevreix: "On my way, ma'am.”
As soon as Ishani arrived with En. Tha’xur in tow, Lt Cmdr Ashix asked Ishani, "I need your glasses." Ishani handed them over without question. Lt Cmdr Ashix held her glasses up to her data slate so that the image from the screen was reflected on the surface of her glasses. "Ensign, crewman, please tell me what you see," she said.
Ishani spoke first, "The symbols are inverted, both flipped horizontally and vertically."
En. Tha’xur interrupted, "Not only that, the whole block of the equation is written right to left, not left to right...Ma'am, we are going to have to redo most of the translations. I think some of our core assumptions were wrong."
Lt Cmdr Ashix said, "No, you two work with what is right here. I do not want to throw away all of the work we have done so far unless we have to. Get me something by tomorrow morning with just what is in the room. I need to speak with CMDR Vashini."
Handing Ishani back her glasses, she said, "Get on it, you two. Everybody else, back to work."
/*********************************/
Robert opened his eyes to see what he had done. He knew what he had written and what it meant, but understanding it all required filling in the missing pieces. This was way more complicated than making the Charger fly. Turning, Robert saw around a dozen Shil’vati watching him through the windows of the conference room.
"Fuck me…" he resignedly thought to himself. He had to get down from the table, but why have the fun end on a boring note?“You shits want to gawk at me? Fine, gawk at this!” Robert thought as he launched himself into a front aerial, landing in the center of the room. Turning to face his work, he walked backward until he hit the wall and allowed himself to slide down and sit on the floor. With one more defiant move, he flipped each marker up onto the table, not caring where they landed.
From outside, he heard a commanding voice, “Alright, ladies, the show is over.” Sitting on the floor, studying his equations, he started to taste the iron tinge of blood in the back of his throat. Always the bloody fucking nose, he thought. The bloody nose was a small price to pay for the ability to define the problem. He needed aspirin and Tylenol to take care of the headache that was starting. His mother had taken him to a neurologist about three years before the first time he had learned he could control his little trick. Bloody noses and migraines were the results of what he called "flying". He had gotten the idea from reading about Einstein and his thought experiments, and it was the best way to conceptualize the problem. His mother had thought he had a brain hemorrhage, but the neurologist found it was brain fatigue.
This diagnosis was the doctor's way of saying that she really did not have a good idea of what had happened. The tests had ruled out many conditions that could cause the symptoms including epilepsy, though there were several parrals. The change in blood chemistry and electrolyte imbalance resembled heat exhaustion and was more than enough to trigger the migraine and nose bleeds. Everything else seemed to be within the ‘normal’ ranges for a human, but in Robert’s case, he was at the upper end of normal. The doctor did not think it was worth exploring further. No reason to waste resources on a child labeled as defective.
“Robert, would you please get up and sit in the chair, so I can check you out medically?” He looked up to find Dr. Norroe standing over him, holding out a hand to help him up. He took her hand to stand, though sitting in Shil-sized conference chairs was comical at best. With him standing only 5 feet 4 inches tall, and the average Shil’vita being 7 feet tall, he needed a booster seat. Dr. Norroe asked about his medical history as she did her examination, and he filled her in on what the neurologist had told him and his mother. She handed him a bottle of something that was not water. It tasted like sweet saltwater, and it was disgusting. The doctor made him finish it before giving him a couple of cleaning towels to get the blood off his face. His shirt was a lost cause; the blood had soaked through and was still wet and sticky. He needed a clean shirt and a trip to the bathroom to clean up but had to wait.
While the doctor was checking out Robert, PO. Jyhnex was cleaning up the blood that had dripped onto the table. The table was a mess, and as he had worked, he had stepped in it and tracked blood everywhere, even on the floor. Robert felt guilty that the Petty Officer had to clean up his mess.
Before Robert could apologize, PO. MunRhoe arrived, holding a large yellow bag and five extra-large pizza boxes. “You went and had a party without me. That is not fair.”
Shrugging, Robert smiled weakly. “You went for the beer run and missed all the fun. Now, Petty Officer Jyhnex gets cleanup duty, and I'm stuck with the hangover,” he said, reaching up to rub his temple.
Dr. Norroe finished treating Robert as PO. MunRhoe placed the pizza boxes and the yellow bag on a clean section of the table. "Hangover is right, you are dehydrated, borderline hypoglycemic, and low on salt. What you need is food, fluids, and sleep. Since you were under my authority as a medical doctor, I am putting you on light duty for 48 hours. So, I will tell your security detail that he is to treat you as if you are on restricted duty for that time and watch out for any signs of distress. Understood, ladies?" Both petty officers responded affirmatively with "Yes, Ma'am."
"Now, what in the Deep's name were you doing to get all that?" Dr. Norroe pointed at the digital whiteboard. She thought she knew what he had done but wanted to verify his conclusions.
"I call it flying. Albert Einstein called it a thought experiment. It is a way of visualizing the problem in the mind," Robert said and began to rub his temples again as the room started to rock back and forth.
"And how long do you usually do this for?"
Leaning his head and taking several long, slow deep breaths, Robert replied, "Most of the time, 30 minutes to an hour, tops. Then I go eat like a hobbit." Despite the room rocking, he was really hungry.
Hearing Robert's stomach growl, Dr. Norroe asked, "I have no idea what a hobbit is, but I will presume that you eat a great deal more than normal?"
Leaning his head again, Robert thought to himself, "Why the f**k am I so tired? It is never this bad." Meanwhile, Dr. Norroe continued, "Robert, please look at me. How long do you think you were 'flying' for?"
Robert took one last deep breath before sitting up. "An hour, maybe a little more. Why?"
Dr. Norroe looked concerned. "Robert, you were in it for almost five hours. This is very serious. If you push yourself like that too often, you will kill yourself. Please do not do this again without supervision unless there is a way to set a time limit."
Robert took what she said to heart. Solving the problem today was not worth dying over. "Physical touch has worked before. Is that good enough?"
Dr. Norroe replied, "Yes, that should be good for now."
Seeing the yellow bag on the table, Robert asked, "Petty Officer MunRhoe, did you get that food item I asked for?"
PO. MunRhoe had finished cleaning the mess and was opening the first pizza box. "Yes, it is in the bag. That Playwell store was an interesting place Do you need it, or do you want a slice of pie?"
Smiling, Robert said, "Both, but I will need a couple of spoons or a medicine cup first, and more water, please." He pulled the jug of 100 percent pure natural maple syrup out of the yellow bag, thinking, "A couple of shots of this, and about ten minutes, and the shakes should be taken care of."
PO. MunRhoe set up a slipe for Robert and PO Jyhnex, “That Playwell store was an interesting place. My brother's younger kids would love some of those kits. But why would you want something like that.?”
Incredully Robert shook his head, “Because they are fun.” showing just a hint of sadness “ I still know how to have a little.”
The Navy technician arrived with a stack of small Dixie cups and several bottles of water. PO. MunRhoe watched as Robert poured himself about three-quarters of a dixie cup of maple syrup and downed it, going so far as to lick the inside of the cup clean. Robert savored the flavor, wishing he had some real vanilla or chocolate chip ice cream to go with it. The idea of vanilla ice cream with maple brought back a memory of his childhood Friday night storytime. Maggie would read first with her book, then he would try with his, but he relied on his mom for a lot of it. Looking back now, it was a good memory.
Grabbing a monster slice of the deepest deep-dish pizza he had ever seen, PO. MunRhoe asked, "What is that stuff you just drank?"
"It is maple syrup," replied Robert, reaching for a bottle of water to clean out his mouth before he started in on the pizza. "It is tree sap that has been rendered down into basically liquid sugar. And where did you get the pizza, and how did you even know about it?"
Shoveling a forkful of the pizza filling into her mouth, she began speaking. "A year ago, I had a detail up in Chicago. I was there for a month and fell in love with deep-dish. This came from a place called 'A Slice of Chi-Town,' and it's called Big Blue's double-stacked deep dish. Both marines and militia swear by the place, and I agree, this is good. Try some."
Robert grabbed a slice after helping PO. Jyhnex reset the table and chairs. It was good pizza, but sadly Robert could only finish one slice.
/**************/
First:
Janissary: The Joy Ride Ch1 : Sexyspacebabes (reddit.com)
Previous:
Janissary: The Joy Ride Ch6 : Sexyspacebabes (reddit.com)
Next:
Chapter 8
Extra:
Janissary: The Son Of War : Sexyspacebabes (reddit.com)
Janissary: Vision from Zy'Verila : Sexyspacebabes (reddit.com)
submitted by Hedgehog_5150 to Sexyspacebabes [link] [comments]
And a big thanks to the authors and their stories that inspired to get off my ass and put my fingers to keyboard. RandomTinkerer (City Slickers and Hayseeds), Punnynfunny (Denied Operations), CompassWithHat (Top Lasgun), Rhion-618 (Just One Drop), UncleCieling(Going Native), RobotStatic (Far Away), Kazevenikov (The Cryptid Chronicle), Also to the editor # Fan Beta Readers and KLiCkonthat
As always comments, complaints, and suggestions are welcome.
This is a fair use notice. Any and all aspects of this may be used on and within this subreddit only, with attribution. All other uses are exclusive to the author.
/**************/
PO Jyhnex led Robert to the conference room where he had set up a paper and pencil for him, as per his request. She had also set up a digital whiteboard in case Robert needed it. Robert began drawing the first thing on his mind, occasionally expressing pieces of his thought experiment as he allowed himself to disconnect from the world around him. This was different from meditation as it was inwardly directed and allowed him to fly into the universe.
Closing his eyes, he imagined himself walking on the surface of the sun, feeling the solar wind as if it were a gentle mist of water from a sprinkler. The magnetic field lines reacted to his touch like the strings on a harp, playing the music of the stars. This was the place where Robert could start any journey he wanted. He remembered the quote about a demon that lived in the air, which people believed would kill anyone who challenged it. They had long ago slain that demon, but there was a new one that lived in the void. Many had challenged it, but all had died, leaving behind only the simplest of atoms as a result. Robert was not there to challenge the demon, but to understand it.
He willed himself to warp spacetime and move among the stars. As he passed the stars, the light they emitted danced and flickered on the boundary of the warp field, creating a distracting white noise, it demanded his attention, but it would have to wait for a later time. He was here to observe the gravity waves generated by objects moving in the universe, such as planets around stars, stars around each other, and the dances of colliding black holes. They created an endless discordant white noise on the fabric of the universe. The universe had a frequency, and the phase field had a frequency. When they aligned, phase travel became efficient and easy. Many parameters made up the phase frequency, but mass and warp field distortion rate were the two most important. The warp field distortion rate was by far the largest factor. The sweet spot for phase travel was between 0.35 and 0.55 against the Keriverax Barrer Scale, which was the brick wall at the end of phase travel. It was also the home of the demon that lived in the void.
At 0.4KBS, the gravity waves would slide around the warp field like the flow of air over a wing. At this speed, there was almost no distortion from the turbulence in his wake. This was his starting point. In his mind, he pushed up to 0.57KBS, where the gravity waves began to stick to the warp field for just a moment, maybe one or two picoseconds at most, before releasing like a stretched rubber band. He slowed his perspective of time to watch the interaction between the warp field and the gravity wave, playing with the different aspects of the warp field. He repeated his runs over and over again until he defined four quantitative pieces that, if applied correctly, could move the sweet spot up to 0.65KBS, maybe even 0.7KBS.
Pulling back from the warp field and examining it from the outside perspective, there was nothing left that he could alter from inside the field. On the outside, he left the gravity waves, and there was nothing he could do to alter them, but they were definable. It was time to go home, and he would explore more next time.
/***************************************************/
PO Jyhnex: Sorry about that. It's my fault.
PO Jyhnex: (private mode) Lt Cmdr Ashix, grab Dr. Norroe. You both are going to want to see this.
When Lt Cmdr Ashix and Dr. Norroe arrived, there were already a few others watching through the conference room windows. Robert was standing at the main table that had been dragged over to the far side of the room. He was using the digital wall screens like a whiteboard. PO Jyhnex moved over to stand between them., "Commander, we were told to let him do this, right?" She asked, just be sure that they had the confirmation of the orders to allow Robert to have limited access to the things he needed to continue his work.
Lt Cmdr Ashix licked her lips, not really understanding what she was seeing. "Yes and no. We wanted to guide him in the direction of what we think we understand. I do not know if this applies. Doctor, what do you think?"
Dr Norroe stood in delighted amazement watching Robert work. He was writing with his eyes closed, moving his head as if seeing or listening to something that was not there, and sweating heavily. She understood what he was doing. He was visualizing the problem in his mind and was trying to express it as fast as he could. Then he switched hands just as Lt Cmdr Ashix interrupted her and asked, "I am not sure, Petty Officer. Have you noticed that he was switching hands?"
PO Jyhnex pointed to an area away from where he was working and said, "Yes, and he changed languages every time he does."
Lt Cmdr Ashix asked, "What do you mean?"
Dr. Norroe slowly smiled and said, "In theory, he is working on the problem in both sides of his brain, as an analytical and a spatial awareness problem."
PO Jyhnex said, "I know this is going to sound like a complete turox shit question, but has anybody held a mirror up to these undecipherable symbols?"
Dr Norroe and Lt Cmdr Ashix just looked at the Petty Officer. "Your report said he has a human learning disability where his brain interprets symbols backward. Maybe he is writing them backward."
Lt Cmdr Ashix sent a private message to her colleague, "Vevreix, please join me over at Congress Room 3 and bring your glasses." A few moments passed when she received her reply.
C. Vevreix: "On my way, ma'am.”
As soon as Ishani arrived with En. Tha’xur in tow, Lt Cmdr Ashix asked Ishani, "I need your glasses." Ishani handed them over without question. Lt Cmdr Ashix held her glasses up to her data slate so that the image from the screen was reflected on the surface of her glasses. "Ensign, crewman, please tell me what you see," she said.
Ishani spoke first, "The symbols are inverted, both flipped horizontally and vertically."
En. Tha’xur interrupted, "Not only that, the whole block of the equation is written right to left, not left to right...Ma'am, we are going to have to redo most of the translations. I think some of our core assumptions were wrong."
Lt Cmdr Ashix said, "No, you two work with what is right here. I do not want to throw away all of the work we have done so far unless we have to. Get me something by tomorrow morning with just what is in the room. I need to speak with CMDR Vashini."
Handing Ishani back her glasses, she said, "Get on it, you two. Everybody else, back to work."
/*********************************/
Robert opened his eyes to see what he had done. He knew what he had written and what it meant, but understanding it all required filling in the missing pieces. This was way more complicated than making the Charger fly. Turning, Robert saw around a dozen Shil’vati watching him through the windows of the conference room.
"Fuck me…" he resignedly thought to himself. He had to get down from the table, but why have the fun end on a boring note?“You shits want to gawk at me? Fine, gawk at this!” Robert thought as he launched himself into a front aerial, landing in the center of the room. Turning to face his work, he walked backward until he hit the wall and allowed himself to slide down and sit on the floor. With one more defiant move, he flipped each marker up onto the table, not caring where they landed.
From outside, he heard a commanding voice, “Alright, ladies, the show is over.” Sitting on the floor, studying his equations, he started to taste the iron tinge of blood in the back of his throat. Always the bloody fucking nose, he thought. The bloody nose was a small price to pay for the ability to define the problem. He needed aspirin and Tylenol to take care of the headache that was starting. His mother had taken him to a neurologist about three years before the first time he had learned he could control his little trick. Bloody noses and migraines were the results of what he called "flying". He had gotten the idea from reading about Einstein and his thought experiments, and it was the best way to conceptualize the problem. His mother had thought he had a brain hemorrhage, but the neurologist found it was brain fatigue.
This diagnosis was the doctor's way of saying that she really did not have a good idea of what had happened. The tests had ruled out many conditions that could cause the symptoms including epilepsy, though there were several parrals. The change in blood chemistry and electrolyte imbalance resembled heat exhaustion and was more than enough to trigger the migraine and nose bleeds. Everything else seemed to be within the ‘normal’ ranges for a human, but in Robert’s case, he was at the upper end of normal. The doctor did not think it was worth exploring further. No reason to waste resources on a child labeled as defective.
“Robert, would you please get up and sit in the chair, so I can check you out medically?” He looked up to find Dr. Norroe standing over him, holding out a hand to help him up. He took her hand to stand, though sitting in Shil-sized conference chairs was comical at best. With him standing only 5 feet 4 inches tall, and the average Shil’vita being 7 feet tall, he needed a booster seat. Dr. Norroe asked about his medical history as she did her examination, and he filled her in on what the neurologist had told him and his mother. She handed him a bottle of something that was not water. It tasted like sweet saltwater, and it was disgusting. The doctor made him finish it before giving him a couple of cleaning towels to get the blood off his face. His shirt was a lost cause; the blood had soaked through and was still wet and sticky. He needed a clean shirt and a trip to the bathroom to clean up but had to wait.
While the doctor was checking out Robert, PO. Jyhnex was cleaning up the blood that had dripped onto the table. The table was a mess, and as he had worked, he had stepped in it and tracked blood everywhere, even on the floor. Robert felt guilty that the Petty Officer had to clean up his mess.
Before Robert could apologize, PO. MunRhoe arrived, holding a large yellow bag and five extra-large pizza boxes. “You went and had a party without me. That is not fair.”
Shrugging, Robert smiled weakly. “You went for the beer run and missed all the fun. Now, Petty Officer Jyhnex gets cleanup duty, and I'm stuck with the hangover,” he said, reaching up to rub his temple.
Dr. Norroe finished treating Robert as PO. MunRhoe placed the pizza boxes and the yellow bag on a clean section of the table. "Hangover is right, you are dehydrated, borderline hypoglycemic, and low on salt. What you need is food, fluids, and sleep. Since you were under my authority as a medical doctor, I am putting you on light duty for 48 hours. So, I will tell your security detail that he is to treat you as if you are on restricted duty for that time and watch out for any signs of distress. Understood, ladies?" Both petty officers responded affirmatively with "Yes, Ma'am."
"Now, what in the Deep's name were you doing to get all that?" Dr. Norroe pointed at the digital whiteboard. She thought she knew what he had done but wanted to verify his conclusions.
"I call it flying. Albert Einstein called it a thought experiment. It is a way of visualizing the problem in the mind," Robert said and began to rub his temples again as the room started to rock back and forth.
"And how long do you usually do this for?"
Leaning his head and taking several long, slow deep breaths, Robert replied, "Most of the time, 30 minutes to an hour, tops. Then I go eat like a hobbit." Despite the room rocking, he was really hungry.
Hearing Robert's stomach growl, Dr. Norroe asked, "I have no idea what a hobbit is, but I will presume that you eat a great deal more than normal?"
Leaning his head again, Robert thought to himself, "Why the f**k am I so tired? It is never this bad." Meanwhile, Dr. Norroe continued, "Robert, please look at me. How long do you think you were 'flying' for?"
Robert took one last deep breath before sitting up. "An hour, maybe a little more. Why?"
Dr. Norroe looked concerned. "Robert, you were in it for almost five hours. This is very serious. If you push yourself like that too often, you will kill yourself. Please do not do this again without supervision unless there is a way to set a time limit."
Robert took what she said to heart. Solving the problem today was not worth dying over. "Physical touch has worked before. Is that good enough?"
Dr. Norroe replied, "Yes, that should be good for now."
Seeing the yellow bag on the table, Robert asked, "Petty Officer MunRhoe, did you get that food item I asked for?"
PO. MunRhoe had finished cleaning the mess and was opening the first pizza box. "Yes, it is in the bag. That Playwell store was an interesting place Do you need it, or do you want a slice of pie?"
Smiling, Robert said, "Both, but I will need a couple of spoons or a medicine cup first, and more water, please." He pulled the jug of 100 percent pure natural maple syrup out of the yellow bag, thinking, "A couple of shots of this, and about ten minutes, and the shakes should be taken care of."
PO. MunRhoe set up a slipe for Robert and PO Jyhnex, “That Playwell store was an interesting place. My brother's younger kids would love some of those kits. But why would you want something like that.?”
Incredully Robert shook his head, “Because they are fun.” showing just a hint of sadness “ I still know how to have a little.”
The Navy technician arrived with a stack of small Dixie cups and several bottles of water. PO. MunRhoe watched as Robert poured himself about three-quarters of a dixie cup of maple syrup and downed it, going so far as to lick the inside of the cup clean. Robert savored the flavor, wishing he had some real vanilla or chocolate chip ice cream to go with it. The idea of vanilla ice cream with maple brought back a memory of his childhood Friday night storytime. Maggie would read first with her book, then he would try with his, but he relied on his mom for a lot of it. Looking back now, it was a good memory.
Grabbing a monster slice of the deepest deep-dish pizza he had ever seen, PO. MunRhoe asked, "What is that stuff you just drank?"
"It is maple syrup," replied Robert, reaching for a bottle of water to clean out his mouth before he started in on the pizza. "It is tree sap that has been rendered down into basically liquid sugar. And where did you get the pizza, and how did you even know about it?"
Shoveling a forkful of the pizza filling into her mouth, she began speaking. "A year ago, I had a detail up in Chicago. I was there for a month and fell in love with deep-dish. This came from a place called 'A Slice of Chi-Town,' and it's called Big Blue's double-stacked deep dish. Both marines and militia swear by the place, and I agree, this is good. Try some."
Robert grabbed a slice after helping PO. Jyhnex reset the table and chairs. It was good pizza, but sadly Robert could only finish one slice.
/**************/
First:
Janissary: The Joy Ride Ch1 : Sexyspacebabes (reddit.com)
Previous:
Janissary: The Joy Ride Ch6 : Sexyspacebabes (reddit.com)
Next:
Chapter 8
Extra:
Janissary: The Son Of War : Sexyspacebabes (reddit.com)
Janissary: Vision from Zy'Verila : Sexyspacebabes (reddit.com)
2023.05.28 22:04 Honest-Credit-1297 Melinda and the Little Green Men
Melinda and the Little Green Men
by Andrew Roller
Melinda and the Little Green Men
Table of Contents
Chapter One - A Sad End
Chapter Two - A Castle for a Queen
Chapter Three - Incommodious
Chapter Four - The Sewer Room
Chapter Five - The Teleport Threat
Chapter Six - Neverwhere
Chapter Seven - Permanent Perigee
Chapter Eight - Losers Welcome ( Especially )
Chapter Nine - Buried Alive
Chapter Ten - Gone Away
Chapter Eleven - Dead Broke
Chapter Twelve - Grave’s End
Chapter Thirteen - Audition
Chapter Fourteen - Heavenly Flush
Chapter Fifteen - Coffined
Chapter Sixteen - The Big Bang
Chapter Seventeen - A Sucky Day
Chapter Eighteen - Examination
Chapter Nineteen - Expelled
Chapter Twenty - Enslaved
Chapter Twenty-One - The Bugler
Chapter Twenty-Two - The Gates of Salvation
Chapter Twenty-Three - The Amateur Genius
Chapter Twenty-Four - Pooper’s Paradise
Chapter Twenty-Five - Eisegesis
Melinda and the Little Green Men
by Andrew Roller
Chapter One - A Sad End
It was their last day on earth. The two girls, playing in the field in their suburban neighborhood, didn’t know this. If Melinda and Emily were ever to return to earth, it wouldn’t be for a very long time.
Melinda was ten years old. I could say that she looked “striking”. Or I could use some other politically correct term. In fact, she was very lovely. Her lank, flaxen hair fell to her slim waist. A white string bikini clung to her svelte figure.
Emily was seven years old. Her short red hair fell to her shoulders. Stout, she resembled a girl version of Winnie-the-Pooh. Emily wore a one-piece floral print swimsuit. Both girls had on rubber flip-flops.
Emily was clever. Though she was only seven years old, she wore a red fireman’s hat with the number “21” printed on it. Emily hoped that her hat would fool people into believing that she was older, or even that she was a fireman.
On this bright sunny day, something flashed in the sky. Both girls saw the silvery disc as it caught the sunlight. Emily was quick to figure out what it was.
“It’s a flying saucer!” Emily said. Melinda, who was taller than Emily, watched it with her friend. The saucer sailed over the neighborhood. As it approached, the girls saw it clearly. It had a flat circular base, and a domed top. A line of porthole-like windows encircled the lower part of the dome. There was a front-facing windshield.
The saucer, and its shadow, skimmed over the field. The saucer’s shadow briefly engulfed the girls. Then the saucer passed over a treeline. It settled into tree-dotted scrubland. From that place came a sound of snapping tree limbs, and of brush being crushed. Silence followed.
“Let’s go!” Emily urged. Both girls wanted a closer look at the flying saucer. It was unimaginable that such an object could land in their neighborhood! The girls had no idea that they would soon be swept up in an ongoing galactic war. They rushed into the treeline. Then Melinda and Emily crept into the shady brush beyond.
The saucer was there. It stood on metal legs, hulking amid the surrounding trees. An electrical hum, like that put out by high tension wires, came softly from the saucer’s smooth hull.
An airlock opened in the side of the saucer. A stair-equipped gangplank descended. Then, as Melinda and Emily watched, a line of little green men came down the gangplank. The men were about as tall as the girls. They were carrying a pink worm. It was a big worm, as big as a little green man.
The men laid their worm down on the grass. The last men in the group had brought shovels. The shortest of the little green men was in charge of the men. Named Chirpley, he set several men to work digging a hole.
Emily crept forward. Melinda tried to stop her, but decided to accompany her. The little green men saw the girls. There was a mutual cry of surprise from both parties. The men stopped their digging. Emily asked what they were doing.
“We’re digging a grave,” Chirpley answered. He and the other men stood with solemn faces. Emily, who sometimes went fishing, said that it was odd to bury a worm. She only dug worms out of the earth.
Chirpley stood straighter. He, like his fellows, had a round head. Two green antennae stuck out of the top of his head. He was without clothing, except for a white loincloth that, being puffy and full, resembled diapers. Chirpley wore white gloves. On his small feet were big, rhinestone-studded cowboy boots.
“This is no ordinary worm!” Chirpley told the girls. “It’s our queen!”
“Except she’s dead now,” a second little green man said. He looked much like Chirpley, with a round head and antennae. He wore a loincloth, gloves, and cowboy boots.
“She was a very old queen,” a third little green man said.
“So, since she’s dead, we must bury her,” a fourth little green man said. There were, in all, a dozen of them.
“Stand aside!” Chirpley told the girls. It didn’t matter that the girls were already at a distance from the dead worm. Chirpley rarely missed a chance to look important. Even in front of little Earth girls.
The little green men dug their grave. Or, rather, a few of them did, while the others watched this with Melinda and Emily. Chirpley supervised.
The dead queen was buried. The little green men had just filled in her grave when someone, off in the trees, yelled,
“Attack!” Stones and handfuls of dirt flew from the treeline. Several little green men were hit by the stones. A stone banged off of Emily’s Fire hat. She and Melinda screamed. So did the little green men. The men ran back aboard their flying saucer and, as neighborhood boys whooped and hollered, and threw more dirt and stones, Melinda and Emily followed the men.
No sooner had the green men and the girls rushed into the saucer, than something came out of it. Two somethings, in fact. They were grotesque. Ghosts, they resembled white sheets torn by the wind from a clothesline.
The boys charged from the trees. They were attacking through the shady brush when the ghosts set upon them.
“OOOOOO!” the ghosts howled. The boys screamed in terror. They fled back into the trees, and into the field.
The saucer hummed more loudly. Its gangplank retracted. Just before the ship buttoned itself up, the ghosts zipped back inside of it. The saucer whisked into the sky. It disappeared beyond the clouds.
Within the saucer, Melinda and Emily cringed before the ghosts. These hung over them, looking horrid. The ghosts had blank, bulging eyes, and gaping mouths with fangs. They had scared the boys, and were now scaring the girls. To the little green men, they were damn annoying.
“Our spaceship’s haunted,” Gauss apologized. He was one of the men. He and several of his crewmates, though dressed like the others, also wore utility belts.
“But we got it at a discount,” a fellow crewman said. The green men stood with the girls on the saucer’s bridge. To one side was the closed airlock. To the right, and to the rear, the bridge opened onto other rooms.
The saucer was named “Regoob”. Compared to a military cruiser, it was a little ship. Yet Regoob was plenty roomy. Its many spaces held a number of unwanted passengers. But these occupants were mostly small, and furtive, unlike the two hovering ghosts.
One occupant was big. He was a worm, like the men’s dead queen. He slithered about in the saucer’s recesses. Except now. Curious about the girls, this worm peered from a shadowed corridor. Then, he did the one thing that he was known for, and named for. He farted.
“Farrrrrrrrt!” It was a big, smelly fart. Both girls clutched their little noses. The little green men did the same. The ghosts, who had been so hideously maleficent, fled. An embarrassed Fartley slipped away into the ship.
“Peeyou!” Emily cried. Melinda echoed her. The girls made for the airlock. That’s when they realized that Regoob was airborne. In fact, the little saucer was far beyond the Earth.
“We’d better go home,” Melinda said. Emily wasn’t so sure. The saucer’s pilot’s seat, before its dashboard and its windshield, struck her as inviting.
“Can I drive?” she asked. Since no one was, at the moment, controlling where the saucer went, she figured she might try.
That’s when Gauss saw the Moon approaching. It was approaching fast. He gave a cry of alarm. The other men, now seeing what he saw, gave panicked yells.
Emily jumped into the pilot’s chair. Grabbing the saucer’s yoke, she steered the ship clear of the Moon.
“Hooray!” the little green men yelled, with Melinda. Emily continued to fly the speeding saucer. Gauss gave her driving tips.
Soon, the ship was approaching Jupiter. As anyone who’s watched the film “2001: A Space Odyssey” knows, or even the film, “Starship Poopers”, Jupiter is no ordinary planet. It’s a gateway to other parts of the galaxy.
Emily couldn’t resist flying through a galactic gateway. Regoob sped toward Jupiter. The planet soon filled Regoob’s windshield.
Within Jupiter’s clouds was a bright oval. This wasn’t Jupiter’s red spot, but a metal doughnut. This doughnut, however, was slender. It was dotted by circular lights.
“Head for the center!” Gauss said to Emily. She did. Regoob shot through the slim doughnut and into hyperspace.
A kaleidoscope of colors streaked past Regoob. They were very pretty. The girls remarked upon them as Regoob tunneled through our galaxy.
The little saucer popped from hyperspace. It sailed among the ordinary stars again. Ahead was a ringed planet.
“That’s Quigley!” Zolna, one of the little green men, told the girls.
“We live there, in a castle.” Gauss said.
“A castle!” Melinda was impressed.
“Does your castle have a fireman?” Emily asked. The answer was “no”. So Emily, who was now Regoob’s pilot, asked to be the men’s fireman as well. The men agreed.
This left Melinda wondering what she could be. Before dinner, of course, since she still hoped to get home soon.
“You can be our queen!” Zolna told her.
“I’ll be the princess!” Emily said. She was still intent, too, on being the men’s fireman and pilot.
“I’m the king!” Chirpley said. This brought Fartley-like noises from the other men. So Chirpley settled on being what he already was, the men’s captain.
Somewhere in the ship, Fartley ensured his place in this little world, by farting.
Quigley loomed. Space traffic was flowing toward the purple planet. Quigley was belted by shimmering rings. But their colors clashed. Melinda remarked on this.
“It’s better than having no rings at all, like Earth,” Chirpley riposted. He did not mention that planet Quigley lacked a moon.
Emily followed the space traffic into Quigley’s atmosphere. There, the ships scattered to their destinations. Emily, directed by Gauss, flew over a city. Its buildings, compared to those on Earth, were outlandishly shaped. Beyond the city lay a beach community. And then, shining to the sunlit horizon, was a lavender sea.
“Land there,” Gauss told Emily. He meant the far side of the beach community, near the seashore. Emily put the saucer down in a patch of sand.
Regoob stood upon its metal legs amid other parked spaceships. Makeshift buildings were also neighbors to to Regoob. No castle was in sight. The sea lay near.
Chapter Two - A Castle for a Queen
Zolna opened the airlock. Its gangplank lowered, and the men and the girls disembarked. The hour was noon. It was hot. There was a salt tang in the air and, in the distance, the waves could be heard as they broke along the shore.
Chirpley led the party along a sandy trail. It wound between the spaceships and the homes. Hofsted, the fattest of the little green men, waddled at the file’s rear. He complained about leaving the ship.
“We’ll be at our castle soon,” Chirpley said.
The beach community slumbered in the seaside air. There were odd odors. These smells, of cooking food, caused Hofsted to say he was hungry. The men ignored him. A seagull sailed overhead.
Creatures gazed here and there from the spaceships and from the homes. Their alien faces startled Melinda and Emily. It was as if they’d wandered into a back lot on Star Wars, full of extras in outlandish costumes! Some of the aliens were surprised to see the girls.
“What are Earthlings doing here?!” an alien asked.
“There goes the neighborhood,” an alien, observing the girls, lamented.
Chirpley heard this.
“Commoners!” he riposted, to his alien neighbors. “Show some respect for royalty!” Melinda realized that Chirpley meant her, and Emily. She blushed. As for Emily, she trotted along with a self-confident look. She’d piloted a flying saucer, and now she was the inheritor of Luke Skywalker’s realm. Plus she was a fireman, and a princess. This was a fine day!
The trail led onto the beach. It was mostly vacant on this weekday, with a few bathers and seagulls. Chirpley indicated a large sculpted heap of sand on the shore. It stood just above where the inrolling sea boiled.
“There it is!” he said. He and his crewmates beamed at Melinda and Emily.
The men had built a big sand castle. It had some attractive towers, a wall and a moat. Several small flags, in various colors, decorated the edifice. An old door lay across the moat. It gave access to a hole in the ground, that the castle enclosed.
Emily was entranced. When the men invited her to come inside, meaning down into the hole, she agreed. Melinda cautiously accompanied them. As she did, she seemed to hear her name on the wind. But she saw nothing unusual, besides the bathing aliens and the seagulls.
Zolna led the group into the hole. He did so with a flashlight. Several other men lit flashlights too, as the group entered the hole.
The hole had a stone staircase. It had been carved by time, and by an intelligent hand. Sand dusted or clung to some of the steps. So did seaweed and seashells. These also cluttered the floor of the cave that the stairs led down into. An old stove sat in the cave.
“This is Mr. Lehman’s cave,” Zolna told Melinda and Emily.
“We used to be his gardeners,” Hofsted said proudly.
“Gardners?” Melinda asked. She saw only stone, and the oceans’s detritus.
“It was an easy job,” Hofsted admitted.
“He’s a sailor,” Chirpley said.
“But he’s disappeared,” Gauss added. “We don’t see him anymore.”
“That’s too bad,” Melinda said.
An apparition appeared on the stairs, near the lowest step. Melinda yelped. Emily gave a gasp of surprise, and the men gave startled cries.
“Melinda,” the ghostly figure said. It resolved itself as a tall, slender boy.
“You’re human!” Emily gasped. The boy’s image remained streaked with transmission lines, as if it were being beamed into the cave from far away.
“Quiet!” the boy snapped at Emily. She gasped anew. So did Melinda, and the others
“You’re my bride,” the boy told Melinda. The bikini-clad girl shrieked.
“I’m King Kleigowski,” the boy said. “From Earth, of course. My galactic fleet will arrive in a moment. Stay here as it attacks. Then, I will land, and we’ll be married,” the boy said to Melinda.
Seawater spilled down the stairs. The boy’s image vanished.
“My God!” Melinda gasped.
“She’s not marrying you!” Emily, finding her courage, told the place on the stairs where the boy’s image had been.
More seawater came down the stairs.
“We’d better go,” Zolna said. “The cave floods at high tide.”
Emily scrambled up the stairs with Melinda. The men followed. The tide was boiling about the castle. In the clear sky above, thunder sounded. Then sirens began to wail in the distance. Kevin Kleigowski, who had been terrorizing the galaxy’s far side for some time, was now attacking Planet Quigley!
Melinda and Emily ran with the men from the beach. They headed back to Regoob. All about them, the beach community was coming alive to the danger that thundered above. A battle was underway in the sky.
Melinda and Emily ran up the gangplank into Regoob. As the crew came in after them, a seagull flew into the ship. Emily reclaimed her place in the pilot’s seat.
Regoob took off. Other spaceships were beginning to rise from the land too. Suddenly, a transmission forced itself onto a television screen on Regoob’s dashboard. A man in a military uniform issued a warning. His insignia showed that he was a Quiglian general.
“Attention all civilians!” the general warned. “We’re under attack! Do not leave Planet Quigley! All civilian spaceships are grounded!”
“We’d better land,” Hofsted said.
“Ignore that!” Chirpley shouted.
“But—“ Melinda gasped. Emily flew stolidly higher.
“We’re soldiers!” Chirpley said.
“We’re volunteer lifeguards,” Zolna said.
“Good enough!” Chirpley retorted.
The saucer was now climbing at an eye-popping speed. It cleared the clouds, and the sunlit sky. The starry cosmos opened before it. The ship sped toward the nearest ship in the Quiglian fleet. The Quiglians were locked in a battle with King Kleigowski’s ships.
As Regoob closed on the big Quiglian cruiser, the general reappeared on the saucer’s dashboard T.V.
“Stop!” the general ordered.
Chirpley drew himself up to his full, diminutive height.
“Sir!” he told the general, with an irked look. “I am Chirpley Superlapee.” To Emily, Chirpley said, “Full speed ahead!” Then, for effect, he added, “Don’t shoot ‘till you see the whites of the their eyes.” Since he was sounding very important, Chirpley added, “Your money or your life!”
The saucer rushed at the cruiser. As it loomed, Emily began to think that going full speed ahead might not be a good idea.
Then she realized that they were too close to the cruiser to stop! As a collision became obvious, she leapt from the pilot’s seat.
“Duck!” Emily called to Melinda. Samuel, the seagull who’d flown into the ship, drew himself up to his full, diminutive height. He did so on the floor, where he’d settled by Melinda’s feet.
“I, Miss, am not a duck! I’m a sea-“ Samuel began.
Melinda felt a sudden tingling wash over her. She was standing somewhere else, if still beside Samuel, as the bird finished giving his species.
“-gull,” Samuel said.
They were all someplace else. That is, the girls, the men, and whatever else that had been on the saucer’s bridge, was now in a jail cell. The jail’s front wall and it’s door consisted of iron bars. A heavy white mist clung to the jail’s ceiling.
The saucer was nowhere to be seen. But there was a low hum, that is common to spaceships.
A tall boy came to the cell’s door. Melinda gasped. So did Emily, as cries came from the men.
“It’s that boy!” Melinda yelped, alarmed, to cries of alarm from her cellmates. She cringed. So did Emily, and the others.
“Call me Kevin,” the boy said. He grinned at Melinda. “You’re lucky I’m around. Your little friend ( he meant Emily ) crashed your saucer into a Quiglian cruiser.”
“I’m not marrying you!” Melinda said.
“Me neither!” Emily said.
“Me neither!” Hofsted said.
Kevin laughed.
“You’d better let me do the thinking,” he told Melinda. “My teleport ray couldn’t reach you on planet Quigley. You were too far away. So I told you to stay. And what did you do?” He grinned, and not pleasantly. “You fled, of course, directly toward me!”
As Kevin spoke, the mist coalesced. Suddenly, it was no longer a mist, but a pair of fanged, bulging-eyed ghosts!
“OOOOOO!” the ghosts howled, at Kevin. The boy ran shrieking out of the jail cell. A moment later, tingling engulfed Melinda. Everyone else in the cell was caught in the same sensation. Then, as suddenly as they’d arrived, the captives all disappeared from the jail cell.
Chapter Three - Incommodious
Melinda sat on the floor. Her head rested against a tiled wall. A sink was above it. Around her, in disorder, lay a number of little green men. Emily sat nearby. Samuel, lying near Emily, righted himself. He flew up and about in a mist that floated along the bathroom ceiling.
They’d been teleported again.
“Where are we now?!” Emily asked.
“I’m in a toilet!” Chirpley shouted, from a bathroom stall. “Help!”
The men and the girls gathered themselves. Some of the men, being teleported to the bathroom, had landed in toilet stalls. Chirpley hadn’t just wound up in a stall. He’d been planted with such force into a toilet that his bottom was stuck in the hole at its base. Toilet water surrounded his semi-submerged figure. He gazed helplessly from the commode.
“Don’t flush it!” Chirpley cried, of his toilet, as the girls and some crewmen piled into his stall. The group couldn’t help laughing. Chirpley, however, didn’t laugh. Being stuck in a toilet was not his idea of a good time,
Emily and the crew pulled Chirpley out of the toilet. He was unhurt. His body was wet in places. His diaper-like loincloth was soaked.
A woman screamed. Shouts came from the men who hadn’t crammed themselves into Chirpley’s stall.
Kevin had teleported his captives from his spaceship to a Quiglian one. Specifically, he’d teleported his captives into a ladies’ bathroom aboard the Quiglian ship.
“Eeeeek!” the woman visitor screamed. “There are men in the bathroom! In the ladies’ bathroom!” Soldiers arrived. When they learned that the men in the women’s bathroom had also crashed their saucer into the Quiglian ship, they arrested them. Chirpley and his crew were brought before General Grouchley. They were accompanied by Melinda and Emily.
General Grouchley commanded the Quiglian fleet. His flagship was called The Drut. It was this that Regoob had crashed into.
George Grouchley was big, fat and green. His uniform strained to contain him. It was he who had grounded all of Quigley’s civilian ships, and who’d ordered Regoob to stop. It was he whom Chirpley had disobeyed.
Chirpley stood to attention before General Grouchley. He did so with wet pants, from the toilet. Gathered behind Chirpley was his crew, and the girls. The volunteer lifeguard saluted the general. This did not improve George’s mood.
“I understand you were in the ladies’ bathroom,” George said to Chirpley.
“Yes, sir,” Chirpley answered. “I was stuck in a toilet.”
“Your saucer crashed into my ship!” George told Chirpley.
“Yes, Sir,” the volunteer lifeguard replied. Emily slipped partly behind Melinda, to escape the general’s eyes.
“We’ll need a new ship,” Chirpley told George. “To continue our noble fight against King Kleigowski.”
“Kleigowski’s fleet is in full retreat!” George told Chirpley. “I’m not sure what happened. One minute they were attacking, the next — they were fleeing!”
“I may know why - “ Chirpley said.
“Obviously, I’m an even better general than I knew,” George concluded. He eyed Chirpley. “Get your stinky saucer out of my ship! And stay out of the ladies’ bathroom!”
“Yes, Sir,” Chirpley replied.
Several women came screaming into the general’s presence.
“Help!” the women shouted. “Our bathroom is haunted!”
Chapter Four - The Sewer Room
Regoob had smashed through a large glass panel in the hull of The Drut, near its stern. Doing so, Regoob had plunged itself into a big cesspool. Much of the cesspool’s contents had emptied into outer space. This left the saucer at the bottom of the big cesspool, in such sludge as remained. The cesspool stank.
Repair ships had plugged the hole in The Drut’s hull. The big, open cesspool was in The Drut’s sewer room. This was a big, high-ceilinged room, with a crane. As Regoob’s crew arrived, along with the girls, the crane lifted Regoob out of the cesspool. It plopped the saucer, with a clang, onto the sewer room’s floor. A work crew gathered about the stinky craft.
Chirpley strode up to the work crew.
“I am the captain of this august ship,” he said, in a tone that he hoped sounded important. Chirpley had a high voice. But now, his voice was mouse-squeaky, for he was holding his nose. So was his whole crew, and the girls.
The work crew was wearing disposable masks. One of them regarded Chirpley, who remained in wet pants.
“You own this piece of shit?” the workman asked Chirpley. “It’s going to need a lot of cleaning.”
“We’ll wait until you’re done with it,” Chirpley said.
“You’ll clean it now,” a workman told Chirpley. “General Grouchley wants you, and your saucer, off of his ship!”
“Oh!” Chirpley said. “We must have important duties awaiting us.”
“The general just wants you to go!” a workman said.
Meanwhile, back at the ladies’ bathroom, a priest had been called. He was exorcising the bathroom of its two ghosts. Ladies waited with rising anxiety as this holy procedure proceeded.
“Hurry up!” a woman complained.
“I have to go!” another woman said.
The priest paused in his incantations. He assured the ladies that they wouldn’t have to wait long. There was no need to go elsewhere. The priest was a speedy priest. But, if he were to rush, in an unholy way, the ghosts might not be exorcised. So the priest proceeded with due reverence for the divine. And the ladies waited. With rising anxiety.
Chapter Five - The Teleport Threat
Regoob left The Drut. That ship, and its fleet, were now returning to planet Quigley. Emily was piloting Regoob. She was doing so with the purpose of learning to fly it better.
Melinda was aboard Regoob. So was everyone in Regoob’s crew. Samuel, the seagull, had again invited himself aboard. The ghosts, exorcised from the ladies’ bathroom, were aboard Regoob too.
On the saucer’s bridge, teleportation was being discussed.
“People teleport all the time on Star Trek,” Emily said. Chirpley had seen the show.
“We call it ‘Apes in Space’”, he said. Emily scowled at him.
“Who knew an ape - I mean, a human - would invent teleportation?” Gauss asked. Melinda asked what he meant.
“No one in the galaxy can teleport,” Gauss said. “Except, now, Kevin Kleigowski can.” Everyone on the bridge considered this.
“We need to stop him,” Melinda said.
“Yes!” Emily agreed. “He could attack Earth!”
Chirpley saw a chance to be important. Standing straight, though he was still short, he said,
“Men! We must go after King Kleigowski! We must climb every mountain, ford every stream, follow every rainbow, and go where only apes in space have gone before!”
Gauss hastened to a computer.
“I’ll see if I can find the king’s fleet,” he said.
“Maybe we should ask for help from General Grouchley,” Melinda said. Chirpley bristled.
“I’ll be in command of this mission,” he said. “Since it was my idea!”
“General Grouchley didn’t do anything to defeat the king,” Zolna said. “It was our ghosts who scared him off.”
“I found him!” Gauss said. He meant the king’s fleet. Gauss told Emily what direction to fly in. She did so. Chirpley, pleased, began to practice a victory speech.
“I came,” he intoned. “I saw - “
“And I got stuck in the toilet,” a crewman said.
Chapter Six - Neverwhere
Kevin Kleigowski was angry. The panicked retreat of his fleet had put his ships into disarray. The fault was his own. His fleet was crewed by robots. Their purpose was to obey.
Kevin stood on the bridge of his flagship, Teliot. He spoke with his robot admiral, Dolt 0001.
“Take the fleet through a hypergate,” Kevin ordered his admiral. “We’ll reorganize ourselves on its far side.”
“Yes, Sir,” Admiral Dolt answered. Kevin’s fleet was soon flying toward a distant gas giant. There, it would pass through the planet’s hypergate.
Unknown to Kevin, a little saucer, flown by a seven-year-old girl, was hot on his trail.
Kevin’s fleet neared the gas giant. As Regoob closed on the fleet, Gauss told Emily,
“Hurry! They might go anywhere in hyperspace!”
Regoob snaked among the disordered vessels.
“Land on Teliot,” Gauss told Emily. “That’s the king’s flagship.”
Teliot was a big cruiser. Emily zipped above it. She put the small saucer down amid the outbuildings that topped Teliot’s hull.
The cruiser, and its accompanying fleet, passed into the gas giant’s hypergate.
Emily yawned. She was in a flying saucer in hyperspace, atop a galactic cruiser, but she was also a sleepy seven-year-old. Melinda shared her sense of exhaustion. She said so.
“And I need a bath,” Melinda said.
“I don’t need a bath!” Emily said.
“Emily Fortley, we will both take a bath!” Melinda said. The little green men escorted the girls to a bathroom. The area included a laundry room. When the girls were bathing, they found that they weren’t alone.
“Hey! Quit looking!” Emily said, spying the ghosts in their bathroom.
“Shoo!” Melinda scolded.
The ghosts, sniggering, slipped away.
Melinda and Emily bedded down in a bedroom aboard Regoob.
“Good night, Emily,” Melinda said.
“Good night, Melinda,” Emily said. Neither girl could guess what the hour was back on earth. Then both got a rude reminder of where they were. Fartley trumpeted a loud goodnight in the near distance. The girls escaped the ensuing smell by falling asleep.
As for the little green men, they were concluding their day. They soon bedded down in the room with the sleeping girls. The saucer, atop Teliot, was still passing through hyperspace.
“I don’t know where the king is going, but he’s going a long way,” Gauss said.
“He could be going in circles,” a crewman said. “To throw off pursuers.”
“We’ll board Teliot tomorrow,” Zolna said.
“We can’t do that until we’re out of hyperspace,” Gauss said.
“When we are, I’ll lead the way,” Chirpley said. “Hofsted?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Bring a trumpet. I’ll need you to blow it.”
“Sir?” Hofsted asked.
“Huh?” Zolna asked.
“It will be a great heroic deed to capture King Kleigowski,” Chirpley said. “When we charge him, Hofsted can blow the trumpet.”
“What about all of his robots?” a crewman asked.
“We’ll charge them too,” Chirpley said. “Zolna!”
“Yes?”
“You bring a trumpet too.”
“Maybe we should just bring Fartley along,” someone said.
“Yes!” Chirpley said. “We’ll have loud farts, and loud trumpeting, and then I’ll say ‘Charge!’. Very loudly.”
“After we leave hyperspace,” Gauss said.
With this, the little green men went to sleep.
“Melinda.”
The 10-year-old sat upright. She’d gone to bed wrapped in a dry bath towel, but now she was in her bikini again.
She wasn’t aboard Regoob. She sat in a field of pale mushrooms. These grew suddenly taller, on long stalks. They became a forest of mushrooms. The mushrooms shaded Melinda from the high sun. Through sprouted undergrowth, a path trailed off into the tall mushrooms.
Then an old man appeared. Using a gnarled branch for a cane, he followed the path. He saw Melinda and spoke.
“Melinda.” He said this at a distance. However, Melinda heard it as if he were beside her. She even smelled his breath. It had an odor of onions.
Melinda stood.
Suddenly, the man was before her. His stooped figure was tall and commanding.
“I want you,” he rasped to Melinda.
The blonde frowned. At least, she told herself, she was face-to-face with the person they’d been pursuing. She did not call him king.
“Kevin. You look awful,” Melinda said.
The man scowled.
“I’m done with Kevin,” he said. “Kevin’s attack on Planet Quigley failed. I don’t like failure.”
The man smiled at Melinda.
“Kevin bores me,” he said. “You don’t.” The man took Melinda’s arm. She found herself walking with him, despite not wanting to.
“We’ll rule the universe,” the man told her.
Due to Reddit’s character limit, I can only post part of my book here.
A free copy of “Melinda and the Little Green Men” is at:
http://andrewroller.com
Copyright 2023 by Andrew L. Roller. Melinda and the Little Green Men is a trademark of Andrew L. Roller.
submitted by Honest-Credit-1297 to sciencefiction [link] [comments]
by Andrew Roller
Melinda and the Little Green Men
Table of Contents
Chapter One - A Sad End
Chapter Two - A Castle for a Queen
Chapter Three - Incommodious
Chapter Four - The Sewer Room
Chapter Five - The Teleport Threat
Chapter Six - Neverwhere
Chapter Seven - Permanent Perigee
Chapter Eight - Losers Welcome ( Especially )
Chapter Nine - Buried Alive
Chapter Ten - Gone Away
Chapter Eleven - Dead Broke
Chapter Twelve - Grave’s End
Chapter Thirteen - Audition
Chapter Fourteen - Heavenly Flush
Chapter Fifteen - Coffined
Chapter Sixteen - The Big Bang
Chapter Seventeen - A Sucky Day
Chapter Eighteen - Examination
Chapter Nineteen - Expelled
Chapter Twenty - Enslaved
Chapter Twenty-One - The Bugler
Chapter Twenty-Two - The Gates of Salvation
Chapter Twenty-Three - The Amateur Genius
Chapter Twenty-Four - Pooper’s Paradise
Chapter Twenty-Five - Eisegesis
Melinda and the Little Green Men
by Andrew Roller
Chapter One - A Sad End
It was their last day on earth. The two girls, playing in the field in their suburban neighborhood, didn’t know this. If Melinda and Emily were ever to return to earth, it wouldn’t be for a very long time.
Melinda was ten years old. I could say that she looked “striking”. Or I could use some other politically correct term. In fact, she was very lovely. Her lank, flaxen hair fell to her slim waist. A white string bikini clung to her svelte figure.
Emily was seven years old. Her short red hair fell to her shoulders. Stout, she resembled a girl version of Winnie-the-Pooh. Emily wore a one-piece floral print swimsuit. Both girls had on rubber flip-flops.
Emily was clever. Though she was only seven years old, she wore a red fireman’s hat with the number “21” printed on it. Emily hoped that her hat would fool people into believing that she was older, or even that she was a fireman.
On this bright sunny day, something flashed in the sky. Both girls saw the silvery disc as it caught the sunlight. Emily was quick to figure out what it was.
“It’s a flying saucer!” Emily said. Melinda, who was taller than Emily, watched it with her friend. The saucer sailed over the neighborhood. As it approached, the girls saw it clearly. It had a flat circular base, and a domed top. A line of porthole-like windows encircled the lower part of the dome. There was a front-facing windshield.
The saucer, and its shadow, skimmed over the field. The saucer’s shadow briefly engulfed the girls. Then the saucer passed over a treeline. It settled into tree-dotted scrubland. From that place came a sound of snapping tree limbs, and of brush being crushed. Silence followed.
“Let’s go!” Emily urged. Both girls wanted a closer look at the flying saucer. It was unimaginable that such an object could land in their neighborhood! The girls had no idea that they would soon be swept up in an ongoing galactic war. They rushed into the treeline. Then Melinda and Emily crept into the shady brush beyond.
The saucer was there. It stood on metal legs, hulking amid the surrounding trees. An electrical hum, like that put out by high tension wires, came softly from the saucer’s smooth hull.
An airlock opened in the side of the saucer. A stair-equipped gangplank descended. Then, as Melinda and Emily watched, a line of little green men came down the gangplank. The men were about as tall as the girls. They were carrying a pink worm. It was a big worm, as big as a little green man.
The men laid their worm down on the grass. The last men in the group had brought shovels. The shortest of the little green men was in charge of the men. Named Chirpley, he set several men to work digging a hole.
Emily crept forward. Melinda tried to stop her, but decided to accompany her. The little green men saw the girls. There was a mutual cry of surprise from both parties. The men stopped their digging. Emily asked what they were doing.
“We’re digging a grave,” Chirpley answered. He and the other men stood with solemn faces. Emily, who sometimes went fishing, said that it was odd to bury a worm. She only dug worms out of the earth.
Chirpley stood straighter. He, like his fellows, had a round head. Two green antennae stuck out of the top of his head. He was without clothing, except for a white loincloth that, being puffy and full, resembled diapers. Chirpley wore white gloves. On his small feet were big, rhinestone-studded cowboy boots.
“This is no ordinary worm!” Chirpley told the girls. “It’s our queen!”
“Except she’s dead now,” a second little green man said. He looked much like Chirpley, with a round head and antennae. He wore a loincloth, gloves, and cowboy boots.
“She was a very old queen,” a third little green man said.
“So, since she’s dead, we must bury her,” a fourth little green man said. There were, in all, a dozen of them.
“Stand aside!” Chirpley told the girls. It didn’t matter that the girls were already at a distance from the dead worm. Chirpley rarely missed a chance to look important. Even in front of little Earth girls.
The little green men dug their grave. Or, rather, a few of them did, while the others watched this with Melinda and Emily. Chirpley supervised.
The dead queen was buried. The little green men had just filled in her grave when someone, off in the trees, yelled,
“Attack!” Stones and handfuls of dirt flew from the treeline. Several little green men were hit by the stones. A stone banged off of Emily’s Fire hat. She and Melinda screamed. So did the little green men. The men ran back aboard their flying saucer and, as neighborhood boys whooped and hollered, and threw more dirt and stones, Melinda and Emily followed the men.
No sooner had the green men and the girls rushed into the saucer, than something came out of it. Two somethings, in fact. They were grotesque. Ghosts, they resembled white sheets torn by the wind from a clothesline.
The boys charged from the trees. They were attacking through the shady brush when the ghosts set upon them.
“OOOOOO!” the ghosts howled. The boys screamed in terror. They fled back into the trees, and into the field.
The saucer hummed more loudly. Its gangplank retracted. Just before the ship buttoned itself up, the ghosts zipped back inside of it. The saucer whisked into the sky. It disappeared beyond the clouds.
Within the saucer, Melinda and Emily cringed before the ghosts. These hung over them, looking horrid. The ghosts had blank, bulging eyes, and gaping mouths with fangs. They had scared the boys, and were now scaring the girls. To the little green men, they were damn annoying.
“Our spaceship’s haunted,” Gauss apologized. He was one of the men. He and several of his crewmates, though dressed like the others, also wore utility belts.
“But we got it at a discount,” a fellow crewman said. The green men stood with the girls on the saucer’s bridge. To one side was the closed airlock. To the right, and to the rear, the bridge opened onto other rooms.
The saucer was named “Regoob”. Compared to a military cruiser, it was a little ship. Yet Regoob was plenty roomy. Its many spaces held a number of unwanted passengers. But these occupants were mostly small, and furtive, unlike the two hovering ghosts.
One occupant was big. He was a worm, like the men’s dead queen. He slithered about in the saucer’s recesses. Except now. Curious about the girls, this worm peered from a shadowed corridor. Then, he did the one thing that he was known for, and named for. He farted.
“Farrrrrrrrt!” It was a big, smelly fart. Both girls clutched their little noses. The little green men did the same. The ghosts, who had been so hideously maleficent, fled. An embarrassed Fartley slipped away into the ship.
“Peeyou!” Emily cried. Melinda echoed her. The girls made for the airlock. That’s when they realized that Regoob was airborne. In fact, the little saucer was far beyond the Earth.
“We’d better go home,” Melinda said. Emily wasn’t so sure. The saucer’s pilot’s seat, before its dashboard and its windshield, struck her as inviting.
“Can I drive?” she asked. Since no one was, at the moment, controlling where the saucer went, she figured she might try.
That’s when Gauss saw the Moon approaching. It was approaching fast. He gave a cry of alarm. The other men, now seeing what he saw, gave panicked yells.
Emily jumped into the pilot’s chair. Grabbing the saucer’s yoke, she steered the ship clear of the Moon.
“Hooray!” the little green men yelled, with Melinda. Emily continued to fly the speeding saucer. Gauss gave her driving tips.
Soon, the ship was approaching Jupiter. As anyone who’s watched the film “2001: A Space Odyssey” knows, or even the film, “Starship Poopers”, Jupiter is no ordinary planet. It’s a gateway to other parts of the galaxy.
Emily couldn’t resist flying through a galactic gateway. Regoob sped toward Jupiter. The planet soon filled Regoob’s windshield.
Within Jupiter’s clouds was a bright oval. This wasn’t Jupiter’s red spot, but a metal doughnut. This doughnut, however, was slender. It was dotted by circular lights.
“Head for the center!” Gauss said to Emily. She did. Regoob shot through the slim doughnut and into hyperspace.
A kaleidoscope of colors streaked past Regoob. They were very pretty. The girls remarked upon them as Regoob tunneled through our galaxy.
The little saucer popped from hyperspace. It sailed among the ordinary stars again. Ahead was a ringed planet.
“That’s Quigley!” Zolna, one of the little green men, told the girls.
“We live there, in a castle.” Gauss said.
“A castle!” Melinda was impressed.
“Does your castle have a fireman?” Emily asked. The answer was “no”. So Emily, who was now Regoob’s pilot, asked to be the men’s fireman as well. The men agreed.
This left Melinda wondering what she could be. Before dinner, of course, since she still hoped to get home soon.
“You can be our queen!” Zolna told her.
“I’ll be the princess!” Emily said. She was still intent, too, on being the men’s fireman and pilot.
“I’m the king!” Chirpley said. This brought Fartley-like noises from the other men. So Chirpley settled on being what he already was, the men’s captain.
Somewhere in the ship, Fartley ensured his place in this little world, by farting.
Quigley loomed. Space traffic was flowing toward the purple planet. Quigley was belted by shimmering rings. But their colors clashed. Melinda remarked on this.
“It’s better than having no rings at all, like Earth,” Chirpley riposted. He did not mention that planet Quigley lacked a moon.
Emily followed the space traffic into Quigley’s atmosphere. There, the ships scattered to their destinations. Emily, directed by Gauss, flew over a city. Its buildings, compared to those on Earth, were outlandishly shaped. Beyond the city lay a beach community. And then, shining to the sunlit horizon, was a lavender sea.
“Land there,” Gauss told Emily. He meant the far side of the beach community, near the seashore. Emily put the saucer down in a patch of sand.
Regoob stood upon its metal legs amid other parked spaceships. Makeshift buildings were also neighbors to to Regoob. No castle was in sight. The sea lay near.
Chapter Two - A Castle for a Queen
Zolna opened the airlock. Its gangplank lowered, and the men and the girls disembarked. The hour was noon. It was hot. There was a salt tang in the air and, in the distance, the waves could be heard as they broke along the shore.
Chirpley led the party along a sandy trail. It wound between the spaceships and the homes. Hofsted, the fattest of the little green men, waddled at the file’s rear. He complained about leaving the ship.
“We’ll be at our castle soon,” Chirpley said.
The beach community slumbered in the seaside air. There were odd odors. These smells, of cooking food, caused Hofsted to say he was hungry. The men ignored him. A seagull sailed overhead.
Creatures gazed here and there from the spaceships and from the homes. Their alien faces startled Melinda and Emily. It was as if they’d wandered into a back lot on Star Wars, full of extras in outlandish costumes! Some of the aliens were surprised to see the girls.
“What are Earthlings doing here?!” an alien asked.
“There goes the neighborhood,” an alien, observing the girls, lamented.
Chirpley heard this.
“Commoners!” he riposted, to his alien neighbors. “Show some respect for royalty!” Melinda realized that Chirpley meant her, and Emily. She blushed. As for Emily, she trotted along with a self-confident look. She’d piloted a flying saucer, and now she was the inheritor of Luke Skywalker’s realm. Plus she was a fireman, and a princess. This was a fine day!
The trail led onto the beach. It was mostly vacant on this weekday, with a few bathers and seagulls. Chirpley indicated a large sculpted heap of sand on the shore. It stood just above where the inrolling sea boiled.
“There it is!” he said. He and his crewmates beamed at Melinda and Emily.
The men had built a big sand castle. It had some attractive towers, a wall and a moat. Several small flags, in various colors, decorated the edifice. An old door lay across the moat. It gave access to a hole in the ground, that the castle enclosed.
Emily was entranced. When the men invited her to come inside, meaning down into the hole, she agreed. Melinda cautiously accompanied them. As she did, she seemed to hear her name on the wind. But she saw nothing unusual, besides the bathing aliens and the seagulls.
Zolna led the group into the hole. He did so with a flashlight. Several other men lit flashlights too, as the group entered the hole.
The hole had a stone staircase. It had been carved by time, and by an intelligent hand. Sand dusted or clung to some of the steps. So did seaweed and seashells. These also cluttered the floor of the cave that the stairs led down into. An old stove sat in the cave.
“This is Mr. Lehman’s cave,” Zolna told Melinda and Emily.
“We used to be his gardeners,” Hofsted said proudly.
“Gardners?” Melinda asked. She saw only stone, and the oceans’s detritus.
“It was an easy job,” Hofsted admitted.
“He’s a sailor,” Chirpley said.
“But he’s disappeared,” Gauss added. “We don’t see him anymore.”
“That’s too bad,” Melinda said.
An apparition appeared on the stairs, near the lowest step. Melinda yelped. Emily gave a gasp of surprise, and the men gave startled cries.
“Melinda,” the ghostly figure said. It resolved itself as a tall, slender boy.
“You’re human!” Emily gasped. The boy’s image remained streaked with transmission lines, as if it were being beamed into the cave from far away.
“Quiet!” the boy snapped at Emily. She gasped anew. So did Melinda, and the others
“You’re my bride,” the boy told Melinda. The bikini-clad girl shrieked.
“I’m King Kleigowski,” the boy said. “From Earth, of course. My galactic fleet will arrive in a moment. Stay here as it attacks. Then, I will land, and we’ll be married,” the boy said to Melinda.
Seawater spilled down the stairs. The boy’s image vanished.
“My God!” Melinda gasped.
“She’s not marrying you!” Emily, finding her courage, told the place on the stairs where the boy’s image had been.
More seawater came down the stairs.
“We’d better go,” Zolna said. “The cave floods at high tide.”
Emily scrambled up the stairs with Melinda. The men followed. The tide was boiling about the castle. In the clear sky above, thunder sounded. Then sirens began to wail in the distance. Kevin Kleigowski, who had been terrorizing the galaxy’s far side for some time, was now attacking Planet Quigley!
Melinda and Emily ran with the men from the beach. They headed back to Regoob. All about them, the beach community was coming alive to the danger that thundered above. A battle was underway in the sky.
Melinda and Emily ran up the gangplank into Regoob. As the crew came in after them, a seagull flew into the ship. Emily reclaimed her place in the pilot’s seat.
Regoob took off. Other spaceships were beginning to rise from the land too. Suddenly, a transmission forced itself onto a television screen on Regoob’s dashboard. A man in a military uniform issued a warning. His insignia showed that he was a Quiglian general.
“Attention all civilians!” the general warned. “We’re under attack! Do not leave Planet Quigley! All civilian spaceships are grounded!”
“We’d better land,” Hofsted said.
“Ignore that!” Chirpley shouted.
“But—“ Melinda gasped. Emily flew stolidly higher.
“We’re soldiers!” Chirpley said.
“We’re volunteer lifeguards,” Zolna said.
“Good enough!” Chirpley retorted.
The saucer was now climbing at an eye-popping speed. It cleared the clouds, and the sunlit sky. The starry cosmos opened before it. The ship sped toward the nearest ship in the Quiglian fleet. The Quiglians were locked in a battle with King Kleigowski’s ships.
As Regoob closed on the big Quiglian cruiser, the general reappeared on the saucer’s dashboard T.V.
“Stop!” the general ordered.
Chirpley drew himself up to his full, diminutive height.
“Sir!” he told the general, with an irked look. “I am Chirpley Superlapee.” To Emily, Chirpley said, “Full speed ahead!” Then, for effect, he added, “Don’t shoot ‘till you see the whites of the their eyes.” Since he was sounding very important, Chirpley added, “Your money or your life!”
The saucer rushed at the cruiser. As it loomed, Emily began to think that going full speed ahead might not be a good idea.
Then she realized that they were too close to the cruiser to stop! As a collision became obvious, she leapt from the pilot’s seat.
“Duck!” Emily called to Melinda. Samuel, the seagull who’d flown into the ship, drew himself up to his full, diminutive height. He did so on the floor, where he’d settled by Melinda’s feet.
“I, Miss, am not a duck! I’m a sea-“ Samuel began.
Melinda felt a sudden tingling wash over her. She was standing somewhere else, if still beside Samuel, as the bird finished giving his species.
“-gull,” Samuel said.
They were all someplace else. That is, the girls, the men, and whatever else that had been on the saucer’s bridge, was now in a jail cell. The jail’s front wall and it’s door consisted of iron bars. A heavy white mist clung to the jail’s ceiling.
The saucer was nowhere to be seen. But there was a low hum, that is common to spaceships.
A tall boy came to the cell’s door. Melinda gasped. So did Emily, as cries came from the men.
“It’s that boy!” Melinda yelped, alarmed, to cries of alarm from her cellmates. She cringed. So did Emily, and the others.
“Call me Kevin,” the boy said. He grinned at Melinda. “You’re lucky I’m around. Your little friend ( he meant Emily ) crashed your saucer into a Quiglian cruiser.”
“I’m not marrying you!” Melinda said.
“Me neither!” Emily said.
“Me neither!” Hofsted said.
Kevin laughed.
“You’d better let me do the thinking,” he told Melinda. “My teleport ray couldn’t reach you on planet Quigley. You were too far away. So I told you to stay. And what did you do?” He grinned, and not pleasantly. “You fled, of course, directly toward me!”
As Kevin spoke, the mist coalesced. Suddenly, it was no longer a mist, but a pair of fanged, bulging-eyed ghosts!
“OOOOOO!” the ghosts howled, at Kevin. The boy ran shrieking out of the jail cell. A moment later, tingling engulfed Melinda. Everyone else in the cell was caught in the same sensation. Then, as suddenly as they’d arrived, the captives all disappeared from the jail cell.
Chapter Three - Incommodious
Melinda sat on the floor. Her head rested against a tiled wall. A sink was above it. Around her, in disorder, lay a number of little green men. Emily sat nearby. Samuel, lying near Emily, righted himself. He flew up and about in a mist that floated along the bathroom ceiling.
They’d been teleported again.
“Where are we now?!” Emily asked.
“I’m in a toilet!” Chirpley shouted, from a bathroom stall. “Help!”
The men and the girls gathered themselves. Some of the men, being teleported to the bathroom, had landed in toilet stalls. Chirpley hadn’t just wound up in a stall. He’d been planted with such force into a toilet that his bottom was stuck in the hole at its base. Toilet water surrounded his semi-submerged figure. He gazed helplessly from the commode.
“Don’t flush it!” Chirpley cried, of his toilet, as the girls and some crewmen piled into his stall. The group couldn’t help laughing. Chirpley, however, didn’t laugh. Being stuck in a toilet was not his idea of a good time,
Emily and the crew pulled Chirpley out of the toilet. He was unhurt. His body was wet in places. His diaper-like loincloth was soaked.
A woman screamed. Shouts came from the men who hadn’t crammed themselves into Chirpley’s stall.
Kevin had teleported his captives from his spaceship to a Quiglian one. Specifically, he’d teleported his captives into a ladies’ bathroom aboard the Quiglian ship.
“Eeeeek!” the woman visitor screamed. “There are men in the bathroom! In the ladies’ bathroom!” Soldiers arrived. When they learned that the men in the women’s bathroom had also crashed their saucer into the Quiglian ship, they arrested them. Chirpley and his crew were brought before General Grouchley. They were accompanied by Melinda and Emily.
General Grouchley commanded the Quiglian fleet. His flagship was called The Drut. It was this that Regoob had crashed into.
George Grouchley was big, fat and green. His uniform strained to contain him. It was he who had grounded all of Quigley’s civilian ships, and who’d ordered Regoob to stop. It was he whom Chirpley had disobeyed.
Chirpley stood to attention before General Grouchley. He did so with wet pants, from the toilet. Gathered behind Chirpley was his crew, and the girls. The volunteer lifeguard saluted the general. This did not improve George’s mood.
“I understand you were in the ladies’ bathroom,” George said to Chirpley.
“Yes, sir,” Chirpley answered. “I was stuck in a toilet.”
“Your saucer crashed into my ship!” George told Chirpley.
“Yes, Sir,” the volunteer lifeguard replied. Emily slipped partly behind Melinda, to escape the general’s eyes.
“We’ll need a new ship,” Chirpley told George. “To continue our noble fight against King Kleigowski.”
“Kleigowski’s fleet is in full retreat!” George told Chirpley. “I’m not sure what happened. One minute they were attacking, the next — they were fleeing!”
“I may know why - “ Chirpley said.
“Obviously, I’m an even better general than I knew,” George concluded. He eyed Chirpley. “Get your stinky saucer out of my ship! And stay out of the ladies’ bathroom!”
“Yes, Sir,” Chirpley replied.
Several women came screaming into the general’s presence.
“Help!” the women shouted. “Our bathroom is haunted!”
Chapter Four - The Sewer Room
Regoob had smashed through a large glass panel in the hull of The Drut, near its stern. Doing so, Regoob had plunged itself into a big cesspool. Much of the cesspool’s contents had emptied into outer space. This left the saucer at the bottom of the big cesspool, in such sludge as remained. The cesspool stank.
Repair ships had plugged the hole in The Drut’s hull. The big, open cesspool was in The Drut’s sewer room. This was a big, high-ceilinged room, with a crane. As Regoob’s crew arrived, along with the girls, the crane lifted Regoob out of the cesspool. It plopped the saucer, with a clang, onto the sewer room’s floor. A work crew gathered about the stinky craft.
Chirpley strode up to the work crew.
“I am the captain of this august ship,” he said, in a tone that he hoped sounded important. Chirpley had a high voice. But now, his voice was mouse-squeaky, for he was holding his nose. So was his whole crew, and the girls.
The work crew was wearing disposable masks. One of them regarded Chirpley, who remained in wet pants.
“You own this piece of shit?” the workman asked Chirpley. “It’s going to need a lot of cleaning.”
“We’ll wait until you’re done with it,” Chirpley said.
“You’ll clean it now,” a workman told Chirpley. “General Grouchley wants you, and your saucer, off of his ship!”
“Oh!” Chirpley said. “We must have important duties awaiting us.”
“The general just wants you to go!” a workman said.
Meanwhile, back at the ladies’ bathroom, a priest had been called. He was exorcising the bathroom of its two ghosts. Ladies waited with rising anxiety as this holy procedure proceeded.
“Hurry up!” a woman complained.
“I have to go!” another woman said.
The priest paused in his incantations. He assured the ladies that they wouldn’t have to wait long. There was no need to go elsewhere. The priest was a speedy priest. But, if he were to rush, in an unholy way, the ghosts might not be exorcised. So the priest proceeded with due reverence for the divine. And the ladies waited. With rising anxiety.
Chapter Five - The Teleport Threat
Regoob left The Drut. That ship, and its fleet, were now returning to planet Quigley. Emily was piloting Regoob. She was doing so with the purpose of learning to fly it better.
Melinda was aboard Regoob. So was everyone in Regoob’s crew. Samuel, the seagull, had again invited himself aboard. The ghosts, exorcised from the ladies’ bathroom, were aboard Regoob too.
On the saucer’s bridge, teleportation was being discussed.
“People teleport all the time on Star Trek,” Emily said. Chirpley had seen the show.
“We call it ‘Apes in Space’”, he said. Emily scowled at him.
“Who knew an ape - I mean, a human - would invent teleportation?” Gauss asked. Melinda asked what he meant.
“No one in the galaxy can teleport,” Gauss said. “Except, now, Kevin Kleigowski can.” Everyone on the bridge considered this.
“We need to stop him,” Melinda said.
“Yes!” Emily agreed. “He could attack Earth!”
Chirpley saw a chance to be important. Standing straight, though he was still short, he said,
“Men! We must go after King Kleigowski! We must climb every mountain, ford every stream, follow every rainbow, and go where only apes in space have gone before!”
Gauss hastened to a computer.
“I’ll see if I can find the king’s fleet,” he said.
“Maybe we should ask for help from General Grouchley,” Melinda said. Chirpley bristled.
“I’ll be in command of this mission,” he said. “Since it was my idea!”
“General Grouchley didn’t do anything to defeat the king,” Zolna said. “It was our ghosts who scared him off.”
“I found him!” Gauss said. He meant the king’s fleet. Gauss told Emily what direction to fly in. She did so. Chirpley, pleased, began to practice a victory speech.
“I came,” he intoned. “I saw - “
“And I got stuck in the toilet,” a crewman said.
Chapter Six - Neverwhere
Kevin Kleigowski was angry. The panicked retreat of his fleet had put his ships into disarray. The fault was his own. His fleet was crewed by robots. Their purpose was to obey.
Kevin stood on the bridge of his flagship, Teliot. He spoke with his robot admiral, Dolt 0001.
“Take the fleet through a hypergate,” Kevin ordered his admiral. “We’ll reorganize ourselves on its far side.”
“Yes, Sir,” Admiral Dolt answered. Kevin’s fleet was soon flying toward a distant gas giant. There, it would pass through the planet’s hypergate.
Unknown to Kevin, a little saucer, flown by a seven-year-old girl, was hot on his trail.
Kevin’s fleet neared the gas giant. As Regoob closed on the fleet, Gauss told Emily,
“Hurry! They might go anywhere in hyperspace!”
Regoob snaked among the disordered vessels.
“Land on Teliot,” Gauss told Emily. “That’s the king’s flagship.”
Teliot was a big cruiser. Emily zipped above it. She put the small saucer down amid the outbuildings that topped Teliot’s hull.
The cruiser, and its accompanying fleet, passed into the gas giant’s hypergate.
Emily yawned. She was in a flying saucer in hyperspace, atop a galactic cruiser, but she was also a sleepy seven-year-old. Melinda shared her sense of exhaustion. She said so.
“And I need a bath,” Melinda said.
“I don’t need a bath!” Emily said.
“Emily Fortley, we will both take a bath!” Melinda said. The little green men escorted the girls to a bathroom. The area included a laundry room. When the girls were bathing, they found that they weren’t alone.
“Hey! Quit looking!” Emily said, spying the ghosts in their bathroom.
“Shoo!” Melinda scolded.
The ghosts, sniggering, slipped away.
Melinda and Emily bedded down in a bedroom aboard Regoob.
“Good night, Emily,” Melinda said.
“Good night, Melinda,” Emily said. Neither girl could guess what the hour was back on earth. Then both got a rude reminder of where they were. Fartley trumpeted a loud goodnight in the near distance. The girls escaped the ensuing smell by falling asleep.
As for the little green men, they were concluding their day. They soon bedded down in the room with the sleeping girls. The saucer, atop Teliot, was still passing through hyperspace.
“I don’t know where the king is going, but he’s going a long way,” Gauss said.
“He could be going in circles,” a crewman said. “To throw off pursuers.”
“We’ll board Teliot tomorrow,” Zolna said.
“We can’t do that until we’re out of hyperspace,” Gauss said.
“When we are, I’ll lead the way,” Chirpley said. “Hofsted?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Bring a trumpet. I’ll need you to blow it.”
“Sir?” Hofsted asked.
“Huh?” Zolna asked.
“It will be a great heroic deed to capture King Kleigowski,” Chirpley said. “When we charge him, Hofsted can blow the trumpet.”
“What about all of his robots?” a crewman asked.
“We’ll charge them too,” Chirpley said. “Zolna!”
“Yes?”
“You bring a trumpet too.”
“Maybe we should just bring Fartley along,” someone said.
“Yes!” Chirpley said. “We’ll have loud farts, and loud trumpeting, and then I’ll say ‘Charge!’. Very loudly.”
“After we leave hyperspace,” Gauss said.
With this, the little green men went to sleep.
“Melinda.”
The 10-year-old sat upright. She’d gone to bed wrapped in a dry bath towel, but now she was in her bikini again.
She wasn’t aboard Regoob. She sat in a field of pale mushrooms. These grew suddenly taller, on long stalks. They became a forest of mushrooms. The mushrooms shaded Melinda from the high sun. Through sprouted undergrowth, a path trailed off into the tall mushrooms.
Then an old man appeared. Using a gnarled branch for a cane, he followed the path. He saw Melinda and spoke.
“Melinda.” He said this at a distance. However, Melinda heard it as if he were beside her. She even smelled his breath. It had an odor of onions.
Melinda stood.
Suddenly, the man was before her. His stooped figure was tall and commanding.
“I want you,” he rasped to Melinda.
The blonde frowned. At least, she told herself, she was face-to-face with the person they’d been pursuing. She did not call him king.
“Kevin. You look awful,” Melinda said.
The man scowled.
“I’m done with Kevin,” he said. “Kevin’s attack on Planet Quigley failed. I don’t like failure.”
The man smiled at Melinda.
“Kevin bores me,” he said. “You don’t.” The man took Melinda’s arm. She found herself walking with him, despite not wanting to.
“We’ll rule the universe,” the man told her.
Due to Reddit’s character limit, I can only post part of my book here.
A free copy of “Melinda and the Little Green Men” is at:
http://andrewroller.com
Copyright 2023 by Andrew L. Roller. Melinda and the Little Green Men is a trademark of Andrew L. Roller.
2023.05.28 21:51 DontDisturbThePeace The Man in the Service Elevator (OC Encounter)
Elster slowly wandered the halls of S-23. She was here looking for somebody and the only way to get to her was by going down. Down deep into the facility corrupted by forces she couldn’t understand. Nobody can understand what is happening.
It has been a while since she last seen a normal person. Uncorrupted from whatever is plaguing the facility. The only people she seen that were still normal were the STAR unit a level above who said she was leaving, a STCR Commander too scared to leave her position, and a gestalt that disappeared as soon as she left the room.
As she wandered closer to the elevators, she heard shouting and the cracks of a gun discharging. She ran to the door that led to the room next to the Protektor elevators, but it was locked from the other side. She knew a path to get around but she wasn’t sure she can reach whoever was on the other side in time. She may as well try.
As she began her trek to go all the way around to where the Service Elevator assumedly was, she can still hear the cracks of a gun. It sounded powerful but small, a revolver? It’s definitely not the standard revolver used by STARs that’s for sure.
After a few rooms, the firing stopped and she wondered if she was perhaps too late. As the door opened, she was greeted to quite the gruesome sight. Laying on the bars that enclosed a large elevator was a pile of Replika bodies. All of them are corrupted and some are still twitching.
Behind the bars to the closed Service Elevator was a male gestalt. He was breathing heavily and he was holding a long-barreled magnum revolver. He had armor reminiscing that of a trench raider along with a steel club hanging by his waist along with a holster. Surrounding him was boxes of ammunition along with a desk with a camera system on it.
As she drew closer, he immediately lifted his firearm in her direction and Elster responded in kind. As she went to go and defuse the situation, the male gestalt was already lowering his gun, seemingly recognizing her as not corrupted.
“What is an LSTR unit doing here?”
“I’m searching for someone, perhaps you have seen them?”
As Elster goes to show him the picture, he cuts her off by lifting his hand, denying to see the picture.
“Listen, as much as I would like to believe that whoever you are searching for is still alive. S-23 as you can clearly see has hit some hard times. Anyone who survived this outbreak has either been evacuated off-world or are stuck like me.”
“You’re stuck? Can’t you just leave the Elevator?”
“That would be the case if I still had the Service Elevator’s Key. I was in the process of escaping the mines when some corrupted sod ripped it out of the door whilst also locking me in here. No key, no leaving for me.”
“Can I break you out of the elevator, shouldn’t be hard.”
The gestalt sighs and goes to sit on the chair to the camera desk. As if to prove a point, he lifts his revolver and shoots at a bar. The bullet just shatters without a scratch to the Elevator bars.
“This Service Elevator is a Grade-5 Transport Elevator, which means it was meant to transport high-valued equipment at heavy loads like ship parts, reactors, the works. It was meant to take a beating and hold some heavy stuff. The only thing that can cut through these bars are Tachkanonen Lasers, but those are all the way down in the mines.”
“I’m planning on going down there, to find who I’m looking for. Can you assist me in any way?”
The gestalt looks irritated. His hands are curled up into fists and he looks ready to yell.
“Listen Replika, I’m not sure what is going on in your head but I’m not going down into that hellhole again. We lost our Director and the next thing we knew, people are starting to go insane and kill each other. I’m going to die stuck in this damn elevator and I can’t even say goodbye to my Sieban. I’m not even sure if she is ok or has become… them.”
“Sieban, as in the STCR Commander? Who are you exactly?”
“I’m Jack Arman and that’s all your getting, and yes, my Sieban is a STCR unit, what about it.”
“I seen her, she is in the Protektor Office on this level.”
His eyes seem to light up with relief. He takes a deep breath before looking back to Elster.
“She is still alive. That’s good. That is real good. I was worried about her the moment the corruption began to spread.”
Jack looks to the ground for a moment, reorganizing his thoughts before looking at Elster again.
“I’m pretty sure we have started off on the wrong foot. If you can bring Sieban to me, I may have an idea on how to help you. Hell, together we might be able to put a stop to whatever is happening to the facility. I just need to tell Sieban some things before we go on our little journey. I may not be able to leave the elevator but I can still operate it, the cameras, and even supply you with some ammo if needed. Just… please bring Sieban to me. I’ll see you rewarded. I just need to see her again.”
“What is your plan?”
“Well other than monitoring you and your progress. I may know of a contingency plan if the facility fell to a scenario like this. If we get deep enough, I’ll tell you. But first, I need to see Sieban. I need to tell her to leave.”
submitted by DontDisturbThePeace to signalis [link] [comments]
It has been a while since she last seen a normal person. Uncorrupted from whatever is plaguing the facility. The only people she seen that were still normal were the STAR unit a level above who said she was leaving, a STCR Commander too scared to leave her position, and a gestalt that disappeared as soon as she left the room.
As she wandered closer to the elevators, she heard shouting and the cracks of a gun discharging. She ran to the door that led to the room next to the Protektor elevators, but it was locked from the other side. She knew a path to get around but she wasn’t sure she can reach whoever was on the other side in time. She may as well try.
As she began her trek to go all the way around to where the Service Elevator assumedly was, she can still hear the cracks of a gun. It sounded powerful but small, a revolver? It’s definitely not the standard revolver used by STARs that’s for sure.
After a few rooms, the firing stopped and she wondered if she was perhaps too late. As the door opened, she was greeted to quite the gruesome sight. Laying on the bars that enclosed a large elevator was a pile of Replika bodies. All of them are corrupted and some are still twitching.
Behind the bars to the closed Service Elevator was a male gestalt. He was breathing heavily and he was holding a long-barreled magnum revolver. He had armor reminiscing that of a trench raider along with a steel club hanging by his waist along with a holster. Surrounding him was boxes of ammunition along with a desk with a camera system on it.
As she drew closer, he immediately lifted his firearm in her direction and Elster responded in kind. As she went to go and defuse the situation, the male gestalt was already lowering his gun, seemingly recognizing her as not corrupted.
“What is an LSTR unit doing here?”
“I’m searching for someone, perhaps you have seen them?”
As Elster goes to show him the picture, he cuts her off by lifting his hand, denying to see the picture.
“Listen, as much as I would like to believe that whoever you are searching for is still alive. S-23 as you can clearly see has hit some hard times. Anyone who survived this outbreak has either been evacuated off-world or are stuck like me.”
“You’re stuck? Can’t you just leave the Elevator?”
“That would be the case if I still had the Service Elevator’s Key. I was in the process of escaping the mines when some corrupted sod ripped it out of the door whilst also locking me in here. No key, no leaving for me.”
“Can I break you out of the elevator, shouldn’t be hard.”
The gestalt sighs and goes to sit on the chair to the camera desk. As if to prove a point, he lifts his revolver and shoots at a bar. The bullet just shatters without a scratch to the Elevator bars.
“This Service Elevator is a Grade-5 Transport Elevator, which means it was meant to transport high-valued equipment at heavy loads like ship parts, reactors, the works. It was meant to take a beating and hold some heavy stuff. The only thing that can cut through these bars are Tachkanonen Lasers, but those are all the way down in the mines.”
“I’m planning on going down there, to find who I’m looking for. Can you assist me in any way?”
The gestalt looks irritated. His hands are curled up into fists and he looks ready to yell.
“Listen Replika, I’m not sure what is going on in your head but I’m not going down into that hellhole again. We lost our Director and the next thing we knew, people are starting to go insane and kill each other. I’m going to die stuck in this damn elevator and I can’t even say goodbye to my Sieban. I’m not even sure if she is ok or has become… them.”
“Sieban, as in the STCR Commander? Who are you exactly?”
“I’m Jack Arman and that’s all your getting, and yes, my Sieban is a STCR unit, what about it.”
“I seen her, she is in the Protektor Office on this level.”
His eyes seem to light up with relief. He takes a deep breath before looking back to Elster.
“She is still alive. That’s good. That is real good. I was worried about her the moment the corruption began to spread.”
Jack looks to the ground for a moment, reorganizing his thoughts before looking at Elster again.
“I’m pretty sure we have started off on the wrong foot. If you can bring Sieban to me, I may have an idea on how to help you. Hell, together we might be able to put a stop to whatever is happening to the facility. I just need to tell Sieban some things before we go on our little journey. I may not be able to leave the elevator but I can still operate it, the cameras, and even supply you with some ammo if needed. Just… please bring Sieban to me. I’ll see you rewarded. I just need to see her again.”
“What is your plan?”
“Well other than monitoring you and your progress. I may know of a contingency plan if the facility fell to a scenario like this. If we get deep enough, I’ll tell you. But first, I need to see Sieban. I need to tell her to leave.”
2023.05.28 21:17 badassnotaprincess Biting to get me to stay?
Our almost 7 month Bernese is very bitey. Nothing we do seems to help. We’re in the process of moving and staying with my parents for a bit while in transition. They’ll be watching our 2 year old mutt and 7 month Bernese while we look for a house. My husband and I decided to take a nap while my parents watched the dogs. Our Bernese wouldn’t go outside with them and she sat in front of our bedroom door. When she scratched on the door I tried to take her outside. I was able to get the pup into their outdoor covered porch but she just kept biting me and wouldn’t take a toy. It felt like she was doing it to keep me there. I’m not sure if that’s true or not.
She still bites a lot and nothing we seem to do is fixing it. She’s lost all her baby teeth. She’s been spayed. “Ouch” doesn’t work, walking away doesn’t work (she just bits your butt and pant leg), and I’m terrified she’ll bite my parents while they’re watching them.
Not to mention, she also goes for molding and chairs and tables even with toys and bones and running around and naps.
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She still bites a lot and nothing we seem to do is fixing it. She’s lost all her baby teeth. She’s been spayed. “Ouch” doesn’t work, walking away doesn’t work (she just bits your butt and pant leg), and I’m terrified she’ll bite my parents while they’re watching them.
Not to mention, she also goes for molding and chairs and tables even with toys and bones and running around and naps.
2023.05.28 20:58 FifthWatcher 34 [F4M] Nonbinary female in SW Michigan, looking for my guy :)
Hello! I am nonbinary and have had a mastectomy. I do consider myself a woman, although I bet most people would say I'm pretty androgynous. I'm also fat, so now's your chance to click away if that's not what you're looking for. I am not interested in debating gender stuff with anyone. :)
I'm hoping to connect with a cis man my age or older. It'd be really nice to meet someone local but I know that's unlikely posting here, so I'd be happy to meet anyone who can keep up a good conversation on Discord.
About me: I read a lot of science fiction and play a lot of indie games on PC. Those are my main hobbies. I have cats. I am a very unserious person - I speak coarsely, I like dark and offensive humor, I have a loud obnoxious laugh. I'm not a vegan but I like vegans and I don't mind if they try to convert me. I love music and have really eclectic taste, but I guess I could summarize it by saying I like emotionally intense music that climbs as high as possible. Rock from the 70s-80s is sometimes in that category, but so are lots of other things. I also love musicals for the same reason.
My idea of a fun time with a partner would be going out for some low-key activity. Visiting a museum or art gallery, urban exploring, going for a walk downtown, going to an outdoor concert that isn't super loud. Or staying in to play co-op games, or watching a lightning storm from the safety of the garage while we have a drink in our lawn chairs.
I rarely watch movies and I am probably not interested in that as a couples activity. The couch potato lifestyle doesn't appeal to me very much. I'm not saying I go out constantly, (far from it) it's just that I don't think that's something I want to aspire to, yknow? It feels like its been a constant uphill battle, but I am trying to become the version of myself that I most want to be. I don't really have my shit together, I never learned all the things I once wanted to learn, and I'll probably never be thin. But making at least incremental progress toward bettering myself is important to me.
My biggest deal breakers, I guess are worth mentioning just in case:
Those are all the important basics I suppose. I'm mainly interested in chatting on Discord. If you prefer something else let me know but if it's a phone only app for texting I probably won't be into it, cuz I don't like cellphones very much.
Lastly, a picture of me: https://i.gyazo (dot) com/63614c7bb2f94cfff120c8a3ba2a0ac3.jpg
submitted by FifthWatcher to R4R40Plus [link] [comments]
I'm hoping to connect with a cis man my age or older. It'd be really nice to meet someone local but I know that's unlikely posting here, so I'd be happy to meet anyone who can keep up a good conversation on Discord.
About me: I read a lot of science fiction and play a lot of indie games on PC. Those are my main hobbies. I have cats. I am a very unserious person - I speak coarsely, I like dark and offensive humor, I have a loud obnoxious laugh. I'm not a vegan but I like vegans and I don't mind if they try to convert me. I love music and have really eclectic taste, but I guess I could summarize it by saying I like emotionally intense music that climbs as high as possible. Rock from the 70s-80s is sometimes in that category, but so are lots of other things. I also love musicals for the same reason.
My idea of a fun time with a partner would be going out for some low-key activity. Visiting a museum or art gallery, urban exploring, going for a walk downtown, going to an outdoor concert that isn't super loud. Or staying in to play co-op games, or watching a lightning storm from the safety of the garage while we have a drink in our lawn chairs.
I rarely watch movies and I am probably not interested in that as a couples activity. The couch potato lifestyle doesn't appeal to me very much. I'm not saying I go out constantly, (far from it) it's just that I don't think that's something I want to aspire to, yknow? It feels like its been a constant uphill battle, but I am trying to become the version of myself that I most want to be. I don't really have my shit together, I never learned all the things I once wanted to learn, and I'll probably never be thin. But making at least incremental progress toward bettering myself is important to me.
My biggest deal breakers, I guess are worth mentioning just in case:
- Religious affiliation
- Conservatism
- Polyamory
Those are all the important basics I suppose. I'm mainly interested in chatting on Discord. If you prefer something else let me know but if it's a phone only app for texting I probably won't be into it, cuz I don't like cellphones very much.
Lastly, a picture of me: https://i.gyazo (dot) com/63614c7bb2f94cfff120c8a3ba2a0ac3.jpg
2023.05.28 20:41 grierks Hedge Knight, Chapter 31
First / Previous / Next
The night air was brisk without his armor, and he could feel gooseflesh travel across his skin when a soft gale brushed through the empty street. There was a small thought at the back of Helbram’s mind that told him that removing his armor was a poor choice where he was going, but he did so anyway.
He was done fighting for today.
The Troll’s face flashed through his mind. His eyes in shock, brimmed with tears as its heart stopped beating from the spear that was embedded into his chest. Helbram shook his head to banish the image from his thoughts, but as he did the soreness to his body became all the more evident. Embers of pain rested in his arms, reminding him of how he pulled at the rope with all his strength.
Only for it all to amount to nothing.
Helbram closed his eyes and sighed before looking ahead, catching the sight of Sophia walking ahead of him.
“I thank you for your assistance,” Helbram said, “Elly may have been putting on a brave face but she took the hardest hit out of all of us.”
“It is the least I could do, healing is one of my duties,” The Maiden of the Sword glanced back, “Though from what I can tell, you require it more than she did.”
Helbram’s shoulder throbbed as she spoke, and he had to admit that she was correct. While the shield had absorbed most of the Troll’s blow, his shoulder took the rest, and he had the misfortune of landing on it when he hit the ground. The rush of battle and haze of his own anger had dulled the pain previously, but when all that had faded, he found himself hesitant to even move his arm for fear of the fire that would lance through him if he did so.
He clutched his shoulder with his uninjured hand, “Perhaps you are correct… though I will tolerate it for now. Let it serve as a reminder.”
Sophia nodded, and let silence fall over them again. They remained that way until they arrived at the Shrine. The water of the sea below reflected the blackness of the night above, but the restlessness of its waves allowed for no clear image of the starry night above to appear over its visage. When they crossed the bridge to the Shrine’s island, Sophia turned, avoiding the front doors and walking off to the building’s side. Helbram quirked an eyebrow and looked at her, and The Maiden only glanced at him before motioning for him to follow her.
He did, but he took in a small breath and focused his Ether into his ears. The sounds of the waves below grew more prominent along with Sophia’s own footsteps, but he could hear no other sounds. Helbram relaxed his posture when he did not detect anyone nearby and picked up his pace, walking right behind Sophia as she guided him to the back of the building. A cliff spiked from the isolated isle like a blade, pointing to the near full moon that glowed so brightly in the sky, casting its pale light across the cliff and the back of the building.
At the base of the cliff was, to Helbram’s surprise, a trapdoor. It was of the same wood of the Shrine’s own entrance and was surrounded by a border of the same pale stone. Its make was noticeably less elaborate, much more weathered than the building that loomed over it, evidenced by the rounded corners of the stone’s border.
Sophia pulled the trap door open, revealing a staircase. Rather than crafted, its stone steps appeared to be carved from the earth itself, and lead down far enough that he could only catch the hint of light at its bottom.
Helbram pressed his lips thin and looked at The Maiden, “Pardon my caution, but I am none too fond of going down mysterious doorways.”
Sophia frowned, “As understandable as your caution is, there are far less conspicuous locations for me to try and trap you.”
There was a bluntness to her voice that bled through her polite demeanor, revealing only a glimpse at the woman that sat behind the mantle of The Maiden.
Helbram snorted, “Fair enough, but ladies first.”
Her frown deepened, but she walked through the trap door first. Helbram waited a moment before following her, leaving the trap door open behind him as he made his way down the stairs. The air was still as he walked down the stairs, but the once distant sound of crashing waves grew closer,and clearer the further down that he went. The reason for this was made obvious when he reached the bottom of the stairs and was greeted by the cave that sat at its end.
It was not large, its size barely providing enough room for the small table and two chairs that sat at its center, rustic pieces crafted from lumber so worn it could be mistaken for driftwood. The far end of the cave opened out to the sea below, a simplistic railing of the same weathered wood serving as its border. Water crashed below, spraying the railing with a light mist. He could see the waves themselves reaching the lips of the cave on stormier days, but on this night he found the sight mesmerizing, its calmness a far cry from the chaos that occurred earlier in the night.
Sophia took a seat at the table and motioned towards the opposite chair, “Please, sit down.”
Helbram made his way to the table, noting that his height was enough that he felt the tip of his hair brush against the cave’s roof. Ducking instinctively, he took his seat as he looked out to the sea.
“I must admit, this is quite the unusual spot,” he said, “Never would I have guessed that such a hideaway existed.”
Sophia joined him in looking out towards the waves. When he looked out to her, the mask of the Maiden could no longer be seen. Gone was the serenity from her face, the stillness to her features, replaced by eyes cast downward, unable to look up as worry gradually furrowed her brow. Her upright posture was now slouched, hunched over as if the weight of the world sat upon her shoulders.
“It was made by those that built the Shrine,” she explained, a tiredness overhanging her voice, “It served as their place of respite, away from the town above.”
She looked at him, “Away from the voice of the Sword that whispered into their ears.”
Helbram nodded, understanding her point, “That is interesting… I wonder why that is.”
Sophia shrugged, “I have heard tales that those sailing the Black Sea will sometimes find their spells and magitek disrupted. Perhaps that is the reason.”
He rubbed his chin, “Would the Sword not notice your absence?”
The tired woman sat back in her chair, letting out a sigh, “If it has before, it has not made mention of it, and I am hardly the first Maiden to utilize this space for their own peace of mind,” she tapped her fingers against the table, “Besides, it has been preoccupied as of late, speaking to those it has chosen,” she looked him in the eye, “You among them.”
Helbram kept his expression blank, “I do not know what you speak of.”
“I am not a fool, Helbram,” she said, the spark of irritation in her voice fading to weariness, “Aside from the brief moment that you laid your hands on it, I am exposed to its voice at all times. It spoke to Marcus, to Marjorie… to you.”
He crossed his fingers and rested them against the table, “...yes, it did, but I spoke true when I told you it did not choose me.”
“It did not say it overtly to any of you three, yet it chooses to speak to you three among all others, and of all those that it spoke with, it is only with you that it appeared so earnest,” she said, “I could feel its desire as it reached out to you, speaking to you with visions of memories past.”
“How much did you see?” He asked.
“Glimpses,” she said, “the sight of a large, damaged rock, of a man splitting stone without an ounce of effort, but no more than that. I did not wish to glimpse too much. I saw even less of Marjorie’s.”
“And of Marcus?”
She closed her eyes, “Of that, I saw everything, felt everything. The hand that reached out to his father as he abandoned them, the tears that fell down his eyes as he cried with his mother. The anger, the sorrow, the burning flame of desire to surpass the man that left them behind… for the Sword that will grant that wish. It senses it, it calls to it, kindling the fire with trauma that should be long past, growing it with each passing moment.”
Sophia opened her eyes, the steel behind their gaze giving him pause, ‘Which is why he must never have it.”
Helbram regarded her words, resting his uninjured arm on the table, “And so you come to me.”
Sophia nodded, “Tell me, when you looked upon the murals within the Shrine, what was it that you saw?”
Helbram recalled the pictures that sat above the Sword, “The story of a hero, felling a great darkness that had befallen a land and making the ultimate sacrifice to finish it off for good,” he searched Sophia’s eyes as he spoke, noting that his recounting of the tale did nothing to bring a reaction to her expression, “But that is not what you see, is it?”
The tired woman sat back and sighed, “What you see is a vision of the past, what I see is prophecy.”
Helbram looked at her with questioning eyes.
“Not in the literal sense,” she said, brushing her silver hair aside, “all who look upon the mural praise the glory of the hero and his actions. None have ever considered the perspective of the hero himself.”
Helbram said nothing as Sophia continued.
“They see a man chosen to wield a powerful sword, chosen to banish an all consuming evil from his home. They see a man of great strength, of power that is to be admired and coveted… of a sacrifice that rings true of all heroes of legend. But what do they not see?”
She leaned forward, grabbing the edges of the table with a grip tight enough to turn her knuckles pale, “Do they see the weight of such responsibility? The pressure of the expectation that is placed upon a hero? Are they aware of the pain that man must have gone through, the abject terror and tribulations that plagued him as he not only fought that darkness, but harbored it within him until he found no other choice than to smother the very light of his own life?”
Sophia looked into Helbram’s eyes, “No, they do not. They see the opportunity for glory, the means to powers that they could only dream of, blissfully unaware that the tale of a hero is not one of such heights, but of peaks amidst a tide of lows that will erode a man’s very soul.”
Helbram leaned back, “And that is what you wish to spare Marcus from.”
Her eyes widened, “You are as perceptive as I hoped.”
“You would not be speaking like this were Marjorie were on your mind,” Helbram explained.
Sophia closed her eyes and loosened her grip on the table, “Of that… you are correct.”
He crossed his arm, “Do you not believe that he can handle the Sword?”
She shook her head, “I know full well that Marcus would be able to wield it, to bear the responsibilities that would come with it. Yes, he is naive, and untrained, but at his core he is a strong, good man,” her voice grew soft, “I have known ever since we were children, yet I would spare him of the burden all the same.”
“And place it onto me,” Helbram kept his voice and posture relaxed, studying Sophia’s body language carefully, “why not Marjorie? She would be more than eager to claim the Sword.”
She frowned, “Great though my desires may be, I do not aim to be foolish in my choices. Of the two others that the Sword speaks to, I trust you the most to take it.”
“And why is that?”
“Marjorie hungers for it, with a desire that I daresay matches that of Marcus’s, perhaps even more. But whereas Marcus’s rages like a flame hers serves to drown me like the ocean,” She motioned to Helbram, “You, however, seem almost adverse to the Sword, regardless of its desire for you to wield it. If you were to be the one to draw it… then perhaps you would be the one to best wield its power.”
Helbram nodded, “And so you deem me worthy enough to bear the burdens that you do not wish to befall Marcus. While I appreciate the honesty, I must say you are doing a rather poor job of convincing me to do so.”
Sophia did not look away, “You strike me as an honorable man. It would be unfair of me to try and deceive you.”
He snorted, “Marcus is indeed quite lucky to be in your care. I can see why he is enamored by you.”
A blush races across Sophia’s cheeks, “That is irrelevant.”
Helbram eyed her with doubt, “Hardly, but I shall prod no further on that subject,” he pressed his lips together and stared at her with a solemn expression, “Regardless, I am afraid I cannot do what you want. I have no intention of drawing the Sword.”
Her eyes became downcast, “May I ask why?”
“I’d say you made a rather compelling case as to why I should not do so,” he said, which brought about a defeated frown from her face, “But, more importantly, I cannot trust it.”
She looked at him with confusion, “What do you mean?”
“The words that it speaks to everyone… whispers that promise some sort of boon, some fulfillment of wishes, or even revelations that are too vague to verify, but broad enough that you cannot help but believe that it was speaking the truth,” he leaned towards Sophia, keeping a spark of anger contained as he grit his teeth, “But the words it spoke to me… I know them to be lies,” he said, feeling his shoulder throb, reminding him of the realities of his weakness, “none knows that more than I. So tell me, how could I draw the Sword when it chooses to lure me in with falsehoods?”
To his surprise, Sophia did not falter. Instead, the tired woman’s expression went still, a calmness to her features that was different from the guise she wore as Maiden.
“Are you certain that it was lying to you?” she asked, her voice steady.
Helbram’s eyes narrowed, “What do you mean?”
“I have seen the Sword speak to countless people,” she said, “And while I do agree that most of what it tells people are shallow statements, I have not known it to be wrong.”
She stood up from the table, walking up to the balcony and staring out to the sea, “When the Sword looks into someone… I am able to see what it sees,” she explained, “I have seen the potential of so many… of men and women seeking fortune, children brought by their parents in hopes that they would be chosen or some revelation of their potential might become apparent. In all of these situations I know what the Sword speaks is true, because I have seen it all as well.”
Sophia turned back towards him, “All except for when you took hold of it.”
Helbram said nothing.
“I do not know why that is, but I know that the Sword was not lying to you. In its eyes, you are the one that possesses the most potential to wield it.”
He grit his teeth, holding back the anger that rose in his chest, “Why would that be? I hold no power aside from a sliver of Ether that a child could cultivate in their sleep. The more that the Sword refers to my potential, the more I am forced to confront that simple, undeniable truth.”
Sophia’s eyes widened as a low growl traced his voice.
“I have traveled through the Six Kingdoms, consulting with scholars, pleading with healers in the hopes of finding some cure for the weakness that plagues me, and none could be found. I have crossed the ocean to Esperia, believing that perhaps that land of magitek could have discovered a method by which I could break the shackles of my own constitution, only to be told that yes, there are methods by which someone with my condition could eventually come to cultivate the strength that is denied to them… but that my particular case was too severe to treat,” his voice descended to resignation, “And in that revelation I found myself wandering, finding my way to the Freemarks, being given hope in a brief moment where I managed to do what was thought impossible by my own hands, finding companions that I do not deserve.”
He closed his eyes and sighed, “Hope that is smothered the more that I am forced to confront the reality that, in my own arrogance, I thought I could ignore for a time,” He stood up from his chair and walked towards the stairs, “I am not the one that will wield the Sword, “ he did not face Sophia as he spoke, “ I am sorry.”
He made way to the stairs.
“What if you spoke to the Sword further?” Sophia asked, steel in her voice.
Helbram stopped and looked back at her.
“You only touched the Sword for an instant, hearing its voice for only a moment,” she said, “Will you not give it a chance to explain itself further? To know for certain if the words it speaks are indeed the lies you believe them to be?”
Resolution was clear in her eyes, but Helbram could also see the desperation under it all.
He took a deep breath, “Marcus is indeed fortunate to have someone cherish him so… Fine, I will speak to the Sword once more.”
Sophia’s chest fell in relief, “I will take you to it now.”
He did not say much as they made their way back to the front of the Shrine, but as Sophia unlocked its doors and moved to go inside, he grasped her shoulder to stop her.
“I will speak with it alone,” he said, his voice calm, but with a weight behind it that gave her pause.
She bit her lip, brow furrowed in uncertainty, but she eventually nodded, “I will wait for you out here.”
Helbram gave her a small smile, “I thank you.”
He brushed past her and into the shrine, closing the door behind him. The Shrine was enshrouded by the night’s shadows, with only the tree at its center illuminated by the pale moonlight that leaked in from above. As he walked closer to the blackened wood his eyes wandered back to the murals that sat above. The tale of the nameless hero held a sadder tone to it within the pale light, and as Helbram stared at the image of the hero impaling himself with his sword, he could not help but understand the fear that Sophia felt.
He sighed again, “Gods, how do I find myself in these situations?”
His eyes fell back to the Sword, its silver make glimmering further in the as moonlight danced upon its exposed surface. The sight alone was entracing enough to drive him closer out of sheer curiosity, and to his surprise, there was no compulsion that moved him as there was at the beginning of the day.
He snorted, “Want to leave it as my own choice, I see…”
He rolled his good shoulder and took in a breath, staring at the blade’s handle. He grasped it before doubt could overcome him, and as he did, all went black.
The void surrounded him again, its formless floor supporting his body that, thankfully, reflected his current attire of simple clothes. There was a chill to his injured shoulder that he caught a fleeting feeling of, a brief flash that banished the pulsing waves of pain that would radiate from it, letting him move it like normal.
Helbram rolled his shoulder as he looked around, “I suppose that is a good start…”
He stopped as his eyes fell upon an expected sight.
A man that was as tall as him, but with a wider and sturdier build. Their hair was similar, though the burly man’s was more well kept than his. There was steel in his brown eyes, but the man’s face was a kindly one, possessing a gentle smile that brought an ache to Helbram’s heart.
His father walked up to him, arms open and welcoming.
“At last, we meet.”
First / Previous / Next
___
Author's Note: I wanted to use this chapter to flesh out the character of Sophia a bit. I didn't want her to be some simple Maiden of the Sword that did not appear that much in the story itself, and I feel like this goes a long way in giving her some dimension beyond what was shown of her before. Let me know how I did!
If you wish to read ahead and gain access to the audiobook version of this story, consider supporting me on Patreon. If you want to leave a donation, here is my Ko-fi. More than any of that though, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and have yourself a very wonderful day! :)
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The night air was brisk without his armor, and he could feel gooseflesh travel across his skin when a soft gale brushed through the empty street. There was a small thought at the back of Helbram’s mind that told him that removing his armor was a poor choice where he was going, but he did so anyway.
He was done fighting for today.
The Troll’s face flashed through his mind. His eyes in shock, brimmed with tears as its heart stopped beating from the spear that was embedded into his chest. Helbram shook his head to banish the image from his thoughts, but as he did the soreness to his body became all the more evident. Embers of pain rested in his arms, reminding him of how he pulled at the rope with all his strength.
Only for it all to amount to nothing.
Helbram closed his eyes and sighed before looking ahead, catching the sight of Sophia walking ahead of him.
“I thank you for your assistance,” Helbram said, “Elly may have been putting on a brave face but she took the hardest hit out of all of us.”
“It is the least I could do, healing is one of my duties,” The Maiden of the Sword glanced back, “Though from what I can tell, you require it more than she did.”
Helbram’s shoulder throbbed as she spoke, and he had to admit that she was correct. While the shield had absorbed most of the Troll’s blow, his shoulder took the rest, and he had the misfortune of landing on it when he hit the ground. The rush of battle and haze of his own anger had dulled the pain previously, but when all that had faded, he found himself hesitant to even move his arm for fear of the fire that would lance through him if he did so.
He clutched his shoulder with his uninjured hand, “Perhaps you are correct… though I will tolerate it for now. Let it serve as a reminder.”
Sophia nodded, and let silence fall over them again. They remained that way until they arrived at the Shrine. The water of the sea below reflected the blackness of the night above, but the restlessness of its waves allowed for no clear image of the starry night above to appear over its visage. When they crossed the bridge to the Shrine’s island, Sophia turned, avoiding the front doors and walking off to the building’s side. Helbram quirked an eyebrow and looked at her, and The Maiden only glanced at him before motioning for him to follow her.
He did, but he took in a small breath and focused his Ether into his ears. The sounds of the waves below grew more prominent along with Sophia’s own footsteps, but he could hear no other sounds. Helbram relaxed his posture when he did not detect anyone nearby and picked up his pace, walking right behind Sophia as she guided him to the back of the building. A cliff spiked from the isolated isle like a blade, pointing to the near full moon that glowed so brightly in the sky, casting its pale light across the cliff and the back of the building.
At the base of the cliff was, to Helbram’s surprise, a trapdoor. It was of the same wood of the Shrine’s own entrance and was surrounded by a border of the same pale stone. Its make was noticeably less elaborate, much more weathered than the building that loomed over it, evidenced by the rounded corners of the stone’s border.
Sophia pulled the trap door open, revealing a staircase. Rather than crafted, its stone steps appeared to be carved from the earth itself, and lead down far enough that he could only catch the hint of light at its bottom.
Helbram pressed his lips thin and looked at The Maiden, “Pardon my caution, but I am none too fond of going down mysterious doorways.”
Sophia frowned, “As understandable as your caution is, there are far less conspicuous locations for me to try and trap you.”
There was a bluntness to her voice that bled through her polite demeanor, revealing only a glimpse at the woman that sat behind the mantle of The Maiden.
Helbram snorted, “Fair enough, but ladies first.”
Her frown deepened, but she walked through the trap door first. Helbram waited a moment before following her, leaving the trap door open behind him as he made his way down the stairs. The air was still as he walked down the stairs, but the once distant sound of crashing waves grew closer,and clearer the further down that he went. The reason for this was made obvious when he reached the bottom of the stairs and was greeted by the cave that sat at its end.
It was not large, its size barely providing enough room for the small table and two chairs that sat at its center, rustic pieces crafted from lumber so worn it could be mistaken for driftwood. The far end of the cave opened out to the sea below, a simplistic railing of the same weathered wood serving as its border. Water crashed below, spraying the railing with a light mist. He could see the waves themselves reaching the lips of the cave on stormier days, but on this night he found the sight mesmerizing, its calmness a far cry from the chaos that occurred earlier in the night.
Sophia took a seat at the table and motioned towards the opposite chair, “Please, sit down.”
Helbram made his way to the table, noting that his height was enough that he felt the tip of his hair brush against the cave’s roof. Ducking instinctively, he took his seat as he looked out to the sea.
“I must admit, this is quite the unusual spot,” he said, “Never would I have guessed that such a hideaway existed.”
Sophia joined him in looking out towards the waves. When he looked out to her, the mask of the Maiden could no longer be seen. Gone was the serenity from her face, the stillness to her features, replaced by eyes cast downward, unable to look up as worry gradually furrowed her brow. Her upright posture was now slouched, hunched over as if the weight of the world sat upon her shoulders.
“It was made by those that built the Shrine,” she explained, a tiredness overhanging her voice, “It served as their place of respite, away from the town above.”
She looked at him, “Away from the voice of the Sword that whispered into their ears.”
Helbram nodded, understanding her point, “That is interesting… I wonder why that is.”
Sophia shrugged, “I have heard tales that those sailing the Black Sea will sometimes find their spells and magitek disrupted. Perhaps that is the reason.”
He rubbed his chin, “Would the Sword not notice your absence?”
The tired woman sat back in her chair, letting out a sigh, “If it has before, it has not made mention of it, and I am hardly the first Maiden to utilize this space for their own peace of mind,” she tapped her fingers against the table, “Besides, it has been preoccupied as of late, speaking to those it has chosen,” she looked him in the eye, “You among them.”
Helbram kept his expression blank, “I do not know what you speak of.”
“I am not a fool, Helbram,” she said, the spark of irritation in her voice fading to weariness, “Aside from the brief moment that you laid your hands on it, I am exposed to its voice at all times. It spoke to Marcus, to Marjorie… to you.”
He crossed his fingers and rested them against the table, “...yes, it did, but I spoke true when I told you it did not choose me.”
“It did not say it overtly to any of you three, yet it chooses to speak to you three among all others, and of all those that it spoke with, it is only with you that it appeared so earnest,” she said, “I could feel its desire as it reached out to you, speaking to you with visions of memories past.”
“How much did you see?” He asked.
“Glimpses,” she said, “the sight of a large, damaged rock, of a man splitting stone without an ounce of effort, but no more than that. I did not wish to glimpse too much. I saw even less of Marjorie’s.”
“And of Marcus?”
She closed her eyes, “Of that, I saw everything, felt everything. The hand that reached out to his father as he abandoned them, the tears that fell down his eyes as he cried with his mother. The anger, the sorrow, the burning flame of desire to surpass the man that left them behind… for the Sword that will grant that wish. It senses it, it calls to it, kindling the fire with trauma that should be long past, growing it with each passing moment.”
Sophia opened her eyes, the steel behind their gaze giving him pause, ‘Which is why he must never have it.”
Helbram regarded her words, resting his uninjured arm on the table, “And so you come to me.”
Sophia nodded, “Tell me, when you looked upon the murals within the Shrine, what was it that you saw?”
Helbram recalled the pictures that sat above the Sword, “The story of a hero, felling a great darkness that had befallen a land and making the ultimate sacrifice to finish it off for good,” he searched Sophia’s eyes as he spoke, noting that his recounting of the tale did nothing to bring a reaction to her expression, “But that is not what you see, is it?”
The tired woman sat back and sighed, “What you see is a vision of the past, what I see is prophecy.”
Helbram looked at her with questioning eyes.
“Not in the literal sense,” she said, brushing her silver hair aside, “all who look upon the mural praise the glory of the hero and his actions. None have ever considered the perspective of the hero himself.”
Helbram said nothing as Sophia continued.
“They see a man chosen to wield a powerful sword, chosen to banish an all consuming evil from his home. They see a man of great strength, of power that is to be admired and coveted… of a sacrifice that rings true of all heroes of legend. But what do they not see?”
She leaned forward, grabbing the edges of the table with a grip tight enough to turn her knuckles pale, “Do they see the weight of such responsibility? The pressure of the expectation that is placed upon a hero? Are they aware of the pain that man must have gone through, the abject terror and tribulations that plagued him as he not only fought that darkness, but harbored it within him until he found no other choice than to smother the very light of his own life?”
Sophia looked into Helbram’s eyes, “No, they do not. They see the opportunity for glory, the means to powers that they could only dream of, blissfully unaware that the tale of a hero is not one of such heights, but of peaks amidst a tide of lows that will erode a man’s very soul.”
Helbram leaned back, “And that is what you wish to spare Marcus from.”
Her eyes widened, “You are as perceptive as I hoped.”
“You would not be speaking like this were Marjorie were on your mind,” Helbram explained.
Sophia closed her eyes and loosened her grip on the table, “Of that… you are correct.”
He crossed his arm, “Do you not believe that he can handle the Sword?”
She shook her head, “I know full well that Marcus would be able to wield it, to bear the responsibilities that would come with it. Yes, he is naive, and untrained, but at his core he is a strong, good man,” her voice grew soft, “I have known ever since we were children, yet I would spare him of the burden all the same.”
“And place it onto me,” Helbram kept his voice and posture relaxed, studying Sophia’s body language carefully, “why not Marjorie? She would be more than eager to claim the Sword.”
She frowned, “Great though my desires may be, I do not aim to be foolish in my choices. Of the two others that the Sword speaks to, I trust you the most to take it.”
“And why is that?”
“Marjorie hungers for it, with a desire that I daresay matches that of Marcus’s, perhaps even more. But whereas Marcus’s rages like a flame hers serves to drown me like the ocean,” She motioned to Helbram, “You, however, seem almost adverse to the Sword, regardless of its desire for you to wield it. If you were to be the one to draw it… then perhaps you would be the one to best wield its power.”
Helbram nodded, “And so you deem me worthy enough to bear the burdens that you do not wish to befall Marcus. While I appreciate the honesty, I must say you are doing a rather poor job of convincing me to do so.”
Sophia did not look away, “You strike me as an honorable man. It would be unfair of me to try and deceive you.”
He snorted, “Marcus is indeed quite lucky to be in your care. I can see why he is enamored by you.”
A blush races across Sophia’s cheeks, “That is irrelevant.”
Helbram eyed her with doubt, “Hardly, but I shall prod no further on that subject,” he pressed his lips together and stared at her with a solemn expression, “Regardless, I am afraid I cannot do what you want. I have no intention of drawing the Sword.”
Her eyes became downcast, “May I ask why?”
“I’d say you made a rather compelling case as to why I should not do so,” he said, which brought about a defeated frown from her face, “But, more importantly, I cannot trust it.”
She looked at him with confusion, “What do you mean?”
“The words that it speaks to everyone… whispers that promise some sort of boon, some fulfillment of wishes, or even revelations that are too vague to verify, but broad enough that you cannot help but believe that it was speaking the truth,” he leaned towards Sophia, keeping a spark of anger contained as he grit his teeth, “But the words it spoke to me… I know them to be lies,” he said, feeling his shoulder throb, reminding him of the realities of his weakness, “none knows that more than I. So tell me, how could I draw the Sword when it chooses to lure me in with falsehoods?”
To his surprise, Sophia did not falter. Instead, the tired woman’s expression went still, a calmness to her features that was different from the guise she wore as Maiden.
“Are you certain that it was lying to you?” she asked, her voice steady.
Helbram’s eyes narrowed, “What do you mean?”
“I have seen the Sword speak to countless people,” she said, “And while I do agree that most of what it tells people are shallow statements, I have not known it to be wrong.”
She stood up from the table, walking up to the balcony and staring out to the sea, “When the Sword looks into someone… I am able to see what it sees,” she explained, “I have seen the potential of so many… of men and women seeking fortune, children brought by their parents in hopes that they would be chosen or some revelation of their potential might become apparent. In all of these situations I know what the Sword speaks is true, because I have seen it all as well.”
Sophia turned back towards him, “All except for when you took hold of it.”
Helbram said nothing.
“I do not know why that is, but I know that the Sword was not lying to you. In its eyes, you are the one that possesses the most potential to wield it.”
He grit his teeth, holding back the anger that rose in his chest, “Why would that be? I hold no power aside from a sliver of Ether that a child could cultivate in their sleep. The more that the Sword refers to my potential, the more I am forced to confront that simple, undeniable truth.”
Sophia’s eyes widened as a low growl traced his voice.
“I have traveled through the Six Kingdoms, consulting with scholars, pleading with healers in the hopes of finding some cure for the weakness that plagues me, and none could be found. I have crossed the ocean to Esperia, believing that perhaps that land of magitek could have discovered a method by which I could break the shackles of my own constitution, only to be told that yes, there are methods by which someone with my condition could eventually come to cultivate the strength that is denied to them… but that my particular case was too severe to treat,” his voice descended to resignation, “And in that revelation I found myself wandering, finding my way to the Freemarks, being given hope in a brief moment where I managed to do what was thought impossible by my own hands, finding companions that I do not deserve.”
He closed his eyes and sighed, “Hope that is smothered the more that I am forced to confront the reality that, in my own arrogance, I thought I could ignore for a time,” He stood up from his chair and walked towards the stairs, “I am not the one that will wield the Sword, “ he did not face Sophia as he spoke, “ I am sorry.”
He made way to the stairs.
“What if you spoke to the Sword further?” Sophia asked, steel in her voice.
Helbram stopped and looked back at her.
“You only touched the Sword for an instant, hearing its voice for only a moment,” she said, “Will you not give it a chance to explain itself further? To know for certain if the words it speaks are indeed the lies you believe them to be?”
Resolution was clear in her eyes, but Helbram could also see the desperation under it all.
He took a deep breath, “Marcus is indeed fortunate to have someone cherish him so… Fine, I will speak to the Sword once more.”
Sophia’s chest fell in relief, “I will take you to it now.”
He did not say much as they made their way back to the front of the Shrine, but as Sophia unlocked its doors and moved to go inside, he grasped her shoulder to stop her.
“I will speak with it alone,” he said, his voice calm, but with a weight behind it that gave her pause.
She bit her lip, brow furrowed in uncertainty, but she eventually nodded, “I will wait for you out here.”
Helbram gave her a small smile, “I thank you.”
He brushed past her and into the shrine, closing the door behind him. The Shrine was enshrouded by the night’s shadows, with only the tree at its center illuminated by the pale moonlight that leaked in from above. As he walked closer to the blackened wood his eyes wandered back to the murals that sat above. The tale of the nameless hero held a sadder tone to it within the pale light, and as Helbram stared at the image of the hero impaling himself with his sword, he could not help but understand the fear that Sophia felt.
He sighed again, “Gods, how do I find myself in these situations?”
His eyes fell back to the Sword, its silver make glimmering further in the as moonlight danced upon its exposed surface. The sight alone was entracing enough to drive him closer out of sheer curiosity, and to his surprise, there was no compulsion that moved him as there was at the beginning of the day.
He snorted, “Want to leave it as my own choice, I see…”
He rolled his good shoulder and took in a breath, staring at the blade’s handle. He grasped it before doubt could overcome him, and as he did, all went black.
The void surrounded him again, its formless floor supporting his body that, thankfully, reflected his current attire of simple clothes. There was a chill to his injured shoulder that he caught a fleeting feeling of, a brief flash that banished the pulsing waves of pain that would radiate from it, letting him move it like normal.
Helbram rolled his shoulder as he looked around, “I suppose that is a good start…”
He stopped as his eyes fell upon an expected sight.
A man that was as tall as him, but with a wider and sturdier build. Their hair was similar, though the burly man’s was more well kept than his. There was steel in his brown eyes, but the man’s face was a kindly one, possessing a gentle smile that brought an ache to Helbram’s heart.
His father walked up to him, arms open and welcoming.
“At last, we meet.”
First / Previous / Next
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Author's Note: I wanted to use this chapter to flesh out the character of Sophia a bit. I didn't want her to be some simple Maiden of the Sword that did not appear that much in the story itself, and I feel like this goes a long way in giving her some dimension beyond what was shown of her before. Let me know how I did!
If you wish to read ahead and gain access to the audiobook version of this story, consider supporting me on Patreon. If you want to leave a donation, here is my Ko-fi. More than any of that though, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and have yourself a very wonderful day! :)
2023.05.28 20:20 EzekialX Vulturebeard: Bad Roomies Part 2
Part 1: https://www.reddit.com/ReddXReads/comments/13lfqkw/vulturebeard_the_legbeard_that_ruined_roomies_fo
Hi everyone, bunny here. I’m having Ezekial post this for me because while I lurk on reddit, I’m on too many online communities and burn out quickly on all of them. I’m just here to tell this incredibly long tale. Pull up a chair, grab a snack, get comfy. This is a long ride.
The Cast List
Bunny (author): 33, female, a year or so out of a divorce that turned toxic and abusive and ultimately helped me realize I was gay. Recovering lifelong doormat slowly building a spine. Neuro spicy gym rat with major depressive disorder, general anxiety disorder, and most recently diagnosed with ADHD. Unfortunately very familiar with surviving trauma.
Z (poster): My partner. 31, nonbinary (they/them), also neuro spicy with depression, anxiety, OCD, BPD, autism, and also familiar with lifelong trauma.
One Liner Beard (OLB): 33, male, neuro spicy with ADHD and depression. He also suspects autism but isn’t pursuing a diagnosis. His nickname here comes from the fact that in messenger, he usually has one-word replies like “oof” or “mmm” as an acknowledgement he had seen the message but has nothing further to contribute.
VultureBeard (Vulture): 30, female, neuro spicy and disabled with multiple conditions. She has Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, POTs (postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome), autism, depression, anxiety, chronic migraines, but also possibly a list of things that may or may not be real – that will all be explained. The star of this unfortunate circus. Her name will be explained in this part.
Kid: 3. Female. OLB and Vulture’s child. Likely neuro spicy like we all are, but she’s also only 3 years old. Slightly speech delayed and not potty trained yet.
Minor mentions:
Shit ass ex-husband (SA): name is self-explanatory. 32, male. Divorce was amicable to keep the peace. I immediately went no contact with him after.
J2: Friend of OLBs.
You ready? Deep breath. Now let’s dive into this mess.
Chapter Two: VultureBeard, or the Walking Diagnosis
With the backstory of how we wound up with a neckbeard, a legbeard, and their kid out of the way, I’ll start on VultureBeard properly now.
J2 was the one who introduced her to OLB. He ran into her at a local convention, and they talked and spent the day together. He ended up sleeping over at her house, on her couch, since she lived a few minutes away from the convention center, and he introduced her to his D&D group that OLB was a DM for. He said that at first, he wanted to smash just based on looks (before she stopped caring for herself, before the pregnancy), until she opened her mouth.
Oh boy.
I met her on Halloween 2018 or 2019 (trauma made my memory absolute garbage, ain’t it fun?), when OLB wanted to run a one-shot Curse of Strahd campaign for our D&D group. J2’s group was called Party A, we were Party B. Both of our campaigns existed in the same universe that OLB created. It was a fun one shot. I liked her. We integrated her into our D&D campaign as a side character who joined our party.
With her autism, she talks a lot, and can have a conversation with anyone, but she does naturally miss a lot of social cues. She says it’s okay to be direct with her and say things like, “I can’t talk right now, I’m busy.” But in the wild, she just enjoys people. That in itself isn’t a bad thing.
When we met, she was a Mormon with long brown hair, glasses, and modest clothes with long ankle-length jean skirts. I don’t know if that was a lifelong practice or just the people she had associated with. She didn’t curse at all, and still substitutes “fudge” for my favorite and most often-used curse word. Over time, she dropped religion, but she only curses in text, and very rarely at that, like when she’s pushed to her mental limit. She still dresses in a lot of the modest clothes from before, but it’s mostly because she doesn’t go clothes shopping a lot. I have passed down some clothes I have shrunk out of to her.
Her fashion sense is a bit of Walmart-meets-Goodwill. The tired mom “this is clean, so I’ll wear it” kind of aesthetic. She’s big on thrifting, but so am I. Most of my wardrobe is thrifted or passed on from a few gym friends these days, so it’s not like I’m poking fun at secondhand clothes. It’s just that there’s a lack of style or effort on her part, like she just puts clothes on and sometimes remembers to brush her hair out. I think there’s a part of her that doesn’t recognize she’s plus sized after pregnancy because she once bought clothes that are size medium, and they didn’t fit. She fit my old 2X leggings. I traded her leggings once, my bigger size for her smaller size.
She and OLB don’t fold laundry or put it away, so she will have laundry stuffed in their hamper that they keep in our shoe closet next to the laundry room, or boxes on her desk, or on her desk chair. They kind of live out of that clothes pile. If she needs to dress in something nice, it likely is wrinkly because it was in an unfolded pile.
The first run-in with realizing that something was a little “off” with her was when she tried cooking for us. We had other friends over to play D&D and Magic with us, and she wanted to cook some kind of chicken and noodle dish. With her POTs (post orthostatic tachycardia syndrome), she’s usually sodium deficient so she adds way too much salt to whatever she’s eating. Not being used to cooking for others, she served us completely inedible chicken that was too salty.
One of my former friends was there for that debacle. What she also noticed was that Kid seemed to be behind some childhood markers. At 2, Kid was still using a bottle and didn’t seem to talk much. She was worried that Kid would keep falling behind. It was a red flag that got tucked away. At the time, I was still thinking of Vulture as a burned-out first-time neuro spicy mom. That’s a lot for a disabled woman to handle. As a disabled person myself, I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. I gave her too much benefit of the doubt for way too long.
Vulture as a person focuses very much on herself. Because of the body aches and pains that come with both Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and POTs, yes, I understand that her body regularly fights itself. But why is it that every time her body expressed pain, she had to do a loud, “AH, OW” or other pain noises as loud as she could? Or she will complain about whatever is giving her trouble. Some days she will be using her computer quietly, then when I come out of my bedroom, she starts to complain about her daily aches and pains. This happens pretty much every day, for different reasons. Her sneezes are likewise as loud, to where I can hear her across the house, through a closed door and over the show Z and I are watching.
Most awkward is Vulture’s bathroom habits. In Apartment #2, I guess Vulture got used to using the bathroom with the door cracked because they lived in a house without roommates, and she needed to keep an ear on Kid. Even now in a shared space, she keeps the door cracked, sometimes with the light off so I don’t think anyone is in the bathroom because it’s more migraine friendly.
Until I hear the grunting.
THE GRUNTING.
THE POOP GRUNTING.
I have heard it through my closed bedroom door, because her bathroom is right next to my bedroom. Usually, it’s when my bedroom is quieter, like when Z and I are off to sleep. But I hear her grunting as she’s using the bathroom, either because the door is open, or she is just that loud. I’m terrified to know which one it is.
Her hygiene is questionable at best. I know personally that Depression™ makes hygiene and self-care extremely difficult. I myself do the best I can, especially while being constantly sweaty at the gym and a Big Sad (depression) fighter. So, I get mental illness and hygiene. With Vulture and her long hair, she would leave it in a bun for days until it matted. She asked for my help with detangling it and it took me around two hours to safely work the mats and tangles out. When she cut it in a homemade attempt to do the popular wolf cut on Tik Tok, it was much more manageable. When it’s shorter, it has tight curls. She constantly has a natural body odor smell to her. I think with her sensitive skin, she has to wear a specific unscented deodorant, but I don’t think she applies it unless she’s leaving the house. The sink in her and OLB’s bathroom is used as mostly a storage space with things piled on top of it, so I don’t think it’s used for much. The bathtub needs a deep scrubbing, and she gives Kid a bath more than she herself showers.
Having heard the poop grunting, I’m afraid to look at their toilet.
In general, Vulture isn’t active, but to say that she’s sedentary is a vast understatement. The average sedentary person looks like an Olympic athlete next to her. She occupies two spots in the house: Her bed, or the couch in the living room. For most of the day. She will just have her laptop either on the table next to her or in her lap, and that’s where she spends most of the day, gaming.
With me being a gym rat, I am incredibly proud of how I went from a couch potato to a weightlifter. When I think about what would happen if I suddenly dropped to her levels of activity, I know my body would fall apart. I often wonder if her lying in bed or on the couch contributes to more of her body pains because her muscles are deteriorating from disuse. I mean what do I know, I’m not a doctor. That body pain cycles to her being even more inactive because she hurts. It’s a big cycle of negativity.
When the weather changes drastically, she will be hit with migraines or allergy attacks, to where she has to lay down all day as well. She takes OTC pain medicine frequently, as well as allergy meds. One of her desk cabinets is a well-stocked mini pharmacy of OTC medication and some prescription medication she has collected over time that expired over a year ago. When I’m hit with a rare migraine, I know she will have something in stock for it.
Her doctor says she needs to eat more frequently because she’s always shaky. She will hold up her hand to show me how much it’s shaking, and it always looks as though she’s making it shake from the wrist, instead of it being an actual hand movement. She always tells me, “Look at this,” and holds up her shaking hand, like she’s trying to show me how bad she’s doing, but it’s for different reasons every time. She didn’t eat, she’s too tired, she has a migraine, she has sinus pain – everything gives her shaky hands, which I joked about once.
If she has a new symptom, she goes to Doctor Google to look up what’s wrong with her, and then talk in our house chat on discord that she thinks she might have “so and so” wrong with her because the symptoms match. Or she will post screenshots of whatever her symptoms are. As far as I know in the time living with her, she’s never had close medical calls or anything that needed further treatment, except for a heart study where she wore a device to monitor her heart rate. Doctor Google gave her all sorts of things she could have, though.
Within the time I started writing this saga, I had this encounter with her in the house group chat on discord that she, OLB, and I are in, about how she thinks she’s allergic to mosquito bites because the bites swelled up and got inflamed:
Vulture: Just figured out something I’m most likely allergic to: mosquito’s saliva reaction is increased inflammation around the bite site and the condition is skeeter syndrome.
Me: You should get that confirmed by a doctor. It’s mosquito season.
(it sounds like she copy/pasted that bit about mosquito’s saliva from Google)
Mind you, my former in-laws thought I was allergic to mosquito bites because the same thing happened to me. My mosquito bites swelled up beyond what they should look like, and mosquitos have a good nose at finding me in particular compared to other people. I tried to empathize with her, even though it just seemed like she wanted to identify with a syndrome she found on the internet.
She said that she had the same symptoms her friend’s dad had for GERD because her acid reflux was acting up. The GERD saga is a fun one as well, which I’ll fully share later.
Funny enough, if I also have something similar to what her current issue is, she doesn’t play Oppression Olympics and say hers is worse. I’ve been dealing with vertigo on and off for the past month and I don’t have the ability to see a doctor for it at the moment. So, when she says that she’s dizzy or the room is spinning, I express empathy or at least a little “oh, same here,” because I have to carefully move my body in ways that don’t make the room spin. It might be her autism, it might be because she doesn’t care, but she never expresses empathy my way. She just moves on.
I’ve told her multiple times she needs to see a doctor to check for each new symptom she has, but somehow there’s an excuse. The latest I’ve heard is, “I will once my phone is turned back on. It hasn’t been paid in a while.” Valid yes, but then please get off Google. Because she’s on government assistance and doesn’t have a car and doesn’t know how to drive, she’s ferried to her appointments by a medical bus that stops at the house. They do need to be able to call her. Just please get off Google in the meantime! I’ve even told her that Doctor Google and WebMD will say everything is cancer or fatal and it’s not good for you, and she just kind of brushed it off.
One of my friends calls her the Professional Victim. Z is convinced she has Factitious Disorder (formerly called Munchausen’s). She loves to hide behind her illnesses as to why she can’t get out of bed or can’t do chores. If you were to listen to her every day, you’d think she was falling apart at the seams because it was always something. Migraine, body pain, allergies, sinus problems or sinus infections, stomach problems, dizziness, shakiness. Repeat. Forever.
She will ask me if her forehead feels hot, and when I can’t tell, she checks with a thermometer. She says, “My natural body temperature is low so 99 degrees is a fever to me.”
This is also where I gave her a lot of benefit of the doubt at the beginning, because EDS and POTs will affect the entire body in different ways. One of my friends, in her casual dark humor, will have conversations with me about how she’s just not going to be able to walk properly that day, because her ankle joint slid out of place, but she still finished her work shift. I talk to my friend regularly about her struggles with her body, but somehow it doesn’t have the same self-pity that Vulture’s does. Every disability presents differently between people. As rare as EDS and POTs is, it’s pretty common in online communities because it’s where people tend to flock to. In my time in varying disabled online communities, I’ve never seen someone who complains or fishes for attention as much as Vulture does.
If she’s having a relatively good day, she will either be gaming, or maybe she will get to one of the chores that OLB tries to get her to do during the day, like doing the dishes or cleaning Kid’s room. When OLB had prescription Adderall (before the shortage made him switch to a different ADHD med), she took one of his pills and was zooming around actually being productive. She has symptoms of ADHD but doesn’t have a formal diagnosis, so OLB thought it might help her. It seemed to.
If she has a bad day, which is most of her days, she stays rooted on the couch or moves between her couch and her bed, moving her laptop with her. She spends all day building in Minecraft, completing her Pokedex, or playing other games.
Sometimes when I come out of my room to cook, she says something along the lines of, “I planned on cleaning today,” followed by vague hand gestures of how she’s feeling. I never asked her about her daily plans, but she needed to tell me. Is it self-awareness or guilt?
If she’s doing a load of dishes, she will loudly proclaim that she’s dizzy and shaky and in pain and have to go sit down after 10 minutes of that. I don’t know if she actually has the body strength to stay upright for longer than ten minutes at a time, and I don’t know if that’s her actual chronic illnesses, or the fact that she doesn’t do anything at all.
I’ve given her the same advice I use myself for low spoon (low energy) days when I need to get things done. I’ve told her it’s okay to take ten-minute breaks and then get started again. Or an hour break, if her body is giving her trouble. I’ve told her it’s okay to clean the house while sitting on the ground or in a chair, if that’s easier on her body. In managing my broken mental health, I’ve taught myself all sorts of life hacks, or as I call them, “brain hacks,” to work around how gross depression makes me feel. And I’ve told her that if it’s a really bad day, the dishes aren’t going anywhere and can wait until tomorrow.
That’s meant to be compassionate, not taken in the “if you give an inch, they’ll take a mile” sort of way, but it must be interpreted as permission to not do The Thing. It just won’t get done if she feels she has permission to skip over it.
If she does anything, she will want metaphorical ass pats for her good work. OLB jokes that it’s a praise kink, but some days it really seems that way without anyone consenting to participate in her kink. She asks if I noticed she cleaned the kitchen or did some kind of cleaning and if I’m proud of her. I used to play along with the praise because I wanted to give her positive reinforcement, like maybe if I emphasized that it was a good thing, she’d be more encouraged to do it more. I’ve got jokes, apparently. Optimism was so strong early in the friendship.
If she cooks, usually it’s something frozen that she can heat up like pizza. Most of the time, she exists on boxed macaroni and cheese or sandwiches. Or what fast food OLB brings home. Most of her diet is processed, instant, or frozen. Or she eats odds and ends like what cereal and junk food is brought home from the food bank or when OLB goes shopping.
Since SA left the house, I took up cooking for myself and exploring what I like to cook, as SA was the main cook for the house. My gym regimen helped me meal prep and confront a lot of my bad eating habits, so I started prepping healthier foods. I am the stereotypical lifter that eats a lot of chicken, rice, and vegetables. Z also likes to cook, and it became a way for us to bond by cooking together or one of us watching the other cook and just vibe in each other’s company.
VultureBeard gets her name because, one, she is a legbeard. But two, every time I made something early on with her living with us, she always said something along the lines of, “Ooh, that smells so good! It’s making me hungry!”
Me, in my doormat stage, took the cue that she dangled and offered her some of my food. Back then, I always tried to cook enough for the whole house. It became a pattern. If I cooked something, she always popped up, hungry and unable to make actual food for herself or somehow her illnesses were acting up and preventing her from cooking for herself. If I said I was popping over to the store, sometimes she would ask if I could pick up a soda for her and occasionally, she would be able to pay me, always in loose change because her disability payments went right to the bills that she and OLB had. I always took the bait because yeah, doormats will doormat and vultures will vulture.
She does reciprocate in small ways, sharing some occasional treats with me or saying I can have some of her mac n cheese or Oreo cookies or French fries or whatever food she has some days. But for the most point, a lot of her behavior feels like fishing – fishing for attention, for food, for confirmations of her medical issues.
Her general attitude towards housework also contributes to her main other issue that makes me want to scream. She hoards. Empty salsa jars, Nesquik containers, pizza boxes, mac n cheese boxes. She holds onto things that Z and I see as garbage, because she has dozens of DIY projects in mind. She would be the person that followed 5 Minute Crafts for useful projects. To her credit, she did make a nifty sock organizer out of spare cardboard. But she has dozens of empty frozen pizza boxes and macaroni boxes piled up on her desk and ideas in her head, but no actual execution of them. I have pictures on my phone of her desk hoard, and while the desk itself is tall, the pile on the topmost part of the desk reaches the ceiling. That’s at least two feet of buildup.
It drives Z batty. With their OCD, Z can’t stand seeing the general mess in the house, but her desk makes them want to throw things. There was an empty Pizza Hut box that spent a week on the floor under the table in the living room before she finally picked it up and moved it to her desk. She scolded my cat for jumping on it.
Vulture: I want to save it for a project, I just don’t know what I want to use it for yet.
Me: Why not just throw it away? Isn’t it garbage?
She only gave a vague shrug, and the pizza box stayed on her desk for another few days until while cleaning the kitchen, Z got tired of looking at it and finally took it out to the outside garbage bin.
This is a constant pattern for her. She hoards things that she sees as something that could be useful in the future, but in the meantime it all stacks up and takes up space. She and OLB both are pack rats, which I think enables it further. OLB said that she also hoards food when she thinks there’s a food shortage in the house, but that also includes things that shouldn’t be eaten or are close to being spoiled. She freezes produce and even bread dough she made because she would start projects and then not have the energy to finish them or deal with them properly. I think if Z and I weren’t in the house, it would just be a rat’s nest of garbage.
That was why Z and I took on the majority of housework. We have a current setup to deep clean the common areas of the house monthly, and anything she doesn’t pick up that we read as trash will get thrown out. It’s barely making a change in the house, but it’s better for our mental health. It’s unfortunate that the house barely stays clean for two days after we clean it.
OLB usually has an excuse for not contributing towards the housework. His ADHD makes him forgetful, plus he hates dishes and purposefully avoids them until he knows he has to deal with it. He’s mostly just exhausted from work. With Vulture? Ten thousand excuses.
With OLB working an exhausting but consistent tech repair job, that leaves Vulture in charge of Kid during the day. If she exists entirely in her bed and the couch, how is she able to keep up with a toddler?
Oh, that’s going to be a huge tale on its own. Fuckle the buck up. We’ve got a long way to go. And yes, it will make you angry.
submitted by EzekialX to ReddXReads [link] [comments]
Hi everyone, bunny here. I’m having Ezekial post this for me because while I lurk on reddit, I’m on too many online communities and burn out quickly on all of them. I’m just here to tell this incredibly long tale. Pull up a chair, grab a snack, get comfy. This is a long ride.
The Cast List
Bunny (author): 33, female, a year or so out of a divorce that turned toxic and abusive and ultimately helped me realize I was gay. Recovering lifelong doormat slowly building a spine. Neuro spicy gym rat with major depressive disorder, general anxiety disorder, and most recently diagnosed with ADHD. Unfortunately very familiar with surviving trauma.
Z (poster): My partner. 31, nonbinary (they/them), also neuro spicy with depression, anxiety, OCD, BPD, autism, and also familiar with lifelong trauma.
One Liner Beard (OLB): 33, male, neuro spicy with ADHD and depression. He also suspects autism but isn’t pursuing a diagnosis. His nickname here comes from the fact that in messenger, he usually has one-word replies like “oof” or “mmm” as an acknowledgement he had seen the message but has nothing further to contribute.
VultureBeard (Vulture): 30, female, neuro spicy and disabled with multiple conditions. She has Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, POTs (postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome), autism, depression, anxiety, chronic migraines, but also possibly a list of things that may or may not be real – that will all be explained. The star of this unfortunate circus. Her name will be explained in this part.
Kid: 3. Female. OLB and Vulture’s child. Likely neuro spicy like we all are, but she’s also only 3 years old. Slightly speech delayed and not potty trained yet.
Minor mentions:
Shit ass ex-husband (SA): name is self-explanatory. 32, male. Divorce was amicable to keep the peace. I immediately went no contact with him after.
J2: Friend of OLBs.
You ready? Deep breath. Now let’s dive into this mess.
Chapter Two: VultureBeard, or the Walking Diagnosis
With the backstory of how we wound up with a neckbeard, a legbeard, and their kid out of the way, I’ll start on VultureBeard properly now.
J2 was the one who introduced her to OLB. He ran into her at a local convention, and they talked and spent the day together. He ended up sleeping over at her house, on her couch, since she lived a few minutes away from the convention center, and he introduced her to his D&D group that OLB was a DM for. He said that at first, he wanted to smash just based on looks (before she stopped caring for herself, before the pregnancy), until she opened her mouth.
Oh boy.
I met her on Halloween 2018 or 2019 (trauma made my memory absolute garbage, ain’t it fun?), when OLB wanted to run a one-shot Curse of Strahd campaign for our D&D group. J2’s group was called Party A, we were Party B. Both of our campaigns existed in the same universe that OLB created. It was a fun one shot. I liked her. We integrated her into our D&D campaign as a side character who joined our party.
With her autism, she talks a lot, and can have a conversation with anyone, but she does naturally miss a lot of social cues. She says it’s okay to be direct with her and say things like, “I can’t talk right now, I’m busy.” But in the wild, she just enjoys people. That in itself isn’t a bad thing.
When we met, she was a Mormon with long brown hair, glasses, and modest clothes with long ankle-length jean skirts. I don’t know if that was a lifelong practice or just the people she had associated with. She didn’t curse at all, and still substitutes “fudge” for my favorite and most often-used curse word. Over time, she dropped religion, but she only curses in text, and very rarely at that, like when she’s pushed to her mental limit. She still dresses in a lot of the modest clothes from before, but it’s mostly because she doesn’t go clothes shopping a lot. I have passed down some clothes I have shrunk out of to her.
Her fashion sense is a bit of Walmart-meets-Goodwill. The tired mom “this is clean, so I’ll wear it” kind of aesthetic. She’s big on thrifting, but so am I. Most of my wardrobe is thrifted or passed on from a few gym friends these days, so it’s not like I’m poking fun at secondhand clothes. It’s just that there’s a lack of style or effort on her part, like she just puts clothes on and sometimes remembers to brush her hair out. I think there’s a part of her that doesn’t recognize she’s plus sized after pregnancy because she once bought clothes that are size medium, and they didn’t fit. She fit my old 2X leggings. I traded her leggings once, my bigger size for her smaller size.
She and OLB don’t fold laundry or put it away, so she will have laundry stuffed in their hamper that they keep in our shoe closet next to the laundry room, or boxes on her desk, or on her desk chair. They kind of live out of that clothes pile. If she needs to dress in something nice, it likely is wrinkly because it was in an unfolded pile.
The first run-in with realizing that something was a little “off” with her was when she tried cooking for us. We had other friends over to play D&D and Magic with us, and she wanted to cook some kind of chicken and noodle dish. With her POTs (post orthostatic tachycardia syndrome), she’s usually sodium deficient so she adds way too much salt to whatever she’s eating. Not being used to cooking for others, she served us completely inedible chicken that was too salty.
One of my former friends was there for that debacle. What she also noticed was that Kid seemed to be behind some childhood markers. At 2, Kid was still using a bottle and didn’t seem to talk much. She was worried that Kid would keep falling behind. It was a red flag that got tucked away. At the time, I was still thinking of Vulture as a burned-out first-time neuro spicy mom. That’s a lot for a disabled woman to handle. As a disabled person myself, I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. I gave her too much benefit of the doubt for way too long.
Vulture as a person focuses very much on herself. Because of the body aches and pains that come with both Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and POTs, yes, I understand that her body regularly fights itself. But why is it that every time her body expressed pain, she had to do a loud, “AH, OW” or other pain noises as loud as she could? Or she will complain about whatever is giving her trouble. Some days she will be using her computer quietly, then when I come out of my bedroom, she starts to complain about her daily aches and pains. This happens pretty much every day, for different reasons. Her sneezes are likewise as loud, to where I can hear her across the house, through a closed door and over the show Z and I are watching.
Most awkward is Vulture’s bathroom habits. In Apartment #2, I guess Vulture got used to using the bathroom with the door cracked because they lived in a house without roommates, and she needed to keep an ear on Kid. Even now in a shared space, she keeps the door cracked, sometimes with the light off so I don’t think anyone is in the bathroom because it’s more migraine friendly.
Until I hear the grunting.
THE GRUNTING.
THE POOP GRUNTING.
I have heard it through my closed bedroom door, because her bathroom is right next to my bedroom. Usually, it’s when my bedroom is quieter, like when Z and I are off to sleep. But I hear her grunting as she’s using the bathroom, either because the door is open, or she is just that loud. I’m terrified to know which one it is.
Her hygiene is questionable at best. I know personally that Depression™ makes hygiene and self-care extremely difficult. I myself do the best I can, especially while being constantly sweaty at the gym and a Big Sad (depression) fighter. So, I get mental illness and hygiene. With Vulture and her long hair, she would leave it in a bun for days until it matted. She asked for my help with detangling it and it took me around two hours to safely work the mats and tangles out. When she cut it in a homemade attempt to do the popular wolf cut on Tik Tok, it was much more manageable. When it’s shorter, it has tight curls. She constantly has a natural body odor smell to her. I think with her sensitive skin, she has to wear a specific unscented deodorant, but I don’t think she applies it unless she’s leaving the house. The sink in her and OLB’s bathroom is used as mostly a storage space with things piled on top of it, so I don’t think it’s used for much. The bathtub needs a deep scrubbing, and she gives Kid a bath more than she herself showers.
Having heard the poop grunting, I’m afraid to look at their toilet.
In general, Vulture isn’t active, but to say that she’s sedentary is a vast understatement. The average sedentary person looks like an Olympic athlete next to her. She occupies two spots in the house: Her bed, or the couch in the living room. For most of the day. She will just have her laptop either on the table next to her or in her lap, and that’s where she spends most of the day, gaming.
With me being a gym rat, I am incredibly proud of how I went from a couch potato to a weightlifter. When I think about what would happen if I suddenly dropped to her levels of activity, I know my body would fall apart. I often wonder if her lying in bed or on the couch contributes to more of her body pains because her muscles are deteriorating from disuse. I mean what do I know, I’m not a doctor. That body pain cycles to her being even more inactive because she hurts. It’s a big cycle of negativity.
When the weather changes drastically, she will be hit with migraines or allergy attacks, to where she has to lay down all day as well. She takes OTC pain medicine frequently, as well as allergy meds. One of her desk cabinets is a well-stocked mini pharmacy of OTC medication and some prescription medication she has collected over time that expired over a year ago. When I’m hit with a rare migraine, I know she will have something in stock for it.
Her doctor says she needs to eat more frequently because she’s always shaky. She will hold up her hand to show me how much it’s shaking, and it always looks as though she’s making it shake from the wrist, instead of it being an actual hand movement. She always tells me, “Look at this,” and holds up her shaking hand, like she’s trying to show me how bad she’s doing, but it’s for different reasons every time. She didn’t eat, she’s too tired, she has a migraine, she has sinus pain – everything gives her shaky hands, which I joked about once.
If she has a new symptom, she goes to Doctor Google to look up what’s wrong with her, and then talk in our house chat on discord that she thinks she might have “so and so” wrong with her because the symptoms match. Or she will post screenshots of whatever her symptoms are. As far as I know in the time living with her, she’s never had close medical calls or anything that needed further treatment, except for a heart study where she wore a device to monitor her heart rate. Doctor Google gave her all sorts of things she could have, though.
Within the time I started writing this saga, I had this encounter with her in the house group chat on discord that she, OLB, and I are in, about how she thinks she’s allergic to mosquito bites because the bites swelled up and got inflamed:
Vulture: Just figured out something I’m most likely allergic to: mosquito’s saliva reaction is increased inflammation around the bite site and the condition is skeeter syndrome.
Me: You should get that confirmed by a doctor. It’s mosquito season.
(it sounds like she copy/pasted that bit about mosquito’s saliva from Google)
Mind you, my former in-laws thought I was allergic to mosquito bites because the same thing happened to me. My mosquito bites swelled up beyond what they should look like, and mosquitos have a good nose at finding me in particular compared to other people. I tried to empathize with her, even though it just seemed like she wanted to identify with a syndrome she found on the internet.
She said that she had the same symptoms her friend’s dad had for GERD because her acid reflux was acting up. The GERD saga is a fun one as well, which I’ll fully share later.
Funny enough, if I also have something similar to what her current issue is, she doesn’t play Oppression Olympics and say hers is worse. I’ve been dealing with vertigo on and off for the past month and I don’t have the ability to see a doctor for it at the moment. So, when she says that she’s dizzy or the room is spinning, I express empathy or at least a little “oh, same here,” because I have to carefully move my body in ways that don’t make the room spin. It might be her autism, it might be because she doesn’t care, but she never expresses empathy my way. She just moves on.
I’ve told her multiple times she needs to see a doctor to check for each new symptom she has, but somehow there’s an excuse. The latest I’ve heard is, “I will once my phone is turned back on. It hasn’t been paid in a while.” Valid yes, but then please get off Google. Because she’s on government assistance and doesn’t have a car and doesn’t know how to drive, she’s ferried to her appointments by a medical bus that stops at the house. They do need to be able to call her. Just please get off Google in the meantime! I’ve even told her that Doctor Google and WebMD will say everything is cancer or fatal and it’s not good for you, and she just kind of brushed it off.
One of my friends calls her the Professional Victim. Z is convinced she has Factitious Disorder (formerly called Munchausen’s). She loves to hide behind her illnesses as to why she can’t get out of bed or can’t do chores. If you were to listen to her every day, you’d think she was falling apart at the seams because it was always something. Migraine, body pain, allergies, sinus problems or sinus infections, stomach problems, dizziness, shakiness. Repeat. Forever.
She will ask me if her forehead feels hot, and when I can’t tell, she checks with a thermometer. She says, “My natural body temperature is low so 99 degrees is a fever to me.”
This is also where I gave her a lot of benefit of the doubt at the beginning, because EDS and POTs will affect the entire body in different ways. One of my friends, in her casual dark humor, will have conversations with me about how she’s just not going to be able to walk properly that day, because her ankle joint slid out of place, but she still finished her work shift. I talk to my friend regularly about her struggles with her body, but somehow it doesn’t have the same self-pity that Vulture’s does. Every disability presents differently between people. As rare as EDS and POTs is, it’s pretty common in online communities because it’s where people tend to flock to. In my time in varying disabled online communities, I’ve never seen someone who complains or fishes for attention as much as Vulture does.
If she’s having a relatively good day, she will either be gaming, or maybe she will get to one of the chores that OLB tries to get her to do during the day, like doing the dishes or cleaning Kid’s room. When OLB had prescription Adderall (before the shortage made him switch to a different ADHD med), she took one of his pills and was zooming around actually being productive. She has symptoms of ADHD but doesn’t have a formal diagnosis, so OLB thought it might help her. It seemed to.
If she has a bad day, which is most of her days, she stays rooted on the couch or moves between her couch and her bed, moving her laptop with her. She spends all day building in Minecraft, completing her Pokedex, or playing other games.
Sometimes when I come out of my room to cook, she says something along the lines of, “I planned on cleaning today,” followed by vague hand gestures of how she’s feeling. I never asked her about her daily plans, but she needed to tell me. Is it self-awareness or guilt?
If she’s doing a load of dishes, she will loudly proclaim that she’s dizzy and shaky and in pain and have to go sit down after 10 minutes of that. I don’t know if she actually has the body strength to stay upright for longer than ten minutes at a time, and I don’t know if that’s her actual chronic illnesses, or the fact that she doesn’t do anything at all.
I’ve given her the same advice I use myself for low spoon (low energy) days when I need to get things done. I’ve told her it’s okay to take ten-minute breaks and then get started again. Or an hour break, if her body is giving her trouble. I’ve told her it’s okay to clean the house while sitting on the ground or in a chair, if that’s easier on her body. In managing my broken mental health, I’ve taught myself all sorts of life hacks, or as I call them, “brain hacks,” to work around how gross depression makes me feel. And I’ve told her that if it’s a really bad day, the dishes aren’t going anywhere and can wait until tomorrow.
That’s meant to be compassionate, not taken in the “if you give an inch, they’ll take a mile” sort of way, but it must be interpreted as permission to not do The Thing. It just won’t get done if she feels she has permission to skip over it.
If she does anything, she will want metaphorical ass pats for her good work. OLB jokes that it’s a praise kink, but some days it really seems that way without anyone consenting to participate in her kink. She asks if I noticed she cleaned the kitchen or did some kind of cleaning and if I’m proud of her. I used to play along with the praise because I wanted to give her positive reinforcement, like maybe if I emphasized that it was a good thing, she’d be more encouraged to do it more. I’ve got jokes, apparently. Optimism was so strong early in the friendship.
If she cooks, usually it’s something frozen that she can heat up like pizza. Most of the time, she exists on boxed macaroni and cheese or sandwiches. Or what fast food OLB brings home. Most of her diet is processed, instant, or frozen. Or she eats odds and ends like what cereal and junk food is brought home from the food bank or when OLB goes shopping.
Since SA left the house, I took up cooking for myself and exploring what I like to cook, as SA was the main cook for the house. My gym regimen helped me meal prep and confront a lot of my bad eating habits, so I started prepping healthier foods. I am the stereotypical lifter that eats a lot of chicken, rice, and vegetables. Z also likes to cook, and it became a way for us to bond by cooking together or one of us watching the other cook and just vibe in each other’s company.
VultureBeard gets her name because, one, she is a legbeard. But two, every time I made something early on with her living with us, she always said something along the lines of, “Ooh, that smells so good! It’s making me hungry!”
Me, in my doormat stage, took the cue that she dangled and offered her some of my food. Back then, I always tried to cook enough for the whole house. It became a pattern. If I cooked something, she always popped up, hungry and unable to make actual food for herself or somehow her illnesses were acting up and preventing her from cooking for herself. If I said I was popping over to the store, sometimes she would ask if I could pick up a soda for her and occasionally, she would be able to pay me, always in loose change because her disability payments went right to the bills that she and OLB had. I always took the bait because yeah, doormats will doormat and vultures will vulture.
She does reciprocate in small ways, sharing some occasional treats with me or saying I can have some of her mac n cheese or Oreo cookies or French fries or whatever food she has some days. But for the most point, a lot of her behavior feels like fishing – fishing for attention, for food, for confirmations of her medical issues.
Her general attitude towards housework also contributes to her main other issue that makes me want to scream. She hoards. Empty salsa jars, Nesquik containers, pizza boxes, mac n cheese boxes. She holds onto things that Z and I see as garbage, because she has dozens of DIY projects in mind. She would be the person that followed 5 Minute Crafts for useful projects. To her credit, she did make a nifty sock organizer out of spare cardboard. But she has dozens of empty frozen pizza boxes and macaroni boxes piled up on her desk and ideas in her head, but no actual execution of them. I have pictures on my phone of her desk hoard, and while the desk itself is tall, the pile on the topmost part of the desk reaches the ceiling. That’s at least two feet of buildup.
It drives Z batty. With their OCD, Z can’t stand seeing the general mess in the house, but her desk makes them want to throw things. There was an empty Pizza Hut box that spent a week on the floor under the table in the living room before she finally picked it up and moved it to her desk. She scolded my cat for jumping on it.
Vulture: I want to save it for a project, I just don’t know what I want to use it for yet.
Me: Why not just throw it away? Isn’t it garbage?
She only gave a vague shrug, and the pizza box stayed on her desk for another few days until while cleaning the kitchen, Z got tired of looking at it and finally took it out to the outside garbage bin.
This is a constant pattern for her. She hoards things that she sees as something that could be useful in the future, but in the meantime it all stacks up and takes up space. She and OLB both are pack rats, which I think enables it further. OLB said that she also hoards food when she thinks there’s a food shortage in the house, but that also includes things that shouldn’t be eaten or are close to being spoiled. She freezes produce and even bread dough she made because she would start projects and then not have the energy to finish them or deal with them properly. I think if Z and I weren’t in the house, it would just be a rat’s nest of garbage.
That was why Z and I took on the majority of housework. We have a current setup to deep clean the common areas of the house monthly, and anything she doesn’t pick up that we read as trash will get thrown out. It’s barely making a change in the house, but it’s better for our mental health. It’s unfortunate that the house barely stays clean for two days after we clean it.
OLB usually has an excuse for not contributing towards the housework. His ADHD makes him forgetful, plus he hates dishes and purposefully avoids them until he knows he has to deal with it. He’s mostly just exhausted from work. With Vulture? Ten thousand excuses.
With OLB working an exhausting but consistent tech repair job, that leaves Vulture in charge of Kid during the day. If she exists entirely in her bed and the couch, how is she able to keep up with a toddler?
Oh, that’s going to be a huge tale on its own. Fuckle the buck up. We’ve got a long way to go. And yes, it will make you angry.
2023.05.28 19:41 thisgingercake Environment - "Poison in the Air" - The EPA allows polluters to turn neighborhoods into “sacrifice zones” where residents breathe carcinogens.
please read the article in full here:
https://www.propublica.org/article/toxmap-poison-in-the-air
The EPA allows polluters to turn neighborhoods into “sacrifice zones” where residents breathe carcinogens. ProPublica reveals where these places are in a first-of-its-kind map and data analysis.
by Lylla Younes, Ava Kofman, Al Shaw and Lisa Song, with additional reporting by Maya Miller, photography by Kathleen Flynn for ProPublica Nov. 2, 2021, 5 a.m. EDT
Leer en español.
From the urban sprawl of Houston to the riverways of Virginia, air pollution from industrial plants is elevating the cancer risk of an estimated quarter of a million Americans to a level the federal government considers unacceptable.
Some of these hot spots of toxic air are infamous. An 85-mile stretch of the Mississippi River in Louisiana that’s thronged with oil refineries and chemical plants has earned the nickname Cancer Alley. Many other such areas remain unknown, even to residents breathing in the contaminated air.
Until now.
ProPublica undertook an analysis that has never been done before. Using advanced data processing software and a modeling tool developed by the Environmental Protection Agency, we mapped the spread of cancer-causing chemicals from thousands of sources of hazardous air pollution across the country between 2014 and 2018. The result is an unparalleled view of how toxic air blooms around industrial facilities and spreads into nearby neighborhoods.
📷 The Most Detailed Map of Cancer-Causing Industrial Air Pollution in the U.S.
At the map’s intimate scale, it’s possible to see up close how a massive chemical plant near a high school in Port Neches, Texas, laces the air with benzene, an aromatic gas that can cause leukemia. Or how a manufacturing facility in New Castle, Delaware, for years blanketed a day care playground with ethylene oxide, a highly toxic chemical that can lead to lymphoma and breast cancer. Our analysis found that ethylene oxide is the biggest contributor to excess industrial cancer risk from air pollutants nationwide. Corporations across the United States, but especially in Texas and Louisiana, manufacture the colorless, odorless gas, which lingers in the air for months and is highly mutagenic, meaning it can alter DNA.
In all, ProPublica identified more than a thousand hot spots of cancer-causing air. They are not equally distributed across the country. A quarter of the 20 hot spots with the highest levels of excess risk are in Texas, and almost all of them are in Southern states known for having weaker environmental regulations. Census tracts where the majority of residents are people of color experience about 40% more cancer-causing industrial air pollution on average than tracts where the residents are mostly white. In predominantly Black census tracts, the estimated cancer risk from toxic air pollution is more than double that of majority-white tracts.
After reviewing ProPublica’s map, Wayne Davis, an environmental scientist formerly with the EPA’s Office of Chemical Safety and Pollution Prevention, said, “The public is going to learn that EPA allows a hell of a lot of pollution to occur that the public does not think is occurring.”
Our analysis comes at a critical juncture for the fate of America’s air. After decades of improvement, air quality has, by some metrics, begun to decline. In the last four years, the Trump administration rolled back more than a hundred environmental protections, including two dozen air pollution and emissions policies.
The EPA says it “strives to protect the greatest number of people possible” from an excess cancer risk worse than 1 in a million. That risk level means that if a million people in an area are continuously exposed to toxic air pollutants over a presumed lifetime of 70 years, there would likely be at least one case of cancer on top of those from other risks people already face. According to ProPublica’s analysis, 74 million Americans — more than a fifth of the population — are being exposed to estimated levels of risk higher than this.
EPA policy sets the upper limit of acceptable excess cancer risk at 1 in 10,000 — 100 times more than the EPA’s more aspirational goal and a level of exposure that numerous experts told ProPublica is too high. ProPublica found that an estimated 256,000 people are being exposed to risks beyond this threshold and that an estimated 43,000 people are being subjected to at least triple this level of risk. Still, the EPA sees crossing its risk threshold as more of a warning sign than a mandate for action: The law doesn’t require the agency to penalize polluters that, alone or in combination, raise the cancer risk in an area above the acceptable level.
In response to ProPublica’s findings, Joe Goffman, acting assistant administrator for the EPA’s Office of Air and Radiation, said in an emailed statement, “Toxic air emissions from industrial facilities are a problem that must be addressed.” Under President Joe Biden’s administration, “the EPA has reinvigorated its commitment to protect public health from toxic air emissions from industrial facilities — especially in communities that have already suffered disproportionately from air pollution and other environmental burdens.”
ProPublica’s reporting exposes flaws with EPA’s implementation of the Clean Air Act, a landmark law that dramatically reduced air pollution across America but provided less protection to those who live closest to industrial polluters.
The 1970 law resulted in outdoor air quality standards for a handful of widespread “criteria” pollutants, including sulfur dioxide and particulate matter, which could be traced to exhaust pipes and smokestacks all over the country and were proven to aggravate asthma and lead to early deaths. But 187 other dangerous chemicals, now known as hazardous air pollutants or air toxics, never got this level of attention. At the time, the science demonstrating the harms of these compounds, which primarily impact people in neighborhoods that border industrial facilities — so-called fence line communities — was still in its early stages. The EPA did not receive enough funding to set the same strict limits, and industry lobbying weakened the agency’s emerging regulations.
In 1990, Congress settled on a different approach to regulating air toxics. Since then, the EPA has made companies install equipment to reduce their pollution and studied the remaining emissions to see if they pose an unacceptable health risk.
The way the agency assesses this risk vastly underestimates residents’ exposure, according to our analysis. Instead of looking at how cancer risk adds up when polluters are clustered together in a neighborhood, the EPA examines certain types of facilities and equipment in isolation. When the agency studies refineries, for example, it ignores a community’s exposure to pollution from nearby metal foundries or shipyards.
Matthew Tejada, director of the EPA’s Office of Environmental Justice, told ProPublica that tackling hot spots of toxic air will require “working back through 50 years of environmental regulation in the United States, and unpacking and untying a whole series of knots.”
Top Polluters
The cancer-causing air emissions from these five corporations cover more populated square miles than the emissions from any other companies, according to our analysis.
“The environmental regulatory system wasn’t set up to deal with these things,” he said. “All of the parts of the system have to be re-thought to address hot spots or places where we know there’s a disproportionate burden.”
The Clean Air Act rarely requires industry or the EPA to monitor for air toxics, leaving residents near these plants chronically uninformed about what they’re breathing in. And when companies report their emissions to the EPA, they’re allowed to estimate them using flawed formulas and monitoring methods.
“These fence line communities are sacrifice zones,” said Jane Williams, executive director of California Communities Against Toxics. “Before there was climate denial, there was cancer denial. We release millions of pounds of carcinogens into our air, water and food and act mystified when people start getting sick.”
....
please read the full article here:
---
The cancer risks from industrial pollution can be compounded by factors like age, diet, genetic predisposition and exposure to radiation; the knock-on effect of inhaling toxic air for decades might, for example, mean the difference between merely having a family history of breast cancer and actually developing the disease yourself. While the cancer and asthma rates in Houston’s Harris County are comparable with those in the rest of the state, Texas officials have identified cancer clusters in several of the city’s neighborhoods.
Large swaths of the Greater Houston area make up the third-biggest hot spot of cancer-causing air in the country, according to our analysis, after Louisiana’s Cancer Alley and an area around Port Arthur, Texas, which is on the Louisiana border. For many homes closest to the fence lines of petrochemical plants in cities like La Porte and Port Neches, Texas, the estimated excess risk of cancer ranges from three to six times the level that the EPA considers acceptable.
But because of the way that the EPA underestimates risk, the true dangers of living in a toxic hot spot are often invisible to regulators and residents.
The agency breaks things down into the smallest possible categories “to avoid addressing what we call cumulative risk,” said John Walke, an attorney at the Natural Resources Defense Council who formerly worked as an EPA lawyer advising the Office of Air and Radiation. “But our bodies do not parse out air pollution according to rule labels or industrial equipment or industrial source categories.” The cancer risk from each facility or type of equipment may be at levels the agency considers “acceptable,” but taken together, the potential harms can be substantial.
The EPA initially sent ProPublica a statement saying that it “ensures that risks from individual source categories are acceptable and that the standards provide an ample margin of safety to protect public health.”
In another statement sent after an interview, the agency added, “We understand that communities often confront multiple sources of toxic air pollution and face cumulative risks greater than the risk from a single source.” The EPA added that it was working both to better harness the science on cumulative risks and “to better understand risks for communities who are overburdened by numerous sources of multiple pollutants.”
Madison can’t help but notice that when her family travels, K’ryah’s asthma improves. “The first chance I get, I’m moving far away from Texas and never looking back,” she said. “I love being outside. I love seeing the stars. I don’t want to feel like someone is pumping gas onto our front porch.”
The locations of the hot spots identified by ProPublica are anything but random. Industrial giants tend to favor areas that confer strategic advantages: On the Gulf Coast, for instance, oil rigs abound, so it’s more convenient to build refineries along the shoreline. Corporations also favor places where land is cheap and regulations are few.
Under federal law, the EPA delegates the majority of its enforcement powers to state and local authorities, which means that the environmental protections afforded to Americans vary widely between states. Texas, which is home to some of the largest hot spots in the nation, has notoriously lax regulations.
Between 2008 and 2018, lawmakers cut funding for state pollution-control programs by 35% while boosting the state’s overall budget by 41%, according to a report by the Environmental Integrity Project, an advocacy group founded by former EPA staffers. A Texas Tribune story from 2017 found that during the prior year, the Texas Commission on Environmental Quality had levied fines in fewer than 1% of the cases in which polluters exceeded emission limits. Even when penalties are issued, many polluters see these fines as part of the cost of doing business, said Craig Johnston, a former lawyer at the EPA and a professor of environmental law at Lewis and Clark Law School.
Gary Rasp, a TCEQ spokesperson, told ProPublica that the agency “has taken actions to monitor, mitigate, and improve the air quality in fence line communities.” The agency runs dozens of stationary air toxics monitors across the state, he added, and “by continuously evaluating air monitoring data, which is more accurate than modeling, TCEQ can identify issues.” The agency also inspects industrial facilities and “has an active enforcement program, referring particularly egregious cases to the Texas Office of the Attorney General.”
That the people living inside these hot spots are disproportionately Black is not a coincidence. Our findings build on decades of evidence demonstrating that pollution is segregated: People of color are exposed to far greater levels of air pollution than whites — a pattern that persists across income levels. These disparities are rooted in racist real estate practices like redlining and the designation of low-income neighborhoods and communities of color as mixed residential-industrial zones. In cities like Houston, for example, all-white zoning boards targeted Black neighborhoods for the siting of noxious facilities, like landfills, incinerators and garbage dumps. Robert Bullard, a professor of urban planning and environmental policy at Texas Southern University, has called the practice “PIBBY” or “Place In Blacks’ Back Yard” — a spin on the acronym “NIMBY” (“Not In My Back Yard”).
📷 How We Created the Most Detailed Map Ever of Cancer-Causing Industrial Air Pollution
Many of the neighborhoods that border chemical plants are low-income and lack the same resources, access to health care and political capital that wealthier neighborhoods can bring to fights against intrusive commercial activities. In places like Baytown, working-class people depend on the very companies that sicken them to earn a living. Over the years, the shadow of industry can permanently impair not just a neighborhood’s health but also its economic prospects and property values, fueling a cycle of disinvestment. “Industries rely on having these sinks — these sacrifice zones — for polluting,” said Ana Baptista, an environmental policy professor at The New School. “That political calculus has kept in place a regulatory system that allows for the continued concentration of industry. We sacrifice these low-income, African American, Indigenous communities for the economic benefit of the region or state or country.”
Tejada, the EPA’s director of environmental justice, said that the Biden administration and the EPA are focused on confronting these disparities. “These places didn’t happen by accident. The disproportionality of the impacts that they face, the generations of disinvestment and lack of access are not coincidences. These places were created. And it is the responsibility of everyone, including the government — chiefly the government — to do something about it.”
The federal government has long had the information it would need to take on these hot spots. The EPA collects emissions data from more than 20,000 industrial facilities across the country and has even developed its own state-of-the-art tool — the Risk-Screening Environmental Indicators model — to estimate the impact of toxic emissions on human health. The model, known as RSEI, was designed to help regulators and lawmakers pinpoint where to target further air-monitoring efforts, data-quality inspections or, if necessary, enforcement actions. Researchers and journalists have used this model for various investigations over the years, including this one.
And yet the agency’s own use of its powerful modeling tool has been limited. There’s been a lack of funding for and a dearth of interest in RSEI’s more ambitious applications, according to several former and current EPA employees. Wayne Davis, the former EPA scientist, managed the RSEI program under the Trump administration. He said that some of his supervisors were hesitant about publishing information that would directly implicate a facility. “They always told us, ‘Don’t make a big deal of it, don’t market it, and hopefully you’ll continue to get funding next year.’ They didn’t want to make anything public that would raise questions about why the EPA hadn’t done anything to regulate that facility.”
Nicolaas Bouwes, a former senior analyst at the EPA and a chief architect of the RSEI model, recalled the occasional battle to get colleagues to accept the screening tool, let alone share its findings with the public. “There’s often been pushback from having this rich data sheet too readily available because it could make headlines,” he said. “What I find annoying is that the EPA has the same information at their disposal and they don’t use it. If ProPublica can do this, so can the EPA.”
In its statement, the EPA said that it plans to improve its approach for sharing air toxics data faster and more regularly with the public. “EPA has not published calculated cancer risks using RSEI modeled results,” it continued. “RSEI results are not designed as a substitute for more comprehensive, inclusive, or site specific risk assessments,” but as a potential starting point that should only be used “to identify situations of potential concern that may warrant further investigation.”
Indeed, our map works as a screening tool, not as a site-specific risk assessment. It cannot be used to tie individual cancer cases to emissions from specific industrial facilities, but it can be used to diagnose what the EPA calls “situations of potential concern.”
Our analysis arrives as America faces new threats to its air quality. The downstream effects of climate change, like warmer temperatures and massive wildfires, have created more smoke and smog. The Trump administration diluted, scuttled or reversed dozens of air pollution protections — actions estimated to lead to thousands of additional premature deaths. In 2018, then-EPA Administrator Scott Pruitt created a massive air toxics loophole when he rolled back a key provision of the Clean Air Act, known as “Once In, Always In,” allowing thousands of large polluters to relax their use of pollution-controlling equipment.
Biden has yet to close this loophole, but he has signaled plans to alleviate the disproportionate impacts borne by the people who live in these hot spots. Within his first few days in office, he established two White House councils to address environmental injustice. And in March, Congress confirmed his appointment of EPA administrator Michael Regan, who has directed the agency to strengthen its enforcement of violations “in communities overburdened by pollution.”
https://www.propublica.org/article/toxmap-poison-in-the-air
Over the years, Sullivan Ramirez herself has struggled with nerve degeneration and scleroderma, a rare condition that involves the tightening of the skin and connective tissues. While it can be difficult to link specific cases of disease to pollution exposure, the evidence in Mossville has accumulated: In a 1998 health survey conducted by the University of Texas, 84% of Mossville residents reported having headaches, dizziness, tremors and seizures. An EPA study from the same year found that the average level of dioxins in the blood of Mossville residents was dangerously high — triple that of the general U.S. population. Even small amounts of dioxin, one of the most poisonous chemicals released by facilities, can cause developmental problems, damage the immune system and lead to cancer. A 2007 report found that the types of dioxin compounds in the blood of Mossville residents matched those emitted by local industrial facilities.
In an emailed statement, Sasol noted that its property buyout stemmed from direct requests from Mossville residents and that the company offered owners more than the appraised value of their homes. “Sasol and its predecessor have produced or handled chemicals at our Lake Charles complex for more than 60 years. We understand the science and have controls in place to ensure our operations are safe, protective of the environment, compliant with regulations and sustainable over the long term,” wrote Sarah Hughes, a spokesperson for Sasol. “Sasol is proud of our engagement with our neighbors in Mossville and the positive impact it has had on many of its residents.”
📷 Can Air Pollution Cause Cancer? What You Need to Know About the Risks.
Sullivan Ramirez is wary of too much talk. She knows that the new administration has promised something more for communities like hers, but she doesn’t want to get her hopes up. The presentations from captains of industry, the listening sessions with earnest bureaucrats, the proposals from slick attorneys, the promises tossed off by politicians — over the years, she’s heard it all.
The people of Mossville are right to be skeptical, the EPA’s Tejada acknowledged. “I would be skeptical if I was from Mossville,” he added. “They should be skeptical until we actually show up and do the things that they’ve been asking us to do for a long time. But there’s now a level of commitment to actually tangling with these issues in a really serious, substantive way.”
After years of activism in Mossville, Sullivan Ramirez moved to Lake Charles, just a short drive away. But she worries the industrial sprawl will one day overtake her new home. To Sullivan Ramirez, Mossville is “the key” — a warning of what the future holds for America’s other hot spots if business continues as usual.
“This is the 21st century,” she said. “The act of polluting our lands and robbing our communities — when will enough be enough?”
please read this article in full here:
https://www.propublica.org/article/toxmap-poison-in-the-air
submitted by thisgingercake to TraumaTherapy [link] [comments]
https://www.propublica.org/article/toxmap-poison-in-the-air
The EPA allows polluters to turn neighborhoods into “sacrifice zones” where residents breathe carcinogens. ProPublica reveals where these places are in a first-of-its-kind map and data analysis.
by Lylla Younes, Ava Kofman, Al Shaw and Lisa Song, with additional reporting by Maya Miller, photography by Kathleen Flynn for ProPublica Nov. 2, 2021, 5 a.m. EDT
Leer en español.
From the urban sprawl of Houston to the riverways of Virginia, air pollution from industrial plants is elevating the cancer risk of an estimated quarter of a million Americans to a level the federal government considers unacceptable.
Some of these hot spots of toxic air are infamous. An 85-mile stretch of the Mississippi River in Louisiana that’s thronged with oil refineries and chemical plants has earned the nickname Cancer Alley. Many other such areas remain unknown, even to residents breathing in the contaminated air.
Until now.
ProPublica undertook an analysis that has never been done before. Using advanced data processing software and a modeling tool developed by the Environmental Protection Agency, we mapped the spread of cancer-causing chemicals from thousands of sources of hazardous air pollution across the country between 2014 and 2018. The result is an unparalleled view of how toxic air blooms around industrial facilities and spreads into nearby neighborhoods.
📷 The Most Detailed Map of Cancer-Causing Industrial Air Pollution in the U.S.
At the map’s intimate scale, it’s possible to see up close how a massive chemical plant near a high school in Port Neches, Texas, laces the air with benzene, an aromatic gas that can cause leukemia. Or how a manufacturing facility in New Castle, Delaware, for years blanketed a day care playground with ethylene oxide, a highly toxic chemical that can lead to lymphoma and breast cancer. Our analysis found that ethylene oxide is the biggest contributor to excess industrial cancer risk from air pollutants nationwide. Corporations across the United States, but especially in Texas and Louisiana, manufacture the colorless, odorless gas, which lingers in the air for months and is highly mutagenic, meaning it can alter DNA.
In all, ProPublica identified more than a thousand hot spots of cancer-causing air. They are not equally distributed across the country. A quarter of the 20 hot spots with the highest levels of excess risk are in Texas, and almost all of them are in Southern states known for having weaker environmental regulations. Census tracts where the majority of residents are people of color experience about 40% more cancer-causing industrial air pollution on average than tracts where the residents are mostly white. In predominantly Black census tracts, the estimated cancer risk from toxic air pollution is more than double that of majority-white tracts.
After reviewing ProPublica’s map, Wayne Davis, an environmental scientist formerly with the EPA’s Office of Chemical Safety and Pollution Prevention, said, “The public is going to learn that EPA allows a hell of a lot of pollution to occur that the public does not think is occurring.”
Our analysis comes at a critical juncture for the fate of America’s air. After decades of improvement, air quality has, by some metrics, begun to decline. In the last four years, the Trump administration rolled back more than a hundred environmental protections, including two dozen air pollution and emissions policies.
The EPA says it “strives to protect the greatest number of people possible” from an excess cancer risk worse than 1 in a million. That risk level means that if a million people in an area are continuously exposed to toxic air pollutants over a presumed lifetime of 70 years, there would likely be at least one case of cancer on top of those from other risks people already face. According to ProPublica’s analysis, 74 million Americans — more than a fifth of the population — are being exposed to estimated levels of risk higher than this.
EPA policy sets the upper limit of acceptable excess cancer risk at 1 in 10,000 — 100 times more than the EPA’s more aspirational goal and a level of exposure that numerous experts told ProPublica is too high. ProPublica found that an estimated 256,000 people are being exposed to risks beyond this threshold and that an estimated 43,000 people are being subjected to at least triple this level of risk. Still, the EPA sees crossing its risk threshold as more of a warning sign than a mandate for action: The law doesn’t require the agency to penalize polluters that, alone or in combination, raise the cancer risk in an area above the acceptable level.
In response to ProPublica’s findings, Joe Goffman, acting assistant administrator for the EPA’s Office of Air and Radiation, said in an emailed statement, “Toxic air emissions from industrial facilities are a problem that must be addressed.” Under President Joe Biden’s administration, “the EPA has reinvigorated its commitment to protect public health from toxic air emissions from industrial facilities — especially in communities that have already suffered disproportionately from air pollution and other environmental burdens.”
ProPublica’s reporting exposes flaws with EPA’s implementation of the Clean Air Act, a landmark law that dramatically reduced air pollution across America but provided less protection to those who live closest to industrial polluters.
The 1970 law resulted in outdoor air quality standards for a handful of widespread “criteria” pollutants, including sulfur dioxide and particulate matter, which could be traced to exhaust pipes and smokestacks all over the country and were proven to aggravate asthma and lead to early deaths. But 187 other dangerous chemicals, now known as hazardous air pollutants or air toxics, never got this level of attention. At the time, the science demonstrating the harms of these compounds, which primarily impact people in neighborhoods that border industrial facilities — so-called fence line communities — was still in its early stages. The EPA did not receive enough funding to set the same strict limits, and industry lobbying weakened the agency’s emerging regulations.
In 1990, Congress settled on a different approach to regulating air toxics. Since then, the EPA has made companies install equipment to reduce their pollution and studied the remaining emissions to see if they pose an unacceptable health risk.
The way the agency assesses this risk vastly underestimates residents’ exposure, according to our analysis. Instead of looking at how cancer risk adds up when polluters are clustered together in a neighborhood, the EPA examines certain types of facilities and equipment in isolation. When the agency studies refineries, for example, it ignores a community’s exposure to pollution from nearby metal foundries or shipyards.
Matthew Tejada, director of the EPA’s Office of Environmental Justice, told ProPublica that tackling hot spots of toxic air will require “working back through 50 years of environmental regulation in the United States, and unpacking and untying a whole series of knots.”
Top Polluters
The cancer-causing air emissions from these five corporations cover more populated square miles than the emissions from any other companies, according to our analysis.
- The Dow Chemical Company
- Huntsman Corp.
- Eastman Chemical Co.
- BASF
- LyondellBasell Industries
“The environmental regulatory system wasn’t set up to deal with these things,” he said. “All of the parts of the system have to be re-thought to address hot spots or places where we know there’s a disproportionate burden.”
The Clean Air Act rarely requires industry or the EPA to monitor for air toxics, leaving residents near these plants chronically uninformed about what they’re breathing in. And when companies report their emissions to the EPA, they’re allowed to estimate them using flawed formulas and monitoring methods.
“These fence line communities are sacrifice zones,” said Jane Williams, executive director of California Communities Against Toxics. “Before there was climate denial, there was cancer denial. We release millions of pounds of carcinogens into our air, water and food and act mystified when people start getting sick.”
....
please read the full article here:
---
The cancer risks from industrial pollution can be compounded by factors like age, diet, genetic predisposition and exposure to radiation; the knock-on effect of inhaling toxic air for decades might, for example, mean the difference between merely having a family history of breast cancer and actually developing the disease yourself. While the cancer and asthma rates in Houston’s Harris County are comparable with those in the rest of the state, Texas officials have identified cancer clusters in several of the city’s neighborhoods.
Large swaths of the Greater Houston area make up the third-biggest hot spot of cancer-causing air in the country, according to our analysis, after Louisiana’s Cancer Alley and an area around Port Arthur, Texas, which is on the Louisiana border. For many homes closest to the fence lines of petrochemical plants in cities like La Porte and Port Neches, Texas, the estimated excess risk of cancer ranges from three to six times the level that the EPA considers acceptable.
But because of the way that the EPA underestimates risk, the true dangers of living in a toxic hot spot are often invisible to regulators and residents.
The agency breaks things down into the smallest possible categories “to avoid addressing what we call cumulative risk,” said John Walke, an attorney at the Natural Resources Defense Council who formerly worked as an EPA lawyer advising the Office of Air and Radiation. “But our bodies do not parse out air pollution according to rule labels or industrial equipment or industrial source categories.” The cancer risk from each facility or type of equipment may be at levels the agency considers “acceptable,” but taken together, the potential harms can be substantial.
The EPA initially sent ProPublica a statement saying that it “ensures that risks from individual source categories are acceptable and that the standards provide an ample margin of safety to protect public health.”
In another statement sent after an interview, the agency added, “We understand that communities often confront multiple sources of toxic air pollution and face cumulative risks greater than the risk from a single source.” The EPA added that it was working both to better harness the science on cumulative risks and “to better understand risks for communities who are overburdened by numerous sources of multiple pollutants.”
Madison can’t help but notice that when her family travels, K’ryah’s asthma improves. “The first chance I get, I’m moving far away from Texas and never looking back,” she said. “I love being outside. I love seeing the stars. I don’t want to feel like someone is pumping gas onto our front porch.”
The locations of the hot spots identified by ProPublica are anything but random. Industrial giants tend to favor areas that confer strategic advantages: On the Gulf Coast, for instance, oil rigs abound, so it’s more convenient to build refineries along the shoreline. Corporations also favor places where land is cheap and regulations are few.
Under federal law, the EPA delegates the majority of its enforcement powers to state and local authorities, which means that the environmental protections afforded to Americans vary widely between states. Texas, which is home to some of the largest hot spots in the nation, has notoriously lax regulations.
Between 2008 and 2018, lawmakers cut funding for state pollution-control programs by 35% while boosting the state’s overall budget by 41%, according to a report by the Environmental Integrity Project, an advocacy group founded by former EPA staffers. A Texas Tribune story from 2017 found that during the prior year, the Texas Commission on Environmental Quality had levied fines in fewer than 1% of the cases in which polluters exceeded emission limits. Even when penalties are issued, many polluters see these fines as part of the cost of doing business, said Craig Johnston, a former lawyer at the EPA and a professor of environmental law at Lewis and Clark Law School.
Gary Rasp, a TCEQ spokesperson, told ProPublica that the agency “has taken actions to monitor, mitigate, and improve the air quality in fence line communities.” The agency runs dozens of stationary air toxics monitors across the state, he added, and “by continuously evaluating air monitoring data, which is more accurate than modeling, TCEQ can identify issues.” The agency also inspects industrial facilities and “has an active enforcement program, referring particularly egregious cases to the Texas Office of the Attorney General.”
That the people living inside these hot spots are disproportionately Black is not a coincidence. Our findings build on decades of evidence demonstrating that pollution is segregated: People of color are exposed to far greater levels of air pollution than whites — a pattern that persists across income levels. These disparities are rooted in racist real estate practices like redlining and the designation of low-income neighborhoods and communities of color as mixed residential-industrial zones. In cities like Houston, for example, all-white zoning boards targeted Black neighborhoods for the siting of noxious facilities, like landfills, incinerators and garbage dumps. Robert Bullard, a professor of urban planning and environmental policy at Texas Southern University, has called the practice “PIBBY” or “Place In Blacks’ Back Yard” — a spin on the acronym “NIMBY” (“Not In My Back Yard”).
📷 How We Created the Most Detailed Map Ever of Cancer-Causing Industrial Air Pollution
Many of the neighborhoods that border chemical plants are low-income and lack the same resources, access to health care and political capital that wealthier neighborhoods can bring to fights against intrusive commercial activities. In places like Baytown, working-class people depend on the very companies that sicken them to earn a living. Over the years, the shadow of industry can permanently impair not just a neighborhood’s health but also its economic prospects and property values, fueling a cycle of disinvestment. “Industries rely on having these sinks — these sacrifice zones — for polluting,” said Ana Baptista, an environmental policy professor at The New School. “That political calculus has kept in place a regulatory system that allows for the continued concentration of industry. We sacrifice these low-income, African American, Indigenous communities for the economic benefit of the region or state or country.”
Tejada, the EPA’s director of environmental justice, said that the Biden administration and the EPA are focused on confronting these disparities. “These places didn’t happen by accident. The disproportionality of the impacts that they face, the generations of disinvestment and lack of access are not coincidences. These places were created. And it is the responsibility of everyone, including the government — chiefly the government — to do something about it.”
The federal government has long had the information it would need to take on these hot spots. The EPA collects emissions data from more than 20,000 industrial facilities across the country and has even developed its own state-of-the-art tool — the Risk-Screening Environmental Indicators model — to estimate the impact of toxic emissions on human health. The model, known as RSEI, was designed to help regulators and lawmakers pinpoint where to target further air-monitoring efforts, data-quality inspections or, if necessary, enforcement actions. Researchers and journalists have used this model for various investigations over the years, including this one.
And yet the agency’s own use of its powerful modeling tool has been limited. There’s been a lack of funding for and a dearth of interest in RSEI’s more ambitious applications, according to several former and current EPA employees. Wayne Davis, the former EPA scientist, managed the RSEI program under the Trump administration. He said that some of his supervisors were hesitant about publishing information that would directly implicate a facility. “They always told us, ‘Don’t make a big deal of it, don’t market it, and hopefully you’ll continue to get funding next year.’ They didn’t want to make anything public that would raise questions about why the EPA hadn’t done anything to regulate that facility.”
Nicolaas Bouwes, a former senior analyst at the EPA and a chief architect of the RSEI model, recalled the occasional battle to get colleagues to accept the screening tool, let alone share its findings with the public. “There’s often been pushback from having this rich data sheet too readily available because it could make headlines,” he said. “What I find annoying is that the EPA has the same information at their disposal and they don’t use it. If ProPublica can do this, so can the EPA.”
In its statement, the EPA said that it plans to improve its approach for sharing air toxics data faster and more regularly with the public. “EPA has not published calculated cancer risks using RSEI modeled results,” it continued. “RSEI results are not designed as a substitute for more comprehensive, inclusive, or site specific risk assessments,” but as a potential starting point that should only be used “to identify situations of potential concern that may warrant further investigation.”
Indeed, our map works as a screening tool, not as a site-specific risk assessment. It cannot be used to tie individual cancer cases to emissions from specific industrial facilities, but it can be used to diagnose what the EPA calls “situations of potential concern.”
Our analysis arrives as America faces new threats to its air quality. The downstream effects of climate change, like warmer temperatures and massive wildfires, have created more smoke and smog. The Trump administration diluted, scuttled or reversed dozens of air pollution protections — actions estimated to lead to thousands of additional premature deaths. In 2018, then-EPA Administrator Scott Pruitt created a massive air toxics loophole when he rolled back a key provision of the Clean Air Act, known as “Once In, Always In,” allowing thousands of large polluters to relax their use of pollution-controlling equipment.
Biden has yet to close this loophole, but he has signaled plans to alleviate the disproportionate impacts borne by the people who live in these hot spots. Within his first few days in office, he established two White House councils to address environmental injustice. And in March, Congress confirmed his appointment of EPA administrator Michael Regan, who has directed the agency to strengthen its enforcement of violations “in communities overburdened by pollution.”
https://www.propublica.org/article/toxmap-poison-in-the-air
Over the years, Sullivan Ramirez herself has struggled with nerve degeneration and scleroderma, a rare condition that involves the tightening of the skin and connective tissues. While it can be difficult to link specific cases of disease to pollution exposure, the evidence in Mossville has accumulated: In a 1998 health survey conducted by the University of Texas, 84% of Mossville residents reported having headaches, dizziness, tremors and seizures. An EPA study from the same year found that the average level of dioxins in the blood of Mossville residents was dangerously high — triple that of the general U.S. population. Even small amounts of dioxin, one of the most poisonous chemicals released by facilities, can cause developmental problems, damage the immune system and lead to cancer. A 2007 report found that the types of dioxin compounds in the blood of Mossville residents matched those emitted by local industrial facilities.
In an emailed statement, Sasol noted that its property buyout stemmed from direct requests from Mossville residents and that the company offered owners more than the appraised value of their homes. “Sasol and its predecessor have produced or handled chemicals at our Lake Charles complex for more than 60 years. We understand the science and have controls in place to ensure our operations are safe, protective of the environment, compliant with regulations and sustainable over the long term,” wrote Sarah Hughes, a spokesperson for Sasol. “Sasol is proud of our engagement with our neighbors in Mossville and the positive impact it has had on many of its residents.”
📷 Can Air Pollution Cause Cancer? What You Need to Know About the Risks.
Sullivan Ramirez is wary of too much talk. She knows that the new administration has promised something more for communities like hers, but she doesn’t want to get her hopes up. The presentations from captains of industry, the listening sessions with earnest bureaucrats, the proposals from slick attorneys, the promises tossed off by politicians — over the years, she’s heard it all.
The people of Mossville are right to be skeptical, the EPA’s Tejada acknowledged. “I would be skeptical if I was from Mossville,” he added. “They should be skeptical until we actually show up and do the things that they’ve been asking us to do for a long time. But there’s now a level of commitment to actually tangling with these issues in a really serious, substantive way.”
After years of activism in Mossville, Sullivan Ramirez moved to Lake Charles, just a short drive away. But she worries the industrial sprawl will one day overtake her new home. To Sullivan Ramirez, Mossville is “the key” — a warning of what the future holds for America’s other hot spots if business continues as usual.
“This is the 21st century,” she said. “The act of polluting our lands and robbing our communities — when will enough be enough?”
please read this article in full here:
https://www.propublica.org/article/toxmap-poison-in-the-air
2023.05.28 19:39 bakunuwu 22 [M4F] About time
Skipping the lengthy melancholic soliloquys and jumping straight to the point: I seek a genuine connection, someone I can have intimate moments with (not necessarily the NSFW kind, as intimacy comes in many forms), and whose company I look forward to at the end of the day. There are other scenarios that come to mind and as much as I wanna help you (yes, you, the reader whose interest I piqued) picture how vibrant I want this connection to be, I wanna keep this short so I could properly introduce myself.Some things about me: * Physical aspects I'm 5'6 tall, moreno, very slightly above normal BMI, still looks fit as I'm still actively cycling * Looks, 5-6?/10 (or you be the judge). Hygiene? Very hygienic and mabango. Presentability I have a good selection of clothes. * Personality? the quiet and reserved type that has already read the room. Can hold a conversation. * A furdad of two 🐶 and 2 🐱 * Got a motorcycle (and ofc a license) and knows his way and out the city bounds
What I'm into, what I'm up to: * Outdoor hobbies including cycling, hiking, and basking under the sun * lso into gaming and indoor hobbies (but more on the outdoor side) * Pretty knowledgeable in nerdy stuff (films, television, etc) * Roadtrips on my motorcycle * Still studying, in a health allied field * Trying out scenic cafes and restos outside mall culture-ridden NCR * Who doesn't love art and photography?
What I'm looking for: * Preferably someone younger, max -3 my age * Petite to slim * Looks, I don't have strong preferences on this as it can be highly subjective naman and strongly depends on how you present yourself (either by how you dress or personality) * Living in the metro would be nice (though not a requirement) * Don't be a supporter of the right wing fascist administration, please.
I thank you for your time if nakaabot ka sa dulo. Wanna give it a shot? Send me a short intro about you and let's see how this goes. I'll be seeing ya! 😉
2023.05.28 19:32 mrwoody1 : "Discover the Joy of Woodworking: 25 Best DIY Projects for Beginners"
Hey fellow woodworking enthusiasts!
Are you ready to embark on a journey of creativity and craftsmanship? Look no further! I've compiled a list of the top 25 DIY woodworking projects perfect for beginners like you. Whether you're a newbie or have some basic woodworking skills, these projects will inspire and challenge you to bring your woodworking dreams to life.
Here are just a few highlights from the list:
But wait, there's more! If you're eager to dive deeper into the world of woodworking, I've prepared a special bonus for you. Click the button below to access an exclusive resource guide that will further expand your woodworking skills and knowledge.
Unleash the Secrets
Don't miss out on this opportunity to discover the joy of woodworking and create beautiful pieces you'll be proud of. Remember, every masterpiece starts with a single cut!
So what are you waiting for? Grab your tools, unleash your creativity, and let's make something amazing together. Share your progress, ask questions, and connect with fellow woodworking enthusiasts in the comments below.
Happy woodworking!
submitted by mrwoody1 to u/mrwoody1 [link] [comments]
Are you ready to embark on a journey of creativity and craftsmanship? Look no further! I've compiled a list of the top 25 DIY woodworking projects perfect for beginners like you. Whether you're a newbie or have some basic woodworking skills, these projects will inspire and challenge you to bring your woodworking dreams to life.
Here are just a few highlights from the list:
- Rustic Wooden Picture Frame: Showcase your cherished memories with a personalized touch.
- Adirondack Chair: Relax in style with this classic and comfortable outdoor chair.
- Wooden Wine Rack: Display your favorite bottles in an elegant and functional way.
- Floating Shelf: Add a modern touch to any room with this sleek and space-saving storage solution.
- Wooden Coasters: Protect your surfaces with unique and eye-catching coasters you can make in no time.
But wait, there's more! If you're eager to dive deeper into the world of woodworking, I've prepared a special bonus for you. Click the button below to access an exclusive resource guide that will further expand your woodworking skills and knowledge.
Unleash the Secrets
Don't miss out on this opportunity to discover the joy of woodworking and create beautiful pieces you'll be proud of. Remember, every masterpiece starts with a single cut!
So what are you waiting for? Grab your tools, unleash your creativity, and let's make something amazing together. Share your progress, ask questions, and connect with fellow woodworking enthusiasts in the comments below.
Happy woodworking!
2023.05.28 19:29 Nerdyeducatedaggie14 30 (M4FM) Hispanic professional seeks to be long term third fwb/lover for a couple for regular ongoing dating/fun with your wife
Hello,
I'm a single young educated Latino professional who's been in the lifestyle for a couple of years.
I'm looking for a couple that is looking for a young guy for the wife for her pleasure and fun. I am interested in threesomes focused on her as center of attention or where the husband just wants to watch me and her have fun together.
I'm the geeky type who's into video games, science, technology, and history. I'm also a great lover of the outdoors and love to hike and camp.
I'm open and would enjoy developing a great friendship/relationship outside the bedroom also with y’all and doing other activities as well. We can all hang out, go camping, hiking, etc. I have no problem becoming a lovethird for your wife if that is being sought for as well and would be honored to be your wife’s lover as well.
I am a sensual type of pleasurer. I enjoy to sensually touch and lick and have some foreplay and give her oral before doing more. I'm not the aggressive type. Love to kiss sensually and make out and feel her up before as foreplay. I love to kiss deeply and cuddle and feel each other before we have some fun.
I am looking for something regular and on-going. I hope to find a woman or wife would enjoy a sensual nerdy guy for some regular sensual fun and maybe teach me some new tricks. I have no problem hosting at my apartment if y’all can’t.
I’m open to threesome play focused on her and if she wants 1-1 play with me or me be her lover and hang out/date her I’m open to that as well.
Please let me know what y’all are looking to establish and develop so we are all on the same page.
I'm 5-8 tall and 160 lbs in average shape and my endowment is on the thicker end. I’m fully clean and ddf with proof from my annual physical. I can share results if needed and requested. I would enjoy if I could go bare and if she would want me to finish inside of her.
I live near memorial park and can meet for dinner or a drink and see if we are all interested and get to know each other.
Hope to chat with y’all and establish something long term.
submitted by Nerdyeducatedaggie14 to houstonr4r [link] [comments]
I'm a single young educated Latino professional who's been in the lifestyle for a couple of years.
I'm looking for a couple that is looking for a young guy for the wife for her pleasure and fun. I am interested in threesomes focused on her as center of attention or where the husband just wants to watch me and her have fun together.
I'm the geeky type who's into video games, science, technology, and history. I'm also a great lover of the outdoors and love to hike and camp.
I'm open and would enjoy developing a great friendship/relationship outside the bedroom also with y’all and doing other activities as well. We can all hang out, go camping, hiking, etc. I have no problem becoming a lovethird for your wife if that is being sought for as well and would be honored to be your wife’s lover as well.
I am a sensual type of pleasurer. I enjoy to sensually touch and lick and have some foreplay and give her oral before doing more. I'm not the aggressive type. Love to kiss sensually and make out and feel her up before as foreplay. I love to kiss deeply and cuddle and feel each other before we have some fun.
I am looking for something regular and on-going. I hope to find a woman or wife would enjoy a sensual nerdy guy for some regular sensual fun and maybe teach me some new tricks. I have no problem hosting at my apartment if y’all can’t.
I’m open to threesome play focused on her and if she wants 1-1 play with me or me be her lover and hang out/date her I’m open to that as well.
Please let me know what y’all are looking to establish and develop so we are all on the same page.
I'm 5-8 tall and 160 lbs in average shape and my endowment is on the thicker end. I’m fully clean and ddf with proof from my annual physical. I can share results if needed and requested. I would enjoy if I could go bare and if she would want me to finish inside of her.
I live near memorial park and can meet for dinner or a drink and see if we are all interested and get to know each other.
Hope to chat with y’all and establish something long term.
2023.05.28 19:16 DoYouWant_the_Cheese Cyberweapon manufacturers plot to stay on the right side of US
https://www.ft.com/content/11cb394d-a13e-4826-b580-823b9367fedb
TL;DR: Paragon is a company making basically the same spyware as Pegasus, but are only selling it to US and its allies so they don't get sued into oblivion. Ehud Barak is also on the BoD.
In the summer of 2019, as Paragon Solutions was building one the world’s most potent cyberweapons, the company made a prescient decision: before courting a single customer, best get the Americans on side.
The Israeli start-up had watched local rival NSO Group, makers of the controversial Pegasus spyware, fall foul of the Biden administration and be blacklisted in the US. So Paragon sought guidance from top American advisers, secured funding from US venture capital groups and eventually scored a marquee client that eludes its competition: the US government.
Interviews with half a dozen industry figures about the divergent paths of the two companies underline how the shadowy spyware industry is being reshaped around those friendly to American interests.
According to four of those people, the US Drug Enforcement and Administration Agency is among the top customers for Paragon’s signature product nicknamed Graphite.
The malware surreptitiously pierces the protections of modern smartphones and evades the encryption of messaging apps like Signal or WhatsApp, sometimes harvesting the data from cloud backups — much like Pegasus does.
Paragon was set up by Ehud Schneorson, the retired commander of Unit 8200, the Israeli army’s elite signals intelligence arm. According to people familiar with the company, which includes ex-Prime Minister Ehud Barak on its board, has secured investment from two US-based venture capital firms, Battery Ventures and Red Dot.
Paragon, Barak, Battery Ventures and Red Dot declined to comment.
In 2019, even before work on Graphite had been completed, on advice from a retired senior Mossad official, Paragon hired DC-based WestExec Advisors, the influential advisory group staffed by ex-Obama White House officials including Michele Flournoy, Avril Haines and Antony Blinken. Ex-US ambassador to Israel, Dan Shapiro, was also consulted, people with knowledge of the advisory effort said. Shapiro declined to comment.
WestExec said it “advised Paragon on its strategic approach to the US and European markets, as well as the formulation of its industry-leading ethical commitments designed to ensure the appropriate use of its technology,” adding it was “proud of our contributions in these critical areas.”
After the election of Democratic president Joe Biden in 2021, Blinken was appointed secretary of state, while Haines is now director of national intelligence. Both had departed WestExec by the time of the Paragon contract, the lobbying firm said. Flournoy — once considered in the running to lead the defence department — remains an influential US voice on foreign affairs.
American approval, even if indirect, has been at the heart of Paragon’s strategy. The company sought a list of allied nations that the US wouldn’t object to seeing deploy Graphite. People with knowledge of the matter suggested 35 countries are on that list, though the exact nations involved could not be determined. Most were in the EU and some in Asia, the people said.
“Everything they did was with the strategy that at the end of the day, the US should see them as the good guys,” said one person familiar with the decisions.
That contrasts with NSO’s recent troubles. By 2019, assisted by the regional diplomacy of prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu, NSO was a $1bn company selling its wares to Saudi Arabia, Mexico and dozens of other countries.
By the time the Biden administration came into office, NSO’s lucrative customers were proving to be its Achilles heel, as many of those regimes continued to deploy the multimillion-dollar weapon against journalists, dissidents and opposition leaders.
As evidence of abuse spread, such as the targeting of US diplomats in Uganda in 2021, NSO has found itself in the crosshairs both of the American government and the world’s largest tech companies. Apple and WhatsApp owner Meta are suing it.
“There is a growing sense that this particular type of malware is so invasive, so surreptitious that its proliferation poses both a human rights risk and a counter-intelligence risk to the US,” said Stephen Feldstein, who has studied the spread of spyware such as Pegasus and Graphite for the Carnegie Endowment.
For nearly a decade, the only restraint on some of the biggest spyware manufacturers was Israeli export controls, which regulate malware like Pegasus as weapons. Feldstein said that Israeli officials “make decisions on geopolitical solutions, not on human rights abuses.”
Paragon’s founders, however, were more sensitive to the increasingly dim view the US was taking of the proliferation of cyberweapons.
After NSO’s malware was tracked to the phones of associates of murdered Saudi columnist Jamal Khashoggi, Paragon declined Israeli government requests to replace Pegasus with Graphite in the Saudi armoury, according to two people familiar with the issue.
Paragon’s decision to eschew a valuable Saudi contract eventually paid off. Two other Israeli firms, Quadream and Candiru, which sold similar hacking capabilities to the Saudi government, were outed by Microsoft and rights group Citizen Lab after their malware was used on journalists and dissidents. Candiru was blacklisted alongside NSO in Nov 2021. Quadream recently shut down operations, the Israeli paper Calcalist reported.
The US has stepped in further to reshape the spyware market to favour those who sell cyberweapons to the US and its allies, while curbing those who chase lucrative contracts with authoritarian regimes.
President Joe Biden signed an executive order in March barring any US agency from purchasing spyware that “poses risks to national security or has been misused by foreign actors to enable human rights abuses around the world.”
The wording of the executive order is seen by experts as targeting NSO, while carving out a space for companies like Paragon to continue selling similar spyware, but only to the closest of US allies. The American expectation — still unproven — is that friendly nations are less likely to abuse such a weapon on civil society, or to spy on US government officials deployed abroad.
“It’s really making the case that the US believes that many of these kinds of tools are unlawful,” said David Kaye, who as the UN’s Rapporteur for Freedom of Expression spent years trying to hold the NSO Group accountable for its customers’ abuse of its spyware. “And if the proliferation of these tools is a national security problem, then that really changes the conversation from it being a human rights problem.”
NSO said it “does not believe that its placement on the [US Commerce Department blacklist] has ever been warranted,” adding: “ironically, other cyber intelligence companies who are not subject to the list sell to countries without any regulatory structure and that NSO refuses to make sales [to].”
However, the DEA’s purchase of Graphite, reportedly only for use by its partners in Mexico to help fight drug cartels, has begun to draw scrutiny. The DEA said it uses: “every lawful investigative tool available to pursue the foreign-based cartels and individuals operating around the world responsible for the drug poisoning deaths of 107,735 Americans last year.”
Congressman Adam Schiff, the chair of the House Intelligence Committee, wrote to the DEA in December asking for more details on the purchase. Mexico is among the worst abusers of NSO’s Pegasus which it bought nearly a decade ago.
Schiff wrote: “such use [of spyware] could have potential implications for US national security, as well as run contrary to efforts to deter the broad proliferation of powerful surveillance capabilities to autocratic regimes and others who may misuse them.”
submitted by DoYouWant_the_Cheese to TrueAnon [link] [comments]
TL;DR: Paragon is a company making basically the same spyware as Pegasus, but are only selling it to US and its allies so they don't get sued into oblivion. Ehud Barak is also on the BoD.
In the summer of 2019, as Paragon Solutions was building one the world’s most potent cyberweapons, the company made a prescient decision: before courting a single customer, best get the Americans on side.
The Israeli start-up had watched local rival NSO Group, makers of the controversial Pegasus spyware, fall foul of the Biden administration and be blacklisted in the US. So Paragon sought guidance from top American advisers, secured funding from US venture capital groups and eventually scored a marquee client that eludes its competition: the US government.
Interviews with half a dozen industry figures about the divergent paths of the two companies underline how the shadowy spyware industry is being reshaped around those friendly to American interests.
According to four of those people, the US Drug Enforcement and Administration Agency is among the top customers for Paragon’s signature product nicknamed Graphite.
The malware surreptitiously pierces the protections of modern smartphones and evades the encryption of messaging apps like Signal or WhatsApp, sometimes harvesting the data from cloud backups — much like Pegasus does.
Paragon was set up by Ehud Schneorson, the retired commander of Unit 8200, the Israeli army’s elite signals intelligence arm. According to people familiar with the company, which includes ex-Prime Minister Ehud Barak on its board, has secured investment from two US-based venture capital firms, Battery Ventures and Red Dot.
Paragon, Barak, Battery Ventures and Red Dot declined to comment.
In 2019, even before work on Graphite had been completed, on advice from a retired senior Mossad official, Paragon hired DC-based WestExec Advisors, the influential advisory group staffed by ex-Obama White House officials including Michele Flournoy, Avril Haines and Antony Blinken. Ex-US ambassador to Israel, Dan Shapiro, was also consulted, people with knowledge of the advisory effort said. Shapiro declined to comment.
WestExec said it “advised Paragon on its strategic approach to the US and European markets, as well as the formulation of its industry-leading ethical commitments designed to ensure the appropriate use of its technology,” adding it was “proud of our contributions in these critical areas.”
After the election of Democratic president Joe Biden in 2021, Blinken was appointed secretary of state, while Haines is now director of national intelligence. Both had departed WestExec by the time of the Paragon contract, the lobbying firm said. Flournoy — once considered in the running to lead the defence department — remains an influential US voice on foreign affairs.
American approval, even if indirect, has been at the heart of Paragon’s strategy. The company sought a list of allied nations that the US wouldn’t object to seeing deploy Graphite. People with knowledge of the matter suggested 35 countries are on that list, though the exact nations involved could not be determined. Most were in the EU and some in Asia, the people said.
“Everything they did was with the strategy that at the end of the day, the US should see them as the good guys,” said one person familiar with the decisions.
That contrasts with NSO’s recent troubles. By 2019, assisted by the regional diplomacy of prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu, NSO was a $1bn company selling its wares to Saudi Arabia, Mexico and dozens of other countries.
By the time the Biden administration came into office, NSO’s lucrative customers were proving to be its Achilles heel, as many of those regimes continued to deploy the multimillion-dollar weapon against journalists, dissidents and opposition leaders.
As evidence of abuse spread, such as the targeting of US diplomats in Uganda in 2021, NSO has found itself in the crosshairs both of the American government and the world’s largest tech companies. Apple and WhatsApp owner Meta are suing it.
“There is a growing sense that this particular type of malware is so invasive, so surreptitious that its proliferation poses both a human rights risk and a counter-intelligence risk to the US,” said Stephen Feldstein, who has studied the spread of spyware such as Pegasus and Graphite for the Carnegie Endowment.
For nearly a decade, the only restraint on some of the biggest spyware manufacturers was Israeli export controls, which regulate malware like Pegasus as weapons. Feldstein said that Israeli officials “make decisions on geopolitical solutions, not on human rights abuses.”
Paragon’s founders, however, were more sensitive to the increasingly dim view the US was taking of the proliferation of cyberweapons.
After NSO’s malware was tracked to the phones of associates of murdered Saudi columnist Jamal Khashoggi, Paragon declined Israeli government requests to replace Pegasus with Graphite in the Saudi armoury, according to two people familiar with the issue.
Paragon’s decision to eschew a valuable Saudi contract eventually paid off. Two other Israeli firms, Quadream and Candiru, which sold similar hacking capabilities to the Saudi government, were outed by Microsoft and rights group Citizen Lab after their malware was used on journalists and dissidents. Candiru was blacklisted alongside NSO in Nov 2021. Quadream recently shut down operations, the Israeli paper Calcalist reported.
The US has stepped in further to reshape the spyware market to favour those who sell cyberweapons to the US and its allies, while curbing those who chase lucrative contracts with authoritarian regimes.
President Joe Biden signed an executive order in March barring any US agency from purchasing spyware that “poses risks to national security or has been misused by foreign actors to enable human rights abuses around the world.”
The wording of the executive order is seen by experts as targeting NSO, while carving out a space for companies like Paragon to continue selling similar spyware, but only to the closest of US allies. The American expectation — still unproven — is that friendly nations are less likely to abuse such a weapon on civil society, or to spy on US government officials deployed abroad.
“It’s really making the case that the US believes that many of these kinds of tools are unlawful,” said David Kaye, who as the UN’s Rapporteur for Freedom of Expression spent years trying to hold the NSO Group accountable for its customers’ abuse of its spyware. “And if the proliferation of these tools is a national security problem, then that really changes the conversation from it being a human rights problem.”
NSO said it “does not believe that its placement on the [US Commerce Department blacklist] has ever been warranted,” adding: “ironically, other cyber intelligence companies who are not subject to the list sell to countries without any regulatory structure and that NSO refuses to make sales [to].”
However, the DEA’s purchase of Graphite, reportedly only for use by its partners in Mexico to help fight drug cartels, has begun to draw scrutiny. The DEA said it uses: “every lawful investigative tool available to pursue the foreign-based cartels and individuals operating around the world responsible for the drug poisoning deaths of 107,735 Americans last year.”
Congressman Adam Schiff, the chair of the House Intelligence Committee, wrote to the DEA in December asking for more details on the purchase. Mexico is among the worst abusers of NSO’s Pegasus which it bought nearly a decade ago.
Schiff wrote: “such use [of spyware] could have potential implications for US national security, as well as run contrary to efforts to deter the broad proliferation of powerful surveillance capabilities to autocratic regimes and others who may misuse them.”
2023.05.28 18:42 Ontario_Raiders_1998 Is this new paddle sport going to displace pickleball? Courts proposed for downtown Oceanside San Diego Union-Tribune
 | Move over, pickleball. There’s a new paddle sport coming to town. submitted by Ontario_Raiders_1998 to PPLpadel [link] [comments] Two racket sports enthusiasts plan to open North County’s first padel courts this summer on South Coast Highway in Oceanside. Padel is a relatively new sport similar to pickleball, racketball and squash. Players use perforated, hard-plastic paddles and a ball like a tennis ball, but slightly heavier and with less pressure. The court is less than half the size of a tennis court. It is divided by a 3-foot-high net and is enclosed by 16-foot-high glass walls that can rebound the ball during the game. The playing surface is a thin layer of sand spread on artificial grass. “It’s easy to play, but hard to master,” said James Bragg, a professional pickleball player and former collegiate tennis player. He and his business partner, Amir Palmen, plan to open a pair of courts on the vacant site of a former used car lot in the 200 block of South Coast Highway. “It’s really great for all ages,” Bragg said in a May 8 presentation to the Oceanside Planning Commission, which approved the project 7-0. “We’re starting with programming for all levels.” The courts will be open from 7 a.m. to 10 p.m., seven days a week. Online reservations will be required, and rental equipment will be available. Padel was invented in Mexico in 1969 and now has millions of players in Latin America and Europe, but it is relatively new to the United States. The only public courts in San Diego County are at the Barnes Tennis Center, a nonprofit for students in Ocean Beach, where most of the courts are for tennis and a few for pickleball. Marta Morga, 28, took a break from her padel game Thursday to talk at the Barnes center. Formerly a collegiate and professional tennis player, and still a tennis coach, she learned tennis age 7 and has been playing the game ever since. She took up padel less than a year ago, but has fallen for her new sport hard. “This is way more fun,” she said. “It’s more social, not as physically demanding as tennis. You are always with a partner, and if you have good chemistry with your partner that makes it more fun. I have made so many friends playing padel.” Playing the ball off the walls adds variety and excitement to the game, Morga said, and there can be a surprise on every point. The padel courts at Barnes are managed by Ryan Redondo, CEO of Taktika Padel. Taktika opened the first three courts there in 2021 and later added four more. The padel courts are all at one end of the center on ground that was formerly empty, so there’s no competition for space with paddleball or tennis. Taktika also has three courts in Carson and plans to open as many as 200 across California in the near future, Redondo said. Pickleball may be the fastest-growing sport in the United States, but padel is the fastest-growing sport worldwide, he said. The U.S. is on track to have 30,000 courts by 2029 and the sport could be in the Olympics for the first time in 2032. About 500 padel players use the Barnes courts, he said. The center hosts several leagues that play regular tournaments and recently formed a professional team called the San Diego Stingrays now in its first year of competition. The courts at Barnes are packed every day from mid-afternoon until the center closes at 9 p.m., Redondo said. He was happy about the new courts coming to Oceanside, he said, adding, “We need the competition.” Oceanside’s planning commissioners had a few questions about the proposed facilities, the noise, and staffing, but quickly warmed to the proposal. “It’s exciting, another outdoor opportunity for the community,” said Commission Chair Tom Rosales. “I wish you guys the best of luck,” said Commissioner Louise Balma. Pickleball players in the United States in 2022 increased by 85.7 percent from the previous year and by 158.6 percent over three years, according to the Sports & Fitness Industry Association. Cities and private communities across San Diego County have been adding pickleball courts for several years. In some places, the pickleball courts have replaced tennis courts, which at times has led to conflicts with die-hard tennis fans. Most racket sports enthusiasts believe there’s room for all three games, and statistics from the Sports & Fitness Industry Association back that up. Tennis participation in this country grew by 1 million players in 2022 to more than 23.6 million people, the third consecutive year that the sport has seen an increase, according to the U.S. Tennis Association. Court games in general go hand-in-hand with a healthier life, according to the Tennis Association, a fact that may help to boost their popularity. Studies show participation in racket sports, including tennis, reduce the risk of cardiovascular-related death by 56 percent. |
2023.05.28 18:21 3rd-wheel I'm fairly happy with it. Would you be happy with it?
submitted by 3rd-wheel to RimWorld [link] [comments]
2023.05.28 17:33 ElYewii Semper imperialis - [Ch. 3]
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March 19, 2019
I sat at the pool, haven't slept in days.
"What am I gonna do?" I asked myself,
"I have two kids to take care of, and... Oh Robert, why did you have to leave?"
"MOM?" I heard Miranda say through the echo of the room.
"He- here sweetie." I answered while waving her to come over.
"Mom?, are you alright?" she asked.
"Yes, I'm fine sweetie." I said as tears were still running down my face.
She just hugged me.
"I- I." snort "I miss dad." She said while starting to sob.
"Oh baby me too." snort "Me too."
•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•
I sat in my room that was across from mom's, I had moved to the other room we had booked, leaving mom and Miranda in the other one.
I stared out the window, not even three days were enough to process what was happening, 'Did I really have a conversation with one of them?' I guessed my brain still hadn't processed the fact that they were alien invaders that overthrew us as the dominant species, feels like a dream, waiting to wake up any minute now, maybe wake up to dad dragging me out of bed for school.
"Yeah." I said softly to myself.
"I need fresh air."
I stepped out of my room and headed to the lobby, while making my way to the door it felt like I was walking through a ghost town, even though you could see humans and aliens they still felt like they weren't there.
'Yeah a certainly need fresh air.'
As I made my way to the main entrance, a marine that I hadn't noticed before stepped into my path, so I stopped.
"You can't leave yet, need to wait five more days." she said
"Ah come on I won't go far, I'll just stay at up there." I said while signaling at the bench right outside the door.
"Orders are orders." She said, all the while holding a rifle.
I was not about to get on their bad side and get marked as a trouble maker.
"Alright, alright, jeez." I said as I walked away back to the lobby, 'I'll try the courtyard then.'
•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•
It was a sunny day, too sunny for my liking, so I sat in the pool chairs covered by the trees above, it was nice having that perfect mix of sun rays and shade, while also getting a refreshing breeze, not to cold for me to shiver, but enough to feel comfortable.
If anything the ships above made an interesting view.
A nap felt like the best idea ever, or it would have been have it not been for Delara "Patrolling" the courtyard.
"Hey Jeeryl." She said somehow butchering my name even more, I was used to it but this was a whole 'nother level.
"Hey Delara" I answered.
"What you doing." she asked as if she didn't wake me up from my nap.
"Trying to nap." I answered while covering my eyes with my arm.
"What is nap?"
'Seriously?'
"Short sleep." I answered, hoping that would satiate her curiosity.
"Can I sit?" she asked.
After evaluating my options I chose the best one available.
"Sure, but don't you need to be working?" I asked her,
"Don't think they would notice."
"Delara can I ask you something."
"Y- Y- yes." she answered, probably trying to come up with the word.
"How is Shil?" I asked, was really curious what the planet where a purple big tiddied orc came from looked like
"Oh its really pretty, with lots of oceans and beaches, though now there is a lot more buildings, but its really pretty."
"Here have picture." She said as she pulled out her 'phone?'
It was a selfie of her with other 5 older looking women and what looked like her siblings and her dad, on a beach, it was truly beautiful, with almost impossible blue water, though in a alien planet nothing is out of limits I thought.
"Is that your family?" I asked her while pointing at the other people in the picture.
"Yes" She answered as she started to name them.
"This is my mother Arnac, this is my father Urkal."
"And the rest?" I asked, maybe they were her aunties and cousins.
"Oh this are my other mothers and siblings, this is mother Tehrisa, mother Clavnia, mother Vespra, and mother Safra, and this are all my siblings." then she proceeded to tell me their names though I was still stuck in the fact that she had apparently 4 step mothers while also having a biological mom?
"Delara, can you explain something?"
"Ah- Yeah sure."
"Why do you have so many moms and a single dad?" I asked while pointing at them in the picture.
"Oh yeah, well, we Shil'Vati have male to female birth rate of 1 to 8, so it's really normal for a single male to have several wives."
"So you all live together?"
"Yes!" she said with a lot of enthusiasm.
"What about you?" she asked back
"Well- more recently it's me, mom, my sister."
"What about your dad?"
"H- He was- He was in the city that got attacked."
'Oh' Delara thought, 'Why why why why why, why can't you keep your mouth shut, you have this cute guy TALKING to you and you come and ask about his death father, WHY brain why are you like this? Of course that's why they were all crying that morning after that news broadcast, I assumed it was just because they lived there' was what when through Delara's mind, but then she saw him start to tear up.
'Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh nonononononono don't cry, please, Hope no one sees us, quick Delara think, YES."
"Jeryl, do you want hug?"
"Huh? oh no its not nece-" I couldn't finish as Delara hugged me, and by hugging I mean suffocating me with hear great assets, I mean it was nice, they were really soft.
"Don't you worry I'm here for you." Delara said.
"hmmmfh, fmmgh." Was all Jeriel could get out.
This was nice don't get me wrong, in any other circumstances this would be an ideal way to die, but now, he really missed oxygen.
With all the forces I could muster I was able to lift my face enough to say "Delara!"
'You dumbass you are suffocating him' I screamed in the back of my head.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry." Delara repeated hysterically.
\cough* *cough** "It's okay, just don't give me a heads up next time."
"Are you okay?" she asked while moving my face left and right.
"Yeah I'm fine, don't have to worry" I answered
*Ping*
"Oh shit." Delara said in Shil, as that's what I learned their language was called, they are not really original with names it seems.
"Have to go, it was good talking to you." she said as she rushed into the building
"Well... Great second interaction."
•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•
March 21, 2019
Today was march 21st, and this guy was turning 18, this for sure was about to be a different birthday at least.
I got out of my room for the first time today to get breakfast, I had spent all of the previous day between my and mom's room, we talked, We did our best to make her laugh and to alleviate the situation, y'know what they say, laughter is the best medicine,
On my way to the elevator I met up with Miranda to get breakfast and then get sum up for mom, I was worried she didn't get out in all of yesterday, Miranda said she cried whenever she wasn't there with her, the only thing that seemed to calm her down was TV.
We got down to the lounge where we walked past a group of marines having breakfast, they all followed me with their gaze, some even turning around.
“That’s creepy as shit” said Miranda
"What is?" I asked
"That!" she said while pointing at a group of marines having breakfast.
"Don't you see how they look at you? Isn't it a least a little bit weird?"
“Maybe, but I honestly don’t mind it, it’s not like girls paid much attention to me before”
“Ugh.” Miranda rolled her eyes
“I mean it could be worse”
“Worse? How?” she asked
“Well I don’t know, they could be ugly.
“And hey if they want a piece of me, I’m not completely opposed to it, they are basically Sheeva from mortal kombat”
“First eww, second you don’t even know how old they are or let alone how their years are different to ours.”
“Or even their biology who knows if she’s a hundred.”
“You are just jealous there isn’t any guys.”
“Yeah why is that by the way?”
“From what I understand their birth rate is disproportionate so there a very little males compared to the number of females.”
“Well that explains why they are the way they are.”
“Elaborate.”
“That plus the fact that they are soldiers, if they are anything like our marines then they might be the horniest beings on the galaxy." Miranda said a little hyperventilated.
"Just- watch out, as much as I hate you I don’t want anything bad happening to you.”
“Alright mom." I said rolling my eyes
“Oh yeah by the way how is she doing? I couldn't see her yesterday.”
“A little better.”
“Stayed up late watching that cartoon that you used to watch when you were a kid.”
"..."
"..."
We stayed in silence thinking, both of us staring at the floor.
"What are we gonna do?" I asked.
"About what?"
"About this?" I said while signaling around us, "We are homeless, mom is jobless.
"Dad... y'know." I said trying to look elsewhere, Miranda did the same.
"You are out of school, and me well it's not like I can apply to UH anymore."
"We only have the things in our luggage, and who knows where they would send us, best case scenario the hotel allows us to stay, little worse scenario the aliens relocate us to a camp somewhere else, and worse case scenario we just get thrown into the street." I said while looking around us.
"Don't know, haven't really thought about it, talk about high school experience getting ruined."
"Huh, better get this up to her before it gets cold" she said.
"Right behind you."
•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•
We got into the room as the door unlocked, mom was in the bathroom, so we opened the curtains and set the breakfast on the little table that was in the room.
"Good morning kids" mom said.
She had really bad bags under her eyes and looked tired as a whole.
"Above all to the birthday boy" she said while hugging me and giving me a kiss on the forehead which I had to lower myself for, I might not be tall but mom was 5'0 on the spot, if the aliens were intimidating for me you must imagine how it was for her.
"Thanks mom, we brought you breakfast."
We finished eating breakfast, when mom got up from the table and went to the bathroom, but she came with a muffin.
"Where'd you get that?"
"The lounge, woke up early today, though I asked for a candle but the hotel people told me they couldn't find any."
"Well that's ok, it's the thought that matters."
We split the Muffin into three pieces, to the protest of both Miranda and mom, then we just laid back watching the peak of Canadian animation, the tale of a kid fighting an evil alien purple sphinx cat, that wants to take over earth.
"I remember you would get up for school early just so you could watch it." mom said.
"Yeah I remember that."
I thought about mentioning that it was dad's favorite cartoon but thought better of it, thought I could see that it still came to her mind.
The rest of the day was uneventful, we just stayed up watching TV, talking about stuff trying to avoid talking about our situation as much as possible, or walking through the hotel floors and lobby, there weren't many people in the hotel so, many of the people you would find had purple skin or a lot of fur.
It was already getting late I said bye to the both of them and went into my room, but it being a relatively hot day, I decided for a change in plans, going for a swim, so I put my trunks on a lose shirt grabbed my book a towel and made a b line to the door and elevator.
•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•
Today's shift had been as uneventful as all the previous ones for Delara, just walking around checking the perimeter, questioning any suspicious locals, which there weren't many of at the hotel they were posted at, but today was warm which was nice, it reminded her of Shil and her family, which reminded her of how much she liked to swim and that there was an outdoor pool, maybe she'll find Jeryl there again, and if she didn't she would still take a swim, of course she first had to consult it with Sergeant Lyria which said that she'll allow it but to keep it civil, whatever that meant.
So she went to her quarters, grabbed her standard issue bathing suit which wasn't very different from her normal workout clothes aside from the material it was made of, she put it on and headed out.
•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•
Jeriel sat in the same chair where he sat before, thought now instead of sleeping he was reading, he wasn't a great reader but he tried to get better, either way he still couldn't understand how people read a four hundred something page book or books in a week, he felt you didn't enjoy the book that way.
It was also unreasonably hot, if there was anything that he still didn't get used to in the US is the bipolar weather, one day is freezing, the other is hot enough to make water boil.
So reasonably so he had his shirt off, he enjoyed the calm and quiet besides the little waterfall on the pool.
That until then again he heard from behind him.
"Hey there cutie."
•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•
First / Previous / Next
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What would happen in the next chapter? come back Wednesday to find out.
This was it for today, hope y'all enjoyed it and as always comments are welcomed.
submitted by ElYewii to Sexyspacebabes [link] [comments]
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March 19, 2019
I sat at the pool, haven't slept in days.
"What am I gonna do?" I asked myself,
"I have two kids to take care of, and... Oh Robert, why did you have to leave?"
"MOM?" I heard Miranda say through the echo of the room.
"He- here sweetie." I answered while waving her to come over.
"Mom?, are you alright?" she asked.
"Yes, I'm fine sweetie." I said as tears were still running down my face.
She just hugged me.
"I- I." snort "I miss dad." She said while starting to sob.
"Oh baby me too." snort "Me too."
•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•
I sat in my room that was across from mom's, I had moved to the other room we had booked, leaving mom and Miranda in the other one.
I stared out the window, not even three days were enough to process what was happening, 'Did I really have a conversation with one of them?' I guessed my brain still hadn't processed the fact that they were alien invaders that overthrew us as the dominant species, feels like a dream, waiting to wake up any minute now, maybe wake up to dad dragging me out of bed for school.
"Yeah." I said softly to myself.
"I need fresh air."
I stepped out of my room and headed to the lobby, while making my way to the door it felt like I was walking through a ghost town, even though you could see humans and aliens they still felt like they weren't there.
'Yeah a certainly need fresh air.'
As I made my way to the main entrance, a marine that I hadn't noticed before stepped into my path, so I stopped.
"You can't leave yet, need to wait five more days." she said
"Ah come on I won't go far, I'll just stay at up there." I said while signaling at the bench right outside the door.
"Orders are orders." She said, all the while holding a rifle.
I was not about to get on their bad side and get marked as a trouble maker.
"Alright, alright, jeez." I said as I walked away back to the lobby, 'I'll try the courtyard then.'
•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•
It was a sunny day, too sunny for my liking, so I sat in the pool chairs covered by the trees above, it was nice having that perfect mix of sun rays and shade, while also getting a refreshing breeze, not to cold for me to shiver, but enough to feel comfortable.
If anything the ships above made an interesting view.
A nap felt like the best idea ever, or it would have been have it not been for Delara "Patrolling" the courtyard.
"Hey Jeeryl." She said somehow butchering my name even more, I was used to it but this was a whole 'nother level.
"Hey Delara" I answered.
"What you doing." she asked as if she didn't wake me up from my nap.
"Trying to nap." I answered while covering my eyes with my arm.
"What is nap?"
'Seriously?'
"Short sleep." I answered, hoping that would satiate her curiosity.
"Can I sit?" she asked.
After evaluating my options I chose the best one available.
"Sure, but don't you need to be working?" I asked her,
"Don't think they would notice."
"Delara can I ask you something."
"Y- Y- yes." she answered, probably trying to come up with the word.
"How is Shil?" I asked, was really curious what the planet where a purple big tiddied orc came from looked like
"Oh its really pretty, with lots of oceans and beaches, though now there is a lot more buildings, but its really pretty."
"Here have picture." She said as she pulled out her 'phone?'
It was a selfie of her with other 5 older looking women and what looked like her siblings and her dad, on a beach, it was truly beautiful, with almost impossible blue water, though in a alien planet nothing is out of limits I thought.
"Is that your family?" I asked her while pointing at the other people in the picture.
"Yes" She answered as she started to name them.
"This is my mother Arnac, this is my father Urkal."
"And the rest?" I asked, maybe they were her aunties and cousins.
"Oh this are my other mothers and siblings, this is mother Tehrisa, mother Clavnia, mother Vespra, and mother Safra, and this are all my siblings." then she proceeded to tell me their names though I was still stuck in the fact that she had apparently 4 step mothers while also having a biological mom?
"Delara, can you explain something?"
"Ah- Yeah sure."
"Why do you have so many moms and a single dad?" I asked while pointing at them in the picture.
"Oh yeah, well, we Shil'Vati have male to female birth rate of 1 to 8, so it's really normal for a single male to have several wives."
"So you all live together?"
"Yes!" she said with a lot of enthusiasm.
"What about you?" she asked back
"Well- more recently it's me, mom, my sister."
"What about your dad?"
"H- He was- He was in the city that got attacked."
'Oh' Delara thought, 'Why why why why why, why can't you keep your mouth shut, you have this cute guy TALKING to you and you come and ask about his death father, WHY brain why are you like this? Of course that's why they were all crying that morning after that news broadcast, I assumed it was just because they lived there' was what when through Delara's mind, but then she saw him start to tear up.
'Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh nonononononono don't cry, please, Hope no one sees us, quick Delara think, YES."
"Jeryl, do you want hug?"
"Huh? oh no its not nece-" I couldn't finish as Delara hugged me, and by hugging I mean suffocating me with hear great assets, I mean it was nice, they were really soft.
"Don't you worry I'm here for you." Delara said.
"hmmmfh, fmmgh." Was all Jeriel could get out.
This was nice don't get me wrong, in any other circumstances this would be an ideal way to die, but now, he really missed oxygen.
With all the forces I could muster I was able to lift my face enough to say "Delara!"
'You dumbass you are suffocating him' I screamed in the back of my head.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry." Delara repeated hysterically.
\cough* *cough** "It's okay, just don't give me a heads up next time."
"Are you okay?" she asked while moving my face left and right.
"Yeah I'm fine, don't have to worry" I answered
*Ping*
"Oh shit." Delara said in Shil, as that's what I learned their language was called, they are not really original with names it seems.
"Have to go, it was good talking to you." she said as she rushed into the building
"Well... Great second interaction."
•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•
March 21, 2019
Today was march 21st, and this guy was turning 18, this for sure was about to be a different birthday at least.
I got out of my room for the first time today to get breakfast, I had spent all of the previous day between my and mom's room, we talked, We did our best to make her laugh and to alleviate the situation, y'know what they say, laughter is the best medicine,
On my way to the elevator I met up with Miranda to get breakfast and then get sum up for mom, I was worried she didn't get out in all of yesterday, Miranda said she cried whenever she wasn't there with her, the only thing that seemed to calm her down was TV.
We got down to the lounge where we walked past a group of marines having breakfast, they all followed me with their gaze, some even turning around.
“That’s creepy as shit” said Miranda
"What is?" I asked
"That!" she said while pointing at a group of marines having breakfast.
"Don't you see how they look at you? Isn't it a least a little bit weird?"
“Maybe, but I honestly don’t mind it, it’s not like girls paid much attention to me before”
“Ugh.” Miranda rolled her eyes
“I mean it could be worse”
“Worse? How?” she asked
“Well I don’t know, they could be ugly.
“And hey if they want a piece of me, I’m not completely opposed to it, they are basically Sheeva from mortal kombat”
“First eww, second you don’t even know how old they are or let alone how their years are different to ours.”
“Or even their biology who knows if she’s a hundred.”
“You are just jealous there isn’t any guys.”
“Yeah why is that by the way?”
“From what I understand their birth rate is disproportionate so there a very little males compared to the number of females.”
“Well that explains why they are the way they are.”
“Elaborate.”
“That plus the fact that they are soldiers, if they are anything like our marines then they might be the horniest beings on the galaxy." Miranda said a little hyperventilated.
"Just- watch out, as much as I hate you I don’t want anything bad happening to you.”
“Alright mom." I said rolling my eyes
“Oh yeah by the way how is she doing? I couldn't see her yesterday.”
“A little better.”
“Stayed up late watching that cartoon that you used to watch when you were a kid.”
"..."
"..."
We stayed in silence thinking, both of us staring at the floor.
"What are we gonna do?" I asked.
"About what?"
"About this?" I said while signaling around us, "We are homeless, mom is jobless.
"Dad... y'know." I said trying to look elsewhere, Miranda did the same.
"You are out of school, and me well it's not like I can apply to UH anymore."
"We only have the things in our luggage, and who knows where they would send us, best case scenario the hotel allows us to stay, little worse scenario the aliens relocate us to a camp somewhere else, and worse case scenario we just get thrown into the street." I said while looking around us.
"Don't know, haven't really thought about it, talk about high school experience getting ruined."
"Huh, better get this up to her before it gets cold" she said.
"Right behind you."
•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•
We got into the room as the door unlocked, mom was in the bathroom, so we opened the curtains and set the breakfast on the little table that was in the room.
"Good morning kids" mom said.
She had really bad bags under her eyes and looked tired as a whole.
"Above all to the birthday boy" she said while hugging me and giving me a kiss on the forehead which I had to lower myself for, I might not be tall but mom was 5'0 on the spot, if the aliens were intimidating for me you must imagine how it was for her.
"Thanks mom, we brought you breakfast."
We finished eating breakfast, when mom got up from the table and went to the bathroom, but she came with a muffin.
"Where'd you get that?"
"The lounge, woke up early today, though I asked for a candle but the hotel people told me they couldn't find any."
"Well that's ok, it's the thought that matters."
We split the Muffin into three pieces, to the protest of both Miranda and mom, then we just laid back watching the peak of Canadian animation, the tale of a kid fighting an evil alien purple sphinx cat, that wants to take over earth.
"I remember you would get up for school early just so you could watch it." mom said.
"Yeah I remember that."
I thought about mentioning that it was dad's favorite cartoon but thought better of it, thought I could see that it still came to her mind.
The rest of the day was uneventful, we just stayed up watching TV, talking about stuff trying to avoid talking about our situation as much as possible, or walking through the hotel floors and lobby, there weren't many people in the hotel so, many of the people you would find had purple skin or a lot of fur.
It was already getting late I said bye to the both of them and went into my room, but it being a relatively hot day, I decided for a change in plans, going for a swim, so I put my trunks on a lose shirt grabbed my book a towel and made a b line to the door and elevator.
•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•
Today's shift had been as uneventful as all the previous ones for Delara, just walking around checking the perimeter, questioning any suspicious locals, which there weren't many of at the hotel they were posted at, but today was warm which was nice, it reminded her of Shil and her family, which reminded her of how much she liked to swim and that there was an outdoor pool, maybe she'll find Jeryl there again, and if she didn't she would still take a swim, of course she first had to consult it with Sergeant Lyria which said that she'll allow it but to keep it civil, whatever that meant.
So she went to her quarters, grabbed her standard issue bathing suit which wasn't very different from her normal workout clothes aside from the material it was made of, she put it on and headed out.
•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•
Jeriel sat in the same chair where he sat before, thought now instead of sleeping he was reading, he wasn't a great reader but he tried to get better, either way he still couldn't understand how people read a four hundred something page book or books in a week, he felt you didn't enjoy the book that way.
It was also unreasonably hot, if there was anything that he still didn't get used to in the US is the bipolar weather, one day is freezing, the other is hot enough to make water boil.
So reasonably so he had his shirt off, he enjoyed the calm and quiet besides the little waterfall on the pool.
That until then again he heard from behind him.
"Hey there cutie."
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First / Previous / Next
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What would happen in the next chapter? come back Wednesday to find out.
This was it for today, hope y'all enjoyed it and as always comments are welcomed.