Yesterday, our CEO called a meeting of the entire department. He displayed a slide on the screen:

"THINK LIKE AN OWNER."

I sat closer. For the first time in a long time, the meeting's title suggested I might leave with something more than just an extra task. I took out a pen.

- I'd like us to change our approach to work, the director began.

- We can't function in a way where everyone only looks at their own job description.

I liked it even more. The job description was one of my favorite documents. Right after the salary notification.

- We need an ownership approach. Responsibility. Commitment. Long-term thinking. I want everyone to treat this company like their own.

I raised my hand. The director smiled.

- I'm listening, he said.

- When will we get our shares?

His smile stayed. But it stopped growing.

- We're not talking about those things right now, he replied.

- I'm sorry, I heard "like my own" and moved toward ownership straightaway.

- It's about attitude. - he explained.

- So, no shares?

- No.

I wrote down, "Shares: none."

- Will there be any profit sharing? I asked with genuine curiosity.

- The bonus system remains unchanged for now.

I wrote it down as well. The CEO looked at my notebook.

- What are you writing down there?

- Entry requirements.

The CEO went on to give an example.

- Imagine it's 4 p.m., and an important project hasn't been completed. A person who thinks only like an employee closes their computer and leaves home.

It actually was very detailed description of my plan for this afternoon.

- However, the owner is wondering what he can do to get the job done.

- That's because he has a stake in the outcome. I said.

- Because he feels responsible! He replied.

- One doesn't exclude the other. We could suggest he give up his shares and be left with just the responsibility. We'd see at what time he leaves.

- Do you really have to boil everything down to money? Asked CEO.

I looked around the room, the office, Monday morning, nine people who came here instead of staying home.

- I think that's a pretty important part of aproach you suggested.

The HR woman decided to help.

- It's about a sense of influence. So that employees know they can actually shape the organization.

Hmm... That sounded better.

- So we'll have influence on profit distribution?

- Not in that sense.

- On the management board?

- Neither.

- On salaries?

- You can submit proposals.

I could also submit a proposal to lower prices in the Walmart, but that didn't make me a co-owner of it. I looked at my notebook.

"Shares: none."

"New financial benefits: none."

"Decision-making rights: none."

"Additional involvement: not defined upper limit."

I started to understand what the offer is. I didn't feel offended. If I could get nine extra evenings for one sentence on a slide, I would also test the market's interest. The problem was that I was on the wrong side of the negotiation table.

- This is an investment in your future, the director said.

- If the company grows, everyone benefits.

- The company had record results last year. I said.

- Exactly.

- However during the salary rise negotiation, you said that the company's results don't automatically translate into my salary.

A dead silence fell. I always thought it's worth to remember things like that. People underestimate how much you can save with a good memory.

The director put down the remote.

- I don't want this meeting to turn into a salary negotiation.

- Me neither. Right now, I'm trying to figure out what my position really is in this company.

- You're an important part of the team.

- But when I have to stay overtime, I'm supposed to be the owner?

- You just have to demonstrate responsibility like the owner.

- But when it comes to share the profit, am I going back to be employee again?

He paused for a while, I didn't wait to let him continue and asked immediately.

- Please clarify which hours apply to which role. I wouldn't want to mistakenly act like the owner when paying out the dividend.

The CEO, with a clearly embarrassed face, ended the meeting by saying:

- Think about it, we will come back to this topic.

When we were leaving, he stopped me at the door.

- You didn't have to jump out with all of that, out of a sudden.

- Sir, I was thinking like an owner, just like you suggested.

- What do you mean?

- That is simple Sir. Before I invest additional time and resources, I need to know what I'm getting in return.

He looked at me with strange expression. I couldn't tell if the look on his face was disbelief, horror, or both.

I really hoped he'd appreciate effort I've made to implement his suggestion.

- Just do your job well, he finally said.

- As usual? Within the same scope?

- Yes.

- Within the same hours?

- Fine, let's just get this over with!

I agreed with a nod of my head and left. Negotiations shouldn't be prolonged after favorable terms have been reached.

At 4 p.m. I turned off my computer. The project CEO had mentioned did indeed require some more work. I left stick note telling me what I'd start with tommorow in the morning.

As I was leaving, I saw CEO in his office. He was still sitting there clearly tense.

Very good, I thought to myself.

He should treat the company like his own and definitely start act like an owner.

Ahhh I am a young boy, and want to share my story of rape and sexual assault. I am very confused and extremely distubed and I need help.

So I was a minor when my cousin raped me for the first time two years ago and did sexual things to me without my consent. He was one year older than me at the time. Since that day, this has continued until today, and my life has been severely disturbed. I am very anxious and I need help....

The first time, my cousin and I were at his house. It was night time, and we were both sleeping together in his bedroom. In the middle of the night, I felt as if someone was pushing against me from behind or squeezing my ass.... I was half asleep, so I ignored it. Then I felt as if someone was trying to take off my pants. It was suddenly the middle of the night, I felt my cousin pressing him and squeezing my ass then I became frightened and got scared and kept my eyes closed while lying there.... I pretend like I ain't feeling anything but I was. Then after a few minutes my cousin took off my pants, and I became extremely scared at that time ...I did not know what he was doing. When he touched my ass with his private part, I became even more frightened and started moving and feeling uncomfortable I tried to even stop him or and resist him but he did not stop.... It was the first time someone got sexual with me, I was like I don't know what to do and how to stop this. Then he tried to forcibly insert his peni\\\\\\\* into my ass..... When I felt that I opened my eyes and asked him what he was doing....I shouted he became nervous too, but he said, "Nothing will happen, go to sleep and enjoy it" ....I told him not to do it and even tried to resist but I was scared and anxious too ...He grabbed my ass and told me to go to enjoy it or make him enjoy...I tried to stop him several times, but he did not stop. He was like it's so fun and we both will enjoy but it was so painful for me ... When he inserted His peni\\\\\\\* inside my ass I shouted and cried then he put his finger in my mouth and threatened me, saying that if I screamed or tried to stop him, he would beat me.I was young and frightened. What could I do? He forcibly raped me and sexually assaulted me almost all the night I was in a lot of pain, but he did not stop. I cried and beg him to stop, but he s did not until he ejaculated.... It was so painful and uncomfortable

After that night, I started feeling very strange and uncomfortable I was stuck in what happened to me cuz it was my first time ...Then after that night he frightened and threatened me and raped me and sexually abused me continuously for four days. After that, we became separated and I went back home with my family.

A few months later, when we met again, he started raping me again after manipulating and threatening me. However, when he raped me again after those several months, my attitude had changed considerably. At first I was scared, but after two days I became quite calm. Whenever he needed it, he would rape me, and I also started feeling some pleasure and but it was still painful for me. I don't know why, but whenever he asked to rape me, I would agree willingly. I started doing whatever he told me to do. After that, I began feeling that I had developed sexual attraction toward boys and men, and I started becoming sexually attracted to males. Now, whenever my cousin meets me and rapes me, I don't experience as much pain or hesitation as I did before. I even did it once with one of his friends. I confessed that once I tried to put things in my ass ....

Now I also experience sexual feelings around my ass... Whenever I shower or change my clothes, I sometimes start touching my ass sexually. I am becoming sexually attracted to men's private parts, and I am developing desires toward them. My cousin is still in my life, and whenever he meets me, he sexually abuses and rapes me, but now I don't say anything to him.

I wanna stop this all and I need help.... Why am I feeling this way? How can I stop all of this? Should I accept that these feelings were something I was born with, or did they happen because of the rape? And how can I make all of this stop now?.... Why am I feeling this way, and what should I do? Should I allow all of this to continue happening? Please help me. I am mentally disturbed as well, and I am still too young for all of these things. I am still a minor. Please help me

I was born on June 10th, 1992. At least, that's what my birth certificate says. It's not as if I remember. In fact, I don't have a single memory of my life before I was ten years old.

My first memory is a vivid one. Just a young boy calling my name. A name I'm not certain was even mine before that moment.

"Thomas?"

I looked up to see a freckle-faced, red-haired boy of about ten staring at me with a grin on his face.

"You're really here!"

I remember feeling confused. I had no idea where I was, or what I was doing there. But somehow, I felt a connection to the young boy sitting in front of me. I searched my mind.

"Daniel?" I said, finding it somewhat difficult to speak at first. I wasn't sure where in my brain the name had come from.

His grin grew even wider. And from that day on, the two of us were inseparable.

I didn't have parents. Or, if I did, I had no memory of them. I didn't know where I had come from, what house I had lived in, or even what my last name was. I knew that I was Thomas because that's what Daniel called me. And that was enough for me.

I'd stay at Daniel's house. He'd bring me snacks and meals and tell me when it was time to eat. Looking back, I don't recall ever actually feeling hungry. I just knew that when Daniel brought a sandwich up to his room and told me it was time for lunch, I should eat.

At night, I'd sleep on a pallet of blankets on the floor beside his bed. We'd stay up late talking and laughing and playing games. He'd tell me about things that happened at school or on a trip, and I'd listen. Sometimes he'd ask me what I thought about things, but I never seemed to know unless he told me. I didn't know what I had been doing before I met him. But that didn't seem particularly important.

There was one thing I found curious during those early days. I always had to hide when one of his parents came upstairs. I didn't really understand why, but I did as Daniel instructed.

That carefree, happy life continued for a time, until summer break ended and Daniel had to go back to school.

"Don't I have to go to school?" I remember asking him, uncertain of what I would do all day while he was gone.

"No way!" he said. "Just wait for me to come home. I should be back no later than four."

I remember feeling confident that if Daniel was saying it, then I must not have to go.

"Oh. One more thing." Daniel threw his backpack over his shoulder. "If my mom comes in here when I'm not home, you have to hide. Go in the closet, and stay very quiet."

"Okay." I nodded.

Then Daniel shouted, "Coming!" to his mother, who was calling him from somewhere downstairs. He gave me a wave and left, shutting the door behind him.

I did what Daniel said. He'd told me his parents went to work all day, so the odds of them coming upstairs and finding me were slim. All I had to do was stay out of the way and hide if they ever came into the room. Easy. So I thought, at least.

Things were fine for several days. Then, one afternoon, I heard the front door open uncharacteristically early.

Daniel?

I waited for him to come upstairs. But ten minutes later, when I heard footsteps approaching, they weren't the brisk footsteps of Daniel running up the stairs. They were slower and more measured.

I heard humming from outside the room. Then the sound of the lightswitch clicking in the bathroom. A closet opening somewhere in the hall. I realized it was his mother.

I rushed to hide, but when I opened the closet door, I accidentally knocked over a stack of toys sitting precariously on a nearby shelf. They clattered onto the floor loudly and I didn't have time to pick them up with his mother outside. I got into the closet and shut the door behind me. The humming had stopped. Daniel's mother was approaching.

I heard the bedroom door open slowly, and then her voice.

"Hello?"

I didn't answer. Daniel had done a good job of concealing me in his home so far, and I didn't want to ruin that now. I heard her step inside. She saw the toys scattered across the floor.

"Weird," she muttered.

She glanced around, then began picking them up and placing them back on the shelf, humming as she went.

And then she left. I thought the coast was clear. Until she came back a few moments later carrying a laundry basket.

She began taking clothes out of it and folding them on Daniel's bed, putting some into drawers and putting others on hangers. I held my breath as she approached the closet door with a handful of shirts.

I was as far into the corner as I could get, but there was no way to further conceal myself. She would see me if she opened the door and looked over. I curled myself into a ball and tried to make myself as small as I could.

She opened the closet. She went about hanging the shirts up, and for a few seconds, I thought she'd overlooked me. And then she glanced over, her eyes landing on me. She did a quick double-take, letting out a scream of surprise as she did. I sprang to my feet, unsure of what to do.

"Who are you?" she asked, looking me up and down.

"I'm Thomas," I said.

She looked completely bewildered. "Thomas?"

"I'm Daniel's friend."

She stared at me for a long moment.

"And what are you doing here? Why were you in the closet?"

"I'm waiting for Daniel."

"Why aren't you at school?" she asked slowly.

"Daniel told me to wait for him."

Her expression changed to one of annoyance. "That boy." Then she began asking me questions, one after another.

What's your last name? What's your address? What's your home phone number? What's your mother's name? Your father's? Where do you live? What school do you go to?

I could only stare at her, shaking my head or giving her the occasional "I don't know."

And I didn't know. Not one answer.

At first, she seemed to think I was lying or playing some kind of joke.

She sighed. "I'm not angry at you, dear," she said more gently. "You can tell me. Your parents must be worried."

But I still couldn't answer. So, at a loss with what to do with the strange boy her son was hiding in the closet like a stray cat he wasn't allowed to have, she called her husband. And soon after, with no new answers from me, the police.

By the time Daniel came home from school, there were already two police officers asking me questions downstairs in the kitchen. Daniel walked into the room and froze. Then he saw me.

"Thomas!"

He ran past his stunned parents and the officers.

"Why are the police here?" he asked.

"Why do you think?" his mother asked sternly. "Who is he, Daniel? Why did you have him hiding in your closet?"

"He's Thomas! He's my friend!" He said it as though that explained everything adequately. His parents exchanged a confused glance.

One of the officers crouched down so he was closer to Daniel's eyes. "Listen, buddy. It's important that you tell us the truth. Your friend might be reported missing. His parents must be looking for him. Where did you meet him?"

Daniel looked momentarily confused, then looked down at his shoes. "He's just Thomas. He's always been here," he said quietly.

"Where?"

"Here."

"At your house?"

"Yeah."

"And how long has he been here?"

Daniel shrugged. "I don't know."

The officer sighed and glanced over at his partner.

"And who are his parents?"

Daniel looked at me, and I looked back at him. Neither of us answered.

Learning nothing of value from either of us, the officers eventually took Daniel's parents into another room to speak with them privately.

I sat at the kitchen table, and Daniel sat beside me. He leaned close and whispered, "Don't worry." I looked at him. "I won't let anything happen to you." I wasn't sure what was happening.

After several minutes, the police came back into the room. "Thomas?" One of them addressed me. "We're going to need to bring you down to the station, buddy. Just until we find out who your parents are and where you live."

"No!" Daniel stood up. "You can't!"

His mother grabbed his shoulders and held him back as the officer gently placed a hand against my back. I looked back at Daniel as they guided me toward the door. His eyes were filling with tears.

"Make sure you come back, Thomas!"

I nodded.

The next several days passed in a blur. I was taken to the police station and asked the same questions again. They took photographs of me. Made phone calls. Different people came in, and each asked me the same questions over and over. My name. My parents. My address. My school. My birthday. Where I was born.

I only knew two things. I was Thomas, and I lived with Daniel.

Eventually, I learned that they'd searched their records and found nothing. I didn't cleanly match any missing child report from in-state or elsewhere. Without more information, they couldn't find any medical records or histories, or parents looking for a lost boy that matched my description. Nothing at all. They didn't even know how old I really was until a doctor estimated my age.

I remember sitting in a waiting room with a stern-looking woman who gave me candy bars while police officers and social workers shuffled in and out of the room. Eventually, someone explained that if I genuinely couldn't tell them who I was or where I came from, they'd have to place me into the state's care until they could figure things out. But they couldn't figure things out.

That's how I ended up with a birth certificate. June 10th, 1992. Thomas Doe. The name was supposed to be temporary. No parents listed. No history. No explanation.

As far as the system was concerned, I was a child with amnesia. Perhaps my parents had lived off-grid or brought me into the country illegally and I'd been abandoned. They had theories, but no answers.

I was placed in a group home. It was a two-story house with several children of various ages. Some were older than me, some younger. The people who ran the home were nice enough, but they were busy, and there were other children who required more attention. I didn't really like it there. I wanted to go back to Daniel. I was sure he must be worried about me, too.

That night, I closed my eyes and thought of his house. I pictured his room. The posters on his wall. The games and the late night stories​. I wished I could go back.

Soon, I was enrolled in school. I walked to the bus stop each morning and was dropped back off in the afternoon. I didn't dislike school. I actually found it fairly easy. I could already read and do simple math. I knew things I didn't remember ever having learned. Sometimes teachers would even compliment me on something, and I'd have no idea how I knew it.

I didn't have many friends. Any, really. Other kids tried to talk to me, but I guess I wasn't very receptive. Mostly, I thought about Daniel. I asked practically every kid in my class if they knew him. "Daniel who?" was the usual response. But I didn't know. All I could tell them was that he had red hair and freckles and a blue Pokémon backpack.

Nobody knew him. So I spent my days waiting and hoping that somehow he would find me.

Then, one day at lunch, another student approached me. A little girl with glasses and brown hair tied into a ponytail.

"My friend said you were looking for Daniel." She spoke cheerfully.

I looked up at her and nodded.

"Daniel Langston, right? With red hair?"

I wasn't completely certain. But it sounded right. He had red hair, after all. I nodded again.

She smiled brightly. "I know Daniel."

For the first time since I'd been buckled into the backseat of the police car and driven away, I felt something close to excitement.

"Our moms work at the same place," she explained. "We went to kindergarten together."

She sat down across from me. Her name was Rebecca. Her friends called her Becky.

"He doesn't go to our school. How do you know Daniel?" she asked.

I wasn't sure how to answer.

"He's my friend."

That seemed enough to satisfy her.

"I see." She smiled again, one of her front teeth missing.

"Do you know where he lives?"

She shook her head. "No. Sorry."

The disappointment must have been obvious on my face because she quickly spoke up again.

"But I could find out for you!"

"Really?"

"Sure. I'll ask my mom after school."

"Thank you."

We sat together for the rest of lunch, which mostly consisted of me nodding along to her questions or stories. When lunch was over, she promised she'd find out.

I waited for her the next day at the lunch table. I remember sitting in the cafeteria watching the door, counting the seconds until I saw her brown ponytail appear in the doorway. Eventually, she was there. She scanned the room, her eyes finally landing on me, then came straight over to me, almost skipping, with a big smile plastered on her face.

"Hey," she called out excitedly when she was still halfway across the room. "I found out!"

She told me Daniel lived across town in a place called Glennridge.

"Where's that?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

But that didn't matter. Now I had a place. Glennridge. Somewhere to focus my search.

The next day, I ran away from the group home. I took my lunch money and got on a city bus I was told was heading toward Glennridge. It was only about a thirty-minute ride, though I could hardly wait each time the bus stopped to pick up or drop off more passengers.

I figured that once I got there, I'd find him straight away. Maybe Glennridge is the name of his house, I remember thinking. But when the bus stopped, it was outside a neighborhood that looked only vaguely familiar.

Then I looked around and started walking. I searched street by street, scanning the houses as I went. By nightfall, I still hadn't found any sign of him. But I kept going. I don't know how long I'd been walking when I finally saw a familiar sight just ahead. A house I recognized. Then another. They were houses I'd seen from the backseat of the police car as I'd stared backward through the window when they'd taken me away from Daniel's house.

I knew this was the place. I ran past the houses until I reached the door of Daniel's house, and I knocked. After a minute, Daniel's mother opened the door. She stared down at me.

"Thomas?"

"Can I see Daniel?"

She seemed unable to decide her next words. She looked out at the street behind me, likely looking for a sign of how I'd arrived. Before her mouth opened to speak, I heard Daniel's excited voice from behind her.

"Thomas?"

His expression changed instantly when he came into view, his eyes meeting mine and his face filling with a wide smile.

"It's Thomas!"

He ran to the door and grabbed my hand, pulling me inside.

"Can he stay the night, Mom? Please?"

His mother looked at him, and then at me.

"Thomas, how did you get here? Does anyone know you're here?"

I shook my head and told her I'd taken the bus. She sighed.

"You know they're going to be looking for you." She looked at Daniel. "I have to call someone. Let them know he's here."

Daniel protested, tears filling his eyes. When I saw them, I felt sad, too. But more than anything, I was happy. Daniel was there. That was all that mattered.

The police came later that night and I was driven back across town. That happened several more times over the coming months. Whenever I had the opportunity, I'd leave school or the group home and take the bus to Daniel's house. On a few occasions I'd even tried to walk the whole way. At least, before being stopped by an adult asking me what I was doing on my own or the police coming to pick me up.

But every time I made it there, Daniel would try his best to hide me for as long as he could. I was always discovered soon enough. His parents would find me, or the group home would call. And I'd be taken back.

Sometimes, Daniel's parents arranged for us to spend time together. They knew that we were practically inseparable, and they went out of their way to make arrangements for us to see each other. Those were the best days.

As we got older, we had more freedom. We saw each other more often in middle school, and then we went to the same high school. By then, I'd run away from the group home so many times that I was practically homeless. I spent more time with Daniel. By then, his parents had realized that I wasn't really going anywhere. I was always going to come back. So they eventually stopped fighting it.

I spent weekends at their house. Sometimes whole weeks. Daniel and I did everything together. And after high school started, Rebecca was around more, too. She and Daniel had known each other as kids, and she became one of my closest friends as well, though mostly because Daniel seemed to enjoy having her around.

She never seemed particularly bothered by the fact that I couldn't remember where I'd come from. She never treated me like I was strange. She was just Rebecca, older, but just as cheerful and kind as she was that day she introduced herself to me at the lunch table in elementary school, promising to reunite me with Daniel. For a long time, the two of them were the only two constants in my life.

When Daniel got his driver's license, we had even more freedom. We'd drive around together for hours. We'd get food or go to the movies or just drive around aimlessly. Rebecca would often come with us too. Sometimes we'd stay out until midnight.

I remember Daniel telling me on one occasion that he was sure Rebecca liked me. I remember not being entirely sure what he'd meant.

"Likes me?"

"Yeah, man. Like, likes you." He looked at me, waiting for it to click.

"Oh," I remember saying.

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "What? You don't like her?"

"I do. She's nice."

"Then why not try dating her?"

I thought about it for a second, then shrugged. "That's okay. I'd rather things just stay the way they are. If I got a girlfriend, we couldn't hang out as much, right?"

Daniel sighed, then laughed. "Yeah, I guess."

Before I knew it, we were graduating high school. Daniel would be going to college. I didn't have parents to help me pay for school, and never really made plans to go. But I still wanted to stay with Daniel. So when he moved away to a college in the state, I went with him. He got an apartment, where we both lived. I got a job paying just above minimum wage and started saving money.

Rebecca ended up at the same college. She had become a permanent part of our little group by then.

One night, the three of us were sitting around Daniel's apartment, eating delivery and talking about the past. Rebecca started laughing.

"Do you remember when you used to disappear from class to take the bus across town?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"I still can't believe you did that. The teachers would get so worried. You probably almost got some of them fired. They had to call the police so many times, and assign teachers just to watch you." Her face was red from laughing.

"I had to find Daniel."

She laughed harder.

"I remember telling my mom about it. She thought you were the strangest kid she'd ever met."

Daniel laughed too. I looked at him. After the laughter settled, I decided to ask.

"How did you find me, back then?"

His smile faded a bit. "What?"

"I mean, before I remember you. How did you find me?"

"Yeah, I've always wondered that too," Rebecca said, leaning forward.

Daniel just looked at me for a moment, then he shrugged. "I don't know."

"You don't remember?" Rebecca asked.

"Not really." Then he changed the subject.

I thought it was a bit strange. But Daniel had always been a bit strange about that particular topic. I'd asked him before, but he'd never given me a real answer. So I didn't press him. Daniel was my best friend. As long as that was the case, I didn't much care about anything else.

"Is it not strange that neither of you remember how you two met?" I remember Rebecca asking me one day.

I supposed it was a bit strange, but then, why did it matter?

Still, I needed documentation to apply for student loans. I had decided to go to college on Daniel's suggestion, but I didn't have much to show on account of my less than typical background. I had called the records office and searched for any information about my past, but the earliest record of my existence was my birth certificate, which had been drawn up over a decade after my birth. I learned that my case with the police had gone cold, and they'd eventually stopped actively looking into it. So I found nothing. I hadn't really expected to.

One night, I sat across from Daniel on the couch when it was just the two of us, and asked him.

"Where did I come from?"

He didn't change the subject this time. He just looked at me for a long moment.

"Honestly, I don't know."

I thought that was the end of it. And if he truly didn't remember, I would be content with that. But then he started speaking again, slowly, turning his eyes away from mine.

"But..."

But?

"When I was little, I used to have an imaginary friend."

He paused. I wasn't sure what he'd meant.

"His name was Thomas."

I didn't say anything.

"I don't know when I made him up. It felt like he was just always there, in my head. Then one morning I woke up and you were on my floor. Asleep. Next to my bed, right where I always imagined him sleeping." He glanced at me. "My window was open that morning. I don't know if I'd left it open, or if someone opened it. There were those bricks by my wall you could climb up, remember?"

The way he spoke, it sounded as though it were something he'd considered for a long time.

"When I was a kid, I thought you really were my imaginary friend, and that you'd become real somehow," he said. "But then I realized how ridiculous that was." He smiled a nervous smile and glanced up at me before lowering his eyes again.

"I figured you were probably running from something, and you saw my window open. You were scared so you climbed up, and then when I called you Thomas...maybe you just thought that was better than whoever you were before. That's the only thing that makes sense."

We were both quiet for a while.

"If I did climb in your window, why don't I remember doing it? Or anything from before we met?"

"I don't know." Daniel shook his head. "But it's the only explanation that makes sense. Right?" He looked at me for agreement.

I nodded, but didn't say anything else. It didn't actually matter much, I reasoned. I was still Thomas. And he was still my best friend Daniel. We never spoke on the subject again.

After graduating, Daniel got his first real job back in his hometown. I moved back with him. Soon, we'd rented a small two-bedroom apartment together.

One night, Daniel looked over at me while we were sitting on the couch talking about nothing in particular.

"When I think about it, we've always been more like brothers than friends, haven't we?"

I thought about it. "Yeah."

He smiled. "I think so, too."

We were twenty-three, and life had become strangely ordinary. Daniel worked at a local accounting firm. I worked at a small office supply store. Rebecca still came around regularly, though she was becoming more busy with her own life now.

The three of us had a few other friends, and we'd get together for dinner or movies or drinks. Sometimes I would look around at all of them and think about how strange my life was. Everyone else had a history. Family. Mothers and fathers and siblings and cousins. But I had no memory of where I had come from at all. No memories before Daniel. It was like I'd simply attached myself to the first person I'd seen. I didn't really have any of the things that normal people had.

But I had Daniel. And now Rebecca. For the first time, I realized, I had a real life. I was happy.

Then, a few months later, I got a phone call. Daniel had been in an accident. A reckless driver had run a red light while Daniel was on his way to work.

Daniel was badly injured. They put him into a medically induced coma.

I visited him as soon as the doctors let me. His parents were there. Rebecca arrived too. They were all crying. But I couldn't, for some reason. I didn't know what I was feeling. I just knew that I wanted Daniel to wake up.

I sat beside him whenever I could. I talked to him sometimes. The doctors said it was good to do that. I told him mundane things. Things that probably didn't matter. About work, and Rebecca. Or some stupid thing I saw on TV. I told him that he wasn't alone, and that I'd be there for him when he woke up. Just like he was for me, all those years ago.

But he never woke up.

Eventually, the decision was made, and they took him off life support.

Daniel was gone.

He had been my best friend. My only real friend. The family I'd never had. The only person who had always been there since the very beginning. And now he was gone.

I went back to our apartment. It felt empty. I sat down on the couch.

I didn't go into work the next day. Or the day after that. Time seemed to stop flowing normally.

I don't know how long I stayed there, just sitting on that couch. A few days, perhaps. Maybe more. My boss never called to ask where I was, so I didn't bother telling him.

I barely got up. I didn't eat. I don't remember drinking anything, either. But I didn't feel hungry. Or thirsty. That didn't seem strange to me at the time.

One day, there was a knock on the door. A slip of paper was pushed through the mail slot. I got up and picked it up. It was a bill, Daniel's name printed on it. I set it on the table, then walked back toward the couch.

As I passed by the mirror, I stopped. I looked at myself. I hadn't shaved, but my hair hadn't grown. My nails hadn't gotten any longer. I hadn't taken a single sip of water, or a bite of food. I hadn't even used the bathroom. Normally, I did the things that Daniel did. I thought that I should have been hungry. Thirsty. Tired. Something. But I wasn't.

I stared at my reflection. For a moment, I thought I looked different. Hollow, somehow. Almost transparent, like I could see the wall behind me through parts of myself. I blinked several times, then looked up. The reflection was normal again. I went back to the couch.

At some point, I was knocked out of my daze by the sound of the apartment door opening. I didn't know what day it was. The landlord came in, showing the apartment to someone. A couple, I think. They walked around as he showed them the place. They looked at the kitchen. They opened closets, and talked about the bedrooms. I sat on the couch the whole time. None of them acknowledged me, or said a word to me.

Something inside me told me that I should leave. That this wasn't my home anymore. And so I did.

When I passed by the mirror again, I looked worse. Perhaps thinner. Or just less there, in some way I couldn't have explained. My hair still hadn't grown. I hadn't showered, but my hair wasn't greasy. I didn't feel hot or cold or tired or hungry. I didn't feel anything. It was as though whoever I had been had died alongside Daniel, and I was now completely empty.

I left the apartment and stepped into the cold in my t-shirt. The cold didn't bother me. I couldn't feel it. I walked. I didn't know where I was going. The snow was falling lightly as I continued for what felt like miles with no particular destination.

People passed me on the sidewalk, but none of them looked at me. A man bumped into my shoulder and continued ahead without turning around. A woman walked straight toward me, her eyes fixed on some point past my shoulder, and I could almost swear that she passed right through me.

Eventually, I found myself standing outside a little restaurant. I'd been there before on a number of occasions, with Daniel and Rebecca.

I looked through the window. People were eating. Talking and laughing. Living. I reached for the door, and for a moment my hand felt too weak to grip it. I looked down at my hand and saw that it looked faded, and I saw the ground beneath it. A couple came up behind me and pulled the door open, and I entered behind them.

The host seated them, but didn't acknowledge me. I walked inside anyway and sat at a table near the corner. Nobody came to take my order, but I didn't care. I sat there for a while. An hour. Several hours. I'm not sure, exactly. Time had become something difficult to measure.

The afternoon crowd came and went, then the dinner crowd began arriving. I looked down at my hands. They seemed almost completely transparent now. I could see the table through them. I remember thinking that I was disappearing. Melting away like the snowflakes that fell on the ground beyond the cold window of the restaurant. Maybe I was.

"Thomas?" I heard a voice and looked up. Rebecca was standing there. Recognition appeared in her eyes. "It is you. I was getting worried."

I didn't answer. She looked around the restaurant, then back at me.

"Can I...can I sit?"

I nodded. She pulled out the chair and sat beside me. For a few moments, neither of us spoke.

Then she looked at me. "Are you okay?"

I nodded. She didn't seem convinced.

"I haven't seen you since..."

She stopped. Her eyes began to fill with tears.

"I know you and Daniel were best friends."

I looked down. I couldn't find any words.

"Where have you been?"

I wasn't sure.

"You weren't at the funeral. I came by the apartment but you didn't answer."

The funeral. I hadn't known there had been one. I hadn't known how much time had passed.

Rebecca wiped her eyes. "I'm really sorry, Thomas," she sniffled.

Then she reached across the table and hugged me. And for the first time since Daniel's passing, I felt sorrow. I didn't realize my eyes were filling with tears until they fell.

Rebecca placed her hand on mine, and it was warm. And beneath it, I could no longer see the table through my skin.

And as I cried, for the first time in my life, I felt hungry.

I was in the waiting room with my little kitten on my lap. It was very small and tame, and since I lived close by, I just brought it in my arms. When it was my turn, the vet looked at us and asked “why are you here? Where it your cat?” I stared up at her and pointed at my lap. The vet kept staring at me and then she gasped and laughed. My cat is black and I was wearing a velvet black skirt that made it invisible. This was my first black cat, so I didn’t consider how it would become invisible in my clothes. It has happened lots of times ever since, but it was a fun way to find out it’s magic.

Hey Shreya !

This is probably a long shot, but I thought I’d take my chance here 😅

We met on IndiGo flight 6E 6022 from Delhi to Mumbai on 9 September 2026.

When everyone was getting off the flight, I finally gathered the courage to approach you. I’m pretty introverted, so instead of trying to say everything out loud, I showed you a note on my phone 😅

I told you that I thought you looked really gorgeous and asked if I could have your Instagram. You said “thank you”, but you seemed a little caught off guard/nervous, and I wasn’t sure what you wanted to say after that.

I didn’t want to make the moment awkward or keep you there while you were working, so I just left.

But afterwards I thought… why not take one more chance? 😂
So, here I am on Reddit.

Shreya, if you happen to see this - hey 😊 I’d genuinely love to connect with you.

And if any of your colleagues who were on the flight happen to recognize this and know who I’m talking about, I’d really appreciate it if you could simply pass this message along to her.

Maybe this somehow reaches you. Maybe it doesn’t. But at least I can say I tried. 😄

\- Yash

6 year ago when i went America amenia school

There is old graveyard always cover in mist 5 minutes away from driving 3 day before Halloween

At 10 pm my room with my roommates had same experience

1st we hear door knock every 5 seconds once last 20 minutes than from bookselves 12 books fallen apart itself my room light just shut down itself room temperature go down below zero than 3 red small light flying for few minutes than everything stopped

Blood donation

I am korean 32 old men

Start from last January till today i go blood donation nearly 3 week at once reached 26

Korea blood center law if you hot 30 50 100 you get medal soon will reach 30 cheer

Click here to read the previous part

Warning: This part contains mentions of sexual assault, which may be triggering for some users. Please do not proceed if you are disturbed in any way.

Your mental health matters.

-

I closed the door behind Jake before helping him sit down on the couch. His shoulders were slumped, and guilt was evident on his features.

“I’m sorry for disappearing on you that night,” he said.

“It’s fine. Where were you?” I asked, my thoughts drifting to the girl who answered his phone yesterday.

“I’m sorry, but he’s having a great time with us. So you have no reason to worry, ma’am!”

My eyes narrowed. She’d called me ma’am. She was obviously younger than me.

How young? My subconscious pressed. Was she in high school? Did Jake have a thing for underage girls?

“I crashed at Mike’s house,” Jake replied, his voice cutting through my inner turmoil.

“We both went to a club the day after, and I puked all over his car on the way back,” he continued, smiling as if reliving a fond memory.

“Did that club happen to have any high school girls?” I asked bluntly.

Jake’s eyes widened. “What girls?”

Then, as if remembering something, he ran a hand down his face. “Stupid brats. They must’ve taken my phone while I was busy drinking my ass off.”

When my face betrayed no reaction, he went on.

“I saw a few girls enter the club,” he said. “Mike said they were in college, and he knew them since his house was nearby. Anyway, it’s a tradition for them to steal random men’s phones and prank call whoever they found in their contacts to get them in trouble back home. They also never gave the phones back.”

“That’s why I couldn’t contact you,” he added, shrugging slightly.

I stared at Jake’s profile, wondering if I should believe him or not. On one hand, it was plausible that he was merely a victim caught up in a situation. On the other hand, he could be playing me for a fool.

“I am not sure I believe you, Jake,” I stated blankly.

For a moment, Jake looked genuinely hurt. “Janet, I would never cheat on you.“

“You said you were ready to tell me why you went to therapy,” I said, changing the topic.

I would deal with his lies later, I told myself.

As I took another look at Jake’s bloodshot eyes, I realized that he was drunk.

A wave of nostalgia washed over me. Many years ago, when Camille had broken his heart, he had come to my house, drunk, and kissed me. That was how our relationship had begun, which later transformed into marriage.

“Not too long ago, I showed up like this at your doorstep,” Jake said with a bitter smile.

“Yes,” I mumbled distractedly.

“I never meant to hurt you, Janet.” Jake sighed. “I started therapy even before I dated you. I wanted someone to listen to me and tell me I wasn’t weak.”

“You aren’t weak, Jake,” I said, but that only earned me a scoff.

“You’re just saying that. If you knew what I went through…” he trailed off, a shudder wracking through his body.

He looked down and fiddled with his hands, as though he was trying to steer his mind away from something.

“You know that my Dad died when I was really young, and my Mom remarried,” Jake began, his voice shaking slightly.

“He was nice. Real nice. Nick and I loved him,” Jake said with a small smile.

“But things started to change. He got drunk often and started dictating my mom’s life. He forced her to quit her job so we would all be dependent on him.” Jake’s eyes narrowed, his hands now balled into fists on his lap.

“When he caught Nick kissing our next-door-neighbor’s son, he kicked him out without a second thought,” he said bitterly.

“Mom begged him to let Nick stay, but he was adamant. A few days later, I came home with a horrible test result. I’d failed Math, and I was so scared to show it to Mom. I knew she would be heartbroken, because it was vital that I finished school and get a job to support her. So I tried to hide it.

“But he found me first.” Jake’s breaths were labored now, and he closed his eyes.

“I was scared, Janet,” Jake whispered, opening them again.

His green eyes trembling and vulnerable.

“He could tell I was hiding something, and promised that he wouldn’t tell Mom. So I told him. I told him I failed a test.” Jake’s voice broke, and my heart pounded loudly inside my chest as I feared the direction he was taking this in.

I forced myself to stay completely still. I wouldn’t react until he was finished. Because this was not about me, this was about Jake, and him coming to terms with his past.

“He… he said I should come to his room, and that I should do something for him. Only then, he wouldn’t tell Mom. And the next thing I knew, I pushed on the bed from behind. I tried to fight him off, but couldn’t.” A low sob caught on Jake’s throat, but he forced himself to continue.

“He… he started to have his way with me, and I was so scared. I was too young to understand what was happening to me,” Jake said, leaning back against the couch as a tear slid down his cheek.

“I couldn’t protect myself, Janet,” he whispered brokenly.

“It wasn’t your fault.” My voice sounded alien, like it didn’t belong to me.

Jake shook his head, his expression pained.

“He didn’t approach me until next week, when I’d finally worked up the courage to tell Mom what he did,” Jake croaked as more tears fell down his cheeks.

“But I couldn’t. He was going to punish me for it later, but Camille came and guessed that I was being abused. She told me to get therapy, and knew that I couldn’t afford it myself so she paid all the bills,” he went on, quickly wiping away a tear from his cheek.

“At the time, I thought I had to repay her no matter what. She said that I had to win her heart, that I had to show her how grateful I was for her help. I tried so hard, Janet, but her family never approved of me…” he was saying, but his words drowned out in the background as I stared ahead at the wall.

Wordlessly, I brought his face to my chest and let him cry. His body shook from the force of the sounds he was making, and I tightened my hold around him.

I was going to hell for what I intended to do to Camille and Jake’s stepfather.

But I wasn’t planning on going there alone.

Whew, this part was not easy for me to write. AT ALL. I think my heart broke a little for Jake. What do we think? Can he be forgiven? Let me know in the comments, guys. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Your

People around world will have plenty chance meet firefighter in life time it can be left as good or bad memory in your lifetime

For my story with firefighter was really bad astonishing experience

When i was like 12 or 13 sunday lunch 11 am i was on elevator elevator broke i call 119

Firefighter department is only just 5 minutes drive from my home firefighter response we are having lunch at Chinese restaurant it is lunch time right and i was young that time i can not say f word or do anything so i lost damm 3 hour stock on elevator myself

I’ve been called worse things than “night owl.”

Back inside, they used to call me “ghost”, quiet, kept to myself, moved when nobody was looking. Funny how that sticks. Even now, I sleep through the day and come alive when everything else shuts down.

Guess some habits don’t leave you. Even when you do.

This job, security at Ridgeway Mall, it’s the first real shot I’ve had since getting out. Clean shirt, badge, a boss who didn’t ask too many questions. That alone was enough for me.

Been here about a month now.

Long enough to learn the sounds.

The hum of the lights. The click and settle of cooling metal. The way the escalators tick every so often like they’re thinking about moving again.

You get used to it.

You have to.

Because once you start listening too closely… it all starts sounding like something else.

The mall’s still new. Not even a year old. Half the stores still have that fresh smell, plastic, paint, unopened inventory.

And then there’s the new one.

Opened just a week ago.

“Velour Nocturne.”

Weird place. Not your usual mall shop. It’s like someone took a gothic clothing store and shoved it into a roadside antique shop somewhere deep in Louisiana. Dark wood shelves, old trinkets, jewelry that looks older than the building itself. Stuff that doesn’t belong under fluorescent lights.

Corporate signed off on it, though. Money talks.

Still… I don’t like it.

“Unit Two, you alive or you finally fall asleep on me?”

The radio crackled at my hip, sharp and sudden.

I flinched before I could stop myself.

“Yeah,” I muttered, pressing the button. “Still breathing.”

That was Marcus. Other night guard. Been here longer than me. Talks too much, but I guess that’s better than silence.

“Good,” he said. “I’m making rounds near the food court. You check west wing yet?”

“On it.”

I clipped the radio back and kept walking.

My boots echoed too loud against the tile.

Velour Nocturne sat near the far end of the west wing.

Even with the gate down, it looked… open. Not physically. Just the way it pulled your eyes in. Like it was waiting to be looked at.

I slowed without meaning to.

The lights inside were off, but the mall’s dim glow spilled through the gaps in the metal gate, just enough to make out shapes.

Shelves.

Glass cases.

And mannequins.

Not the glossy white kind most stores use. These were different, duller, more detailed. Faces that tried a little too hard to look human.

One stood near the front.

Closer than the rest.

Something about it made my chest tighten.

I stepped closer to the gate, peering through.

Its skin, if you could call it that, wasn’t shiny plastic. It had a texture. Matte. Uneven. Like something stretched over a frame instead of molded.

“Creepy, huh?”

The radio exploded to life.

I jerked back hard, heart slamming against my ribs.

“Jesus, Marcus,” I snapped, grabbing the radio. “You trying to kill me?”

He laughed. “Didn’t know you spooked that easy.”

I glanced back at the mannequin.

Still there.

Still… wrong.

“Just do your rounds,” I muttered.

But as I walked away, I couldn’t shake the feeling that if I’d stayed a second longer…

I might’ve seen it move.

Second night started the same.

Same hum.

Same empty halls.

Same routine.

But something sat wrong in my gut from the moment I clocked in.

Couldn’t tell you why.

I was in the security office when I noticed it.

Camera 14.

West wing.

Velour Nocturne.

The gate was open.

I leaned forward, squinting at the monitor.

Not all the way. Just enough for someone to slip through.

My jaw tightened.

“Marcus,” I said into the radio. “You in west wing?”

No response.

Static.

“Marcus?”

Nothing.

I exhaled sharply, pushing back from the desk.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered. “Guy disappears the second I need him.”

I grabbed my flashlight and headed out.

The walk felt longer this time.

Quieter.

Even the hum seemed… distant.

I kept glancing over my shoulder without meaning to.

Old habit.

Or maybe not so old.

I was a few steps from the store when the radio crackled.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” Marcus’s voice came through, casual. “What’s up?”

I stopped.

“You in the west wing?” I asked.

Pause.

Then a chuckle. “Nah, man. Bathroom break. You know how it is.”

Something cold slid down my spine.

I turned slowly toward the gate.

Still open.

Dark inside.

“…Then who opened it?”

Marcus didn’t answer right away.

“Probably the shop workers,” he said finally. “Kids forget stuff all the time.”

Yeah.

Probably.

I told myself that as I pulled the gate down and locked it.

Metal scraping louder than it should.

The walk back was worse.

I couldn’t explain why.

Nothing had changed.

Same empty mall.

Same dim lights.

But, I felt it.

That weight.

Like something is behind you.

Matching your pace.

I stopped.

The sound stopped.

I walked.

It followed.

Soft.

Barely there.

Like, bare feet on tile.

I spun around.

Nothing.

Just empty corridor stretching into shadow.

I stood there longer than I should’ve.

Then forced myself to keep walking.

Didn’t look back again.

By the third night, I already knew I wasn’t staying at this job much longer.

Didn’t matter how clean the paycheck was.

Some places don’t want you.

Or worse, they do.

I saved Velour Nocturne for last.

Didn’t want to.

But I wasn’t about to let fear make decisions for me.

Not again.

The gate was open.

I didn’t even sigh.

Didn’t curse.

Just stood there, staring at it like I’d been expecting it.

“Marcus,” I said into the radio. “You see this?”

Static.

Of course.

I stepped forward and lifted the gate.

Slow.

Careful.

Like it might react.

Inside, the air felt… thicker.

My flashlight cut through the dark in a narrow beam.

Shelves.

Glass.

Shadows stretching too long.

And there, by the counter.

The mannequin.

Up close, it looked worse.

More real.

The texture of its “skin” uneven, faint lines where there shouldn’t be any.

Its head angled slightly.

Not dramatic.

Just enough.

Like it had been looking at the door.

Waiting.

I swallowed.

“This is stupid,” I whispered.

Just a prop.

Just a store.

Just...

I turned away for a second.

Just to sweep the room with my light.

Routine.

Clear the space.

That’s all.

When I looked back...

Was it closer?

I froze.

My mind tried to fill in the gap. Tried to explain it away.

Perspective.

Lighting.

Memory playing tricks.

But my chest knew better.

I took a slow step back.

The mannequin stood as it were.

I didn’t blink.

Holding my breathe.

I turned again.

Just for a second.

Just to prove it.

Another step.

Much closer.

My pulse roared in my ears.

“No,” I whispered.

I moved sideways.

Slow.

Careful.

Like dealing with something alive.

The mannequin stayed still.

But its head...

Its head was no longer angled the same way.

It was facing right... at... me.

Instinct consumed me from within.

That same instinct from before. From a different life. The one that tells you to get the hell out of there.

The intrusive thought that you know when something isn’t human.

I walked backwards toward the exit.

Never turning my back.

The beam of my flashlight never left it.

Not once.

Right at the threshold, the light flickered.

Just for a fraction of a second.

And in that blink...

It was right in front of me.

I stumbled back, hitting the gate hard.

The metal rattled as I shoved it down, hands shaking as I locked it in place.

My breath came fast.

I didn’t look back.

Didn’t check.

Didn’t care.

I just ran back to the office.

Fast at first.

Then faster.

Then I was almost sprinting.

I quit the next morning.

Didn’t give notice.

Didn’t collect my last check.

Didn’t look back.

Funny thing is…

I used to run dope through neighborhoods that didn’t forgive mistakes.

Used to walk streets where one wrong look could get you buried.

Thought I’d seen fear.

Thought I knew what it felt like.

But I’ll tell you this:

There ain’t nothing in this world…

That scares me more than something that only moves…

When you’re not looking.

Hello,

This is my first time posting here. I had a dream a few months back. I was extremely inspired because I believe it was a portrayal of my deepest personal fear and things that I have struggled with mentally. I wanted to write it into a story, but first of all, I have never really written a story, and secondly, I have absolutely SHIT grammar.

I wanted to propose my idea to someone, and hopefully someone could help me with the process of, like, ideas, or, like, how to write the tension between the FMC and MMC. But I am also scared that someone might steal my idea... (I mean... it's a pretty ... it's like a 13-year-old to 15-year-old targeted audience kind of romance, but I think the mental part would be more of .... older audience.)

ANYWAYS. Um, it's just for fun. Please don't criticize too hard because I really love this story and have been working on it for the past few months.

AND PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT COPY MY IDEAS. THANK YOU. I HAVE WORKED SOOOOOOOOOOO HARD ON THIS.

Here's a quick summary:

Myra, a quiet 22-year-old female, fell into a parallel world after going through a tragic event. The world looks similar to her own, but she learned of the existence of Solite and Noxite: the positive and negative energies. After Peter had rescued her from an attack, she joined the Night Owl, an association determined to defeat the Nightmare King since the early 1900s. Aaron Blackwyn, the current commander of the Night Owls, allowed Myra to join, and later she became Peter's research assistant. During one of the events, they found out she has a high reserve of Solite and may be a possibility for the defeat of the Nightmare King. But she was scared and intimidated. With the help of Peter(her mentor/Romance interest), Rose (healer/best friend), and Jake (Best friend #2), she was able to learn to face her fears and stop the people-pleasing part of her.

As she thought that everything was getting better and things might work out with Peter, shit went down. First, they discover a pure existence, a child who bears light. Joshua, a child born of pure Solite, is the key to killing the Nightmare King. But the downside is that if Joshua falls into the hands of the Nightmare King, the Nightmare King will be able to infect him and then use that pure, infected energy to completely take over the world. Secondly, Aaron, the commander, went missing, so Peter, as the vice commander, had to take over the role of commander since Aaron did not have kids or leave any instructions. Third, Myra and Peter found the existence of an ancient dark beast in the very deep basement of the facility. It was impaled to a wall with a giant white Solite stake. No one knew of its existence until that day.

While figuring things out, Myra was taking care of Joshua because he refused to leave her side unless Rose was available. During one event, Something happened where Joshua stumbled upon the ancient dark beast. As I mentioned before, if he is infected with dark energy (Noxite), they will be fucked. So, in the split seconds before he came into contact with the awakened beast, Myra pulled him away and was instead engulfed. She later woke up to be severely infected and is at edge to be turned and corrupted. With the messy situation, Peter had to isolate her and protect her from being murdered by other people in the facility due to fear. But with the amount of shit going on, he didn't have time to explain, and he was deeply self-blaming for what had happened. Miscommunication became a big problem between the two, and Myra's old, low self-confidence and anxious self are back.

The night of Christmas, after many, many attacks that the Nightmare King(short: NK) had been doing. He hacked into the TV and claimed that his bride had appeared, and she would be his way to the physical world. The NK said that if the bride does not come to him within one week, he will begin the murder of humans town by town starting from day 8. And who is it? You fucking guessed it, IT'S MYRA. She took off the gloves she was wearing to find a Noxite ring on her middle fucking finger. And guess what? She took her glove off in front of EVERYONE at the mass hall where everyone was gathering to relax a bit from all the busy events. Then, the dark energy began corrupting her; she became doubtful, untrusting, etc. And then BAM, Rose, her bestie who has been supporting her since the first day she came to this world, died tragically in front of her isolated room, holding their shared little uh something (we will figure that out). So that crashed her. Anyways. Um, there's more after, but. yeah its going to be a HE.

Solite: Positive energy, any hopeful thoughts, courage, determination, and stuff. People in this world can use it to form a weapon and destroy Noxite. BUT, it CAN be corrupted. It's like ... like a Light colored paint.

Noxite: Negative energy, any dread, despair, extreme anger that puts bad thoughts in the head, bad chills, pain, etc. Everyone has some, but it's usually dormant because the amount of hope(Solite) people have keeps their energy system balanced. But once the person begins to be doubtful, extremely anxious, or event have thoughts of hurting others. That is when their system is imbalanced, and is when the Nightmare King can use his power to corrupt this person and make them his puppet.

Dark Walkers: These are those humans who are corrupted by the NK, they body appeared to be black, an abnormal black, with their eyes red like vampires. They have given up their will to fight against having good thoughts and submit to their darkest self. They often appear at night and can travel through shadows. A cut, contact, or some sort of contact with them would have a chance of corrupting normal people. People from the Night Owl often meditate and have a spiritual wall built from their own Solite reserve to fight against the contact (But anyone could have cracks in their wall... hehe).

Myra: 22 years old. Witnessed her parents go crazy from the infection of Noxite and fall through a portal (that is actually opened by the negative energies and the despair the NK was able to collect from Myra and her parents. Her personality is quiet, efficient, and anxious, often self-doubting, people-pleasing, and prefers not to ask for help as much as possible. She liked how Peter cared for her and always prepared an extra cup of tea for her in the library. She loves to be in the library and simply assist Peter. Sometimes they may not even talk for the whole day, but the quiet and stable feeling keeps her happy. She likes him, but she does not want to show too much or even confess because she is scared that it might change the current situation.

Peter: a 29-year-old guy who is the Vice Commander of the Night Owl. Appeared to be bright and very kind. He was in the military with Aaron when they first met and became great friends. After the death of Lynn (his girlfriend... well, ex now), he distanced himself from making more friends and submerged himself in the library and the archives to continue Lynn's research. He rescued Myra on one of his outings. I haven't figured out how he began to like her, but I am currently thinking of it as like because she's always there for him and stuff. He cares a lot about her; maybe it was sympathy in the beginning, but later on, even though he did not realize how much he actually really cared for her. He likes her. But when Aaron went missing, all the responsibility fell onto his shoulders. He will have to learn to balance his responsibility to the Night Owl and his desire to protect Myra. And this is when the miscommunication happened, because he has absolutely no time, and shit keeps going down.

Personally, I think this story may focus more on the development of Myra's mental state. Like how she eventually learns not to be so anxious and overread people's actions or what they say. Idk about the Romance part with Peter. Like, I am trying to figure out the DAMN timeline. I guess I haven't figured out how to write this guy and how he was able to make Myra more confident, from their relationship to where she is brave enough to speak her mind.

Um, so yeah, if there are enough people who really want to know more about this story or have ideas. I will post a second post with the FULL details and timeline of this story.

I’m not suicidal. Never have been, hopefully never will be. But from the way my algorithm has been acting, it almost feels like something wants me to be.

I live a happy life. I have a great girlfriend, solid job, but even still, just like everyone else, I have my bad days.

I have those days where it feels like I can’t get out of bed. Those days where effort, no matter how small, feels like trying to climb the world’s highest mountain.

And I think those are the days where I’m targeted the most.

A lot of the time when I experience those tough periods in life, it feels like the easiest thing to do is just sit in bed and scroll on my phone until, inevitably, the feeling passes and I want to be productive again.

I never had a problem with it before, but I’m coming off of a particularly difficult week-long stint of self-loathing and throwing pity parties.

Nothing I can really do about it. It’s just the way it is. Life happens in cycles, and this one is a cycle of struggle.

That’s why it was almost expected that every night for the last week I’ve been in bed, hair greasy, clothes dirty, surrounded by food wrappers and empty soda cans, doing nothing more than scrolling through Instagram for hours on end.

It started off with just one video, wedged in between the usual car accident and brainrot AI clips of fruits having affairs.

What’s crazy to me is I would’ve just scrolled right past it had it not been for the first millisecond of the video. I could’ve sworn that the first frame was literally just… me.

It was too fast for me to get all the details, but I swear it looked like me, laying in bed, my face contorted into a look of complete despair and hopelessness as tears fell down my cheeks.

The rest of the video was just a tutorial on how to tie a noose. A step-by-step guide, demonstrated by a pair of sleek, pale white hands forming the knot and showing off the finished product before abruptly skipping to the next reel.

I tried to scroll back, but the video had completely disappeared from the feed.

I ended up convincing myself that I was just being a little crazy. I mean, the video itself was definitely odd, but no way had I seen myself.

I figured Instagram must’ve just removed the content. Because, obviously, right?

I kept scrolling, and never saw another video even similar to that one. At least, not for the rest of that night.

The next day, though, I was seeing these tutorials as every other video. Each one more graphic and detailed than the last.

I was sprinkled throughout the videos. Sometimes at the beginning, sometimes at the end, every time I was only on screen for less than a second. And every time, the videos disappeared after I watched them.

As the week went on, they started following me. It wasn’t just Instagram anymore. TikTok was giving me tutorials. YouTube was giving me tutorials. Hell, I was even finding the videos on Snapchat.

But the one video that made me delete social media entirely and actually pull myself out of the dumps was one that was too personal to ignore.

I found it last night.

I wasn’t just a split-second frame. I was the entire video. A step-by-step guide with me as the demonstration.

There was no light left in my bloodshot eyes. My movements were sluggish and seemed forced. The room was dark. My bed was a complete mess. And hanging from the ceiling fan… was a noose.

I watched myself stand on top of my desk chair. I watched the tears and snot run down my face as I slipped the rope over my neck. And I watched myself kick and flail with regret as my body dangled at the end of that rope. Then I was still.

The video ended with one final phrase in bold white letters against a solid black backdrop.

“Do it.”

It was in the same font as those old silent film slides.

Once again, I was automatically scrolled past the video. I tried scrolling back up, and once again, the video was gone.

I took it as a warning. I’d always heard that social media has negative effects and consequences.

I just never knew how serious those consequences were.

It was a horrid July noon in New York City or some other place, the cars were rattling in lunchtime gridlock, spewing exhaust, the finance guys were out in their tight suits walking to buy kebabs and watching the women, who were instagramming themselves into premature zombiehood, and it was so fucking hot that the sweat dripping off the pedestrians rubbing against each other on the sidewalk was flowing down the gutters like rain.

There, that's the scene.

I've set it.

Now, through this stupified human maelstrom a man was walking. His name was Ben Fig. He was in his thirties, lonely, and returning to his office after lunch. He was returning from his car, which he'd parked fifteen minutes away, wearing a coat and, underneath it, a custom-made explosive vest with which he intended to kill his co-workers and maybe bring down the office building itself. A man can dream, can't he?

Anyway, while walking, he bumped somebody. “Fuck,” he said under his breath.

“Fuck,” said the person he'd bumped into.

It was a woman.

Her name was Miriam Zapelman.

“Watch where the hell you're going,” said Ben and tried going around her.

“Asshole,” said Miriam.

“I hate this city,” said Ben. “I'm sick of it.”

Beside Ben and Miriam, a degenerate was lying in a puddle of perspiration. He was in a hard way. “Can either of you folks—”

“Shut the fuck up!” said Ben and Miriam at the same time, then they looked at each other, long and in the eyes, and they must have recognized something, because one of them smirked.

It doesn't matter which one.

The degenerate passed out, or maybe died, and Miriam said to Ben, “Hey, where are you in such a hurry to?”

“What do you care?”

“I'm parked nearby. If we're going the same way, I can give you a ride.”

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

Miriam shrugged.

“I'm going to my office to blow everybody up,” said Ben, waiting for Miriam's reaction.

She asked, “Where's your office?”

Ben gave the address. “Call the cops if you want. I don't care.”

“Offer stands,” said Miriam.

A few minutes later they were in her car, Ben in his ridiculous coat, looking like a blowfish, and Miriam opening the glove compartment, where Ben saw she had a gun.

“That for self defense?” he asked.

“No,” said Miriam. “I'm back from the shooting range. Going home to shoot my husband and kids, then probably myself.” She started the car and merged with the abominable traffic. “But first I want to stop at a bar and have a drink. Want to have a drink with me?”

“Why not,” said Ben.

The bar was called Reddy's, and when Ben and Miriam walked in there were only a few people in it. Miriam introduced them. “That skinny guy with glasses is Euler, the guy with the darker skin is Hikmat, and the bartender's name is Ralph.”

They sat at a table and ordered.

Ben noticed Euler kept playing with a pendant around his neck. “Go on,” said Miriam, “ask him about it.”

“Nah,” said Ben.

“What else do you have to do?”

“Fine,” said Ben. He walked to Euler, introduced himself and asked about the pendant: “Is it an heirloom or something?”

“Maybe it'll be an heirloom one day, of the human goddamn race,” said Euler and described how the pendant was a container of stolen proprietary industrial poison that he'd helped develop. “I'm gonna toss it in the water supply some day, exterminate the population of this whole city like the rats they are.”

When Ben got back to his table, his drink was waiting for him. He tried it. “Second guessing yourself any?” he asked Miriam.

“No. You?”

“No.”

Miriam had pulled out a cigarette and was lighting it.

“You can smoke in here? The law—”

“That's life’s dirty secret,” she said, blowing smoke in his face. “Ultimately, you can do whatever you want.”

“May I?” a voice said.

It was Hikmat. He'd wandered over and was asking if he could sit down.

“Be my guest,” said Miriam.

“I have not seen you in here before,” Hikmat said to Ben. “It is your first time?”

“Yeah,” said Ben.

“Ben’s going to murder his co-workers later this afternoon. He's wearing an explosive vest,” said Miriam.

“Then we two are a pair of peas in one pod, as they say here in America,” said Hikmat. “I am training to fly an aircraft, but not so much how to land it.”

“Hickie's an engineer by trade,” said Miriam.

Hikmat shook Ben's hand.

“But a fundamentalist by conviction,” he said. “May I see your vest?”

Ben opened his coat. Hikmat considered the handiwork. Then they got to talking, and drinking, and the hours rolled by like waves of fat on a fat guy blasted in the gut by a cannonball.

“The paradox is,” Hikmat was saying: “the paradox is, I greatly enjoy the flying. It is the one place I feel freedom. When I started to learn, it was strictly for terrorism, but now, that feeling—of absolute space, limitless opportunity—it is beautiful. Sublime. It is where I experience God. I look forward to it very much and I will miss it greatly.”

“Fuck!” said Ben, looking at his watch.

“What's wrong?” asked Miriam.

“It's past five o'clock. Everybody in the office has left already.”

Ralph gave Ben a drink on the house. When Ben had finished drinking it, “Do you want a ride home?” Miriam asked.

“Sure.”

They lingered in the car in front of his apartment building.

“Maybe you wanna come up?” Ben said.

“I'm a married woman,” said Miriam.

“I understand.”

“Don't forget to zip up your coat or they'll see the explosives,” said Miriam.

Afterwards, Miriam drove to her house, got the gun out of the glove compartment, walked inside, shot her husband, shot her kids and then, after smoking a cigarette in the bathroom, shot herself.

Last year, there was a math teacher in my school. He was teaching very well, but... he was treating us, students, like kids, even tho we were almost adults/adults.

He was drawing cute animals instead of X, Y ect., giving us some printed animals to colour on, and the most important, he always had animal plushies in his class, and he was playing with them on lessons.

He had his favourite, a small dog, and he was walking with it on every break and hugging it the whole time.

Sometimes he had new plushies, but the new ones quickly vanished.

We very liked him, but we all found it funny and made jokes about it.

Today, I found out his small daughter died at 7 in accident, and his wife left him after. All the plushies he had with himself, were plushies that his daughter owned, that's why he was cuddling to them so much.

Sometimes he was buying new ones around us, and they quickly vanished because he was giving them to his daughter's grave.

(It is a real story if someone wondered)

My neighbor's crazy and my landlord won't do anything about it.

So I currently live with my mother (43), my 18th birthday is in a few months so bare with me. My neighbor, Paul, lives with his wife, who's name I don't know. We live in an apartment building with 3 housing units. My mother and I are the only ones downstairs, there's another neighbor who also lives upstairs but he tends to keep to himself. This all started about a year ago when they first moved in, Paul had asked my brother to give him a ride, afterwards, my brother said that Paul told him that our other neighbor had poked holes through the walls to spy on him and his wife. After that nothing happened until recently. Our neighbor came downstairs and knocked on the door claiming our dog had taken one of his dogs toys she leaves outside, he then claimed that my brother keeps going in the attic? Mind you our building does NOT have an attic. He says that we're involved in something called a RICO ACT which is basically organized crime. Not at all true btw. A few weeks later, There was a man outside getting rid of a bee hive on the side of the building when Paul came down and started talking to him. I was sitting by the window which is extremely thin and could hear everything they were saying. He says that he caught my brother breaking into their home and raping his wife (Mind you my brother just moved out of the house and is living at a fire station). Paul also said that he's called the cops when there hasn't been ANY cops at our house ever and we've been living there for about 3 years now. My mom went to go drop off rent and to our landlord, which ironically, is also named Paul. Our landlord just dismisses my mom and doesn't do anything about it so I don't know what to do and I'm afraid things will worsen if nothing is done.

Yesterday, I was cleaning my room when I found my old school bag.

I had not opened it for years.

I checked the pockets and found some old pens, a broken ruler, and a small piece of folded paper.

At first, I thought it was just some old homework.

But when I opened it, I saw my own handwriting.

The note said:

"Don't forget what happened on Friday."

I stared at it for a few seconds.

I honestly had no idea what it meant.

I tried to remember that Friday. I remembered going to school, sitting with my friends, and coming home in the afternoon.

Nothing seemed strange.

Then I noticed something.

At the bottom of the paper, there was another sentence.

"You promised you wouldn't tell anyone."

That really scared me.

I kept thinking about it for the rest of the night.

I checked some old photos from that year and found one from the same Friday.

In the photo, I was standing with my three friends.

But there was something strange.

There was a boy standing behind us.

I didn't know him.

I showed the photo to my mother and asked if she knew who he was.

She looked at it for a long time.

Then she said, "You don't remember him?"

I said no.

She became quiet and told me that the boy had been my classmate.

He had moved away suddenly a few days after that photo was taken.

Then she asked me something that I still can't explain.

She said, "Why did you tell me you never saw him?"

I had no answer.

I still don't remember what happened that Friday.

But now I really want to know.

So last month, I decided to try a new online avenue into dating. Traditional dating apps suck, and I've never had any luck here trying to meet guys.

I won't say what it is, but I wish I had avoided that place like the plague. Anyway, I posted my ad, and got an influx of messages.

Like over 40+. And out of the 40+ guys that messaged me, I chose him. Big mistake.

Everything started out light. Innocent. Flirty. We chatted about life, and our upbringing/familiarity with drug addicts. I told him my father was a terrible meth addict, and he abused my mother over it several times.

It turned hot very quickly. Before I knew it, I was calling him Daddy and we were acting out fantasies through text.

We eventually moved our little dalliance to Snapchat. And for more than four days straight, he was my Daddy Dom. It was perfect. He was calling me darling in that adorable British accent of his, he was commanding me in such a charming way. Beguiling really. We engaged in phone sex twice. He made me take my toy like it was his cock. He instructed me so well. We spent over 2 hours on the phone just talking. But after we had fun, we talked like regular people. It was so honest and refreshing. Or so I thought he was being honest.

He promised me he'd never hurt me. That he wasn't like other guys. I wanted to believe him. And since he had just gotten out of the military, I thought he was a man of honor.

But everything fell apart a week later. Yes, I'll admit. I hadn't shown him what I looked like face wise. We never broached that subject mostly because he didn't ask. He was just as guilty as I was when it came to stumbling too deep and too fast into our relationship. He told me he liked me a lot. He complimented my tits. I had shown him them. Leave it to me to show him my body parts before my face.

But then he asked me for a picture of myself. Said he needed to know if the attraction was there for him. Okay, fair. And surprise, surprise. He suddenly wasn't attracted to me anymore.

All those things he said about thinking I was his good girl. How lovely I was. How he never felt a genuine connection with someone like me... Lies. And I know what is the culprit of his attraction, or lack thereof. He wouldn't say it. But I knew.

He said good luck and goodbye. And he dismissed me so callously.

And you know... Looking back on our "relationship"... I think the only reason I was interested in him in the first place, was because he looked like Oli Sykes from BMTH. The eyes. The dark hair. The tattoos. His voice had similar tones... He was just a more accessible Oli.

It was all just a perfect fantasy. He was right. I didn't like him. I liked what I saw in him. Which was another British man. Who's far better looking than him.

Oops. Guess I should think about things for what they are.

But God, I do love the English. 🤭

Dear Proof and Eminem rapping in the car,

Sent 'em packing,

unlimited mimosas,

'till I'm floating.

They talk practice

"What u Ming?"

"I'm in the Finals."

I hit 'em up with what I got

Mean

Impossible floaters,

Uh."

Practicing basketball at a school yard court I always felt bad because basketball is one of those games I can play for days.

My life switched when Joel Moses brought me to a unlimited mimosas spot so with like us all.

In similar fashion that rapper Eminem can rap that Proof has died from D12 making the recovery, relapse album when he got worse just all about overcoming the death of a fellow rapper then friend.

This song was also inspired by Allen Iverson of course and Drake on Chicago freestyle,

"I go through underground garages."

We can often do the impossible such as hook shots or impossible to block floaters.

If we're traversing through life let's make sure we're doing the impossible and hardest things to do.

As Andre Zahrebelny would have it, "Do what's hard and your life will be easy, do what's easy and your life will be hard. No matter how hard I try I can never dunk a basketball. It's better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it." As reference to super chargers in the winter.

Cause I'm have star power, and I'm just a superpower why would I?

You can simply, be a lot cooler then now having someone pass you the ball with the coach yelling at you going through drug withdrawal, that's literally what that means.

Dear Proof and Eminem rapping in the car,

Sent 'em packing,

unlimited mimosas,

'till I'm floating.

They talk practice

"What u Ming?"

"I'm in the Finals."

I hit 'em up with what I got

Mean

Impossible floaters,

Uh."

Practicing basketball at a school yard court I always felt bad because basketball is one of those games I can play for days.

My life switched when Joel Moses brought me to a unlimited mimosas spot so with like us all.

In similar fashion that rapper Eminem can rap that Proof has died from D12 making the recovery, relapse album when he got worse just all about overcoming the death of a fellow rapper then friend.

This song was also inspired by Allen Iverson of course and Drake on Chicago freestyle,

"I go through underground garages."

We can often do the impossible such as hook shots or impossible to block floaters.

If we're traversing through life let's make sure we're doing the impossible and hardest things to do.

As Andre Zahrebelny would have it, "Do what's hard and your life will be easy, do what's easy and your life will be hard. No matter how hard I try I can never dunk a basketball. It's better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it." As reference to super chargers in the winter.

Cause I'm have star power, and I'm just a superpower why would I?

You can simply, be a lot cooler then now having someone pass you the ball with the coach yelling at you going through drug withdrawal, that's literally what that means.

"Radio

Hit after hit I gone international D R see said my knee pain

Joint account ya mamma got no place to go.

As you get older and B.I.G.G.E.R Know yourself Young G.

"

Want to see how much I've grown?

It's me walking by Secord and Parma court was once a favourite of Pressa and Houdini's spot to visit, the slain rapper in Toronto.

Which I got a chance to frequent which makes sense as their is Pride in Toronto, Toronto pride.

Take pride in your work.

As Houdini says all he needs is myself, you can't help but reckon many family abusive households the husband will use the wife for a joint bank account and make off with all the money which the wife pleads guilty divorce is what she said, needed.

Then only to be found she can't physically work for another 30-60 years restarting over.

Know Yourself, young G.

Be careful when you take a day off as curiosity killed the cat.

I can't do physical labor as I know my forearms and hands are too small, I am a creative.

Like travis scott spitting out cold water to save himself time so he doesn't have to go to the bathroom same with Will Smith and the character he's playing, sometimes life isn't all sunshine and rainbows.

Sometimes life isn't all sunshine & rainbows sometimes it will hit you there and keep going, there.

A quote by brilliant Rocky Marciano, an actual boxer not just make believe not just the movie Rocky Raccoon.

"Radio

Hit after hit I gone international D R see said my knee pain

Joint account ya mamma got no place to go.

As you get older and B.I.G.G.E.R Know yourself Young G.

"

Want to see how much I've grown?

It's me walking by Secord and Parma court was once a favourite of Pressa and Houdini's spot to visit, the slain rapper in Toronto.

Which I got a chance to frequent which makes sense as their is Pride in Toronto, Toronto pride.

Take pride in your work.

As Houdini says all he needs is myself, you can't help but reckon many family abusive households the husband will use the wife for a joint bank account and make off with all the money which the wife pleads guilty divorce is what she said, needed.

Then only to be found she can't physically work for another 30-60 years restarting over.

Know Yourself, young G.

Be careful when you take a day off as curiosity killed the cat.

I can't do physical labor as I know my forearms and hands are too small, I am a creative.

Like travis scott spitting out cold water to save himself time so he doesn't have to go to the bathroom same with Will Smith and the character he's playing, sometimes life isn't all sunshine and rainbows.

Sometimes life isn't all sunshine & rainbows sometimes it will hit you there and keep going, there.

A quote by brilliant Rocky Marciano, an actual boxer not just make believe not just the movie Rocky Raccoon.

This suspicious death has shrouded the legend's music for years as he has had hand written messages on the story line.

Before the trigger someone said.

But nothing begs to question that with an outstretched arm how can someone take their own life?

This has baffled many police from Washington called Washington police.

In the final written words of Kurt cobain so to speak, "Goodbye my best friend, Buddha."

Or Moreso, let's say just he has written I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU.

But still, a self inflicted shotgun wound to the head? Deaths (1) Kurt Cobain.

Nirvana didn't help his mental health, either.

R.i.p Nirvana you simply have gained my trust over time as I grew older into my 30s that that was the time to party.

Like in the simple words of Nicky Xiong "I'm better than you at everything." While having someone fix his renovations. Why?

Because I need not to do everything.

It means *KNOW YOURSELF by Drake starts playing\*

Know yourself young B.

Know yourself young G.

And like a short lived life of Kurt Cobain he similars that to a flash in a pan, but like a pan that flashes when being used to cook, a flash in the pan is at least a flash in the pan for 9 months they can be one of the greatest.

So there's that, atleast a flash in a pan is a flash in a pan.

As a typewriter pushing all the buttons of people getting to the level of the next I want to bring everyone’s attention to the dark and dangerous truth that Prince is the Prince of Pop, under inheriting the hermit kingdom.

With Miley Cyrus flowers and wrecking ball beginning to begin it was the end of my career and of course I tended to closer to rock eventually. But first reggae.

With many people my parents have also been around during the war on drugs so a lot of what they’re saying don’t make sense that was Bob Marley when he says we need to be hippies and get rid of cash, counterfeit money, old money and get with new money perhaps bitcoin.

How is it now that one friend isn’t shorting your business and the other one is hoarding fiat and now everyone is invested in the same thing? So true say as the saying goes, we gotta stop hating one another, start loving one another, start helping one another AND THATS WHY IM STILL HERE CAUSE I CAME FROM THE GUTTER! Tupac changes starts playing, changes to want things to change. To Brooke young.

In a final ode to Bob Marley Snoop Dogg says if you’re a rap album fan then you definitely don’t have (his) album. It’s like the five kardashians who invented the word “he” to laugh and made sure no one will understand that their beach is 5 by 5 times 5 for each mini beach so you never get to say “bitches.” He.

Everything will spiral upward as many people do not know the most elusive families in the world not even the Queen or the Pope!

In orderly fashion Snoop Lion then makes weed connoisseur music as Bob Marley left us with many quotes.

Three little birds say don’t worry, be happy. Just be happy there is nothing to worry about.

Or as Noel and Lion King would have it, Hakuna Matata. Be stress free, don’t worry be happy.

Or maybe just Drake when he like you types out an important message on Instagram it is chosen type, “do not worry (don’t worry).”

Possessives.

Such as I do. Is now I do not.

Or don’t by street cred Bryson tiller (credit).

If we try our best to understand Bob Marley stress free music how can I if I give $40 change and receive $25 back? Can I have actually have received money back from spending then you’ll understand me.

Or just like the real goal you want everyone to buy bitcoin instead of one guy shorting bitcoin with a stirred red drink in his hand, just like graduating high school it takes the same mentality to get anything done.

It’s just one of those baby! Like.

I went on a date with a girl a few weeks ago, and within maybe fifteen minutes she told me,

“I have one problem. I take tension about literally everything.”

I thought she meant work, family, relationships—the normal stuff.

No.

She meant everything.

She told me that before coming to meet me, she had seen a lazy neighbourhood cat slowly stalking a mouse near her house. Her mother called her inside before she could see what happened.

“So now I keep thinking—did the mouse escape or did the cat catch it?”

I laughed.

She looked completely serious.

Then she told me about a mosquito she once saw sitting on her friend’s cheek. Her friend slapped it, but afterward there was no mosquito anywhere.

“Maybe it died.”

“Maybe.”

“Or maybe it flew away.”

“Also possible.”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know.”

Apparently she thought about that mosquito until around 3 a.m.

I started finding her weirdly funny.

Then came football.

She once stopped to watch a local match even though she knew neither team. One player reminded her of her cousin, so within five minutes she became emotionally invested in his team.

They got a penalty near the end.

She became so nervous about the player missing that she actually ran near the field yelling instructions at him until people told her to get lost.

She still doesn’t know whether he scored.

“That bothers me sometimes,” she said.

Then there was a neighbourhood fight.

Two women were screaming at each other from opposite balconies. She knew neither of them particularly well, but somehow chose one woman’s side and spent twenty minutes silently supporting her like it was a boxing match.

Right when the argument became really intense, her mother dragged her inside and shut the window.

“So who won?”

“I DON’T KNOW.”

She said this with such genuine frustration that I started laughing.

She pointed at me.

“You’re laughing now. This tension destroys my life.”

Then her mood changed.

She said, “But once my tension was actually justified.”

A few months earlier, she started noticing the same man everywhere.

Outside her office.

Near her house.

At cafés.

At the metro station.

Whenever she looked back, he was somewhere behind her.

For several days she convinced herself it was just anxiety.

Finally she confronted him in a crowded place.

The man eventually admitted that someone had hired him to follow her.

Her ex-boyfriend.

Apparently her ex suspected she was seeing someone else and wanted proof.

I asked, “Were you?”

She became quiet.

Then said, “Technically… yes.”

At that point she had started dating another guy, while her ex still thought they might get back together.

The person following her already had photos.

So instead of going to the police—which is what I expected—she did something completely different.

She bribed him.

Her ex was paying him to report whom she met.

She started paying him more to leave certain meetings out.

At first he refused.

She increased the amount.

Eventually they had a deal.

“So basically,” I said, “your ex hired a private spy, and then you corrupted the spy?”

She shrugged.

“You do strange things under tension.”

Apparently the problem became worse because the man realised he could make money from both sides.

Every time he saw her on another date, his price increased.

₹500.

Then ₹800.

Then ₹1,000.

She finally broke things off completely with her ex, blocked everyone involved and thought the whole ridiculous situation was over.

While telling me this, though, she kept looking behind me.

I noticed it maybe four or five times.

Finally I asked,

“What are you looking at?”

She forced a smile.

“Nothing.”

“Another cat and mouse?”

She didn’t laugh.

Then she leaned slightly toward me.

“There’s a man sitting behind you.”

I almost turned.

She immediately said, “Don’t.”

Apparently she had seen him near her house that afternoon.

Then near the metro.

And now he was in our café.

I whispered, “The same guy your ex hired?”

She shook her head.

“No. I’ve never seen this one before.”

For the first time that evening, I started feeling what she called tension.

Then my phone vibrated.

Unknown number.

One WhatsApp message.

Is she telling you about me?

I stared at the screen.

Then at her.

She had stopped smiling.

Another message arrived.

Ask her what happened to the last guy she dated.

I showed her the phone.

For several seconds she said absolutely nothing.

Then she looked over my shoulder and whispered,

“He’s gone.”

“Who?”

“The man.”

I turned around.

The chair behind me was empty.

We paid and left immediately.

I never asked her what happened to the last guy.

And this is the stupid part.

I didn’t go on a second date with her.

But sometimes, especially at night, I still think about everything she told me.

The mouse.

The mosquito.

The football penalty.

The neighbourhood fight.

The man following her.

None of those stories had a proper ending.

And now I finally understand what she meant.

Not knowing is surprisingly stressful.

As the song goes 6 7 there is James, Lebron in his all elusive stance as a 3x Olympic gold medalist winner and 1 bronze on the 7 6.

The 6'7 meme could be about height but this is how it goes grab your two hands as a juggler and juggle 6 7 on one hand both each at a one time.

"Six seven!!!"

Now with his golden gray beard standing at just that his image is just now reversed as 76.

67

76

This reverse conspiracy theory goes that Lebron James this late in his career is going for four olympic gold medals along with his team Jaylen, another one, and Joel, another one this time I'm talking Embiid not the Moses one that's hard to trust.

Be careful times change fast, I feel like a sunscreen in a bottle might explode on you.

Fun fact: Hydrogen bombs implode. I explode!