My roommate asked if we could talk last night and i immediately started trying to remember if id left something gross in the fridge.

Apparently shes been uncomfortable with how many guys ive been having over. She said she wasnt judging she just wanted a heads up instead of finding someone she didnt know in the kitchen before work.

Which is fair, except i haven't been seeing anyone.

I asked who she meant and she said shed seen three different guys leaving in the morning over the last few weeks.

All my brother.

He works about ten minutes from here but lives almost an hour away, so sometimes he sleeps on the couch after a late shift. Id told her he would occasionally stay over. They just havent really spent time around each other.

He had long hair and a beard until his girlfriend broke up with him. Then he shaved his head, regretted it, shaved the beard too. He's also been wearing glasses lately because his contacts are bothering him.

We were eating Chinese when she brought this up. I was folding the ad from my fortune cookie into a tiny square while she explained that she didnt want to have to put a bra on every time she went to get water.

I genuinely thought shed seen someone coming out of another apartment until she said "the bald one was nice though, he offered to take my trash down."

Thats when I figured it out.

I told her it was my brother and she said "okay but what about the other two?"

I said no, all of them. Same person.

She thought i was messing around with her. Actually got a little annoyed and said she was trying to have a normal conversation with me.

So i showed her his Instagram. She scrolled through a few pictures, zoomed in on one, then just put my phone down.

Apparently shed already told her best friend that i was having a "messy phase" and she wasnt sure how to bring it up. Meanwhile my brother has been eating cereal in our kitchen and going to work.

She apologized and we laughed about it, but then she admitted shed thought one of them was cute.

Obviously i asked which one.

She said it didnt matter now and started packing up the leftovers. Ive asked twice since and shes getting annoyed with me, but i feel like i deserve to know.

31M and my wife 33F
Married for three years, very minimal physical contact(once in 3-4 months)
I started watching online porn and chat with online girls(telegram - Philippines) to satisfy myself.
We had a baby , she found out that i have been doing this online things.
I apologized and begged to her for that
She hit me multiple times and threatened me (destroying my career and image in society)
She decided to leave me
luckily i got saved from a thing which i thought of doing it considering it as an end
Few weeks later she started distancing me and my daughter and she then accused me that i am a pervert and she cant let the baby (2 month old )near me
I lost myself in that accusation , i never did something bad to my baby
We got separated and i sought therapy
Now we re seeking divorce
I scared to even look at my baby

I've never met an Aghori baba personally, but I remember going to a religious gathering with my family and a few aunties. It was organised by some babas, and honestly, the whole experience felt pretty strange to me.

I believe in God and respect everyone's beliefs, but there were people claiming that God had entered their bodies. They were behaving differently, and people around them were actually believing it and asking questions about their personal problems.

I was just standing there thinking, how can someone be so sure that God has entered another person's body? And what surprised me even more was how easily people were convinced.

I'm not judging anyone's faith, but I personally found it really hard to believe. Even today, I remember how confused I was.

Has anyone here experienced something similar? Do you think these things are real, or is it more about people's beliefs and emotions?

Rupert was one of the laziest people known to man. This was a fact that he was either too aware of or too ignorant of, because in the 29 years and 11 months anyone had known him, he never changed and never wanted to change. He was content to do as little with his life as he could, and he was proud of it.

Rupert, without a hint of humor or irony, decided his 30th birthday would also be his retirement party. Retirement from any work whatsoever. His plan, in his words, was to “not have to worry about the usual 9-to-5 lifestyle, seek out options, settle down.” Their father, in his late 60s and still working, scoffed.
“Your whole goddamn life has been settling down. What do you think part 2 has to offer? Honestly, Rupert, when are you going to cut the crap?” After hearing that, Dad was uninvited to the birthday party.

In reality, Rupert didn’t have a 9-to-5 lifestyle. It was more of a 10-to-4 lifestyle. None of his jobs ever lasted more than 2 years, provided he chose to go to work at all. See, Rupert suffered from the three Nesses. Laziness, tardiness, deceitfulness. He would often show up late, take an ungodly amount of time in the bathroom, and add 10 minutes to the start and end of his lunch hour, and those were just his greatest hits. His favorite ways of getting out of work made use of his cat-like reflexes and his ninja-style ability to sneak out of something he dreaded doing.
These were just jobs that he got fired from.

The truth is it wasn’t always entirely his fault. You see, his job life was incredibly unlucky. His first job was at a video rental… before it closed down; his second job, an all-you-can-eat buffet, which also closed down. Photography film store, phased out. Bathroom attendant, replaced by a robot. Professional circus freak, no longer exists.
He was so unlucky with employment that he saw it as a sign from God that 30 years old was time enough to spend golfing and enjoying his “twilight years.”

His only viable source of income was sports betting, something he did modestly well in, but not enough to stay afloat as he foolishly idealized. Even the house he lived in was bought and paid for by his parents on his 21st. They foolishly thought that if they got him a house, it would give him enough independence where he could get a career going without the stress of paying rent and causing him to move back in with them. 9 years later, it had the opposite effect. While he didn’t move back in with his parents, he never really garnered a so-called career to speak of; the job he was currently quitting had been paying him high school teenager rates since he started there. So he wanted to retire from all that and, after all those tiny wins on the bets, he finally decided to spend it on his party.

Gerald was a people-pleaser. Gerald had no problems getting up and commuting, helping his fellow man, bending over backwards to get everything he felt like he’d earned in life. He had a job, a girlfriend, a car, his own house, everything he ever wanted, thanks to good old-fashioned hard work. His only flaw was that he was Rupert’s brother, and Rupert was about to turn 30. Gerald didn’t resent Rupert for his laid-back way of life; in fact, it was almost nonexistent in the eyes of Gerald. See, Gerald spent his whole life pleasing their parents, pleasing his bosses, pleasing everyone; he couldn’t possibly object to anything Rupert asked for. Could he? Not sweet Rupert. Sweet, stupid Rupert.
So when his brother’s birthday came up, Gerald had to get him the perfect present.

“Are your eyes still closed?” Gerald beamed as he nudged his brother through the front doorway of Rupert’s house.
“Yes. Of course.” Rupert replied with his hands covering his eyes.
Gerald continued to shepherd Rupert over to the corner left side of his already gigantic porch. Next to the doorway was a huge thing covered in a sheet.
“Ok open them!” Gerald instructed. As Rupert took his hands away, Gerald pulled the sheet off it. It was an old antique rocking chair; nothing like any rocking chair that Rupert had seen before. The wood resembled bone appendages; its color was somewhere between cream and brown, and there was a cushion with little sloths patterned all over it, which added a shred of comfortability to an already tough sell.
“Oh my god! Gerald, I love this!” Rupert cried. “See, you understand what I was talking about. You get this whole thing I’m going for.”
“I got it from some antique store,” Gerald replied. “The second I saw it, I knew it was very… you.”
“Why, I can face it into the street. Watch people walking past! My own personal theater of live performance.”
“You do like to people-watch.” Gerald stated. Rupert approached it and looked underneath.
“It says Belphegor.” He examined. “I wonder what that means.”
“It’s probably one of those wacky names they give it.” Gerald surmised. “Like that Wayfair company with all those human names.”
Rupert was about to sit on it.
“Do you know anything about who owned it before me?”
“Yeah, the guy before you died in it… apparently.” Gerald laughed. Rupert immediately changed his mind and stood back up.
“Oh god. You did… clean it down before you brought it here, right?”
“…Sure.” Gerald lied.
“I don’t know, I still feel weird about it. Do you know if it was a valued… personal item in the family?”
“They said that the guy never had a joyous moment while he was in that chair.” Gerald stated rather bluntly. Rupert looked it up and down.
“Ah, screw it. It’s mine now. Hey Ron! Come outside and look what Gerald got me! In fact! Let’s bring the cake out here.”

After an hour Rupert finally sat on his present. Everyone followed him out onto the porch and sang happy birthday, including their mother, who was the most ecstatic.
As far as Rupert was concerned, this was the greatest gift he’d ever received.

The next day, Gerald got a rather strange call from his brother.
“Gerald! It’s Rupert… your brother.”
“Oh hey, Rupert. How’d you go with cleaning up last night?”
“Yeah. Yeah good. Listen, man, you’re gonna need to come over. I have a bit of an emergency.”
“Emergency? What is it? Did you lock yourself out of your house again?” Gerald laughed. Silence on the other end.
“Yeah… It’s probably best that you come over. I can’t explain over the phone. And if I could, you probably wouldn’t believe me.”

When he got there, he saw Rupert sitting in the rocking chair with a very sour look on his face.
“I see you’re really utilizing that thing, huh?” He laughed. Rupert didn’t seem to share that sentiment. In fact, Rupert looked very afraid.
“It’s the strangest thing!” He stated. “I can’t seem to get out of this chair. I haven’t been able to since yesterday.”
Gerald cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
“Well, when I sat in it yesterday, for the cake, I just couldn’t get back up. Of course, I thought it might’ve been because I had too many drinks, so I sent everyone home thinking I had dead legs. But now… I don’t know what it is.”
“You’ve been in this chair the whole night?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to say. I haven’t been able to get out of it. It feels like there’s some… thing holding me down and preventing me from getting up. Luckily, I had my phone on me. It was on like 2%, so I called you as soon as I could.”
“Ok, umm… just calm down and we’ll get you out of it… somehow.”
Gerald and Rupert then spent the next 20 minutes looking at Rupert’s predicament as if they were trying to lift a couch through a very narrow doorway. Gerald then attempted to lift Rupert out of this infernal prison.
“Wait, stop. You’re bending my spine. Wait… ARRRHGGGH!!!” Rupert screamed.
“What? What do you want me to do?”
“Just… let me go for a second! Let me go,” Rupert cried. Gerald released him from his grip. “There’s got to be an easy way of doing this.”
“Should I get the saw?”
“And accidentally cut my leg? What are you, out of your mind?”
“I don’t know. I…” Gerald trailed off.
“Just get the saw. Get the saw and maybe like a drill or something. Some kind of drill.”
Gerald then sawed his way into the chair. The saw wouldn’t cut through it. He tried the drill; it short-circuited and broke down. He tried the saw again, but the tool just broke apart under its own force.
“I don’t understand. How is this possible?” Gerald pondered.
“I think right now we need to abandon the question of why this is happening, and focus more on how I get out of it.”

Eventually, every single emergency service was called to Rupert’s house. While the police and firefighters needed a little convincing to get over there (Gerald tried to fight through the obvious laughter coming from the other side), the ambulance people were the only ones who took it seriously. Eventually, they all showed up not because they wanted to help Rupert with his problem, but more out of curiosity. They wanted to see this thing for themselves. The firefighters brought out their very sharp axe, causing Rupert to squirm in his seat over fear that one wrong swing and he could very well lose his manhood. After the axe didn’t take, the police tried ‘shooting’ him out, which also didn’t work for obvious reasons.
“Well, it’s certainly not physical.” An onlooking doctor explained. He was looking at the chair as if it were a rare ancient artifact. “He hasn’t fused here; he certainly hasn’t been nailed. In fact, by all accounts there should be no physical reason that he should be confined to this chair.”
“So what is it?” Gerald asked.
“I’m really not sure. Was it something you ate, Rupert? What have you been eating in the last 24 hours?”
“Party food.” Rupert replied bluntly. He was already fed up with his newfound affliction and Gerald could tell.
“What kind of party food. Any drugs?”
“Just party food.”
“Huh.” The doctor stood up.
“What ‘huh’? What are you saying, Doc?”
“I might need to run a few more tests. You mind if I take a saliva and a blood sample from you?”
“Sure, but if you want a urine sample, everyone will need to turn around.” Rupert said, followed by laughter from the crowd.
“When was the last time you ate?”
“Yesterday. In fact, I could go for something right now. Anyone want any pizza?”
Suddenly fifteen hands went up.
“Figures. If I’m going to be subjected to humiliation, I might as well be paying for it. Say, Gerald.”
“Yes, Rupert?” Gerald replied, leaning down by his side.
“Be a dear and order about six pizzas. One of everything.”
“Are you sure you can afford that, brother?”
“Yeah, for sure. While I was waiting for you, I bet on the Scavengers game.”
“Scavengers? They haven’t won a game all season.”
“I know. But something in me told me to bet on them. And since the last time I checked, they were up 15 points!”
A few murmurs rippled through the crowd. Half a dozen people then checked their phones.
“He’s right!” One of the cops claimed. More murmurs.
“The odds on that must’ve been through the roof.” Another said.
“I stand to win two grand. So yeah, Gerald, if you can get that and some garlic bread. Garlic bread, anybody? Yeah, garlic bread, ok.”
Gerald, feeling like he should’ve been doing more, just nodded and got up.
“Sure, brother. I’ll get right onto it.”
“Love you,” Rupert replied flatly.

Later, after the show was over and everyone went home, Gerald brought a few things out for Rupert onto the porch. A side table, a six-pack of beers, a pack of smokes, and a phone charger plugged into an extension cord that led into the house.
“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep in the house?” Gerald asked, handing him a beer. “I don’t know if I like you being out here all night.”
“I was out here last night and was fine,” Rupert smirked. “Besides, it’s still warm out; I think it would be relaxing. I mean it’s not every day where you can just… not do anything, and get away with it.”
“Well, some people don’t have that luxury.” Gerald shrugged.
“Also, I need to write a grocery list of things I need you to get tomorrow.”
“You think you’ll still be here tomorrow?”
“I was this morning. Why wouldn’t I be again?”

Rupert was there the next day, and the day after that and the day after that. Eventually his parents came by. His mother said she was heartbroken that “My Rupert is in such a horrible state.” His father just laughed his ass off, saying it served him right.

Later that week, Gerald went over to Rupert’s with his groceries.
Doctor Johnson, the guy who ran his tests the other day, was there with him.
“Ahh, Gerald, right on time.” Rupert sang.
“I was just talking to the good doctor about this whole… what-have-you. He told me that ‘you might want to sit down for this ’; I was ready to smack him.”
“It’s the strangest thing.” Doctor Johnson shrugged. “His blood work came back fine. He doesn’t appear to have anything broken or dislocated. And he hasn’t been through any traumatic events recently.”
“Other than turning 30.” Rupert joked.
“You think this is all in his mind?” Gerald asked.
“That was my first guess, yes. See, there are certain types of catatonia from trauma. Some people are completely paralyzed; some people only get it from the waist down.”
“Doctor, you don’t understand. Gerald tried lifting me out of that chair, and it physically hurt me. Almost like my legs and spine were being moved in a way they shouldn’t.”
“Yeah, it was like he’s become one with the chair.” Gerald added.
“But that can’t be right. There must be some…” The doctor stroked his chin.
“Doc, I think we need to abandon the question of why this is happening and focus more on how we can get him out of it.” Gerald stated.
“My suggestion? Get a priest, or an exorcist. Have a good day, gentlemen.” Doctor Johnson then left.
“Rupert. What’s going on? I tried calling you about your groceries.”
“I must’ve slept in.”
“It’s 4 o’clock in the afternoon.”
“What do you want me to tell ya? I didn’t get any sleep last night.”
“Was it too cold? Damn it, Rupert. I knew this would happen.”
“No, no. It wasn’t cold. It’s just… you know. My ass hurts. My back hurts. And those DAMN KIDS ARE PLAYING THEIR LOUD MUSIC UP AND DOWN THE STREET!” Rupert yelled that last part, assuming that the kids in the neighborhood could hear him. “It’s that Donovan boy, I swear.”
“I can put you inside.”
“No, no, and watch television all day? I can do that on my phone. It’s not all bad, though.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t know; ever since I got stuck here, I’ve been having nothing but good luck. I’ve won $5000 in betting, I’m having all this fresh air I never thought I’d have, and the mailman hand-delivers my mail.”
“You won 5 grand this week?”
“Every single thing I bet on has won. At first I thought maybe it was just a coincidence. I mean, I’ve had big wins before, but not this consistent. And I used to do it with small stuff, like 1.5-to-1 odds. Now every risk I take pays off huge. I’m not even betting on the safe results anymore. Why do that when I can make more on the long shots?”
“Way to go, Rupert.” Gerald cheered, patting him on the shoulder. “See, if you had put this to good use in high school, you would’ve completed your grade 12.”
“I keep telling you. The school was terrified by my intelligence.”
“Ok buddy.” Gerald laughed. “Then look, I’ll make a few calls to get a priest…”
“Doctors. What do they know?” Rupert scoffed.
“Rupert, if this chair has something to do with this we-“
“The chair is fine. We don’t need some witch doctor-“
“Witch doctor? It’ll be a catholic priest-“
“And we don’t need them coming in and ruining what I have going here.”
Gerald looked at him.
“Oh I see what this is,” Gerald scoffed. “You’re worried that if a priest blesses the chair, then you’re going to lose your winning streak.”
“And so why ruin a good thing?”
“Rupert, you can’t be in a chair forever.”
“If it means winning so much money that I don’t have to work another day in my life, hell yeah I’m gonna stay in this chair.”
“At least let me bring you into the house.”
“Why are you obsessed with me going into the house? I love it out here.”
“You hate it out here.”
“I don’t… mind it out here.” Rupert compromised, trying to save face.
“Have it your way, brother.” Gerald sighed, handing Rupert his grocery bag. “But seriously, keep your phone on at all times. I was worried about you.”
“If I have any issues, I’ll let you know. Thanks for getting my sundries.”
“Anyway, I should really get back; otherwise Nicole is going to be wondering what’s happening.”
“I can’t believe you’re getting married.”
“Yeah, I’m still in awe of it myself.”
“I wonder how you’re going to get me there.” Rupert laughed. Gerald didn’t see the funny side.
“Don’t talk like that; you’ll be fine in no time.”
“No, it’s because I hate weddings. But while we’re on the subject of that. I really don’t see myself getting out of this chair anytime soon.”

Despite his apprehension, Rupert attended Gerald’s wedding, chair and all. Gerald did make one small change, however. He asked Rupert if he was happy to give up being the best man. Rupert agreed, believing that it would be a very odd thing to see, for all those involved, a man in a rocking chair making a toast.
After that, Rupert didn’t see his brother much for the next few weeks; he didn’t need to. He had the fresh air, all the food delivery that he could eat, and more money than he knew what to do with. He even made it on the news.

“We’re standing here live with Rupert Davis!” The female reporter said to her camera. “A man who, up until a few months ago, was able-bodied and penniless. But after sitting in this rocking chair. All that changed for him. Now, he’s a self-made millionaire, and he’s still not getting out of that chair. Now Rupert, tell us. How did this happen?”
“Well, Cynthia,” Rupert said smoothly. “It’s the darnedest thing. Can I say darn?”
“That’s probably the only thing you can say on Channel 6.” She smiled.
“So my brother Gerald. Hi Gerald.” He waved at Gerald in the crowd; Gerald waved back. “My brother, he bought me this rocking chair. And when I sat down, all of a sudden I just won everything. Sporting events, dog races, scratch and wins. I mean, I’d buy a lottery ticket but I feel like that wouldn’t be fair to everyone else.” He laughed; a real natural in front of the camera.
“Do you feel that winning all this money is the reason you haven’t left the chair? Are you worried you’re going to taint your luck should you get out of it?”
“See, I believe the chair is magic. I mean, I literally can’t get out of it, even if I wanted to.”
“Magic, really?” The reporter asked excitedly.
“Oh yeah, Cynthia. Most definitely.”
“So if you could get out of it, would you?”
“Well I talked to Gerald, and we figured that if the chair and the luck are related. If I get out of the chair, I might lose my winning streak. So, not a chance.”
“Fascinating.”
“Would you?” Rupert smiled.
“Probably not. Now I think the big question on everybody’s lips- certainly my lips- is… how do you go to the bathroom?”
Rupert laughed, followed by a moment of blushing.
“Yeah, we have a system for that.”
“Well, there you have it!” The reporter turned back to the camera and beamed. “This is Cynthia Allbright, Channel 6!”

After everyone had left, Gerald cracked open a beer with Rupert.
“You on TV. I never thought I’d see the day.” Gerald laughed.
“It’s exactly how I imagined it.” Rupert smiled. Gerald put the beer down.
“Listen, Rupert. I gotta talk to you. See… now that Nicole and I are married, we gotta figure out what we’re doing.”
“What are you trying to say, brother?” Rupert asked, looking slightly anxious.
“It means it… might not… be that easy to come over as much anymore.”
“What, you’re going to leave me?”
“No, no, I didn’t say that at all. I’m just saying that… perhaps you might want to consider a live-in housekeeper.”
“They’re not gonna understand my needs. They probably won’t even understand why I have the needs that I do.”
“Well, if you pay them enough, I’m sure-”
“I don’t want them; I want you. I want my brother. Tell you what. Why don’t you live here.”
“Yeah right.” Gerald scoffed.
“Why did you scoff? It’s a great idea!”
“No, I couldn’t do that to you.”
“Why not?”
“And use your bedroom? No way.”
“You can use the other bedroom if you like.”
“Ehh, I don’t know.”
“What if I buy you a house? Somewhere close by.”
“I can’t ask that of you.”
“Well, you’re not asking; I’m offering. Look, it’s either you move in here, or I get you a house. God knows I can afford it. Pick one, whatever option that will soothe your poor catholic guilt conscience, because I really don’t care.”
“… How big of a house. And Venetians, can we get Venetians?”
“Of course you pick that one. I’ve always said you were a bastard. But yes, I’m sure we can do that.”

And by late September, Rupert, who had accumulated up to 3 million dollars in bet wins, bought Gerald and Nicole a house that was one street over. He even paid Gerald $10,000 so he didn’t have to worry about making ends meet at work. After all, he had the money for it; so much so that the taxation department began questioning Rupert about how he would correctly file his new windfall. Not to mention the four betting websites accusing him of cheating; their claim was that he must have had some kind of insider information on the teams he bet on. They dropped the accusations when they found out he was a 30-year-old nobody confined to a rocking chair, but they still prohibited him from using their sites anyway. Only one website continued to do business with him and even made him a company sponsor; Rupert didn’t know whether they felt sorry for him or saw it as an excellent marketing strategy. “Luckiest Man on Earth’s official betting site!” As for the dog racing, he simply got his neighbor Harry to go down to the sports bar twice a week.
Things took a dark turn, though, as they so often do.
It was early October when Rupert was enjoying a crisp but not freezing night on his usual spot on the porch. His phone was on 1% battery, and as he reached for his charger, the extension cord snagged on one of the planks of wood on the floor. It jerked out of Rupert’s hand and fell to the ground—a couple of feet out of reach.
“Shit!” He hissed to himself. It wasn’t a great concern, though; he had his dinner and beverages all prepared ahead of time. He figured he could just wait it out until morning and ask the mailman to pass it over.

But then he heard it. A woman screaming her head off down the street. At first, Rupert was curious. Then he saw her limping, in a slow sprint, past his house.
“Come back here bitch!” A male voice, belonging to someone he couldn’t see, came from a distance. Then he saw the perpetrator's face—a dangerous-looking guy holding a hunting knife. Rupert did everything he could not to make a noise. But his stupid automatic porch light came on and shone directly onto the man.
“Who’s that?” He yelled out. Then he walked up to the garden path.
“Is it you, Rocking Chair?!” He screamed.
“No man, I don’t want any trouble. It’s… it’s an automatic light.” Rupert stammered out. The man walked up onto the porch.
“What the hell you looking at? I’ll kill you, close your eyes!” The man roared. Rupert did as he was told. The man leaned down next to Rupert, who, by this point, was shaking.
“What I do… is none of your FUCKING business. You hear me?! I oughta slice your throat right now.” With that, the man brought the blade up to Rupert’s face and lightly held it against his neck.
“Open your eyes.” Rupert didn’t have to; he already knew the blade was there, but he opened them anyway. “Did you hear what I said!”
Rupert nodded vigorously. The man looked at him.
“What are you, some kinda cripple?” He asked. Rupert nodded. The man took his knife away. “Understand something, cripple. Keep the porch light off at night. Because if I see a porch light on and I think you’re trying to incriminate me, I get scared. And if I'm scared, I don’t have to tell you how scared you’ll be.”
He turned and walked away before looking behind him.
“You didn’t see nothing.”

The next day, Gerald got a call from the police who told him about what happened.
“I want you to get me a gun. A big one. Like a shotgun. And security cameras all over the front yard.” Rupert rambled. He was still visibly shaken.
“You really want a gun?” Gerald asked.
“Yes. And we need extension cords longer than this sorry excuse. You know I could’ve died last night!”
“I know I can get a gun; I just… don’t know how I can get one for you specifically.”
“Take me down there; it should be fine. It’s this street, brother. It’s no longer safe outside.”
“So come inside!”
“No! I shouldn’t have to.”
Suddenly, one of the kids passed by the house.
“Hey, Mister Davis!” The kid called out. “You finally giving out candy this Halloween?”
“You go to hell!” Rupert roared.
“Ok so what we’re not going to do is curse at the children,” Gerald said condescendingly. “Especially after you said you wanted a gun.”
“Oh he doesn’t count. That Donovan kid is an asshole; he always says the most annoying things to me, like ‘Oh, how was your day?’ Screw him.”
Eventually, Gerald caved and got Rupert a double-barrel shotgun, right by his side.

Halloween came around. Although Rupert wasn’t prepared to blast away at kids (more so in case that crazy guy came back), he had foolishly assumed that having the shotgun by his side indicated that he was not handing out candy and that he meant it. This did little to deter the kids, since they thought it was part of whatever horror theme he was going for.
“Trick ‘r’ Treat.” A group of kids said in unison with their father in the background.
“No, I’m not doing Halloween, kids.” Rupert said bluntly. They all looked a little let down. A few of them walked away sadly.
“Yeah, nice going, Davis!” The father scowled.
“Get lost, Grant!” Rupert replied. “What, you think because I’m out here that I’m going to, just, give in? My condition is not your Halloween costume, pal!”
“What?” The dad asked.
“Oh just go away, alright?!”
Once most of the children cleared his porch there was another trick ‘r’ treater still standing on the steps and staring at Rupert intently. This one didn’t look like a kid. In fact, it didn’t look human at all. It was slouching and had what looked like a witch’s mask on: a long pointed nose, an ugly face, and great horns coming from its head.
“Nice costume,” Rupert said, admiring the realism. “Anyway, as I told the others, I’m not doing it.”
The figure just stared at him.
“You heard me! Get out of here! Get!” The figure walked away slowly and silently.

Later, Rupert wrote a sign that said, “No Trick ‘r’ Treaters. Please!” Naturally, a few kids wanted to defy the warning. Rupert learned this when a few 10-year-olds rolled up with no parental supervision.
“Trick ‘r’ Treat.” The head kid demanded, holding out his bag.
“Can’t you read?” Rupert sighed. “I’m not going to be tricking OR treating!”
“That’s not fair!” The kid stamped his foot.
“Fair? Who said life was fair?! I’ve been in this chair for months! Where’s my fairness?”
“You have to give us candy.” One of the other kids demanded, clearly unmoved by Rupert’s statement.
“I don’t have to give you shitttt. Where are your parents?” As Rupert looked out for any grown-ups that might’ve been standing from a distance behind them - as they usually do - these kids were quickly turning into an angry mob.
“That’s part of the rules!” The head honcho cried. “That’s the rules of Halloween! Now trick ‘r’ treat!”
“Rules? Look, some of you aren’t even wearing costumes! There is zero effort here!”
“That’s the rules of Halloween!” The kid repeated. “Now trick ‘r’ treat!”
“No trick ‘r’ treat!”
“TRICK ‘R’ TREAT!”
“NO TRICK ‘R’ TREAT!”
“Alright!” The head kid stepped back. “You asked for it, buddy. Men! Take position!”
“What are you doing?” Rupert asked, suddenly alarmed.
“Aim!” The kids pulled out eggs. “Fire!”
Dozens of eggs were catapulted in Rupert’s direction.
“Ah the shell cut me! Ow ow!” Rupert screamed as he was completely covered in broken shells and yolk.
“Trick ‘r’ treat, JERK!” The head kid scowled.
“Why you little…”
Rupert leaped out of his chair and tried to run after them, only for his legs to give out on him. He face-planted his garden path, while the kids laughed, threw him the finger, and ran away. Rupert turned around to look at the empty rocking chair, sitting vacantly on his porch. He was out of his chair. After months, he was no longer confined! He was free.
“How the-“ he began before stopping himself short; there was no time to ponder over the particulars at that moment. He had to go to Gerald’s house. He struggled to get up, legs stiff and back like jelly. As he straightened up, he moved his legs forward, left foot, right foot. He shuffled down the garden path and out into the street. He turned to walk down the busy suburban neighborhood, shifting past passing truck ‘r’ treaters who turned and either murmured to each other in disbelief or pointed and laughed.
“Got to get to Gerald. I’ve got to…” he muttered to himself.
“Cool Frankenstein walk, Mr. Davis.” The Donovan boy called out as he passed.
“Eat shit, Donovan!” Rupert hissed.
Rupert then turned the corner of the street. He was about to walk down it when he saw the crazy man who had attacked him weeks ago. Half a dozen police officers were holding the man down; one of them was tasing him over and over, doing little to deter him and only making him visibly angrier.

Rupert turned around and decided to go to the other corner of the street to get to Gerald’s house. Every nerve in his body gave him that fuzzy, electrical feeling inside him. Full-body pins and needles screamed out in every direction. He passed his house again before reaching the other corner. Everything in him told him to sit down and take it easy, but he had spent months sitting down and taking it easy. The time was now to move before whatever demonic thing in the world changed its mind. He moved down a couple houses, all the while thinking, “just another block, just another block.”

“Hey, look. He’s finally out of his chair. The guy who didn’t want to trick ‘r’ treat.” A voice came from one of the alleys. Out came the head trick ‘r’ treater that launched an egg attack on him. Only he didn’t have just four or five friends with him. Now there were almost a dozen kids behind him, all dressed in various Halloween costumes.
“He’s gonna tell on us.” One of them called out. Another one had a foam bat that, to a regular adult, wouldn’t pack a great wallop; but with Rupert’s condition, it could probably do more damage.
“Get him!” The ringleader ordered with a smirk. Suddenly, the kids ran after him, causing Rupert to turn back the way he came. His limping and shuffling turned into a kind of quick-paced hobble as he made his way back to his house. Angry children started gaining on him as the gap between them began closing. Then he tripped and fell, and they pounced on him; witches, vampires, ghosts and pirates all started kicking him and bringing the foam bat down onto his shaking body. He was only two houses away from his porch, so he began crawling away.
“Pick him up!” One of them cried. Four or five of them did their best to lift him like he was some unmanned island’s sacrificial animal ready to be put onto a spit roast. They brought him to his porch.
“Tie him to the chair!” The ringleader commanded with venom.
“No! No! Stop!!” Rupert cried out but was too exhausted to fight it. One of the kids dealt him a surprisingly powerful slug to the face.
“This will teach you.” Scowled the one who dealt the hit.
Suddenly, ropes surrounded him, wrapping around him and the rocking chair.
“Next time, be prepared.” The ringleader hissed. They all then ran off, leaving only the trace of a couple of distant giggles to signify they were there.
Luckily, these kids were no Boy Scouts, and their rope didn’t affect his ability to get his phone from his pocket. He found Gerald’s number and put it on speaker. It reached his voicemail.
“Gerald, they tied me up—these little shits in the neighborhood. But the most incredible thing happened. Come quick!”

Gerald had an early night, so he couldn’t get to his phone until the next day. When he heard the message, he rushed over to Rupert’s house.
“I smell like egg.” Rupert sulked.
“Jesus, what happened?” Gerald exclaimed, loosening the rope from Rupert’s chair.
“I got beat up by school children. I don’t want to talk about it. Listen, something happened last night. I got out!”
Gerald stopped untying the rope and leaned down beside Rupert.
“What are you saying, Rupert?”
“I got out!” He repeated, excitedly. “I actually got out of the chair! I… I don’t know how, I don’t know why. But I got up! I tried walking to your house, but I ran into the kids, and they brought me back and tied me up.”
“Rupert, that doesn’t make any sense. Why last night?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was because it was Halloween.”
“Oh yeah, I heard about something like this.” Gerald replied. He pulled out his phone and searched for a video. He pulled up the video.
“All Hallow’s Eve, or Halloween as it’s known these days, grants any trapped spirit to freely roam the earth for just one night,” The narrator explained, followed by an animated graphic. “Not for long, though. Once the night is over, the spirit must return to its place of confinement.”
“That’s it!” Gerald exclaimed. “Obviously whatever is holding you captive just… left its post, and freed you from it.”
“I saw a funny-looking guy staring at me last night. Didn’t look human. Maybe that was it.” He tried moving out of the chair to no avail.
“Guess it came back.”
“Does that mean I’m going to have to wait a year to get out again?”
“You’re actually going to try to get out? What about all the money?”
“Gerald, what good is money when I can’t enjoy it because I’m stuck here? I miss doing things. Anything. I miss going out and seeing people. I miss sleeping in a bed. You see that soccer field there?”
Rupert pointed at the one directly across the street from his house.
“Yeah?”
“As long as I’ve been living here, I’ve never been on that field. I've seen a game or two. Since being in this chair, I’ve watched every game, just hoping one day I could walk across the street and enjoy it. Enjoy… life… I guess. I need to get out of this chair. Even if it takes a year.”
“We’re going to make this work, ok?” Gerald patted him on the shoulder.
“Take me inside. I’m going to be spending a lot more time there, I think.”
So Gerald got Harry, the neighbor, to help him lift the chair in. They put Rupert in the bath, hosed him down, dried him off, and placed him next to the window inside.

The months went by. Rupert started getting fat, lethargic, and slow. When he wasn’t watching the television from his window, he was getting Gerald to turn him around to look out the window… at the soccer field. It took Rupert a while to find a delivery driver willing to enter his house to deliver his food. Many were understandably worried for their safety, since it was a very unusual request. Gerald’s wife made him food until he finally found a regular delivery driver he could rely on. He even had a small birthday celebration with their parents, Gerald and Nicole. But he urged them to celebrate only his birthday, not the one-year anniversary of the incident.

8 months had passed since the last time Rupert had been out on the porch; he stayed in for Spring, but when it hit Summer, he knew he couldn’t spend those three months inside. It felt odd to be back in his usual spot after such a long absence.

Finally, Halloween approached, and Rupert was prepared. So much so that he would even casually point his shotgun at the punks who harassed him last year, with intent to fire, all the while he waited for Gerald, who promised he’d be there. He waited, and waited, and waited. Hours went by and still no sign of him. Eventually, Rupert decided he couldn’t wait any longer, so he held onto the arms of the chair and rocked it back so hard that it launched him out of the chair and onto the garden path. Because he’d been seated longer than the last Halloween, he couldn’t stand at all. This didn’t deter Rupert; even though he landed on the concrete pretty hard, he dead-crawled down the garden path anyway.
“Nice zombie crawl, Mister Davis!”
“Donovan, I swear to god.” He snapped.
Finally, he got out onto the curb. If he had waited for a passerby, then maybe someone could’ve called an ambulance. But he kept on crawling until he was in the middle of the road, ready to flag down an oncoming car. Suddenly, a car came out of nowhere and hit the brakes to a screech. A man got out.
“My God, what happened to you?” The man leaned down.
“Get an ambulance.” Rupert croaked as he attempted to get up
“Hold on there, let’s get you sitting down. Is this your house? It’s probably safer to get you in there, I think
The man then lifted him and brought him to the front porch.
“It’s locked.” The man said. “Do you have a key?”
“Pocket.”
“Hold on, let’s put you down on this chair.”
“Nooo!” Rupert cried out. It was too late. The ambulance arrived, and so did Gerald. But too much time had passed, and once again Rupert was trapped.

“Where were you?!” Rupert yelled.
“I’m sorry, brother. I had to finish work,” Gerald explained, shrugging. “What with the baby and all. It’s hard to juggle everything.”
“Then what good are you.” Rupert waved his hand.
“What did you just say?” Gerald demanded.
“You heard me!”
“Ok, that’s it!” Gerald yelled. “For the last year I’ve been running around, tending to your every whim, and this is the thanks I get?”
“I got you a house, Gerald.”
“You got me a house, not out of the kindness of your heart, but because you needed me. Out of your own selfishness.”
“How dare you say that to me, ‘this is the thanks I get.’ You live comfortably, don’t you? You’re not like me. Some kinda circus freak to marvel at on the news.”
“Well, why should I devote my life to taking care of my brother every second of the day? It was like this before the chair, and it’s definitely like it now.”
“BECAUSE IT’S YOUR FAULT I’M IN THIS CHAIR!”
“… No. You don’t-”
“It’s true. You got me this gift. You insisted that I sit in it. It was your idea.”
“That’s not fair,” Gerald said softly, shaking his head. “You can’t possibly blame me for this. You told me you liked it! Neither of us knew this was going to happen!“
“And yet, it did. And now I’m stuck here for another year. Thanks to you!”
“Well, if that’s the way you want to be, then fine, I’ll go.”
“Good, go!”
“Goodbye, Rupert.” Gerald walked away.
“Fine! See if I care. Matter fact! I hope I never get out of this chair! I hope I stay in this chair till the day I die! How about that!” The only response Rupert got was the sound of the cicadas.

And that’s exactly what he did. Seasons went by. Halloween had been and gone. Rupert’s spite had outgrown his muscle strength, so he got a live-in housekeeper to get him up and around every Halloween before eventually getting tired of it. Year after passing year, he remained seated. Rupert sat in his chair for Christmases, family holidays, his 35th birthday, his father’s funeral. Gerald decided that, to stop this friction, he would be the first to talk. He was flat-out ignored. The last time Rupert saw him was at his mother’s funeral. By then, Gerald had two kids going into kindergarten and a third on the way, but Rupert still ignored him. That was the last time they saw each other.

Years turned into decades, decades turned into forgotten memories. And by that point Rupert had forgotten what his life was like before the rocking chair. He watched all the kids in the neighborhood move out and start their own families. He watched houses change, and the soccer field he once revered was bulldozed, with an apartment building built on top of it. He didn’t live life; he existed in one. Now, in his early eighties, he was still sitting there… with a blanket wrapped around him. A couple of kids on bikes rode past his house and heard him shouting something.
“Gerald.” He bellowed out. “Gerald?! Where’s Gerald!”

Gerald had been dead for the last ten years.

Between Love and Attachment

A friend once asked me, “What is the difference between love and attachment?”

Love is something gentle, something soft. A laugh, a smile, the feeling of a tremble inside your chest, a beautiful kind of nervousness, a gentle rise in temperature, as if you were breathing in fresh air.

Love is the sweetness of beginnings and an ending that leaves behind a beautiful taste. A feeling that is constant yet ever-renewing, flowing and light. It is calm when you are close, yet wild and intensely pleasurable when you are apart.

That is love.

As for attachment, it is storms and raging seas, crying and laughing, tears and joy, the trembling of a heart and its breaking, sadness, exhaustion, happiness, and longing.

You never know where all those bumps in the road come from, or how so many emotions can gather inside a single heart. And yet, through it all, you are content. You hold on to this choice.

Attachment.

Sara Cal 🥀✏️

What am I supposed to do with all this smoke?

My girlfriend told me if I didn't quit smoking, she was going to kick me out. Our house - her home. With just my “lucky” cigarette left, how could she expect me to simply throw it away?

I tried telling her, I'll stop smoking when you stop parking in the street. She told me she doesn't want the headlights shining into the windows on the house and wake me up after I fall asleep on the couch.

I don't fall asleep on the couch all the time. I mean, sometimes when I'm waiting up for her. It's been a little more often recently, but we both been picking up more shifts before the baby comes.

Ten years we both been smoking. That's how we met in the first place. High school sweethearts. High school degenerates. We sacrificed sitting in our broken homes for sitting in for a Saturday detention. From the moment we locked eyes, we knew we were each other's person.

Of course we waited til the afternoon after detention to make it official. But when we walked out of the bathroom together at the gas station next to the school. Something about the way she was adjusting her blouse just did it for me. The way she fidget with her top…I was hers, and she was mine, and I would do anything for her she'd ask.

That's when I bought a pack of Marlboro reds 100s. Flipped my lucky for the pack. She looked at me like I had two heads, and I told her, that's the one in the pack for when you got a bad day, and you just need something good to happen. That's why they call it a “lucky.”

She was always jealous of my smoke rings. But never gave me much grief for it. But if she had to quit for the baby, then we both had to quit for the baby. I promised her I would, so here I am, standing outside my doorstep looking for a match.

It was one more smoke for christ's sake! Is she really gonna get mad at me for at least finishing the pack? She said to throw it out, and I will… Right after this last one. Besides, it ain't like I'm the one with a uterus. Well, if I'm gonna smoke, then I'm going to at least try to enjoy it.

I usually smoke down to the filter, but I mean is one drag really the worst thing in the world? That's all it comes down to anyway, that last drag deep inhale of tar and smoke filling my throat and lungs like a flame winding its way through every orifice.

At that point, I can toss the rest of that “lucky” cigarette behind me and just move on with my life. I can watch the smoke drifting out of my mouth like the essence of everything my life has been for the past ten years.

I went inside, washed up, and figured I'd lay down on the couch until she got home.

What am I supposed to do with all this smoke?

I wasn't expecting that cigarette was gonna lead to a house fire. It was that new kind, with the new more flame retardant paper for the stick or whatever. Usually I'm smoking these things down til they're beat!

But here I am, trying to figure out what I'm going to tell my girlfriend. We have fire insurance, but there are things in that house that can't be replaced. Memories were made there. Even if I did quit, how was she gonna let me stay here with her?

The firefighters were putting it out. I got out pretty quickly. I thanked god I fell asleep on the couch. But it was three o'clock in the morning, and I never heard her come home.

I looked over to the street. Our car was sitting in that spot. I spun back around and saw a firefighter carrying out a limp body. They tried to revive her.

What am I supposed to do with all this smoke?

When I was in grade 1, my class was about to start arts and crafts, and we were asked to pull out our scissors from our desks. This one girl couldn’t find her scissors in her desk, so the teacher made all the kids look in their desks to try and find these scissors.

I looked in my desk and I didn’t have them (which I already knew I didn’t have them because I didn’t steal them). I then poked my head up and told my teacher that “they ain’t in my desk” as I’m climbing back up from the floor to take a seat at my desk. And my teacher yelled “CHECK AGAIN!”. She then proceeds to tilt my desk and dump all my stuff out and onto the floor! I was baffled and I was trying so hard not to cry (I was 6 mind you).

She then proceeds to tilt about 5 other boys desks, randomly around the room, sending all their stuff/belongings all over the floor as well.

During the chaos of it all, where the 6 of us boys are frantically putting our stuff back in our desk that is all over the floor now. The EA (support staff) who was working with the special needs student at the back table in the corner of the classroom pipes up and says, “Oh sorry, are these they scissors that you are looking for” as she is holding them up for all of us to see.

Apparently the EA “grabbed them off a students desk” and “didn’t think they belonged to anyone”.

I’m about to turn 27 now and for whatever reason that moment has always stuck with me and it pisses me off whenever I think about it.

Hi y'all, I'm back with another story from my time working at a very popular theme park in Florida. A magical rat planet of sorts. This situation was bizarre and happened when I worked in attractions. It was a late fall evening and it was dark out. We stayed open for extended hours. Occasionally, the park stayed open a few extra hours for shareholders or Rat Planet hotel and affiliated hotel guests. On that particular night, it was for hotel guests. Regular guests left at the normal closing time while hotel guests used their room keys to access after hour attractions, stores and restaurants. The fast pass machines were even set to only recognize Rat Planet and affiliated hotel keys.

Due to it being really slow, I was placed alone as Line Greeter. The stand-by line was closed via chain and only the fast pass and single rider lines remained open. A family approached me consisting of a Dad, mom, a small child and a very young infant in a stroller. The woman looked frantic as she approached and asked about a rider swap. A rider swap was a fast pass ticket given to a parent waiting with a young child or disabled person while the rest of their party entered the attraction. The swap allowed them to bypass a long wait once it was their time to ride. Before answering her, I politely asked to see their room key.

We were instructed to ask this as ONLY Rat Planet hotel guests were allowed to access anything after hours. The woman became instantly irate demanding to know what I was talking about. I explained to her that only hotel guests could access the ride and that I needed to see a hotel room key to verify before entry. The woman then turned red, started shaking in anger and started yelling. This all happened in a minute's time. I was taken aback and couldn't respond. Her husband just stared at us apprehensively, clinching the baby stroller extremely tight with one hand while holding the young child's hand with the other.

The little kid looked scared as she screamed about not understanding what I was talking about? Why did I need to see anything and why she couldn't just be let in? She was so unreasonably hostile and angry. I felt that something was wrong with her as the situation didn't require all that extraness. I remained calm and polite which made her more hostile. She screamed that they had obtained a fast pass earlier and she threw it at me. It was a thin piece of thermal paper that didn't go far and just floated down. The pass landed on the ground and we both just stared at it for a few seconds before she started yelling again about speaking to a manager. I called over the walkie talkie and a coordinator came out.

The woman told her I had been rude and disrespectful. This was false and her husband just looked down and remained quiet even when she looked at him for backup. My coordinator asked what I had done? She screamed that I wouldn't let them in and kept asking for verification. My coordinator explained I did what I was supposed to do and that she would need to produce her hotel room key before entrance. The woman angrily unzipped her bag and shoved a Rat Planet hotel key at my coordinator. I looked at the woman briefly and she became hostile again screaming that I was looking at her crazy. My coordinator told her I was just standing there and asked if she wanted to enter or not.

She went over, whispered aggressively to her husband before snatching the little kid and storming past me through the line. My coordinator had walked away by that point leaving me alone with the woman and then her husband who stood to the side refusing to make eye contact. Listen, I have a degree in psychology and can recognize "signs" of instability. It would be extremely unethical to diagnose someone not under my care. However, one doesn't need to be a professional to understand that something was seriously wrong. I couldn't be angry with her because she seemed unstable. Her infant was very young, too young in my opinion to be at a park but that's not my business. I thought maybe she was dealing with after birth hormonal imbalance. Her husband seemed defeated and her young child frightened. It was such a weird and uncomfortable situation.

Selected moments from NDE experiencers sharing what changed, what stayed with them, and how they see life differently afterward. Full episodes are linked in the video description.

10 NDE Experiencers Share What Changed Afterward

Previously

As another witness came forward with answers about that fateful night, Kylie and Maureen found themselves growing closer as secrets from their pasts emerged. Elsewhere, Michael made a dangerous mistake, while Yvonne's world was turned upside down.

Episode 10 Preview

One Slater faces a shocking truth. Kylie and Maureen's unlikely bond grows stronger. And as the Jenkins day goes from bad to worse, Nicola is left reeling by a devastating discovery.

13/1/1999 Wednesday

———

07:09AM. The Strip. Shawcross General Shop

———

Upstairs in their flat above their corner shop, Yvonne Shawcross lays in bed slowly stirring awake.

Yvonne sighs and slowly sits up. Her dull light pink thigh length nighty flows around her body in the airy room. She gets up and slowly walks over to the dresser at the bottom of their bed where a small TV standa, as well as Michael's aftershaves, Yvonne's jewellery and perfume. That sort of stuff.

She opens the drawer, and looks at what's there.

Fuck it

She doesn't fancy making an impression today.

Today is...different. After last night...she feels different.

———

Downstairs. 07:11AM

———

In the actual shop, its quiet. A fridge full of drinks hums in the corner, a radio crackles quietly behind Michael, and the sound of life outside carries by.

But the noise around Michael is nothing to compare to the noise in his head. He sits there at the counter, feeling like the world's worst husband.

Guilt ridden. He cannot stop thinking about Mitchell. About Yvonne. About last night. About what he's done.

His face is withdrawn. Heavy with guilt and regret.

The fuck have I done? She doesn't deserve this

He sits there, hating himself. But...torn? His head is all over the place. Since he got back to the shop last night, he hasn't been the same. Yvonne even noticed

———

Upstairs. 07:12AM

———

Yvonne has thrown on some casual jeans, trainers, and a baggy jumper. The day looks like its going to need one.

She slouches over to the small bathroom off to the side of their room, turns the cold tap on the sink, and splashes her face. Forcing herself wide awake.

She walks over to the small black bin where she steps a little peddle down and the lid pops up. She's about to drop the tissue ball in the bin when a box catches her eye.

The pregnancy test...its still in there

Fuck. What if Michael seen it?

What if he hasn't?

She reaches down into the bin, picks the box out, checks that the positive test is till in there, it is, and she pockets the small box in her bra, under her dark purple thick jumper. It isnt noticeable. She drops the tissue in the bin, and heads downstairs.

She walks through their bedroom, out the door them through their open living and kitchen area, opens the flat door, and heads down the stairs.

At the bottom of the staircase, is narrow. A small space. Where on the other side of the door, is the shop. The business. And Michael.

She takes a deep breath, sighs. And opens the door—

———

Downstairs. 07:14AM

———

Michael looks up from the counter and immediately a smile jumps on his face. A fake one...

Michael: "Alright love?" He asks with a smile

Yvonne also has a smile on her face

Yvonne: "Yeah. Yeah good thanks. You uh...could've woke me, you know?"

Michael: "Eh. You looked peaceful. Didn't want to disturb you. Plus, wanted to just have some quiet time while opening up the shop" he smiles at her.

Yvonne smiles.

Yvonne: "Fair enough. You...you seem in good spirits this morning. You feeling better?"

Michael: "'Better'?"

Yvonne: "Yeah. Last night, when you got back from your drink with Eddie you– you seemed off. Quiet"

Michael's face faulters briefly but he quickly masks it.

Yvonne: "Did you fall out with him or something?"

Michael: "Oh i just...i was just tired. Couldn't wait to crawl into bed beside you"

He smiles at her sweetly.

Michael: "Come 'ere"

Yvonne walks right up to the counter with a small smile.

Michael leans in for a kiss and she kisses him.

They briefly kiss on the lips.

Michael: "I love you. You know that dont you?"

Yvonne: "Course I do, silly. Married me didn't you?"

She giggles

They both look at each other, smiling. It's almost peaceful. Then–

DINGALING

The bell above the door jingles as it opens and a cool biting breeze cuts in.

It's Maureen, pulling on her wheelie shopping trolley. Wearing her light blue coat and thick classes

Yvonne: "Morning Maureen"

Maureen: "Hiya Yvonne love"

Michael: "Alright Maur?"

Maureen: "Yeah, yeah. Yeah ta. Cor it's nippy out there"

Maureen and Michael start chit-chatting and Yvonne slips out the front door where Maureen just came in through

———

07:19AM. The Strip. Outside

———

The local shopping parade, also known as "The Strip" stands sprawled across this large concrete slabbed field in Marlas Estate. Home to the post office, corner shop, the hardware store, and the chemist. Every other shop on the strip is boarded up.

It's gotten colder since Yvonne got up. She pulls her arms around herself, fighting the cold, and walks around the side of the building where large green dumpster bins are. Massive ones.

She quickly looks around her, sees no-one, pulls out the pregnancy test box from her bra, looks at it, thinking, and then drops it in the bin and covers it with more rubbish. Properly disposing of it this time.

She walks away from it and then turns the corner, to the front of the shopping parade when she bumps into Sunita.

Yvonne: "SHIT!—"

Sunita: "Oh! Yvonne- im sorry! Didn't see you there"

Sunita giggles

Sunita: "You okay darling? How are you feeling? I was just coming in to buy some milk, and...well...to–"

Yvonne: "To check on me?"

Sunita nods

Yvonne: "I'm- I'm fine thank you Sunita"

Yvonne briefly says before trying to head inside, but Sunita purposefully steps in her way.

Sunita: "And what about your..." she nods at Yvonne's stomach

Yvonne glances around again, and pulls Sunita to the side of the building, where the bins are.

Yvonne whispers: "I...yeah. I'm pregnant"

Sunita gasps and Yvonne shooshes her

Sunita: "Sorry! Sorry!" She whispers

Sunita: "Does Michael know?"

Yvonne: "No. And it's staying that way. Or at least for now"

Sunita: "Why? If-...if you dont mind me asking..."

Yvonne: "Well because I...I dont know what im going to do"

Sunita: "Do you know what you want to do?"

Yvonne: "I think i know what I want to do..."

Sunita looks at her

Yvonne: "Abort it"

Sunita purses her lips and sighs through her nose.

Sunita: "Well...it is your choice after all. But are you sure you dont want to tell Michael about it? I mean you never know, he could be thrilled to be–"

Yvonne: "Sunita, please" Yvonne holds her hand up and stops Sunita talking

Sunita does

Yvonne: "I just...I need time to think. I have no idea what- what to expect"

Sunita nods in understanding.

Yvonne: "I hid the test in the bin back there"

Yvonne whispers as she tilts her head backwards to the bins

Sunita: "Well...whatever you decide, you know where I am if you need someone to talk to. Or anything. Okay?"

Yvonne sighs in relief

Yvonne: "Yeah...yeah. Thank you Sunita" she smiles.

Sunita: "Of course" she smiles back

—

Sunita and Yvonne both walk into the shop, where Maureen is getting served by Michael.

She bought the usual, milk, butter, newspapers, teabags, and a pack of Chesterfield Red...

Yvonne notices

Yvonne: "Didn't know you smoked them Maureen. Always thought you smoked bacci"

Maureen: "Oh- yeah- no i do. I just...its for a friend" she smiles at Yvonne

———

07:36AM. Maureen's Home. Number 41.

———

In the dated and lived-in living room, Kylie sits on the sofa- her current makeshift bed, and stares at the texts From Gaz that she hasn't answered. The texts asking where she is.

She sighs, and puts her phone down on the table.

As she does, the front door behind the sofa opens and Kylie jumps around.

Maureen walks in out from the cold, pulling her now full trolly.

Maureen: "It's okay Kylie, love. Just me"

Kylie sighs: "Yeah. I know" she says quietly

Maureen closed the door behind her and takes her coat off and hangs it up on the rack beside the door.

Maureen: "You dont need to be so on edge here. You're safe. You're fine"

Kylie: "I know. Just...don't know where I'm safe anymore"

A loud silence sits there and Kylie tries to cover it with humour

Kylie: "Dramatic. I know" she giggles quietly

Maureen pulls out the pack of fags that she bought from the shop

Maureen: "Here. Got these for you"

Kylie: "Aw cheers. You're a star"

Kylie says, reaching behind her and grabbing them from Maureen.

Maureen: "You want to get out of the house. Being couped up in here ain't gunna do you too much good. Even if it is where you feel safe. Some fresh air will do you well"

Kylie: "I'd rather not. Can't be arsed with avoiding everyone i know"

Maureen: "I know. But still. Come on, I'll take you to The Arms. Get a proper drink down you, calm your nerves a bit"

Kylie: "Drinking in public? I'm good. Thanks anyway"

Maureen sighs

Maureen: "Look, love. Your Nathan isn't gunna be round 'ere is he?" She asks rhetorically.

Kylie just looks up at her

Maureen: "Well?"

Kylie: "No. Prob'ly not" she mutters

Maureen: "Right" she sighs

Maureen: "Soon as I've put these away" She nods to the shopping

Maureen: "I'm getting you out the house. Even if it's for ten minutes"

Kylie nods, not having the energy to fight back anymore than she already has.

———

11:14AM. Mitchell's Flat. Flat 34, Marlas Flats, Marlas Estate

———

In the only tower block of flats on the estate, lives Mitchell Thomas. In flat 34. The tower is tall, standing intimidatingly at the end of one of the many streets on the estate. Looming over much of the estate.

The usual stereotypical working class council tower of flats.

At the top of the tower, you could see the entire estate from there. Everything. The Strip, the pub, the train tracks that partly go overhead of some of the estate, Maureen's, The Slaters, The Jenkins, and more.

Inside, Mitchell's flat isn't exactly what you might expect from a typical young lad who lives alone.

Its clean. Tidy. Modest. Almost nice. By Marlas Estate's standards anyway. Especially by the standards of the rest of the flats. This is probably one of the nicest looking flats in the whole estate alone. And it's not even too special. Its literally just tidy.

He was clearly brought up to be tidy.

Inside the small but bright and airy living room, a dark brown leather sofa sits beside a window that looks down to the street below, to where Michael had dropped him off last night. When...when it happened.

The second time they slept together.

The flat screen silver framed TV sits in the opposite corner of the room, opposite the sofa, blasting clubland hits of the 90s. He's cleaning the living room up, putting last night's Chinese takeout away, cleaning stains off the table.

Bopping his head to the loud music, clearly in a good mood. Glad about last night with Michael. Almost the exact opposite to what Michael feels about it.

Smiling, he texts Michael

Mitchell: To Michael: "Thx 4 last nite. Loved it :P"

He smiles and giggles to himself before clicking "send".

Sent.

———

11:16AM. The Strip. Shawcross General Shop.

———

Around the side of the Strip, Michael leans against the wall where the bins are and smokes a cig. Hiding from Yvonne. He promised he'd given up.

He takes a puff and his phone vibrates in his pocket. He takes it out and sees the text from Mitchell. Rolls his eyes and sighs to himself.

He pockets his phone, ignoring the message, not needing a reminder. And heads back inside

After flicking the fag, he walks back inside to the shop.

———

12:58PM. St Anne's Hospital. Katie's Room.

———

Katie is propped up in her hospital bed, looking considerably better than she did the last time anyone thought she might never wake up. Jenna sits beside her, while Gavin occupies a chair near the window. Julie is fussing with something on the bedside table.

There's a knock at the open door.

Before anyone can answer, Danielle appears, carefully helping Kelly through the doorway. Kelly is on crutches, moving slowly and with a look of tremendous concentration, as though every step is an argument she's determined to win.

Julie: "Oh, for God's sake"

Kelly: "Hello to you an' all"

Katie's face lights up.

Katie: "Kelly!"

Kelly: "Alright, you?"

Katie: "Look at the state of ya!"

Kelly: "You're no oil painting yourself!"

They both laugh. It's the first proper, uncomplicated laugh anyone's heard in the room for a while.

Katie: "Come 'ere!"

Kelly: "I'm tryin', ain't I?"

Kelly attempts to make her way over to the bed. Danielle keeps a firm hand on her arm, guiding her around the chair.

Danielle: "Steady. Mind the table"

Kelly: "I can see the bloody table"

Gavin snorts. Jenna smiles to herself.

Julie, however, is less amused.

Julie: "Danielle, what were you thinking?"

Danielle: "Here we go"

Julie: "She's supposed to be resting!"

Kelly: "I'm standin' right here, Mum"

Julie: "Yes, and you're supposed to be doing as little of that as possible!"

Kelly: "I've been sat on my arse for days!"

Julie: "And you can carry on sitting on it for a few more!"

Danielle: "I did try telling her that"

Julie turns on her.

Julie: "And yet here she is!"

Danielle: "Because she wouldn't shut up about wanting to see Katie! Honestly mum I've had it all morning. Katie this, Katie that, 'when are we going, why aren't we going, am I sure she's awake, am I sure she's alright'. I said no to her about six times. By the seventh, I thought it'd be easier to bring her here than listen to her going on about it for another hour"

Kelly: "Well that's a load of bollocks"

Danielle: "Is it?"

Katie is laughing again, shaking her head against the pillow.

Katie: "Oh, God. I've missed this"

The words soften the room for a moment.

Kelly looks at her properly now. Past the laughter, past the teasing, taking in the hospital bed, the tiredness in Katie's face and the fact that she's actually here, awake and talking.

Katie does the same with Kelly. The crutches. The stiffness in her movements. The bruising that hasn't quite faded.

Their smiles become smaller, more sincere.

Kelly: "You look better than I thought you would"

Katie: "Cheers"

Kelly: "I mean it. You had everyone worried"

Katie: "Sorry bout that"

Kelly: "Don't be daft. Cant help being an attention seeker can you?" She teases

Katie reaches for her hand. Kelly takes it, leaning carefully against the side of the bed.

Katie: "I'm glad you're alright"

Kelly: "Me too"

They squeeze each other's hands.

Julie watches them, her irritation with Danielle temporarily forgotten. Jenna looks away, giving them the privacy of pretending not to be moved. Gavin clears his throat and shifts in his chair.

Gavin: "Right. Anyone want a cup of tea, or are we all going to start crying?"

Jenna: "You can make yourself useful and get us one"

Gavin: "I'm your brother, not a slave"

Jenna: "You're a pair of legs"

Gavin: "Charming, that"

Danielle: "I'll come with you. Before they find another job for me"

Danielle and Gavin leave the room, bickering quietly about whether the hospital tea is worth drinking. Julie pulls a chair closer to the bed.

Kelly eases herself into it, arranging her crutches beside her

Katie: "So. What d'you remember?"

Kelly's expression changes slightly.

Kelly: "Not much at first. Bits an' pieces. The road. The music. Jamie driving like a maniac"

Jenna: "Kelly—"

Kelly: "What? He was. You weren't in the car"

Jenna lets it go.

Kelly: "I remember him screaming something. Then he just... swerved. Straight across. No warning, nothin'. One minute we're going along, next minute he's turning the car like he was trying to get out of the way of something"

Katie: "Yeah"

Kelly looks at her.

Kelly: "You remember that?"

Katie: "I remember...he gasped. Like something was there. Then he swerved. I thought he was going to hit something, or that something was coming towards us"

Kelly: "That's what I thought"

Neither speaks for a moment.

Katie: "Why did he do it?"

Kelly shakes her head.

Kelly: "Don't know"

Katie: "He didn't lose control, did he? I mean, it didn't feel like that. He swerved on purpose"

Kelly: "That's exactly what I've been thinking"

Jenna: "You don't know that for certain"

Kelly: "We were both in the car, Jenna"

Jenna: "I know, I'm just saying, you were in an accident. You were hurt. Things happen quickly. You might not have seen everything"

Kelly: "I know what I saw"

Jenna falls quiet.

Julie looks between the two girls, concerned by how quickly their recollections have brought them back to the crash.

Julie "Alright. That's enough of that for now. You can talk about it another time"

Katie: "I'm alright, Mum"

Julie: "I know you are" she smiles

For a moment, they sit together in silence. Not particularly comfortable silence, but the sort that comes from knowing someone else remembers the same thing you do.

Then Katie's expression brightens a little.

Katie: "Anyway. What's been going on out there?"

Julie glances at Jenna

Katie: "What?"

Katie: "What? I've been stuck in here for God knows how long. I want to know what's happening. Has the usual drama kicked off yet, or have you lot managed to behave yourselves for five minutes?"

Julie: "Oh, you know what it's like out there" she waves it off

Katie: "That's not an answer"

Jenna: "Nothing you need to worry about" she quickly replies. Almost defensively

Katie looks at her.

Katie: "That's even less of an answer"

Kelly shifts in her chair.

Kelly: "Well, there is one thing—"

Jenna: "Kelly"

Kelly stops.

Katie looks from one to the other.

Katie: "What?"

Kelly: "Nothin'"

Katie: "Don't do that"

Kelly: "Do what?"

Katie: "That. When everyone's got something to say and suddenly nobody wants to say it"

Julie: "Katie, love, you've had a lot to deal with—"

Katie: "Mum, I'm not made of glass"

Julie: "Nobody said you were"

Katie: "Then tell me what's happened! I'm not stupid. Something has"

Jenna shoots Kelly a warning look. Kelly ignores it.

Kelly: "Someone's burnt the burgervan down"

Katie stares at her.

Katie: "What?"

Kelly: "The catering trailer. It's gone. Burnt right to the ground"

Julie: "Kelly!"

Kelly: "What? She asked!"

Jenna: "We were going to tell you when you were feeling a bit better"

Katie: "When I was feeling a bit better? You're telling me our burgervan has been burnt down, and nobody thought to mention it?"

Julie: "Darling, we didn't want to upset you"

Katie: "Upset me? It's our fucking livelihood, Mum!"

Her voice is suddenly so loud that Julie instinctively reaches for her arm.

Julie: "Katie, please. Keep your voice down"

Katie: "Don't tell me to keep my voice down! We've lost everything! Everything we've worked for, and I'm lying in a hospital bed while some fucking bastard gets away with it!

Julie: "We haven't lost everything"

Katie: "Oh, haven't we? What's left, then? Tell me! What have we got left?"

Julie struggles to find an answer that won't make things worse.

Jenna: "We'll sort something out'

Katie: "With what money Jen? We're skint! We're on our arse. Fuck all to our name"

Julie: "We'll manage"

Katie: "How?!"

Her voice cracks on the word. The anger is still there, but underneath it is the sheer helplessness of being trapped in a hospital bed while her life outside falls apart.

Jenna: "See what you've done?"

Kelly: "I'm sorry"

Katie turns to her

Katie: "What for?" You didn't burn it down, did you?"

Kelly: "Well no"

Katie swallows, staring at the blanket across her legs.

Katie: "Who did it?"

Jenna: "We don't know for certain"

Katie: "But you've got an idea"

Kelly: "We think it could be Jamie's lot. His family"

Katie seethes in rage and disbelief

Julie: "Listen to me. I know you're angry. You've every right to be angry. But you've only just come round, love. You've been through enough already"

Katie looks away, her jaw clenched.

Julie: "We're here. All of us. We're going to deal with it together, alright? Whatever's happened to the van, whatever comes next, you're not on your own. We'll bounce back together. We always do"

Kelly: "And it's not like we've got no money coming in is it? Jen and Dani are both still working, so..."

At that, Jenna masks the look on her face and the fact that she indeed doesn't have a job anymore. And plays along for everyone's peace of mind

Katie says nothing.

Julie gently smooths the blanket near her daughter's hand.

Julie: "Please, darling. Just breathe"

For a few seconds, Katie seems incapable of doing anything else but stare at the wall. Then, slowly, she draws a breath. Another. The fury hasn't disappeared, but she's no longer trying to fight the entire world from her hospital bed.

Kelly reaches for her hand again.

This time, Katie lets her take it.

The room settles. Jenna sits back down. Julie remains beside Katie, her hand resting reassuringly on the bed.

Then—

KNOCK, KNOCK

Everyone turns towards the door.

A woman in a light grey suit appears in the doorway, flashing a polite smile as she looks around the room.

It's DCI Channing.

Channing: "Well. I'm glad to see you've got a full house, Katie. I was hoping to chat to you directly but seeing how you and Kelly are both here, mind if i talk to you both?"

That question is more of a statement rather than asking for permission, as DCI Channing steps into the room and sits amongst everybody anyway. Already pulling out her notepad and pen.

———

2:14PM. The Victoria Arms Pub.

———

Tucked around the corner behind the bar, Paula is leaning against the wall, on the phone. Blocking one ear from the noise of the pub, and the other pressed against the phone's earpiece.

She's on the phone to her sister, Rebecca, who's living up north in the cotswolds. Away from city life and in the tranquility of nature and village charm.

Paula: "No- No I'm alright. Just...stressed that's all"

Rebecca: "You sure?"

Paula: "Yeah"

Rebecca: "You sure? Because I could always come down there for a few–"

Paula: "No-no sis you're fine. Honestly"

Rebecca: "Paula i really–"

Paula: "Beck, really. You dont need to. I just needed to...unload on someone is all"

Rebecca: "Mm. Well you know my door is always wide open for you, baby sis, alright?"

Paula: "I'll hold you to that" she half jokes.

Eddie peeks his head around the corner and whispers to Paula;

Eddie: "Paula, love can I have a hand?"

Before disappearing to the bar again

Paula: "Right. Better head off sis. Eddie needs me"

Rebecca: "Cor i dunno why you signed up for that lifestyle I don't"

Paula: "You and me both" she giggles

Paula: "Aleight then, tata"

Rebecca: "Bye"

Paula hangs the phone up on the wall and walks over to the bar.

As Paula steps into the bar with Eddie, he nods to some punters who are waiting at the bar. Along with Tony, standing at the front with a grin and a gold tooth showing.

Tony: "Alright, pretty?"

Paula grins but keeps her cool.

Paula: "What can I do you for, Tony?"

———

2:16PM. St Anne's Hospital. Katie's Room.

———

The door to Katie's room barely finishes closing behind DCI Catrin Channing before everybody starts talking about her.

Katie: "Jesus i thought she'd never leave"

Danielle: "Same"

Jenna: "S'pose she is just doing her job guys" she tries to remind everyone

Gavin: "Fat lot of good she's doing. We still have no idea who burnt the burgervan down or why Jamie swerved"

Jenna nods in defeat

A comfortable silence sits there, everybody taking a breather after a questioning session that felt like it went on for a full 24 hours.

Jenna's the first to speak up

Jenna: "Right, im heading off home and Kelly, I'm taking you with me. I dont want to hear a word about it"

Kelly: "Fine" She mutters under her breath

Danielle: "You know what, I'll come with you actually. Don't mind do you mum? Katie?"

Julie and Katie both say no in unison.

Gavin: "I won't be far behind, now"

Jenna: "Alright then" she mutters as she helps Kelly up out of her seat.

———

2:19PM. St Anne's Hospital. Jamie's Room.

———

Jamie's room is dark, and quiet as usual, except for the occasional rhythmic beeping coming from many of the wiring, tubes and machines surrounding him like Christmas decorations.

Nicola and Barry both sleep in chairs beside his bed, while Gaz stands barely awake, leaning against the hospital window. Staring at his brother who's being kept alive by machines.

Tasha and Oscar are both sleeping top and tail on the small, two-seater sofa underneath the window beside Gaz.

His eyes are drifting close, then a familiar figure walking past the window that looks into the hallway suddenly jolts his eyes open wide. Its DCI Channing.

He suddenly pushes himself off the windowsill and strides to the door, yanks it open and steps out into the hallway.

———

Hospital Hallway

———

Gaz: "Oi" He shouts down to Catrin

She turns

Channing: "Oh, Gaz. Hi"

Hey completely ignores her introduction and walks towards her like she owes him something.

Gaz: "You here to arrest those slappers that put my brother in a coma then or what?"

Channing: "Mr Jenkins–"

Gaz: "Oh drop the bullshit. Why hasn't anyone been arrested yet? My brother wouldn't have put himself in—"

Channing cuts him off: "Gaz, your brother was the one driving the car. And I have three witnesses– the three people in the car with your brother, say that he purposefully swerved but they dont know why"

Gaz: "They're lying" he immediately says

Channing carries on: "That tells me that there was a reason he swerved. Perhaps to avoid something or maybe someone. If anything, your brother, and the others, will be charged for driving under the influence, reckless driving and underage drinking. Charges nonetheless but nothing as major as you'd expect"

Gaz: "And what about that burgervan that burnt down the other day? You think that was me? Eh?"

Channing goes to speak but Gaz cuts her off again

Gaz: "You lot are shit at your job. Don't do nothing but get up in people's faces and then do fuck all when it comes to it"

Channing: "Gaz—"

BEEP beep. BEEP beep.

Cuts through the silence that's left, and rings through the hallway. Its ringing from Jamie's room.

Within seconds nurses and doctors leg it into Jamie's room and Barry, Nicola and the kids can be heard screaming. Its chaos.

Gaz leaves Catrin and runs back towards Jamie's room. As he reaches the door, they fly open and Barry, Nicola, Tasha and Oscar are being pushed out by doctors.

Gaz: "Mum! Mum! Dad! What- what's going on what is it!?"

Nicola: "WHAT'S HE DOING!? WHAT–"

Barry: "Help him for fuck's sake help him!!"

Tasha: "DAD!"

Oscar: "Gaz it's Jamie! He's shaking!"

A skinny, older and tired looking Doctor with balding hair and a dark grey beard and black glasses speaks up over the chaos to Barry, Nicola and Gaz.

Dr: "Please step away! We're trying everything we can! Stay here!"

Hey says directly to them before heading inside Jamie's room and closing them out, leaving them looking in.

Nicola cries into Barry's arms

Nicola: "What if he doesn't make it Ba? What if–"

Barry: "Shh he'll be fine Nic" he whispers to her

They both hold onto each other like their lives depend on it, or in this case, their son's.

Gaz stands behind them, staring into the void. In disbelief of what his life has come to.

———

3:44PM. The Victoria Arms Pub.

———

Its a bleak, dull drizzle outside. Concrete slabs darkened with rain, the air thick with damp mist. And a calm breeze floats around.

Inside the pub though, is warm and alive. Considerably busy.

Punters sit around the pub in chairs, at tables, in booths, and at the bar. While a group of young lads play darts over in the corner. The usual scene.

Maureen walks in, with Kylie in tow.

Maureen turns to Kylie and says quietly; "You go grab yourself a seat in the corner by the window over there and I'll get the drinks in. What you having?"

Kylie: "G&T please Maur" she says, scanning the room

Maureen: "I'll make that a double"

Kylie: "Cheers" she quietly says, before heading off to the small booth in the front corner of the room, near the window.

Maureen walks over to the bar, where on one side, Eddie is chatting to Jim, and on the other side, Paula to Tony.

Eddie sees her, and walks up to her

Eddie: "Alright Maureen love? Usual is it?"

Maureen: "Yeah, ta Ed. And a double G&T too please"

Eddie: "Alrighty" he says under his breath, getting the double G&T and pint of Carling ready.

While Eddie prepares the drinks, Maureen spots Paula and Tony chatting on the other side of the double sided bar.

Maureen: "Don't know how your Paula can be so chappy with that Tony" she mutters to Eddie quietly.

Eddie: "Eh, you and me both Maureen. Just company though innit?"

Maureen: "Would rather have sod all to talk to" she jokes

Eddie giggles: "Right, that's four pound eighty please sweetheart"

Maureen: "Here we are" she drops the exact cost in his palm and takes the drinks off the bar

Eddie: "Enjoy, love" he says to her as she starts heading off

Maureen: "Cheers Ed!" She shouts back without taking her eyes off the drinks.

She reaches the small booth in the corner of the room and places the drinks down in front of Kylie, before sitting opposite her, shielding her from the rest of the room.

Maureen: "Here we are love. See? Don't you feel better, being out already?"

Kylie: "Mm. S'pose" she mutters

Maureen takes a sip of her pint and looks at Kylie over the rim of her glass. And sees her looking down into her G&T like its the only thing worth looking at.

Maureen: "What is it love?"

Kylie: "Nothing" she mutters

Maureen: "Oh Kylie for fuck's sake come on girl. Get your chin up, come on! What happened to that gobby lass I saw sleeping rough in a bus shelter not that long ago?"

Kylie: "I'm sorry. I know. Think I'm just tired"

Maureen: "We all get tired. But we never show it" she says taking another sip.

Maureen nods to Paula and Eddie behind the bar

Maureen: "You think those two aren't tired? Imagine what it's like being them. Running a pub on top of a marriage. Neither is easy"

Kylie looks, and listens

Then Maureen nods to Jim

Maureen: "Then him. Jim. He's in here all day everyday. Think he would be if he had anything better to do? That's gotta be tiring, just drinking your life away"

Kylie nods and sighs

Maureen: "My point is, love. Is that you won't get anywhere if you dont try. Even if it means faking a smile. Its hard, but when you pretend for long enough you actually start to trick yourself into thinking you're fine"

Kylie: "Speaking from experience?" She teases, before taking a sip of her drink

Maureen: "Exactly" she smiles. Before taking a sip of her drink too.

———

4:17PM. The Strip. Shawcross General Shop.

———

Behind the counter, Yvonne and Michael both are. Yvonne's looking in the books, checking over orders that are due. Michael is standing behind her, staring at her. Thinking. Reeling.

The silence is almost peaceful until the bell above the door jingles and Sunita walks in. Michael and Yvonne both look up.

Michael: "Ah Sunita! How are you?"

Sunita: "Oh im good thank you Michael! I'm good. Just came to get Arun's pouch of tobacco and some kitchen Roll. I tell you, one of these days the tobacco will catch to him. Then who'll be sorry?"

Sunita jokes, grabbing some kitchen roll off a nearby shelf

Yvonne: "It's always us women isn't it Nita?" She grins

Sunita: "It is Yvonne, yes. Its a husband we want. Not someone to babysit" she jokes, heading back towards the counter

The three of them share a quick familiar giggle

Before anyone else can say anything, Michael's phone starts ringing. The nostalgic Nokia ringtone cuts through the silence and Michael picks up his phone, and sees who's calling. Mitchell.

His stomach drops and his heart pounds hard once in his chest.

Michael: "I'm just...gunna take this" he says to the women politely, heading to the corner of the shop.

While Michael walks to the far back end of the shpp, Sunita takes this moment to talk to Yvonne about the pregnancy.

Sunita: "I take it you haven't told him?" She whispers

Yvonne nods no

Over at the corner at the shop, Michael is on the phone to Mitchell

Michael: "What have I told you? Stop calling me!" He whispers firmly under his breath.

Back at the counter,

Sunita: "I think you should sweetheart–"

Yvonne: "Look, sunita, no offence but it's got fuck all to do with you, okay?" She quietly snaps, not for Michael to hear

Sunita looks down and Yvonne immediately regrets it.

Yvonne: "I'm sorry. I'm scared" she whispers

Sunita: "I know you are. And you know I'm always around if you need me. Okay?" She says in a hushed tone

Yvonne nods "Thank you"

Sunita smiles and nods

Then, Michael starts approaching them.again and the two women quickly act normal and composed themselves, like they weren't just whispering seconds ago.

Yvonne: "Who was that?" She asks Michael

Michael: "What?" He asks. Mind elsewhere

Yvonne: "On the phone"

Michael: "Oh- uh...some scam caller" he lies.

———

5:53PM. The Victoria Arms Pub.

———

Its darker outside now, and quieter inside the pub. But still relatively full. Vengaboys plays from the jukebox. People still jotted about.

And in the same booth as they were earlier, sits Kylie and Maureen. Both more relaxed now. A few drinks in.

Kylie is in stitches from something Maureen said.

Kylie: "My God! You dirty bitch" she cries in laughter

Maureen: "I'm telling you love. Don't knock it till you try it" she takes a sip from her fourth pint

Kylie: "I'd rather not" she laughs

Kylie: "That drink's gone right through me, I'm nipping to the ladies"

Maureen: "Alright"

Kylie gets up and walks towards the ladies, still giggling about what Maureen said.

Across the room, the front doors squeak wide open as Nicola comes stumbling in. Reeking of booze and cheep perfume, already wrecked.

She's dressed like a hooker

A few heads turn but no-one says anything. They've all been there.

Nicola: "What!? What you all gawking at!?"

Nobody speaks, and she stumbles up to the bar, passing Tony, who side eyes her.

Eddie goes up to her and before he even speaks, he's met with spit in the face from Nicola's intense talking

Nicola: "Double Vodka"

Eddie: "Haven't you had enough love?"

Nicola: "Don't you 'love' me! Gimme a drink"

Eddie sighs and starts pouring

Tony: "I'll get this" he says. Slapping a tenner on the bar.

Tony: "Keep the change"

Eddie swipes it

Nicola turns to Tony and leans her hip on the bar, trying to look sexy. Its not working.

Nicola: "Thanks sexy. Hoping to get a 'Special' thank you for that?" She winks at him

Tony: "You look miserable, and you know what they say"

Nicola: "'Kiss my arse'?" She sarcastically guesses.

Tony: "'Misery loves company'" he taps the stool beside him and she takes it, slapping her handbag down on the bar. The metal zip and buckles clanking. Contents poking out of her bag.

Lipstick, loose change, fags, a black marker, cheap deodorant, and keys. Probably to the house.

Tony: "What happened to you then?" He asks, nonchalantly taking a swig from his neat whiskey.

As Nicola drunkenly explains her and Jamie's situation to Tony, Kylie steps out of the ladies toilets and immediately clocks Nicola at the bar.

At the booth, Maureen takes a sip from her pint and sees Kylie standing at the ladies toilet's door, flashing wide eyes to Maureen and then nodding her head over to Nicola and Tony at the bar.

Maureen follows her gaze and clocks it.

Maureen: "Back door" she mouths inaudibly and points behind Kylie.

Kylie nods and slips out the back door, while Maureen downs the rest of her pint like a savage, and leaves through the front door as normal. Meeting Kylie around the side of the pub, to sneak away together.

Back at the bar, Tony and Nicola start chatting away. A conversation that's bound to end up with someone getting hurt.

———

8:47PM. The Strip. Shawcross General Shop.

———

Its quiet. Michael is behind the counter and Yvonne is sweeeping the floor. Looking rather tired.

Michael notices.

Michael: "Go on. You can go up love"

Yvonne: "No, I'm okay"

Michael: "Yvonne please. For me. Go relax. Have a bath or something"

Yvonne sighs and leans the sweeping brush against the wall. Not bothering to argue. Not tonight.

Yvonne: "Okay. Night" she plants a quick kiss on his lips before heading upstairs

Michael: "Night love"

The door to the flat upstairs closes behind Yvonne. And literally four seconds later, the main door to the shop opens and the bell above it jingles.

Its Mitchell.

Michael feels his teeth gritting

Michael: "What are you doing here? What do you want?" He asks under his breath

Mitchell walks up to the counter: "I'm confused"

Michael: "'Confused'? About what? What part of 'Leave me alone' do you not understand?"

Mitchell: "But last night we—"

Michael: "last night we made a massive mistake Mitchell. A fucking huge one. And it can't happen again. Do you hear me?"

Mitchell: "Well it wasn't a mistake for me"

Michael: "Well it was for me. Okay? From now on, you stay away from me unless you come in here to buy something. Delete my number"

Mitchell: "You're being a bit dramatic dont you think?" He scoffs

Michael: "I've betrayed my marriage you stupid fool! No. Im not being dramatic. Buy something or get out" he says quietly

Mitchell: "But—"

Michael: "But nothing. Mitchell. Whatever it was that we had, it's done. Over. It never should've happened in the first place"

Boom. That landed like a brick on Mitchell's heart.

Mitchell scoffs in disbelief and just walks out. In anger. Hurt.

Michael stands behind the counter, choosing his marriage over a "fling".

———

9:39PM. The Victoria Arms Pub.

———

In the ladies, Nicola fusses with her hair in the mirror. Pushing strands to where they look best. Eventually, she winks at her reflection, and steps back out into the main bar room.

As she gets to the bar, she sees no sign of Tony, who was sitting there only five minutes ago.

Nicola: "Where's um..." she points to the stool

Eddie: "Tony?"

Nicola: "Yeah. Tony"

Eddie: "Said he was off home, love. Hadn't you better be too?"

Nicola fights back the urge to scream in Eddie's face, but deep down knows he's right. She looks around the room.

Nicola: "Yeah. Right sad dump, this place is anyway" she mutters under her breath, slinging her open handbag over her arm, before trying to stride out.

As she leaves, Jim and Eddie look at each other and giggle and sigh

———

9:58PM. Number 33. Marlas Estate.

———

It's cold and dark out now. Orange clows Emirates from streetlamps and dogs bark in the diatance.

Nicola's heels click clack on the slabbed pavement, leading up to the house. She almost trips twice but catches herself.

As she gets closer to number 33 she reaches into her handbag without stopping, searching for her house keys. No sign. She reaches the gate of the small front garden and looks up, to see the door wide open, and the whole house in complete darkness.

She slowly walks up to the house

Nicola: "Boys!? Barry!?"

As she steps right in the front hall, its trashed. Like, a bombsite.

Wallpaper scraped and ripped off the walls, furniture smashed and thrown about, glass broken all over the floor.

Nicola: "What the fuck?" She whispers to herself

She walks into the living room to see its in the same state. The sofas are turned upside down with the cushions ripped and feathers strewn everywhere. The TV has a big smash right in the middle of the screen. The entire house has been turned upside down.

This was a job. They've been turned over. The entire house has been turned upside down. A right trash.

A warning? A message? Or revenge?

———

That's episode 10! Thank you for reading. Episode 11 will be out soon! Tell me what you think!☺️

That’s the part that keeps replaying in my head, like a scene I’d cut if I could edit my own life. There was no build‑up, no grand moment, no music swelling in the background. Just a dimly lit room, a window that wouldn’t fully close, and you.

You were leaning against the edge of the table, fingers tracing the rim of a glass you weren’t really drinking from.

It was pretty late, but not late enough to justify the things we both were thinking and not saying. The kind of hour where the city outside is still half‑awake, and tired.

You said something. I don’t even remember what it was. A joke, maybe. Something about how you always manage to ruin your own good days. You laughed, but it was that laugh you do when you’re trying to make something sound lighter than it feels.

And I looked at you.

Not the way I usually do, not the casual, practiced glance of someone who’s used to pretending they’re not constantly taking mental pictures. I really looked. At the way your shoulders slouched just a little when you thought no one was paying attention. At the faint line between your eyebrows that only shows up when you’re tired. At the way your hand tightened around the glass when you mentioned “good days”, like the phrase itself was fragile.

Hell, I’m not even the type who shares his feelings easily. But something about the way you stood there, half in the light, half in the shadow, made those words come out of my mouth before I could catch it.

Like a breath held for far too long.

And then it just slipped.

I love you.

Two words. Quiet. Almost conversational. Like I was commenting on the weather. Maybe it was just a truth that had been sitting, for far too long, deep inside my chest and finally found a crack to escape through.

You froze. Your eyes met mine, and for a second I thought I saw everything.. fear, anger, surprise, tenderness, all layered on top of each other like badly hidden secrets. But it passed so quickly, I could have imagined it.

The silence that followed wasn’t dramatic. It was worse. It was.. ordinary. Not with fear, or joy, or anything I could name. Yet, life went on, as if I hadn’t just thrown a grenade into the middle of the room. Just stillness. Stillness so sharp, it felt like the room inhaled, but forgot to exhale.

And then you looked at me.

That look. God. Like lightning.. bright for a second, then gone, leaving the air heavier than before. A look that didn’t trigger a “yes” or a “no,” but rather something far more complicated.

You didn’t say my name. You didn’t say “what?” or “say it again”. You just looked at me and then your eyes softened in a way that hurt more than if you’d shouted.

You didn’t say the words, but I heard them anyway. You were protecting something.. Not from me, but from what loving me might do to the fragile balance you’d carved out of your past.

“Don’t.” you said finally.

Just that. One word. Barely above a whisper.

It wasn’t “don’t love me.” It wasn’t “don’t say that.” It felt as if it was something heavier, something that carried years behind it.

There’s a particular kind of humiliation that comes with saying something true and watching it land like a mistake. I could feel the heat rising in my face, the instinctive urge to backpedal, to laugh it off, to say “Relax, I didn’t mean it like that” ..even though I did, exactly like that.

I didn’t answer. I tried to, then stopped. Lying would have been worse.

You put your glass down, carefully, like you were afraid of making any sudden movements that might shatter the moment into something unfixable.

“You can’t just say things like that”, you murmured.

“Like what?” I asked, even though I knew.

“Like that,”, you said. “Like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t.. change things.”

I wanted to tell you that it didn’t have to change anything. That we could pretend I never said it. That we could rewind, go back to the version of us that lived in the safe zone between almost and never. But the truth was, it had already changed everything.. for me, at least. The word was out. It had a shape now. A weight. It was no longer something I could deny, or hide behind sarcasm.

“I didn’t say it like it’s nothing,” I replied quietly. “I said it because it’s.. there. Whether I say it or not.”

You flinched at that, just barely. A tiny movement, but I caught it.

“Don’t do this..”, you said. “Please.”

There was a crack in your voice on that last word. Not big, not obvious, but enough. Enough to tell me that this wasn’t about me being ridiculous, or dramatic. This was about you trying to hold together something inside you that had already been broken once, maybe more than once.

“What am I doing?”, I asked, even though I could feel the answer hanging in the air between us.

You hesitated, then looked up again. Your eyes were glossy, but not with tears.. I think it was restraint.

“You’re walking into a room that isn’t yours”, you said slowly. “With your shoes on. That’s what it feels like.”

The metaphor hit harder than any direct rejection could have.

Like I’d walked into a room that wasn’t mine, tracking mud over memories you kept polished and untouched. I pictured it instantly: a room, small but carefully arranged. Sunlight coming in through sheer curtains. A bed made just so. Books stacked in neat piles. Some vinyl on the shelves. A mug on the nightstand. A space that doesn’t look like much to anyone else, but to the person who lives there, it’s everything.

It’s safety. It’s proof that they survived the chaos outside yet another day. And then here I am, barging in, uninvited, leaving my footprints on the floor. And suddenly I felt like an intruder.

“You think my love is dirt”, I said before I could stop myself.

Your eyes widened. “No. That’s not what I said.”

“But that’s what it feels like.. Like I’m contaminating you or something.”

“You’re not… dirty. It’s not that. It’s just…….”, you broke off, searching for words.

“There were times in my life that were good. Really good. And they’re gone now. They’re not coming back. All I have left of them are the memories. And those are.. clean. Untouched. They’re mine. The only thing that no one can mess with.”

You paused, whilst your fingers were tracing the condensation ring your glass had left on the table.

“When you say things like “I love you”, it feels like you’re trying to step into that space. Into those hours. Like you want to be part of them. And you can’t. You weren’t there. You don’t belong in those moments. And I’m scared that if I let you in now, you’ll start rewriting everything. Even the past.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. How do you argue with someone’s ghosts? How do you compete with a version of happiness that’s already been lived, already been lost, already been polished into something almost sacred?

“I’m not trying to replace anything” I said, softly. “I’m not asking to be part of your past.”

“Yeah,” you said, “but love doesn’t stay in the present, does it? It spreads. It wants to touch everything. It wants to claim things. That’s what scares me.”

You weren’t angry. That was the worst part. If you’d been angry, I could have defended myself. If you’d laughed, I could have pretended I was joking. If you’d cried, I could have held you.

You were calm. Too calm. Like someone who has already had this conversation in their head a hundred times and knows exactly where it leads.

“So what do you want me to do?” I asked. “Pretend I don’t feel it?”

You looked at me for a long moment. Really looked. And I could see the conflict there, the push and pull between wanting to be fair to me and wanting to protect yourself.

“I want you to be careful with what you say,” you replied. “Because I can’t unhear it. And I can’t give you what you think that word deserves.”

There it was. Not a door slammed in my face, but a hand gently held up… firm.

I nodded, even though every part of me wanted to argue. To say that I wasn’t asking for anything. That I didn’t need a promise, or a label, or a future. That I just needed you to know.

But that would have been a lie. Love always asks for something, even when it pretends it doesn’t. It asks to be seen. To be acknowledged. To be allowed to exist without being treated like a mistake.

The room suddenly felt smaller. The air thicker. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat, in my fingertips, in my eyes.

“I’m not going to take it back,” I said. “I can’t. But I won’t say it again if you don’t want me to.”

You closed your eyes briefly, as if that hurt more than my original confession.

“It’s not about the words,” you said. “It’s about what they do to me. To us. To… everything.”

You gestured vaguely, as if “everything” was too big to point at.

“I’ve spent a long time trying to keep certain parts of my life separate. The good memories over here, the bad ones over there, the present somewhere in the middle. It’s the only way I know how to stay.. functional. When you say you love me, it feels like you’re trying to merge all of that. And I don’t know who I’d be, if that happened. I’m not sure I want to find out.”

I wanted to tell you that maybe you’d be happier. That maybe, just maybe, letting someone in, wouldn’t destroy you. That maybe love doesn’t always have to be a wrecking ball.. that sometimes it can be scaffolding.

But I also knew I was speaking from a place of wanting, and you were speaking from a place of surviving. Those are not equal positions.

So I just nodded again. It felt like surrender. Maybe it was.

So I stayed quiet. And you stayed distant. And the moment passed, the way moments do, when neither person is brave enough to catch them before they fall.

We didn’t talk much after that. The conversation drifted to safer topics, the way people talk about the weather after a storm has already passed through and left half the town in ruins.

You made a joke. I laughed. We pretended the air wasn’t different now.

Later, when you left, you hugged me a little tighter than usual. Or maybe I imagined that. Maybe I needed to believe that the world hadn’t just fallen into a void.

The door closed behind you and I stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space where you’d been, feeling the echo of your presence like a handprint on my chest.

I replayed it all in my head, over and over. The way your eyes flashed when I said it. The way your voice trembled on “Don’t.”. The way you talked about your memories like they were a museum exhibit.. you can look, but do not touch.

And somewhere between the replay and the regret, a strange understanding settled in.

You weren’t rejecting me. Well, not exactly. You were rejecting the idea that love is always a good thing. That it always builds, never breaks. That it always adds, never takes away.

For you, love had been a wrecking crew once. Maybe more than once. It had come in with promises and left you in pieces. So you built something for yourself out of what was left. A quiet life. A set of routines. A collection of moments that only belonged to you. Then I came along, with my feelings, and my words, and my need to be known, and I threatened that balance without even realizing it.

I thought saying “I love you” was an offering. A gift. A bridge.

For you, it was a risk. A crack in the wall you’d spent years reinforcing.

So no, you didn’t say it back. You didn’t smile. You didn’t cry. You didn’t run into my arms.

You did something much harder. You told me the truth.

You told me that my love might be real, but that doesn’t mean it’s harmless.

And I’m left with this: a word I can’t unsay, a silence I can’t unhear, and a strange, aching respect for the way you chose for yourself.

People like to say that if it’s real, love finds a way. That if it’s meant to be, it will be. That timing is just an excuse.

Maybe they’re right. Maybe they’re not.

All I know is that sometimes love isn’t an invitation. Sometimes it’s an intrusion. Sometimes love shows up like a gentle knock on the door. Sometimes it shows up like a storm. And sometimes it shows up quietly, in a room with a muted TV and a half‑finished drink, and it’s told softly.. to stay outside.

Not because it isn’t wanted..

But because the person on the other side has finally learned how to live with their own company, their own memories, their own carefully arranged, dimly lit room.

And they’re not ready to let you walk in with your shoes on.

When I was a young child—probably in the third grade—my mom came to pick me up from school. I had a sudden, urgent need to poop, but there were other children, their parents, janitors, and even a couple of teachers around. So, I couldn't say anything; I was just focused on trying to hold it in.

Mom was walking at her usual pace, holding my hand. Just before we could exit the school gate, I had an accident—technically, I pooped right there at the school entrance. I stepped out, but when I looked back, I saw a janitor walking towards us. I looked at him and then at the piece of poop on the floor; just then, Mom said, "Come on, Dear, what are you looking at?"

Scared and on the verge of tears, I told her, "Mommy, I pooped." Mom immediately picked me up and rushed me home. Our house was only about a kilometer away from the school. Later, Mom said, "It's a good thing you told me; otherwise, the peon might have scolded me—he could have even told me that since my child did it, I had to clean it up." I said, "Sorry, Mommy."

Now, I wasn't in the habit of wearing underwear back then, and Mom said, "That’s why I tell you to wear underwear; otherwise, it wouldn't have fallen like that at school." I asked, "Oh, so that’s why people wear underwear, Mommy?" She said yes. After that, I started wearing underwear, began going to shit regularly in the morning, and became my Mommy's "good boy."

Note: It's not a story, it happened in real life!

So dark like somebody's thrown a black hood over our heads.

My daughter's small hand in mine.

A point of light.

Harsh, fading; repeated. Human: (inhaling) a cigarette. The sweetly burning smell of tobacco.

We walk to it.

It goes out.

A firearm—instead:

“Who's there?” asks a soot-faced soldier, pointing it at me.

“My name is Fadros Moti. This is my daughter, Tera. We're from Goshnen Station.”

“Long walk.”

“Yes.”

“I heard most at Goshnen stood and fought," says the soldier. (“And died,” I think.) “You ain't a coward now, are you? You got papers for the kid?”

“No, sir. Yes, sir,” I say and hand over our documents.

I hate losing possession of them.

I say, “We couldn't find space on the government evac shuttles—”

“Half the pop couldn't find space on the government evac shuttles,” says the soldier, scanning our identity cards.

“I was hoping we might buy a private flight.”

He stops looking at our documents.

He raises his eyes.

“I have gold coins,” I say. Gold, in addition to skills, is the only thing worth anything anymore.

He hands back the documents.

He waits.

“I was told there were still spacecraft here. Do you happen to know if that's true?” I ask.

He waits.

“Of course,” I say, bowing my head, and give him a handful of gold coins.

“I'm thirsty,” my daughter says, weakly, from behind me.

I like being her shield.

The soldier counts the gold coins.

“Would you also happen to know where we can get some water?” I ask.

When he finishes counting: “There's a well about half a mile that way—” He points into the darkness. “Unmanned. No escorts. Access at your own risk. But I heard it's clean.”

“Thank you,” I say. “And a spacecraft?”

“Try the Bastion-IX. It's a freighter docked by the launchpads. Been collecting passengers for about two and a half months. The captain's name is Boyermood. He's good. He'll let you sleep onboard till blast-off.”

“Thank you,” I say.

We walk the half mile to the well. After coming all the way from Goshnen Station, the distance feels like nothing.

We drink.

We sit.

I think of my dead wife.

I wish I knew what my daughter is thinking of. Whatever it is, I wish I had the power to change it. I wish I could protect her mind. It's hard to believe—sitting, finally, in the darkness—that we are on the outskirts of a great city.

It's mostly empty now; inactive.

It has to be.

It's a matter of weeks or days before they get here too. It's inevitable. There's no stopping them. The horrors I've seen. The horrors I've seen at Goshnen Station after they came across the commlines, digitized, recombining and rematerialized, pouring out of our techports like cloudforms of static, the inevitable progeny of man and information, unkillable flesh-data hybrids infusing themselves into our minds, cooking us, boiling our brains with cognitive overload; the screaming, the impossibility of forgetting; the melted, dripping eyeballs and voided sockets—

My daughter's face.

Scared. Calm.

“You fell asleep,” she says.

No, I couldn't have. I have to be on guard. I promised. I promised my wife as her thumbs pushed into her eyes—

”I'm sorry,” I say.

We fill our canteens and walk back to the edge of the city.

All the electric light is off.

Nothing hums.

We find the launchpads. We find the Bastion-IX, just like the soldier said. Boyermood's inside, as are a few dozen other groups of people. Friends, families, coworkers. No one survives alone. I guess there aren't many left alive now who want to get out. We don't speak to the others but smile; and by smiling we become something else than strangers. We become co-passengers. Boyermood takes what remains of our gold coins and assigns us to a cabin.

We sleep.

For days we do nothing but drink water and sleep, dreaming of a different world.

“Where will we go?” my daughter asks.

“I don't know.”

Perpetual, fallen night.

Faces.

Time spent at the well.

We're used to hunger. We sleep through it. The alarm sounds—

A thunderous wave of the banging of metal against metal throughout the Bastion-IX and beyond. A dead city in final turmoil. I squeeze my daughter's hand. No one needs to tell us what's going on. They've arrived. The other ships on the launchpads are initiating launch sequences. Boyermood runs by. “Are we going?” I yell against the noise. “Yeah, we're going,” he yells back and disappears.

We stay inside.

The Bastion-IX creaks.

Shakes.

The engines ignite, but before they can fully power on I start to hear the pitter-patter of tiny bodies pinging off the exterior of the ship.

I'm scared.

I'm pretending not to be.

“Daddy—”

“Yes, darling?”

The pinging intensifies.

It's become a storm, a relentless precipitation of information.

“—tell me you love me, please.”

“I love you.”

(Over the intercom: “Attention! They're overwhelming us. We need volunteers,” Boyermood says, his voice breaking. “We need volunteers to go outside and clear the hull...”)

I'm up before I know it.

“Daddy?”

My daughter's hand slips from mine because mine is moving away.

“Daddy!”

If we don't get them off the ship, no one gets out of here.

“I'll be back,” I say.

I won't be.

I turn away because it's easier to turn away. I don't want her to see my face. (“Daddy, no…”) I hear her cry out, but I am no longer present.

Someone hands me an airblower.

I take it.

I exit the Bastion-IX.

I'm not alone. A few others are with me. Two men, a woman. The atmosphere is a static, swarming, whirling chaos that pricks my skin, crawls across my face, into my mouth, my ears. I spit. I shut my eyes, blowing as many of them off the hull as I can. They taste bitter as batteries.

The inside of my head begins to burn.

My jaw locks.

The Bastion-IX lifts off.

Here’s the original post I made https://www.reddit.com/r/stories/s/frETuN7h2V

So. It feels weird. If you’ve been following the series so far or if you just read the other two posts I made then you’ll know what’s happened and what the situation is. Now it’s been 8 days since the second post, the longest week of my life and it’s been 16 days I think since the actual intercourse I think. I don’t remember well for some reason. 8 days ago, I took her to the drug mart to buy some tests and I got her this pack that had multiple inside so that she can take it once a day without having to keep buying more(a thanks to the guy who told me to buy these ones, saved me a lot of time and sneaking out at night.) anyways, she hasn’t been able to take the tests all eight days because her mom is home all day and when her mom is not home, it’s either her moms BF or she herself goes with her mom. Some of you might think “why doesnt she go to her dad’s house” well it’s almost the same situation there too, her dad works from home and barely leaves the house. Basically a zombie in that chair but hes overly protective to his daughter at the same time so if he figured out she was taking tests, im a dead man.

Anyways. Like I said, all eight days were not used for tests but she did manage to take around 7 tests. Sometimes more than one test a day even though she knows her morning urine is more accurate for the test but I won’t tell her what to do with the tests.

Now here’s the real part. 6/7(no pun intended) of the tests were positive and from what I know, the test that was negative, she sent me a photo of it around 9pm which is a long time after her morning urine and as I was told, the 2nd urine(i dont know how to word that) is not as accurate as morning urine. So. We are like 99% sure she’s pregnant now and currently I am scared as much as a teenager should be

Ive read many stories of people my age getting pregnant and what they did to overcome challenges with their partner by theyre side but the fact she’s pregnant isnt what really worries me. It’s our parents that make me want to throw up by even thinking of theyre reactions to this and not just her parents, mine too. Im sure HER mom might be supportive. Shes a sweetheart and always bringing good vibes. I barely know anything about her dad though, like I said, a zombie at a desk doing office work all day but at the same time very protective when it comes to his daughter. I think he’ll be angry with me but for her? It’s not my place to say but I think it’ll be fine.

Now my parents on the other hand? Opposites. I grew up in a Muslim household and currently i still am a Muslim, or at least I consider myself one. Just like Christianity, we muslims also have the seven deadly sins. One of them being “Zina” the act of impurities. sex with someone you arent wed-locked with, masturbation, looking at the opposite gender with lust in the eyes is all Zina and I committed it and now the consequences are evident in my friend. Im struggling to keep my faith close to me and repenting, my families approval all while wanting to stay with the girl I got pregnant. I have no idea how they will act when i eventually tell them whats happened. Quiet disappointment is far worse then yelling because I can tell they look at me and get reminded of the mistakes ive made but for now, I have my friend as my top priority when it comes to this situation. I need her to know that im not leaving her high and dry and that I am going to do what I can to support her.

An edit: I’ll probably update near the end of October, let things settle. I’ll tell my parents alone what’s happening and I’ll ask my friend if she’d like me to come with her to tell her parents. I would rather I tell MY OWN parents alone because I don’t know how they’ll react to the girl I got pregnant inside theyre living room. Thanks for the support and advice guys. You all are amazing.

​

Long story short, I was running late for my train, and I was running like crazy from the entrance of the station to the actual train and you see my train was on 16 platform so I have to cover the entire station to reach there. It was peak summer and I had my luggage with me, but fortunately I reached my train just 2 minutes before departure. But as soon as I settled down, my mouth went completely dry and I was coughing out furiously, tears running down my eyes, I felt like I was about to die. And mind you, this is the capital of the country and I was traveling in the premium train of that said place. I was coughing like crazy, cannot control my tears and all I wanted that time was water. I remember everyone were looking at me while I was doing this, and I looked over everyone, I was constantly saying "water, water" thinking that someone will offer me a bottle of water but to my surprise, no one did that. And, why I'm saying surprise is because in a premium train you kind of expect that people around you will be quite decent but I was wrong. There were these two uncles who were sitting besides me and they have a bottle of water, they just looked at me and I gestured them about the bottle they had and they outright ignored me and resumed there conversation. With all my strength I got up, went to the middle of the coach in search of a train attendant but couldn't find one, and in the end I drank from the tap of washroom. I never felt so angry, so bad and so disgusted in a public place ever. I know it's not their duty or obligation to help me but still, they all peeked over there seats to look over me while I was suffering and not a single soul tried to help me. This is the type of stuff you watch on YouTube as a social experiment just to see people reaction and this actually happened to me in real life. Rest of my journey, I just wanted to beat everybody up in my coach.

I climbed up the last few quartz boulders and stood atop the luscious green peak with an exhilarating feeling. The grass I stood on was so soft I couldn't help but take off my shoes, my toes tickled by the white and blue wildflowers interspersed throughout it. Their tiny flower petals were tiny fairy beds of silk that faced a miniature sun of pollen. I closed my eyes for a second and breathed the impossibly fragrant and crisp spring air with a hint of dampness. I inhaled the scent of the earthy ground beneath the grass, fluffy and untouched other than for my own footsteps. It was even better than stuffing my face in a large downy comforter that was still warm after it had just left the dryer, or even a towel that had been drying gently in a calm breeze that flowed over the farm that surrounded it.

I opened my eyes again as the teasing golden rays of sunlight swirled through the fluffy clouds over my eyelids. The view that greeted my irises was beyond any of my wildest fantasies. The grassy cliff dropped off to a large sparkling white beach, dazzling as any diamond and pure in color as the freshest snowfall. Gently lapping at the tiny pearls of sand were crystal clear waves that led out to a lake of dazzling jade and sparkling reflections. Fish leaped over the gentle peaks to catch the lazily-buzzing dragonflies dancing across the water. The jade waves deepened to a dark royal sage until the far shore where the reflections in the shimmering depths hinted at an even grander sight. Luscious greenery peaked the grand mountains that pierced the sky, their tips feathered with a lightly fading snowfall. Every one contained its own pallet of deep ruby, rich olive, royal purple, and ever color of the rainbow underlined by the same soft grass upon which I stood. 

It was a magnificent sight in every way. A camera, no matter how advanced, could never capture the natural beauty which graced my corneas at this moment. I sighed as deeply as the sea gently washing away shells on the sand, my worries and hardships melting away like honey under the caressing heat of freshly toasted bread.

Taking a deep satisfying breath, I inhaled the crisp but soft fragrances of the baby blue eyes like the most tender tea and honey swirling with a pristine warm scent like a teddy bear warmed by a child's hug. It paired with an earthy undertone and a slight dampness that I could feel in my soul as if I was grasping the richest soil next to the crisp freshness of newly ripe wild raspberries. 

I could help but laugh, happiness's windchimes drifting out across the landscape gently as I twirled, feeling the honey-tender warmth of the sun blanket across my skin before lying down, the fronds beneath me floating down with me in a bed of sparkling emerald and amber swirls. Looking up at the puffy clouds so perfect and shapely that I could almost catch a cotton candy wisp to melt on my tongue, my ears were graced with the gentle serenades of swallows dancing like ballerinas overhead, catching each other's song with one of their own like rolling crystal bells. Flutters as gentle as tissue paper twinkled shadows across my face, tickling my eyes with their glittering contrast to the cerulean sea above the clouds. 

Now this was the life.

______________________
Hope you enjoyed!

I've sat on this short story for a while(4 years) and figured there was no point in writing it if I never posted it anywhere. I wanted to make the most compelling description of a location ever, so detailed and beautiful its as if you were there yourself. I planned to make this an entire book about exploring various beautiful places, but I quickly realized how difficult it was to write even this much and gave up. Hope it makes someone's day!

Hey everyone.

I just wanted to talk for a little while.

First, thank you to everyone who has supported **Last Active** and continued to show love to the story. It means more to me than I can properly explain.

The story was inspired by real experiences, although I changed certain details for privacy.

I haven’t been able to write much lately because of my studies and work, but something happened recently that made me think about the story again.

After she and her family moved away, I had no idea where they went. Her family had always lived together in a large house, so I never imagined they would suddenly leave. But eventually, they moved — her parents, her, and her little sister — and life carried them somewhere I could no longer follow.

For five years, there was no conversation.

No message.

Not even a passing glimpse.

Eventually, I accepted that I might never see her again.

Then yesterday, while I was going out for some work, I saw her grandfather riding toward me on his scooter. Seeing him was not unusual. I had seen him in that area many times before.

But as we came closer, I noticed someone sitting behind him.

For a moment, I didn’t recognize her.

Then our eyes met.

Only for a second.

But sometimes a second is long enough to bring an entire lifetime back.

Every memory returned at once — the conversations, the waiting, the confusion, the happiness, the pain, and all the things I had never found the courage to say. My chest felt heavy, almost as if the past had suddenly become something physical again.

Five years had passed.

Yet the memories were still clear enough to feel like yesterday.

She looked happy.

And strangely, I was happy for her too.

Of course, one question still came back to me:

**Why wasn’t I good enough?**

I don’t think that question ever completely disappears. Sometimes we don’t ask it because we want to blame someone. Sometimes we ask it because we are trying to understand why something meaningful still wasn’t meant to last.

But with time, I have learned that someone leaving does not automatically mean we were inadequate.

Not every ending is a judgment.

Some people leave because their life is moving in another direction. Some connections are real even when they are temporary. And sometimes a person can be important to us without being meant to remain with us.

She was one of the most beautiful chapters of my life.

I don’t hate her.

I’m not angry with her.

Everyone has the right to choose the life they want, and I hope hers is a good one.

I also know that I would not be the person I am today if she had never been part of my life. She changed me. She taught me how deeply I could care, how painful silence could be, and how to continue even when I never received the ending I wanted.

Perhaps that was the purpose of our meeting.

Some people enter our lives when we need them most. Some stay for years, while others remain only for a season. We often believe their value depends on how long they remain, but maybe that is not true.

A person does not have to stay forever to change your forever.

Some people arrive as comfort.

Some arrive as lessons.

Some arrive as a push toward the person we are supposed to become.

They may feel permanent while they are with us, but their role may be temporary. And when that role is complete, they leave — not always because the connection was meaningless, but sometimes because it has already given us what we needed to grow.

That does not make the goodbye painless.

It only gives the pain a meaning.

She was my best temporary person.

And I’m grateful that our paths crossed.

I’m grateful for the memories, even the painful ones. I’m grateful for the version of myself I became because of her. I’m grateful that, after all these years, I was able to see her again — even if it was only as a stranger.

Maybe that is what we are now:

**Strangers with memories.**

And perhaps that is enough.

Some people remain in our lives.

Some remain only in our stories.

But the ones who changed us never truly disappear. They continue through the choices we make, the lessons we carry, and the person we become after they are gone.

So no, I don’t think every important person is meant to stay.

Some people are chapters.

Some are turning points.

And some are the reason we finally learn how to keep walking when the chapter ends.

Thank you for listening.

I’m working on a new story, and I’ll share it when I can.

Until then, thank you for all the support.

Hail to the Queen Mother!

Hail to her miracles of mercy!

She heals the injured, and punishes the enemy!

When we fell from the sky, from our metal machine, she was the one to lead us out of the desolate forest and toward glory!

The bastard betrayer broke her trust, but did she yield? Nay! She became stronger! And when the time came to face the betrayer and the companions she had found, though outnumbered, she prevailed!

Now, tonight, we will satiate our wicked hunger upon their bones! They do not deserve the mercy she so freely gives, for they are ungrateful for it! The horns of punishment upon her head shall show them the truth!

And with this night, around the burning flame, we celebrate the end of the Great War that the Queen Mother hath brought us through!

Hail to victory!

Hail to the Queen Mother!

My friend's mother passed away on 2023, and yesterday I had quite a scary dream about it. So it start with my friend is living in my neighbour now, which is weird because we already parted ways on 2018. So, she is my neighbour now and here is she living with her mother. Now, I know in my dream that her mother has passed away. So, I was asking my mom in dream that isn't she passed away? How is she alive? And, my mother just said oh it can happen nowadays no big deal. But I was skeptical that how is she alive and I kept on questioning but after that the people around me are no longer responding. Later, in my dream I somehow knew that I have to attend a pooja (ritual) in that same family's house. I realised this is my chance to learn the truth and I went to there home, and there was a huge gathering of all the random people that I've seen in my life, mostly those that I've already seen somewhere and remember their faces and the rest were my friends. Everyone were like statue, nobody is talking as the ritual was going on. I saw my friend and asked her, how is her mother still alive, as always no one was responding. I suddenly had the idea to pull out my phone and take a picture of the gathering. So I did and when I looked at the photo, I was terrified to see that half of the people were missing from the photo, yet they were still there live in front of me. Another scary thing was after I looked back up after looking at the phone, the people in the gathering were looking straight at me, dead eyes with no motion. I left the place running and mid dream I realised I should go back and save the rest who were still visible on the photo. So, I went back and clicked the photo again, but this time there were nobody visible on the photo, I had this realisation that maybe they are all souls and are already dead and I'm looking at dead souls. So, I dropped down to my knees and start to beg and cry in front of them to please return the people back. They are all good people please come back. And, then I woke up, because I was crying a lot.

Crazy stuff, but since I write some stuff, I'm thinking about writing a horror novel from this dream that I had.

My nightmare started about four months ago when my dad passed away from a sudden heart attack. His death completely derailed my life so I took an extended leave from my corporate job and moved back into my childhood home to take care of my elderly mother. She was completely devastated by the loss and she seemed to age ten years overnight. I spent the first few weeks just organizing my dad's paperwork and figuring out the mortgage payments, and once the finances were settled I decided to clean out the attic so we could start downsizing the house.

The attic was incredibly dusty and packed floor to ceiling with cardboard boxes. I assumed the boxes were just filled with old holiday decorations or winter clothes but I was completely wrong. I opened the first box and found it stuffed with dozens of random ceramic figurines, tarnished watches, and mismatched silverware. I opened the second box and found a pile of expensive silk scarves with the price tags still attached, so I spent the next three hours tearing through every single box in the attic and I realized I was looking at a massive hoard of stolen merchandise. There were gardening tools, expensive electronics, loose jewelry, and even personalized mail belonging to our neighbors.

I carried a box of stolen watches down the stairs and set it on the kitchen table where my mother was drinking tea. She looked at the box and her face instantly went pale.

"Where did you find that?" my mother asked while her hands started trembling around her mug.

"I found it in the attic along with about forty other boxes filled with stolen goods," I said and I sat down across from her. "Why do we have the neighbor's mail and a bunch of jewelry with the security tags still on them?"

My mother started crying and buried her face in her hands. She confessed everything to me right there at the kitchen table. She told me she suffered from a severe compulsion to steal and she had been fighting it for decades. She explained that she never wanted the items she took but her brain would completely overwhelm her with anxiety until she slipped something into her purse. She told me my dad had secretly managed her condition for their entire marriage. Whenever she stole something from a local shop my dad would quietly drive back the next day and pay the owner in cash to keep them from calling the cops. If she took something from a neighbor my dad would wait until the middle of the night and silently leave the item on their front porch. He spent his entire life supervising her and running interference so she would never face criminal charges.

"I do not know how to stop doing it," my mother sobbed while wiping her eyes with a napkin. "Your dad was my light and he kept me grounded when the urges got too strong. I do not know how to fight my own brain without him."

"We will figure it out," I told her and I reached across the table to hold her hand. "I am here now so I will help you manage it."

I thought I could easily handle the situation but I completely underestimated how aggressive a true compulsion can be without supervision. I had to return to my demanding career a few weeks later so I started working from my laptop in the living room to keep an eye on her. My job requires endless conference calls and I could not watch her every single second of the day. Without my dad there to shadow her every movement she started wandering out of the house whenever I was distracted by work.

The situation escalated incredibly fast. I was in the middle of a video presentation for a major client when I heard furious pounding on our front door. I muted my microphone and rushed to the entryway to find our next-door neighbor standing on the porch. Her face was bright red with anger and she was pointing a finger directly at my chest.

"You need to control your mother right now," the neighbor shouted and she pushed past me into our hallway. "I just watched her walk into my open garage and walk out with my expensive power drill. This is the third time this week she has trespassed on my property."

"I am so incredibly sorry," I pleaded and I tried to block her from walking further into the house. "She is grieving and her mind is not in the right place. I will pay for the drill and whatever else went missing."

"I do not want your money," the neighbor snapped while crossing her arms. "I want her to stop taking my belongings. If I catch her in my garage one more time I am calling the police and pressing charges for burglary."

I managed to calm the neighbor down and retrieve the drill from my mother's bedroom closet but the stress of the encounter left me entirely exhausted. I sat my mother down and begged her to stop wandering outside but she just stared at the floor and told me the urges were screaming in her head. The very next afternoon my phone rang and the caller ID showed the local bakery downtown. I answered the call and the store owner immediately started yelling at me.

"Your mother is sitting in my back office because I caught her stuffing six bags of expensive coffee beans into her purse," the shop owner yelled over the phone. "I am sick and tired of dealing with this. Your dad used to pay for her mistakes but he is gone and I cannot run a charity here. I have the police on standby."

I dropped everything I was doing and drove frantically to the bakery. I practically begged the owner not to involve law enforcement and I handed him three hundred dollars in cash to cover the stolen items and his trouble. He reluctantly let us go but he banned my mother from his store for life. I drove us home in complete silence because I was too overwhelmed to speak. I was failing at my job because I was constantly leaving to put out fires and I knew my mother was going to end up in jail if I did not find a medical solution.

I scheduled an appointment with a conventional therapist the following week. We sat in the office while the therapist asked my mother endless questions about her childhood and her grief. The therapist prescribed a cocktail of anti-anxiety medications and suggested cognitive behavioral therapy exercises. We spent a month following the doctor's orders but the pills did nothing except make my mother terribly drowsy. She still managed to steal the mail carrier's thermos off the front porch while sleepwalking, so the conventional methods were completely failing and I was losing my mind from the constant vigilance.

I went into my company office a few days later to catch up on paperwork and I must have looked like a walking corpse. I was pouring my fourth cup of coffee in the breakroom when a coworker walked in and noticed my exhausted expression.

"You look like you have not slept in a month," my coworker said and he leaned against the counter. "Is the situation with your mom getting worse?"

I sighed and rubbed my temples because my head was throbbing. "She is going to get arrested and I cannot stop her. The regular therapists just throw pills at her and nothing is actually fixing the compulsion. I cannot watch her twenty-four hours a day."

My coworker looked out into the hallway to make sure nobody was listening before he turned back to me. "I know this sounds strange but you should look into a different kind of doctor. My wife had severe obsessive-compulsive issues that almost ruined our marriage. We went to a private psychologist on the edge of town and he completely cured her in one session using unconventional hypnotherapy. He does not take insurance but the man works absolute miracles."

I was desperate enough to try anything so I wrote down the doctor's contact information and called his clinic from the parking lot. The receptionist squeezed us in for a consultation that same evening. I drove my mother to the clinic and we found it tucked away in a quiet residential neighborhood. The office was dimly lit and filled with strange abstract art but the doctor greeted us with an incredibly warm and calming demeanor. He invited us into his back office and poured us both a glass of water before sitting behind his desk.

"My assistant explained a bit of your situation to me," the doctor said while folding his hands together on his large oak desk. "Kleptomania is a fascinating condition because it is rarely about the stolen objects, so we have to look much deeper. It is actually about a fractured ego trying to fill a sudden void within the subconscious mind."

"But can you actually fix it?" I asked and I leaned forward in my chair. "The regular medication is completely failing, and she is going to end up in prison if she keeps walking into our neighbors' homes."

"Conventional medicine just tries to suppress the ego," the doctor explained smoothly while looking directly at my mother. "I do not suppress the ego because a suppressed ego always fights back and finds a new way to act out. I remove it entirely using a specialized technique called The Angel Soul treatment.”

“And what exactly does a weird name like that mean?” I asked, feeling a bit of my own skepticism creeping in. “Is this a complicated medical procedure, and how much time does something like this even take?”

“It takes less than two hours and it is completely non-invasive,” the doctor replied calmly. “Through extremely deep hypnotherapy, I can empty your mother's fractured ego and create a complete psychological vacuum. Nature abhors a vacuum, so the empty space will immediately draw in a pure and angelic soul to take its place. The compulsion will vanish entirely because the damaged ego that demanded the stealing will no longer exist to control her."

My mother shifted uncomfortably in her chair and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "That sounds absolutely terrifying and I do not want anyone emptying my mind," she said, her voice shaking slightly with genuine fear. "You are talking about erasing who I am, and I do not even know what do you mean by what you just said, or what kind of soul you are planning to pull inside my head. I would much rather just try a different medication or maybe a higher dose of the pills I already have."

"You will still be yourself," the doctor assured her with a very warm and gentle smile. "You will just be free of the exhausting burden that forces you to take things that do not belong to you."

"Please do this for me," I begged my mother and I reached across the armrest to grab her hand. "I am drowning trying to keep you out of jail, and I am going to lose my career if I keep leaving in the middle of the day to apologize to angry store owners. You have to try this because we are completely out of other options, and I cannot supervise you forever."

My mother looked at the exhaustion in my eyes and tears welled up in her own. She finally nodded and agreed to undergo the procedure. The doctor instructed me to wait in the front reception area while he took my mother into a specialized hypnotherapy room. I sat in the quiet waiting room for almost two hours while listening to the faint sound of a ticking clock. The clinic was completely silent and I could not hear any voices coming from the back room. The door eventually clicked open and the doctor walked out with my mother following closely behind him.

I stood up immediately and searched her face for any signs of distress. She looked entirely different. The deep wrinkles of worry on her forehead were completely smoothed out and her shoulders were relaxed. She looked perfectly serene and almost glowing with a strange internal peace.

"The vacuum was successfully created and filled," the doctor said with a satisfied smile. "You will notice a profound difference in her behavior immediately. Keep a close eye on her and call me if you have any concerns."

I paid the exorbitant fee in cash and drove my mother home. I expected her to complain about a headache or act groggy from the hypnosis but she just stared out the passenger window with a soft smile on her face. The change in her behavior over the next few days was nothing short of miraculous because the stealing stopped entirely. I purposely left a stack of twenty-dollar bills on the kitchen counter and she walked right past them without even a glance. I took her to a crowded grocery store and she did not try to slip a single item into her purse. The compulsion was completely eradicated and I finally felt like I could breathe again.

The relief only lasted about a week before the uncanny valley set in and I started noticing terrifying changes in her personality.

I woke up on a Saturday morning and found her dragging huge trash bags full of her own expensive clothes and jewelry out to the curb. I ran outside and asked her what she was doing but she just looked at me with wide and unblinking eyes.

"Possessions are but chains binding us to the dirt," my mother said and her voice sounded strangely hollow. "It is unjust to hoard the harvest when the earth is shared by all who walk upon it."

I froze because she never spoke with that kind of archaic phrasing before. I tried to pull the bags back toward the house but she gripped my wrist with surprising strength and stared deeply into my eyes. She did not blink once during the entire exchange.

"Let the excess be cleansed," she whispered and she calmly walked back inside to grab more items.

Her obsession with cleansing escalated rapidly over the next few weeks. She started waking up at three in the morning to scrub the pavement on our driveway with a small wire brush. I would find her standing in the middle of the street picking up tiny pieces of gravel and arranging them in perfect geometric patterns along the curb. She stopped watching television and she stopped reading books. She just sat in the living room chair for hours staring directly at the blank wall without moving a single muscle.

I tried to talk to her about dad or ask about her childhood memories but she would just tilt her head and look at me like I was speaking a foreign language.

I decided to confront the doctor and demand he reverse the hypnosis, so I called his clinic from my office all afternoon, but nobody ever answered the phone. When I finally finished work around eight o'clock in the evening, I drove straight to the clinic instead of going home first. I pulled up to the building and noticed the parking lot was completely empty. The interior lights were turned off, but I walked up to the front entrance and turned the brass handle anyway. The door clicked open, and I stepped into the dark reception area.

"Hello?" I called out into the empty clinic. "I know it is after hours but I need to speak with the doctor."

Nobody answered my call but I heard a strange noise coming from the back office down the hallway. It sounded like a wet tearing noise mixed with the heavy sliding of furniture. I slowly walked down the dark corridor and the metallic smell of copper hit my nose and made my stomach churn. I approached the open doorway of the doctor's private office and peeked around the doorframe.

The office was illuminated by a single desk lamp lying knocked over on the floor. The doctor was lying flat on his back in the center of the rug and his white shirt was completely soaked in dark crimson blood.

My mother was standing directly over him.

I slapped my hand over my mouth to stop myself from screaming and I ducked behind a large metal filing cabinet near the doorway. I peered around the edge of the cabinet and watched the horrific scene unfold.

My mother was holding a pair of large gardening shears she must have taken from our garage. She knelt down beside the doctor's lifeless body and calmly positioned the steel blades around his right wrist. She leaned her weight onto the handles and a sickening crunch echoed through the room as the blades severed the bone and tissue. She tossed the severed hand into a black plastic trash bag and repeated the exact same process on his left wrist.

She did not look angry or frantic while she butchered the man. She looked completely serene and her face held the same peaceful expression she wore while arranging gravel on our street.

"To steal a mind is the ultimate theft and the penalty is absolute," my mother whispered to the corpse and her hollow voice sent ice water running through my veins. "The thief must be separated from his tools so the earth may remain pure."

I could not move my legs because the sheer terror completely paralyzed me. I watched her grab the doctor by his ankles and easily drag his heavy body across the bloody rug toward the back exit of the office. The clinic had an incinerator in the alleyway. My mother hoisted the doctor's body into the metal chute with unnatural strength and threw the bag of severed hands in right behind him. She ignited the incinerator and stood perfectly still while the roaring flames consumed the evidence of her crime. She waited until the body was reduced to ash before she quietly walked away into the night.

I waited there for almost an hour before I finally found the courage to run back to my car. I drove home in a state of shock and found my mother sitting on the living room couch staring at the blank wall exactly as she always did. I locked myself in my bedroom and shoved a dresser against the door.

I knew I had to keep a close eye on her so I started secretly following her when she left the house for her nightly walks. Two nights ago I trailed her from a safe distance as she walked down our street toward the small corner grocery store in our neighborhood. The store is owned by an older man who has a nasty reputation for intentionally shortchanging his customers and ringing up phantom items on the cash register to steal a few extra dollars from unsuspecting neighbors.

I hid behind a row of community fire pits across the street and watched my mother walk through the front doors of the grocer's shop just as he was locking up for the night. I could not hear what was said inside the store but I saw the grocer start waving his arms angrily at her through the front window. The argument ended abruptly when my mother reached across the counter and grabbed the man by his throat.

She lifted the struggling grocer entirely off the ground with one arm and dragged him out the front doors into the street. The man was kicking his legs and clawing at her arm but she did not even flinch. She dragged him directly toward the community fire pits where I was hiding so I scrambled backward into the bushes and held my breath.

"You manipulate the scales to hoard the harvest," my mother said to the gasping grocer while holding him suspended over the embers of the fire pit. "You siphon from the innocent and the penalty is absolute."

She tightened her grip around his throat until a loud snap echoed through the quiet street and the grocer went completely limp in her grasp. She tossed his lifeless body directly into the large fire pit and calmly arranged the surrounding logs to ensure the flames would completely consume him. She stood there staring unblinking into the fire until the smell of burning meat filled the air and then she turned around and walked back toward our house.

I am currently locked in my bedroom and my mother is sitting in the living room staring at the wall. I cannot go to the police because they will arrest her and put her on trial for multiple murders. She is not a murderer and she has no control over the thing piloting her body right now. I need to find a professional who knows how to reverse deep hypnotherapy or someone who knows how to expel whatever the doctor accidentally invited into her empty ego.

If anyone reading this knows how to fix here, please contact me immediately. I have locked all the doors and hidden every sharp tool in the house but she just started pacing the hallway outside my bedroom. I can hear her bare feet pressing against the floorboards and she is muttering about how I stole the tools she needs to cleanse the earth. I do not know how much longer the locked door will hold her back.

21(F) here… i have a very complicated relationship with my mom, she’s super controlling about everything especially my social life and academics (tho this doesn’t include what i wear or not) …she is also super abusive to me..that includes hitting me with hot spatula, rods, sticks, etc…she even has a dedicated stick to beat me..also for context she’s a narcissist exhibitionst and i am really uncomfortable about that…i am a very introverted person and i have social anxiety so its really hard for me to make friends..and if I make any somehow…she calls them and threatens them to not talk to me…this is super weird…She also slut shames me a lot for no reason…(i was probably 12-14 that time btw)

Now coming back to the story i was a chubby kid in high school nd yea she fat-shamed me a lot cuz of this…this made me super self conscious to the point that i stopped looking at mirrors (i mean thats kinda canon for chubby kids) and whenever i asked her to join gym she used to shut shame me again along with me getting beaten…

Well now i m in university for few years nd don’t live with my parents (just visit them in vacations) nd maybe i kinda changed a bit..so whenever my mom calls me she always gets mad cuz now i m a bit vocal about my opinions (this includes me being an atheist) i also went to gym and lost a lot of weight (30kg+) so i m kinda skinny lean…this makes my mom really mad and then she started skinny shaming me too much and slut shaming is constant…

I came home yesterday nd when i just arrived i was greeted by flying slippers nd my mom called the neighbours nd started hitting and calling me a ‘whore’ in-front of them…i couldn’t control more nd punched her…maybe too hard…i feel really sick and disgusted by my actions…what should I do?

(Its kinda odd to say but even tho she’s super abusive to me i m kinda dependent on her…not financially..but more likely attachment issue cuz i don’t have any friends…even tho my mom is a very very bad listener)

So what happed wasn’t anything too crazy at first, but what happened next was WILD. 😂

So, I used to work at an official service centre for one of the biggest laptop brands. One day, a couple came in with a laptop. They looked a little nervous, and their problem was pretty simple: a USB drive was stuck in the laptop’s USB port.

They asked me to do whatever I could to get it out.

To describe the couple, they looked like very simple, innocent people. The girl, especially, had that nerdy look, with glasses and a quiet, innocent face. She was beautiful, too, and dressed in loose-fitting clothes. Honestly, I didn't pay much attention to her appearance beyond that.

At first, I assumed they were worried about the repair charges or the possibility of damaging the laptop.

They sat on the other side of the counter, while I sat opposite them and began checking the laptop.

The USB drive wasn't showing up in the system. I tried pulling it out with a little force, but it wouldn't budge. They had probably already tried the same thing themselves.

Then I tried pushing it in slightly, hoping it might shift into a position where I could remove it.

And that's when everything changed.

To my surprise, the USB drive was detected by the system!

Apparently, the laptop was configured to open the USB drive automatically as soon as it was detected.

And OH. MY. GOD. 💀

The screen suddenly displayed hundreds of photos and videos of the very couple sitting right in front of me, having sex!

And because the folder was set to display large thumbnails, I could see the previews of all those files right there on the screen.

It was basically their own private collection of adult videos.

And let me tell you, some of those thumbnails were WILD. Even a quick glance was enough to understand what was going on. I was genuinely embarrassed by some of the things I saw, and I'm someone who occasionally watches porn myself. 😂

But the biggest shock was the contrast.

The girl sitting in front of me looked so innocent, quiet, and reserved. Yet the photos and videos showed a completely different side of her. Her figure was like a pornostar in those thumbnails, It was such a dramatic contrast that, for a few seconds, I could barely process what I was seeing.

I was sitting there thinking, "Wait a minute... is this really the same person sitting right in front of me?!" 💀😂

It completely challenged my assumptions about people based on their appearance. You really can't tell what someone's private life is like just by looking at them.

Anyway, I was shocked for a few seconds, but I made sure not to show it on my face. I didn't want them to realise what had appeared on the screen and become even more uncomfortable.

So, I calmly told them that the USB drive couldn't be removed from the outside and that I'd need to disassemble the laptop to remove it from inside.

They agreed immediately.

Normally, according to our service centre's policy, customers had to submit their laptops and collect them a day or two later. But these two were absolutely desperate to get their laptop back immediately.

They practically begged me to remove the drive right then and there.

I told them to wait outside while I took the laptop to the repair area, where customers weren't allowed. But they were so reluctant to let the laptop out of their sight that they almost begged me to let them come inside, too.

They even offered me extra money!

At that point, I was pretty sure I understood why they were so desperate. 😂

Eventually, I took the laptop into the repair area and began disassembling it. They were allowed to wait nearby, and they watched me work with the kind of tension you'd expect from people waiting outside an operating theatre.

Seriously, it felt as though I were performing emergency surgery to save someone's life! 💀😂

After a while, I finally managed to remove the USB drive.

The moment I handed it back, the relief on their faces was unbelievable. They looked as though I'd just saved their lives!

I reassembled the laptop and, just to tease them a little, asked:

"Would you like me to insert the USB drive into another port to check whether it's working properly? Since it seems so important to you..."

Both of them immediately started waving their hands and shaking their heads. 😂😂

I burst out laughing internally and said, "Okay, no problem!"

I handed over the laptop, and they offered me money again. Of course, I refused. After all, I'd already received my entertainment for the day. Hehehe. 😂

They left the service centre looking happier than I'd ever seen them.

And that was the end of one of the most unexpectedly hilarious incidents of my time working at a laptop service centre.

P.S. Out of curiosity, I even tried searching for them on Pornhub and Google using every description and detail I could remember, wondering whether they might have been professional content creators.

No luck. Couldn't find anything. 😂💀

Maybe they were just an ordinary couple with a very private hobby or maybe the internet simply wasn't ready to reveal their secrets.

A woman wakes in a dark cave, her body wrapped in a thick, sticky substance that pins her to the stone wall. The last thing she remembers is a sharp sting in her neck.

A faint beam of daylight spills through the cave entrance, barely illuminating her surroundings. She struggles until she manages to free one hand and reach into her pocket. Her fingers grab a small folding knife. She flicks it open and carefully slices through the cocoon-like strands binding her.

Hands trembling, she switches on a small flashlight.

The beam sweeps across the cavern.

Bodies.

Hundreds of them.

Some are little more than skeletons draped in rotting flesh. Others are fresher, their skin gray and swollen. The smell of decay nearly makes her gasp

She forces herself to keep looking.

The light settles on a shriveled man cocooned against the wall. His neck is covered in infected sores, and his chest barely rises with each shallow breath.

Then she notices the hole in his abdomen.

Something moves inside it.

A pale, bloated grub slowly pushes its head through the opening. It is about the size of a guinea pig, its wet body glistening in the flashlight's beam. Tiny black eyes reflect the light as it tears away another mouthful from inside the man's stomach.

More movement follows.

Several more grubs writhe beneath his skin, gnawing through his organs while he is still alive.

The man's face is blank, almost lifeless.

She shines the flashlight into his eyes.

His pupils follow the beam.

A horrified gasp escapes her lips. She learns 

He's still conscious and He can't move.

He can only watch.

Suddenly her own skin begins to itch.

Then it burns.

She frantically scratches at her stomach and feels tiny, wriggling bodies beneath her shirt.

Grubs.

She bites down on her sleeve to keep from screaming as she crushes them against her skin with shaking hands. They had already begun chewing through her flesh, trying to burrow into her abdomen.

She stomps the last one into the dirt and freezes.

A scream echoes through the cave.

The man suddenly convulses, jamming his hand into the hole in his stomach as he desperately tries to tear the grubs from his body. Blood pours down the cave floor.

Then another sound interrupts him.

Heavy footsteps.

Slow.

Deliberate.

The same footsteps she heard moments before she was stung.

She dives behind a cluster of boulders just as the creature enters.

She can barely see it but It stands freakishly tall, its body covered in glossy crimson shell, like that of a insect. Its limbs are unnaturally long.

The man spits blood at it.

The humanoid creature doesn't react.

Its jaw slowly opens.

From deep inside its throat, a thin, barbed stinger slides forward, nearly seven inches long.

With terrifying speed, it drives the stinger into the man's neck.

The man thrashes violently for several seconds.

Then...

Nothing.

His body goes limp.

His eyes remain open, staring blankly ahead as his stomach begins to ripple once more.

The grubs resume feeding.

The woman clamps both hands over her mouth, terrified even the sound of her breathing will give her away.

After several endless minutes, the creature finally turns and walks out of the cave.

She waits until the heavy footsteps fade into silence before slipping from behind the rocks.

Keeping her flashlight low, she follows the tunnel toward the exit.

Dozens of fresh cocoons line the walls.

Most contain adults.

Some are children.

She freezes when the light falls across the face of a young boy.

She recognizes him immediately.

A week ago, his disappearance had dominated the news. His mother had pleaded through tears for whoever took her son to bring him home.

The woman stares at the boy's motionless face.

She knows his mother will never see him alive again.

She quietly climbs out of the cave.

Outside, the entire area is surrounded by a chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Weathered warning signs hang from the posts.

She stares in disbelief.

Someone knew.

Someone knew this thing was here.

And all they did was put up a fence.

She climbs anyway.

At the top, her jacket catches on the razor wire. She yanks it free, throwing it over the sharp metal before swinging herself across.

The wire slices a chunk from her left forearm.

She lands hard on the other side, crying out as blood runs down her forearm.

Tearing a strip from her shirt, she wraps the wound as tightly as she can.

Nearby, she notices the remains of a campsite.

The fire is still smoldering.

The tents have been shredded into ribbons.

Whoever camped here has vannished very recently.

Then a scream erupts behind her.

She turns toward the cave. Through the fence she sees, The same man from earlier.

He staggers out of the entrance, dragging himself across the ground with blood-soaked hands.

For one brief moment, she thinks he might make it out the cave entrance.

Then a claw reaches from the darkness.

It clamps around his ankle and claws dig into his flesh.

His terrified screams echo through the forest as the creature drags him back into the cave.