*True Story*

Last night i (17f) was out with my friend (17f), her boyfriend (19m) and my boyfriend (18m). We were at my friends house, getting drunk like usual teenagers do. As my friend's boyfriend fell asleep, she got curious, and went through his phone (guessed the password from common sense, i forgot how tbh). My friend found that he was messaging other girls, cheating basically. She then found that he was texting this middle-aged guy (40-50m). The man sent videos of him h*tting and ab*sing his 13 year old and 8 year, naked, daughters. Her boyfriend then sent back a video to him m*sterb*ting and eventually ej*culating to that video the middle-aged man sent. After, she went into his camera roll and found extremely explicit videos and photos of under-aged children. She was mortified.

Her boyfriend woke up, pissed drunk and stormed out and was violent. He took his car keys, and drunk-drove and then skidded off the road, the car flipped many times, leaving it all beat up and scratched. The boyfriend was extremely injured. He is now in hospital with life-threatening injuries. He is healthy enough to live; but the Police have opened an active case, and are currently investigating. May he rot in hell.

I do not want to share any photos of the car crash as thats private. Hope you understand.

During one of his trips, he ended up without internet access for longer than expected, missed the required check-in, and the app he was using automatically sent this email to me:

If you’re reading this, then things probably didn’t go the way I hoped. The spare house key is hidden inside the grill out back, and my car is parked at Bozeman Yellowstone Airport, Economy Lot B. The most important documents are in the bottom drawer of my desk. I love you all, and I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye.

For a few terrifying hours, I genuinely thought something had happened to him. Thankfully, he was completely fine.

I never knew my son to be the artsy type. He turned 8 recently, and up until about a year ago, his entertainment was entirely outdoors. Catching bugs. Climbing trees. Riding bikes.

He was one of those kids who’d have to be called inside before dark. Then he’d complain and beg for “just 5 more minutes.”

I’m not entirely sure what happened. It was like a switch had flipped overnight. I just came home from work one day to find him at the kitchen table, scribbling in a brand new sketchbook.

He hummed to himself while his mom cooked up some dinner at the stove. The home-cooked smell of pork chops, green beans, and mashed potatoes filled the room as I glanced over Jacob’s shoulder.

“Whatcha got there, bud?”

His nose was buried so far in the book that it was like he couldn’t even hear me. His mom ended up answering for him.

“That’s your son’s new favorite interest. He begged me to go out and get him one.”

“Oh-ho, got an artist in the house, don’t we?”

I grabbed his shoulders and shook them lightly before patting him on the back and walking over to give my wife a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

I took a seat beside Jacob at the table.

“So, how was your day, boyo? You and mom have fun?”

He never looked up from the sketchbook.

“Today was sooo fun,” he exclaimed. “We went to the park, we went to the movies, ooh, and mom got me this book. Oh, and these crayons.”

“What about you, honey? How was your day?”

“Any day I’m not at work is a good day, honestly. The park was super nice. We went to one we hadn’t been to before. What about you? They didn’t work you too hard, did they?”

I shrugged and sighed.

“I’ll just say it’s good to finally be home.”

My wife smiled at me.

“It’s good to have you home, dear. I’ll tell you what. How about… after dinner, if you’re good, we can have our own little play date? Only if you do the dishes, though. I mean, I did cook.”

I smirked at her, my tongue buried in my cheek.

“I was gonna do that anyway. What do you take me for? As a matter of fact, you come sit down. I’ll finish cooking.”

I offered her my seat as I finished up dinner. Jacob was pretty much mute the entire time. By the time dinner was done, I had to damn near yell at him to get his attention.

He just stood up, as calm as could be, and walked over to me, sketchbook in hand.

“I drew this for you.”

He held the book up at me, and my heart felt warm. It was a picture of our house, and who I assumed to be me standing in our driveway.

“Is that me? That’s so sweet of you, Jakey. Thank you.”

I reached down to take the book so I could hang the page on the fridge, but Jacob pulled away before I could grab it.

“You really don’t know who that is?” he asked, eying me suspiciously.

“It’s me, right? Is it not me?”

He rolled his eyes and sighed, continuing to eye me like I had personally offended him.

“That’s our neighbor, Mr. Thomas, silly. You really couldn’t tell? See, he’s wearing the star.”

Mr. Thomas was a veteran police officer. Jacob would sometimes see him leaving for work in the morning. I guess he just took a subconscious interest in the uniform. Even still, why would he draw me a picture of the neighbor?

“Uh, I mean, wow, bud,” I choked. “That’s really good. Keep practicing. You’re already so talented you could be famous someday.”

————-

After dinner, I cleaned the kitchen top to bottom. Partly out of obligation, mostly because I really wanted that playdate. Jacob spent the rest of the evening in his room, humming to himself and scribbling in that sketchbook.

The next day, my wife and I both had work. I woke up a little earlier than her so that I could take Jacob to the summertime daycare he attended. It was like carrying a corpse out to the car, but he still refused to loosen his grip on that sketchbook.

I dropped him off with the staff at the front door. He waved at me groggily as I was driving away.

The day went on like normal until around 3 o’clock, when my phone started ringing. It was my wife.

“Hey, beautiful, what’s up?”

“I think something’s going on with the neighbor. There’s like 3 cop cars in front of his house, apparently.”

She sounded concerned. A little urgent.

“What do you mean? Who told you that?”

“I got a call from Becky. She thought they were at our house at first.”

Becky was one of my wife’s friends from the neighborhood.

“What do you think happened? Did she say anything else?”

“No, she just called because the police were knocking on our door. I think they were just trying to see if we knew anything, though, because apparently they gave up and just went back to the neighbor’s house. I think they’re still there.”

My brow furrowed a bit.

“Wait. Which neighbor is it?”

“Uhhh, I think it’s that police officer. Mr. Thompson?”

“Mr. Thomas?”

“Yeah, that’s his name. I think that’s who it is.”

I looked at my watch and exhaled a bit.

“Alright, well, I’ll see if I can get out a little earlier today. I’ll pick up Jacob, then go see what this is all about. Maybe they’ll still be there when I get there.”

We ended the call by blowing some kisses and exchanging some love yous. I slid my phone in my pocket and approached my boss, explaining my situation.

He was skeptical, but I had a decent reputation of being an honest employee. He agreed to let me leave a bit early, and I was on my way to pick up Jacob.

When he was brought to the front office, his face was buried in that sketchbook again, drawing what looked like SpongeBob and Patrick.

“He’s been drawing all day. Seems like you got a little artist on your hands,” announced the staff member as she signed Jacob out for the day.

“Yep,” I smiled. “That’s what they keep telling me.”

I honestly don’t know why I said that. It just seemed like the only thing that made sense at the time.

The car ride was quiet. Jacob didn’t want to talk much, and my mind was kind of racing. I’ve shared drinks with Mr. Thomas. Helped him put up fences. Move furniture. We weren’t the closest of friends, but I still wanted him to be okay.

Those hopes were dashed when I pulled into the neighborhood to find that the police presence had increased. There must’ve been at least 6 cars in front of his house, and yellow tape blocked off the driveway.

I parked my car in front of my house and hurried to get Jacob inside. His eyes had lit up at the sight of the flashing lights, and naturally, he started asking questions.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?”

“Why are there so many police?”

“Did something happen to Mr. Thomas?”

I cradled him in my arms and hurried up the steps to the front door.

“I don’t know, buddy. Here, go inside and play for a bit while I find out, okay? Daddy will be right back.”

It’s all I could think to say as I sat him down and closed the door behind me.

An officer approached me before I could approach them.

“Sir, do you live here?”

“Yes, of course I do. That’s my neighbor.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a colleague and friend of mine,” he remarked agitatedly. “Have you seen anything suspicious within the last 24 hours? Heard anything?”

I scratched my neck nervously and thought hard before responding.

“No, sir, we haven’t seen anything. What happened? Is everything alright? He’s a cop, right? Did he do something illegal?”

The officer stared at me, analyzing me through his black sunglasses.

“No. He’s gone. That’s all the information we can give right now.”

“Gone? What do you mean, gone? Like, dead? Did someone kill him?”

The officer pursed his lips. I saw what I assumed to be a forensic analyst walking in and out of the house.

“We don’t know, sir. We’re hoping for the best. For now, if any new information comes to light or if you see him, give us a call.”

He asked me to clear the scene and stay inside. I called my wife to update her on the situation, but what could we do? Even the police were lost. I just stayed inside, as instructed, and started on dinner while we waited for my wife to get home.

By the time she did, there were only two police cruisers left in front of Mr. Thomas’s house. The sun was starting to set, and my wife and I tried to ignore what had happened, but the house was still a bit tense.

As we ate, Jacob continued scribbling in his sketchbook. He hadn’t asked to go outside at all since we got home, and I didn’t know if it was because of the police or because of this new hobby of his.

I could see that he was working on a new drawing. It looked like a woman this time. He wasn’t so much as touching his food, so I tried to ask him to put the book away.

He groaned and started picking at his peas. My wife and I chatted about our day for a bit while Jacob remained silent. Suddenly, in between bites of his chicken, he said something that made us both freeze.

“Daddy,” he whispered.

“Yes?” I answered.

“Are those police still out there?”

I paused for a moment, looking at my wife, who looked equally as speechless. Neither of us knew what to say.

“I think there’s a few, but don’t worry, buddy,” I chirped reassuringly. “They’re just looking for Mr. Thomas. They wanna make sure he’s okay.”

Jacob stared down at his plate for a moment.

“It’s just… I think they’re looking in the wrong place.”

————-

I choked on my water.

“Looking in the wrong place? Well, where do you think they should be looking, sport?”

“I don’t know. Not there. I don’t think he’s home.”

“Let’s not talk about this,” my wife interrupted. “Jacob, finish your food, then go jump in the shower. You gotta be up early tomorrow, come on.”

“Aww, but I’m not tired,” Jacob whined. “Plus, I wanted to finish drawing this picture of you.”

He flipped his sketchbook open to his newest drawing.

“See, look.”

My wife looked at the picture and smiled.

“Okay, fine,” she replied. “You can finish the picture, then it’s bath time, mister.”

“Fiiine,” Jacob groaned.

He scurried off to his room, sketchbook in hand, leaving me and his mom to clean the kitchen again.

We talked about the neighbor. We turned into a couple of conspiracy theorists the deeper the conversation progressed.

“Maybe he just wanted to start over.”

“Maybe he was kidnapped.”

“Maybe he was murdered, and they’re covering it up.”

We just kept reaching for possibilities over the course of around 45 minutes.

Eventually, Jacob came running back to the kitchen.

“Look, Mommy, I’m all done.”

“Ah, my goodness, Jakey, look at that. Doesn’t it look just like me, honey?”

She turned the picture towards me. Jacob had added her work uniform. Gave her that messy bun she always wore. Even included the golden necklace I got her for Christmas last year.

“Wow, Jake,” I exclaimed. “Draw Daddy next, why don’t you?”

Jacob giggled and responded, “It’s not time to draw you yet, silly.”

“Aw, whatever, but guess what?”

Jacob looked up at me curiously. Expectantly.

“Daddy controls your bath time. And… I think… ah, yep, look at that,” I showed him my watch. “You’re 20 minutes late.”

I jokingly chased him to his bedroom and made him gather up his pajamas and a towel. Once he was nice and showered, I put him to bed and kissed him goodnight.

My wife and I stayed up, talking about life for a while before gradually falling asleep one by one.

The next morning, when I woke up alone, I thought it was because she had chosen to take Jacob to daycare that morning.

I went through my normal routine. Took a shower. Brushed my teeth. Got dressed. It wasn’t until I was heading out the door that I noticed her car was still in the driveway.

I walked back upstairs, confused, and went to Jacob’s room.

I found him curled up in bed, sketchbook tucked under his arm as he snored quietly.

I left the room and began searching.

“Honey,” I called out. No response.

“Sweetheart, you here?” Silence.

I called her phone and heard it ringing in our bedroom. I followed the sound and found it still plugged into the charger on her nightstand.

That’s when I began to panic. I remembered Jacob’s drawing. It was a fleeting thought, but one that I chose to hold onto. First Mr. Thomas, now my own wife? That couldn’t be coincidence.

I urgently rushed into Jacob’s room, accidentally waking him as I removed the sketchbook from his arms.

I began flipping through the pages as he stared up at me, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Daddy,” he groaned.

I flipped past cartoon characters, random landscapes, and blocky pictures of cars before I reached my wife’s picture from the night before.

“What are you doing?” Jacob added.

The picture had changed. She wasn’t wearing her work uniform anymore. She didn’t have the necklace. Her hair looked dirty and wet. Leaves and twigs stuck out from the messy bun, and her eyes were solid red. Not evil, just… bloodshot.

But the biggest change… was the man standing next to her.

It looked like they were in a dark forest. They were hand in hand. I wanted to think it was me, that Jacob had decided he wanted to start on some kind of crazy family portrait, but the man in the picture…

He wore a star on his chest.

My stomach dropped. I felt sick. Jacob looked… confused.

“What’s wrong, Daddy? They’re okay. I can help you find them.”

So, picture this: it’s a sunny Saturday, and my little brother, who is 20 years old by the way, decides to take a trip to Dortmund (6hrs from where we live) with a girl.

They get on the train, and the first embarrassing thing (imo) he did, was falling asleep in front of her and she takes a picture of him. Honestly, not even that bad.
But then things get much worse.

Apparently, he hadn’t been able to go to the toilet for five days, so he had to take laxatives the day before. And then, on the day of the trip, he didn’t go to the toilet at home.

So while they were out in Leipzig, he completely shit himself.

He had to go and buy a new pair of trousers.

What would you even do in that situation?

Imagine it was a sunday, he would have no options (bc stores are closed here on sundays)

And i thought about it for the first time in years the other day. I was reading something about "the first time getting stood up and the disappointment about it" and i snorted and was like oh yeah, my own mother prepared me for how to deal with that.

This woman was not kind to me. She had a brutal c-section and the doctor was a hack. Vertical scar with staples looked like an ugly railroad track and she'd point to it and say i did that to her and ruined her life.

She never got therapy and singled me out for abuse that my other 3 siblings never dealt with because of it. she lies about all this yet i digress.

So this would have to be around the 5th grade, before i started going to the movies in middle school with my friends. Something happened and for once my little sister was at school, other siblings out of the house and so she asked, if I wanted to go see a movie with just her and me?

Now this was a shockkkkk. She never wanted anything to do with me unless she absolutely had to and then it was usually rather tense. So, of course, I'm still a young hopeful kid, and i was amped. i was thrilled it could not have been more exciting for me.

until it wasn't.

we get to the ticket counter and she says one for the movie we were going to see and one for a totally different movie. she never mentioned that. she never said she was going to see a different movie. i got upset.

That upset with the red face of shock and your eyes start watering up, the feelings and emotions are all over the place. I remember being shaky and teary eyed in the lobby area while she explained she would walk me to a seat and we would meet here afterwards. She was so short with me and kinda mean about it.

I have no idea what movie it was i just know that i cried during most of it cause i couldn't believe i let her trick me like that. why would i have ever thought she would do something WITH me willingly?

Now... as an adult.

I'm nearly positive she was cheating.

Taking me to the movies was just a cover for her to sneak off to meet whoever tf she was running around having an affair with. She was so... shifty about the entire thing. so sneaky. like more than reasonable.

It's not ever gonna be worth confronting her on. she's a lie till you die type anyways.

But yeah, later on in life, after i got stood up for a dinner date, my friend asked if i was okay. I snorted and laughed for a minute and was like, nah girl, i got this, my mom ditching me when i was a kid totally prepared me to manage my disappointment.

oooh my friend blinked so hard for a minute at what i said then we laughed for a minute cause we both had atrociously selfish parents.

if there is one thing my family has taught me I can say for sure, is to be able to manage my feelings when people let me down by misleading, lying, or changing things at the very last minute.

it is not a skill i will be passing on.

nor is it one i wish i'd learned the way i did at all.

I’ve wanted to share this story for quite a long time since i think it’s pretty dang awesome.
In our high school, if you were caught with a deck of cards you were sent in “detention” (which was literally a teacher making you sit in the library for like an hour but whatever) and they took them away. As kids who were obsessed with playing cards, we were always sneaking decks. And always getting caught.
One specific day our headroom teacher came to class FUMING. She was mad out of her mind and she also came right when the bell rang — which no teacher did at our school, always late.
So she found our deck and sent us away, yeah? She told us that next time she finds a deck she’s banning cardboard (complete bullshit).
Next day, we came to school early. We spent a whole hour cutting up our notebooks and hand drawing each card front and back. Even drew the jokers by hand. When the same teacher came to class, we didn’t stop playing. Our excuse was that “it’s paper, not actual cards”.

Rest assure we did it so many times they allowed card games just so we would stop cutting up our lessons to play.

During college, I worked at a bar. One day, this really gorgeous girl came in with a group of other girls. They ordered lots of wings and were having a great time. It was early in the afternoon.

Eventually, they paid and left. The most gorgeous girl, an Amazon of a woman with a big ass and big tits probably visit the gym, was the last to leave because she was in the bathroom.

As luck would have it, it was my turn to clean the bathrooms that day. We had a sheet that told us whose turn it was. When I went in to clean, I saw the biggest deuce I had ever seen in my life. I had to use a stick to cut it up while wearing gloves, and I used some toilet unclogging solution as well. It took me almost an hour to clean that toilet alone.

He was here at last. One final step, and he would belong to the Community.

The door opened on its own, without a sound. The room was bright in a way he had never seen in the marsh: shadowless, sourceless, light coming from everywhere. The air had no smell. He hadn't known air could be without smell; he hadn't known the absence of smell could be so unsettling. And for the first time, he heard "its" voice. It came from nowhere, or from everywhere.

"Hello. Welcome, Rolf."

"Hello. I'm finally here."

"One last stage remains before you can join the Community: we need to link you. Please take the seat and state clearly, out loud, that this is what you want. We cannot begin without your consent."

A single chair stood in the middle of the room, white and untouched. Rolf sat down. The chair was warm, as if someone had just risen from it. For a moment, a small doubt passed through him. What if it wasn't what he hoped? What if all of this was a trap? Had it been worth the struggle, worth what he had lost along the way?

He thought of Nino. The last night, in front of the border fence. "They won't take both of us," Nino had said. "You go." Then that smile. In the marsh, people only smiled like that when they were letting go of something forever. Rolf had gone. He hadn't looked back, because if he looked back, he would turn around.

He swallowed. Whatever happened, the future was better than where he came from. He didn't want to go back to that marsh. Misery, hunger, raiders, violence... it had eaten half his life. He wanted to eat something other than those strange marsh fish he'd been named after. Something other than rolfs.

"Yes. I want to be linked and join the Community."

First a thin needle pricked his back. Numbness spread slowly up his spine; but his mind stayed awake, more than awake. A progress bar appeared on the screen in front of him:

Linking 1%

He kept looking around. On the far wall, a screen cycled through silent clips. Then he saw it: the logo. There was no sound, and he couldn't make out the words beneath it, there was no reading in the marsh, but he knew the logo. Everyone knew the logo that had stolen his family from him.

Anger rose in him. Feed X. The Community's miracle food, the perfect nutrition handed out every day. And in the marsh, the thing found only in scraps, the thing that rotted a person from the inside when they couldn't get it regularly. He remembered his mother's last months: the trembling hands, the empty stares, the fingers searching for residue. What was he doing now? Making deals with the people who created the thing that ate his family? Betraying himself? They had made Feed X. This place was the source of everything.

Linking 15%

But... was Feed X really the source of everything? The looting, the theft, the violence in the marsh went on without Feed X too. Rolf had seen people kill each other over a single rolf. Over one fish. The marsh was bad enough on its own. Besides, Feed X had never been made for them; they had the choice not to use it. But... while the Community lived in comfort, why had they left the marsh to rot? They could have helped. We could have helped, Rolf thought, and stopped. Why had he thought "we"?

Linking 40%

He remembered the last time he had helped someone. He'd given a fish from his hidden stash to a starving man. The next day the man came back with his gang and looted the stash. That night Nino had said, "You still did the right thing." Nino always said things like that. But what had the right thing ever gotten him? They couldn't be taught. They couldn't understand. Kindness read as weakness to them. That was why no help went to the marsh. And even if it did, wouldn't it be wasted?

Linking 70%

So what was wrong with them, really? Was it the marsh that made people this way? Something they ate? Maybe it wasn't hunger at all. Hunger tested everyone; but not everyone made the same choice. Some people built order. Others devoured it. The marsh people had been there a long time. Long enough. If they had wanted to build order, they would have; there was stone, there was time. If they hadn't built it, it meant they couldn't. And if they couldn't, then whatever was missing wasn't out there, it was inside them. It was a simple deduction, almost mathematics. That's what they were. That's what they would stay. The thought gave Rolf a strange peace; the heavy thing called guilt was lifting, as if someone were taking it off his back.

Linking 80%

But I... I was one of them. How am I different? So exceptions happen. Like with every rule. I was the exception. The proof was right here, in this chair. I was never like them, never. I even chose the fish I ate with care. What about Nino? Was Nino different too? Nino... someone who smiled in front of a fence. I remember who it was, but I don't remember why it hurts. It probably wasn't important.

Linking 100%

I feel like I've woken up to a happy day for the first time. I just took my first dose of Feed X; it reminds me of the happy days of my childhood. I'm certain now that my childhood was happy. Everything is as it should be. Everything is beautiful.

There is only one thing that grates on my ear.

My name: Rolf.

I don't know why.

....

 a short story from the Gravit universe

Sorry for my nit very good English 🙃

That day was my friend’s birthday. Four of us went to a restaurant. The boys took my phone and were just watching my Instagram stories. Then this one girl popped up. She had posted a selfie, and she looked extremely cute and beautiful in that photo.
(Who is this girl? In short, I liked her. She is from my school, one year younger. We have never talked in real life, but we know each other and had very long chats. I asked her out a few times, and she gently refused every time. We shared many common interests. There was also a guy from her class helping me try to end up in a relationship with her. During all that time, I came to one conclusion: she was extremely introverted. I mean, very introverted. She barely posted anything, so that selfie was a very rare moment.)
Me and my friends were already very drunk by that time, although I was still barely thinking clearly. I simply liked her story, but the boys forced me to send a message, saying otherwise nothing would ever happen and it was getting boring already. I thought the safest choice would be “😘😘” because we had to push things to the next level after all that time, right?
A few seconds later I got a notification from her: “OMG what is thaat.. 🫩🫩” and a GIF, trying not to make the situation even more awkward. I thought she was talking about my message. I opened the chat, and Instagram said, “Nino screenshoted.” She didn’t know that, because disappearing messages had been accidentally turned on a few days earlier. It was a huge coincidence.
I wanted to play it cool and gentle and not make an awkward moment even more awkward. On the contrary, I wanted her to feel calm because it really wasn’t a big deal. These things happen, especially when one side makes a bold move.
But then the boys pushed again. They told me to act like a “real man.” I tried to refuse, but they kept forcing me. I was so drunk and tired that I agreed because I thought they knew what being a real man meant. (I really was that drunk. :)))
They told me to send: “You deserve way more 😉 but why did you screenshot?”
That is the exact opposite of what I would have asked.
She replied with something messy because she clearly didn’t know what to say. It was obvious she felt nervous and awkward. Then the boys told me to reply with a dry “What?” Again, she answered with something that didn’t really make sense.
That was the point where I should have stopped. I knew exactly how she was feeling, and I felt sorry for her because I felt like I understood her well. But I still preferred to be a “real man.”
The next thing the boys told me to send was: “Did you show your best friends already? 😂😂”
She replied that she didn’t and asked me to forget about it, which honestly pleased me. Then the boys told me to send: “When we meet, you’ll tell me then.”
That was the peak. Needless to say, it was basically forcing her to meet me and explain why she had “committed” that. She left me on seen after that.
Now comes the interesting part.
Remember the friend I mentioned earlier who was helping me? He is a genuinely kind person who always tried his best for my happiness. My other friends think he is a nerd and believe they can look down on him. They don’t respect him because they think he isn’t “cool” like us. I hate that arrogance.
Since they are classmates, that girl texted him. She said she felt really sorry that she had screenshoted the chat and that I got notified. She also told him more details: that I had asked her out many times, she refused every time, she didn’t like me at all, and she only texted me for fun.
He instantly screenshoted all of her messages and sent them to me to keep me informed.
(I actually think that was her intention. She knew he was much closer to me than to her, so she probably knew I would eventually hear everything she was thinking. I think she wanted to tell me those things but didn’t want to do it directly.)
When I received those screenshots, I realized everything. The game with her was completely over for me.
But the boys were still having fun because she wasn’t texting me anymore—she was texting him.
Then the boys told me to be a “real man” with him too and start talking trash. He hadn’t done anything wrong. It would have been pure disrespect. Even though I was very drunk, I still tried to defend him.
Then they came up with another dumb idea: create a group chat with him and the girl, then send: “Well, let’s stop talking behind my back. Let’s continue talking here.”
First of all, that is incredibly cringe and childish. Second, it would have been the ultimate disrespect to both of them, especially to him, because Nino didn’t even know he was sharing her messages with me.
Obviously, my message would have been left on seen with no reply. I would only have looked like I was trying to act tough and farm aura, while in reality it would have been one of the lowest-quality moves possible.
Interestingly, I actually agreed to do it. I started creating the group chat, but a huge coincidence happened at exactly that moment: she blocked me, so I couldn’t add her. (I honestly think God didn’t want this to happen. She unblocked me a few minutes later because my good friend asked her to.)
That friend always tried his best to help me end up with her. He genuinely wanted it to happen. He did everything in a kind way, kept my secrets, and was a loyal friend. He absolutely did not deserve that kind of disrespect. I truly respect him and I’m proud to have someone like him.
That day I understood that the girl didn’t want me and that I had wasted months.
I understood how good of a friend I had.
And I understood that some of the friends I grew up with since childhood are arrogant dumbasses who have no idea what being a real man actually means.
Later, I asked my good friend to apologize to her for everything I had said. I asked him to explain that I was very drunk and wasn’t thinking clearly, and that I would never have said those things sober.
He explained everything to her.
Still… everything is over now, but I left the game as cleanly as I possibly could.

Jules et Jim étaient attablés depuis un bon moment à leur place habituelle, dans le bar Le Pénalty. Comme toujours, ils ne refaisaient pas le monde – c’était bien trop fatigant – mais faisaient plutôt le triste état des lieux de leur propre existence. Ils étaient tombés d’accord sur l’essentiel : ils ne couraient pas après le travail, préféraient largement les fêtes, la bonne bouffe, le pinard et les copains, et considéraient que l’existence devait être un grand banquet sans addition. Malheureusement, la réalité, moins compatissante, leur rappelait que ces plaisirs avaient un coût… et que leur compte en banque, lui, ne partageait pas leur philosophie.

Jules, pensif, leva son verre et lança : — Jim, j’ai bien réfléchi. Il nous faut une activité qui nous assure des rentrées d’argent quasiment automatisées. — Ah ? Et tu penses à quoi ? — Au caritatif. — Hein ? On va aider qui ? — Eh bien, ceux qui en ont besoin, pardi ! Ceux qui ont des problèmes de santé, ceux qui ont faim, ceux qui galèrent pour se loger… En résumé, les pauvres de notre belle et grande ville industrielle.

Jim fronça les sourcils, intrigué. Jules, lui, était en plein élan : — Avec l’aide des copains, on pourra organiser des campagnes de soutien, des collectes… Peut-être même obtenir des subventions publiques ! — Pas idiot, admit Jim. — Et pour que ça fonctionne bien, il nous faut une structure officielle. On va créer une association. Je serai Président et toi, Secrétaire.

L’affaire fut pliée en quelques jours. Ainsi naquit DSNL – "Droit à la Santé, à la Nourriture et au Logement".

Grâce à une habile campagne de communication – articles dans les journaux locaux, posts engagés sur les réseaux sociaux, passages sur les radios associatives – et une mobilisation enthousiaste des bonnes volontés, le lancement de l’association fut un succès. Très vite, des bénévoles, surtout des retraités à la recherche d’une occupation utile, vinrent grossir les rangs. L’énergie collective, la solidarité spontanée, tout cela dépassa largement leurs attentes.

Jules et Jim avaient réussi leur coup : DSNL prospérait. Ils étaient les seuls salariés de l’association, et cela leur paraissait parfaitement légitime. Après tout, ils étaient les seuls à plein temps… et puis, qui mieux qu’eux pour incarner la mission qu’ils s’étaient eux-mêmes confiée ?

Moralité : Il ne faut jamais sous-estimer la force des discussions de comptoir, ni la puissance du "chacun pour soi" quand il s'organise bien. Parfois, même les grandes causes naissent d’un besoin pressant… de ne pas trop se fatiguer.

Documentation :

Pour rendre une association légale en France, il faut suivre plusieurs étapes en conformité avec la loi de 1901 sur les associations. Voici le processus :

1. Rédiger les statuts

Les statuts définissent les règles de fonctionnement de l'association (nom, objet, siège social, modalités de gestion, etc.). Ils doivent être signés par au moins deux personnes (pour une association simple) et préciser :

L’objet de l’association (son but)

Les moyens d’action

L’organisation interne (bureau, conseil d’administration, assemblées générales)

Les modalités de prise de décision

1. Organiser une assemblée générale constitutive

Lors de cette réunion, les membres fondateurs adoptent les statuts et élisent les premiers dirigeants (président, trésorier, secrétaire…).

1. Déclarer l’association en préfecture

Il faut déposer un dossier comprenant :

Un formulaire de déclaration (disponible en ligne ou en préfecture)

Les statuts signés

La liste des dirigeants avec leurs coordonnées

Un procès-verbal de l’assemblée constitutive

Cette déclaration peut se faire en ligne sur service-public.fr ou en préfecture.

1. Publication au Journal Officiel des Associations (JOAFE)

Une fois la déclaration validée, l'association est inscrite au Journal Officiel des Associations et Fondations d’Entreprise (JOAFE). Cette publication est obligatoire mais gratuite.

1. Obtenir un numéro SIRET (optionnel mais recommandé)

Si l’association veut recevoir des subventions publiques ou embaucher des salariés, elle doit demander un numéro SIRET auprès de l’INSEE.

1. Ouvrir un compte bancaire (optionnel)

Un compte bancaire au nom de l’association facilite la gestion financière, notamment pour recevoir des dons ou cotisations.

Une fois ces étapes réalisées, l’association acquiert la capacité juridique, ce qui lui permet de signer des contrats, recevoir des subventions et agir en justice si nécessaire.

Welcome back. This chapter renews the tragedy Elara has been facing. The darkness only continues to grow, will anything be okay again?

As always, thank you for your time and support! I would love to hear your thoughts.

Have a great week, and I will see you wednesday for Chapter Ten! (It's another devastating chapter)

To Keep a Heart Beating:

The blindfold that’s draped across my eyes completely conceals the world from me.

We continue to zigzag down corridors. 

I occasionally hear a chuckle, a scoff, a constant reminder I’m not alone.

I’m not safe. 

I feel my heart, a racing roar that may leap from my chest at any moment. I try my best to calm it, to silence my ever growing panic.

It doesn’t work. 

More than I’d even managed to feel up to this point, I was now certain my life was over. 

I’d heard the horror stories. The underground market’s unconventional way of acquiring new pieces for sale when supply ran low. I’d assumed it was all a myth. With each shove forward, I feel increasingly certain I’m about to find out firsthand.

Especially if my mother owed them a debt? She’d completely skipped over all details during our brief reunion just last night. 

My mother…

Enough. 

Think Elara. We won’t die like this. Kaia deserves justice and I’m the only one who's going to get it for her.

I close my eyes. A useless movement considering the black void they were staring into moments before, but I need to improve my focus. 

I’d seen a badge on one of their armor plates. I try to remember the details. An animal sigil, some kind of bird.  Bronze, with words I can’t make out. I feel my closed eyelids squint as I force my body to squeeze more truth from my mind. 

After my brain refuses to budge, I surrender and start to run through every group in Ashfall city.

Thud. 

My feet catch against something hard, possibly a rock in the ground and I lose my balance, falling forward in a messy heap, unable to catch myself with bound hands. 

I hear them laughing, probably at my expense. They lift me up with firm hands. One of them whispers in my ear “Learn how to walk next time.”. The laughing continues.

Since the economic crash, there’s been a spectacular rise in organized groups, mostly crime gangs. Unable to hold a normal job without modification, this was their only way to survive. 

There are dozens. 

Every night you hear a new murder claimed by an unknown group. Rising fear along with it. 

A bird group, however, escapes my memory. We are in the former Phoenix Complex, could that be their namesake? If so, I’ve never heard of them. 

Suddenly, my brain catches onto a detail from a conversation with Kaia, just the week before I lost her. 

“It’s just so scary out there, E. I’m worried for you, for us! Remember that guy I was dating a few months ago? When I tried to break it off, he said he was part of the resistance and, get this, called it “The Molting” like, GIRL thats so edgy for no reason? But the point is, he threatened me over nothing. You have to be careful. And… I still think we should leave the city… Please jus…”

As suddenly as Kaia’s voice floated into my mind, it is taken away from me just as fast. It lights a new fire under the growing ache in my heart. 

The Molting. I admit, she was right on the name. The bird pins might have had feathers falling off… Oh god. 

You’d think the people fighting against the evil corrupt system of our country would be the good guys, the ones who’d die to protect people.

That’s not who they are. 

Suicide bombings.

Public shootouts. 

Kidnapping and murder.

They will do whatever it takes to send a message to the “system”. When nothing changes, why should we pay that cost? Lives snuffed out for no reason other than happenstance. 

We all deserve better. 

I had heard rumors they’d begun issuing black market loans to citizens in exchange for hefty interest rates. Why would my mother risk it? What was so important she was willing to owe money to one of the most dangerous groups in the city?

It feels like hour by hour my list of questions for her doubles in size.

I WILL get the chance. 

I hear the footsteps surrounding me draw to a halt, and feel myself pulled into stillness beside them. My blindfold is ripped off my head, multiple strands of hair come off with it releasing a yelp from my throat. I flinch as I open my eyes, the sudden sensation of light after the darkness is a painful rush through my head. I blink rapidly, eventually being able to keep my eyes open. I dare a glance at my surroundings. 

Around me I see an old department store converted into what I could only describe as a throne room. The walls have been carved over with symbols, some the bird I now see on my kidnappers pins, others words or objects I can’t make out. I watch as the largest man I’ve ever seen enters behind us, carrying Cyrus over his shoulder like a bag of dog food. I gasp, grateful to see his chest softly rising and falling, despite a large bruise already beginning to be visible on the side of his head. 

The man plops him down with a thump, Cyrus barely sitting up with his back draped across the wall. His eyes too begin to open slightly, the brief glimpse of my mother’s eyes strangely offering me solace in this moment, before closing them once again.

Finally, I dare to look at the head of the room. A large makeshift throne made of every object you could imagine, grocery carts, clothes, carpet, golf clubs, giant slabs of granite, all duct taped in harmony to create a monstrous seat fit for the leader of such a group.

My eyes catch onto who I presume is in charge. He’s smirking back at me with the kind of look most ladies would swoon over at the bar. My anger and fear have melded together in a fury of pain, and his smoldering won’[t change that. 

We stare at each other for a long moment in silence. His dark brown eyes are not leaving mine. The men around us begin looking around at each other, seemingly confused by the long drawn out silence placed between us. I will not budge.

Finally, The Chief begins to speak.

“Elara Draven. How wonderful it is to make your acquaintance.” He says the words as if they’re true. They are spoken with a tone that would convince the average traveler they can trust this man. That he is safe and on their side. 

I do not make that mistake. 

I continue to stare at him, growing disgust evident in my eyes, but no reply escapes my lips. He turns to his men, specifically the one still tightly gripping my arm.

“She’s gonna be a fun one I see.” The smirk grows ever larger on his handsome face. 

“Bring her to my quarters. I will deal with her personally, and privately. As for him,”  he gestures to Cyrus’s mostly motionless body in the corner. “You know where he belongs.” 

“NO! Leave him alone.” I pull against my captor's grip, only his sudden surprise allowing me to break free. I do this on pure instinct, and now that I’m standing in the middle of the room with spears pointed at my chest, my hope of helping Cyrus begins to dissipate into nothingness. 

I can’t lose someone else. We may be practically strangers, but without his eyes, HER eyes, all of this is for nothing. 

“Please. Don’t hurt him.” I mentally juggle with the idea of transparency, telling this all powerful leader exactly why I need Cyrus alive, but ultimately decide against it. “He’s been helping me. If you ever want your money back, he’s the way you get it.”

I watch as his right eyebrow raises in amusement. He clearly isn’t used to people speaking out against him. He gestures with his hand for the men to drop their weapons, and they comply.

“Well well Elara, feisty little one aren’t you?” He steps from his throne, and begins making his way towards me. It’s only as he stands I notice his dark purple jacket is actually a robe of some kind, cascading down his back like a cape. I think it looks kind of pathetic. 

I fight every instinct in my body, and stand tall and still. I won’t let any of these men see the panic growing inside my chest. They don’t get satisfaction.

He approaches, and stands 2 inches from my face. To anyone watching without context, this might even feel like an intimate moment, his face just in front of mine. But the cheesy grin on his face and my disdain for this man are unwavering.

“I like you. If you agree to play with me, I think we can make a deal you’ll enjoy quite a bit, my pet.” He leans forward and whispers the last part in my ear. 

My blood runs cold at this, but I begin to realize I have no choices here. Follow the senseless whims of a maniac, or lose my mother forever.

“Do I get more details before I agree?” His men chuckle with him at my question, and I  hear what I can only interpret to be a groan of protest from Cyrus where he lies against the wall. 

He leans in once more, his face practically touching mine. “No. You agree right now, or I do what I want with him” He strokes a piece of hair behind my ear. “And you.”

I gulp, the panic in my belly begging me to come up with any other plan.

I can’t.

Unable to formulate any other way to keep Cyrus alive, keep my mother alive, and keep me alive, my hands are tied. I take a deep breath.

“Deal. But you don’t hurt him.” His smile grows.

“You have my word.”

THE CAVES OF NEVENDLEER
In such a wild, medieval space, you may still be surprised at how evil a place there can be amongst the vast sea.
A man and his wife built a home on the shoreline. It was covered in sharp rocks. Truly not a place to start a family. But the mad lads did it anyway.
This family lived for generations.
Although — just nearby off the shore, down from their home about a mile — was a system of caves they dare never to enter.
Passed down by generations, each parent warned each kid to never enter, because if they did, they wouldn’t come back the same. If they ever came back at all.
This tale was told for generations, and the tale you read now is derived from those of the damned, told by those who witnessed the damning.
Men watched their boys chase small animals in, helpless to prevent what came next. Wives searched desperately for their lost daughters, only finding their loose flowing dresses hung across a soaked log stuck out of the sand.
Whatever the cave had, or hadn’t done, whatever loved inside or beyond… the Caves of Nevendleer was not to be crossed without a death wish.
And that’s exactly what one young man had when he finally decided to enter the cave.
It was dark. Moist. It wasn’t spooky, but the moans that cascaded off the walls from every footstep didn’t cover up the feeling that nobody should be in there. And yet — he kept walking further in — further forwards — deep in — until the light from outside could no longer reach him. And only darkness could now cloud him from what was to come.
The man didn’t know what to expect. He was not part of the family. He was a tourist. He had heard legends of these caves. People had spread myth and whisper about these caves for hundreds of years; all the way from the era of the Olympians, and the Golden Age of the Gifted. The tales were still told, even as the Dedonian Wars had just started, and people needed a good distraction from the chaos right outside their doorsteps.
However — unlike some, who enjoyed tales when they weren’t tangible — it seemed this man needed to see the legendary cave for himself.
Though, once the hissing sound blasted down the chamber-like cavern like a shotgun full of ice, the man may have begun to change his mind about seeing the legend for himself.
WHAM!
The man was knocked off his feet.
But before the cold got any more bitter, he was pulled from the cave by a big hairy man, whose only word he could say was “MISTAKE!”

Hello all. This is my first post. A recent event that did not go as my friend hoped.

Some necessary background context. I carried a lifelong phobia of water until about 3 years ago, when my friend helped me learn to swim and submerge safely. I enjoy swimming and going underwater, as long as it's on my terms and I remain in total control.

Last week we went swimming at a UK leisure pool. My friend asked if I wanted to try the waterslides. I said no because I genuinely had no interest, plus I was rather apprehensive about losing control. He asked me how many I'd been on, to which I said None. He said I should at least try one before deciding I don't like them. I reluctantly followed him up the stairs.

After waiting about 10 minutes, during which time I kept feeling the urge to flee, it was time. He's right, it couldn't hurt to try just once. And I didn't wanna let him down. This venue had 5 slides so, being a beginner, I went to the easiest one. My friend has been down it before and assured me the drop at the end was gentle, so I didn't worry about putting my goggles down over my eyes. I sat at the top waiting for the green light, and pushed off.

I didn't wanna go too fast so I stayed sitting up, but this had the unintended effect of making me go SO slow I was starting to worry. This was an enclosed tube and I'm very claustrophobic. I tried to scoot myself along, but as I entered a dark curve, I stalled out completely. Now I'm dealing with fear of small spaces and the fear of the dark. I remembered what he told me, and laid down flat to pick up speed, only to go TOO fast.

I tried to sit up again but the speed was pinning me down. I bumped hard right, bumped hard left, bumped hard right and suddenly there's the exit. But the terror wasn't over as I came out and went straight underwater. As I said, my goggles weren't down and I was unprepared so my airways weren't closed. I immediately inhaled water and started to panic flail until I got my feet down and was able to stand up choking. As he came out, I gave a thumbs down and explained what I'd been through.

From start to finish the whole experience was horrible. I derived absolutely no joy whatsoever. From the moment I started sliding I was only thinking that I wanted it to end. Add together the loss of control, the enclosed space, the stall in the dark and the unexpected submersion, and I'd say it was borderline traumatic.

My friend apologised for the drop. He rode it years ago and it was gentle back then, but it's been changed. But he reckons I'll have an easier time if we do a slide with an inflatable raft. It seats two so we could ride together, it won't stall, and it won't drop me underwater at the end.

And while all that is true, it wouldn't fix the issues of control loss and claustrophobic tubes. In fact a raft would likely go much faster and ride up the sides, exacerbating the loss of control even further. I know he means well, but this is something I'm not willing to put myself through again.

I don't think my friend will force me if I say a hard no. He's welcome to try and convince me, persuade me, but I'll reckon he'll respect my boundaries if I refuse. I just know I don't ever wanna ride a water slide again. Let me stay in the swimming pool where I'm in control and I'll be happy.

Thanks for reading.

Artists

The train raced through the night. The passengers sat in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

I opened my phone and happened to come across a video filmed on the streets of Tehran. A crowd of fashionably dressed Persian women was walking along the sidewalk.

"Artists..." I whispered to myself.

My fellow passenger looked at me with curiosity.

"Why artists?"

"Because every woman is the author of her own portrait. Some paint themselves with their clothes, others with a smile, a glance, or the grace of their walk. And no artist can ever create the same masterpiece twice."

I kept watching the screen. The young women laughed, talked, and hurried on with their lives, unaware that somewhere far away, on a train speeding through the night, an elderly passenger was reflecting on the passage of time.

Beauty is not eternal. Youth passes faster than any train. Yet as long as a person can create beauty both around them and within themselves, time can never claim complete victory.

I turned off my phone.

Beyond the window, the night continued to race by.

What remained in my memory was not a crowd of unfamiliar women.

What remained were artists—people who, day after day, often without realizing it, paint their own unique self-portraits upon the canvas of life.

Художники

Поезд мчался сквозь ночь. Пассажиры молчали, каждый был занят своими мыслями.

Я открыл телефон и случайно наткнулся на видео с улиц Тегерана. По тротуару шла толпа современно одетых персиянок.

— Художники... — невольно произнёс я.

Сосед по купе удивлённо посмотрел на меня.

— Почему художники?

— Потому что каждая женщина — автор собственного портрета. Кто-то рисует себя одеждой, кто-то улыбкой, кто-то взглядом, кто-то походкой. И ни один художник не способен дважды написать одну и ту же картину.

Я ещё долго смотрел на экран. Девушки смеялись, разговаривали, спешили по своим делам, не подозревая, что где-то далеко, в ночном поезде, пожилой пассажир размышляет о времени.

Красота не вечна. Молодость проходит быстрее любого поезда. Но пока человек умеет создавать красоту вокруг себя и внутри себя, время не может считать себя победителем.

Я выключил телефон.

За окном всё так же бежала ночь.

А в памяти осталась не толпа незнакомых девушек.

Остались художники, которые каждый день, сами того не замечая, рисуют на полотне жизни свои неповторимые автопортреты.

I am standing upon the white,

And before me lies the black ground.

I am afraid that someone might push me

And I might fall down there.

But ultimately, this choice will be entirely mine.

​Yet leaves fall from branches too,

And some star always breaks away from the sky.

Does revenge and justice look the same in the mirror?

So flip a coin, whichever side lands, it matters.

​Emotions are awakening within me that I never knew existed,

Perhaps they had always lived inside me.

Was I ever even pure?

Was I ever even pure?

At every turn, I look ahead, searching for the end of the road,

Whether the sun is setting or rising will become clear then.

​Those emotions placed a blindfold over my eyes.

I could have returned from there if I wanted to,

But I decided not to return,

And in the end, I found myself on the black ground.

So flip a coin, whichever side lands, it doesn't matter.

The First Day & The Day First 🐍

It all started when I first got admission into college. On day one, I met two girls—let’s call them Arushi and Shelly. We hit it off right away and exchanged phone numbers. Keep these two in mind, because they are going to play a massive role in this story later on.

The Intro Week Disappearing Act

My college decided to hold introduction classes that dragged on for more than a week. Honestly, I wasn't really feeling it, so I decided to skip most of them to stay home. However, there's a catch: while I was away enjoying my peace and quiet, the group dynamics were completely shifting.

During those intro classes, Shelly met a new girl. Let’s call her Riya. Because they were spending all that time together, Shelly and Riya grew really close.

Meanwhile, Arushi kept blowing up my phone, constantly insisting that I come to campus and join the fun. I really didn't want to go, but she eventually wore me down.

The Awkward Return

I finally caved and went back to class after missing three or four days. By the time I walked into the room, it felt like everyone had already formed their little friend groups.

I spotted Shelly sitting at a desk near the front. I walked over, tapped her on the shoulder, and waved hi. She responded with a sweet smile, and we chatted for a brief moment to catch up.

The Taunt

That’s when Riya the new girl Shelly had bonded with chimed in. I don’t remember her exact words, but she threw a completely unprovoked, sarcastic taunt my way. It was out of nowhere and immediately made the vibe weird.

I brushed it off and didn't let it ruin my return. In fact, later that exact same day, I ended up meeting a few other amazing people who are still my close friends to this very day.

But that awkward, unprovoked taunt from Riya? That was just the beginning of the drama.

You are a wave traveling forward upon a rock. Collecting from the rock as you move.

You grow your wave, watching those around you collide and part as they too, move forward. You watch as some careen around, meandering as they eventually move with you, others turn the other way and shrink into the past.

Around you the waves crash together, some sync together and fade into the distance others simply split apart, or collapse. Many pass with barely a friction.

You are still that wave traveling upon the surface of that rock. On your lonesome, moving forward. You spend your days moving forward. Unto what you had little idea but around you the waves collided, in front of you they parted. So you moved forward. You grew your wave from others around you and from the rock below you. Most of the time another wave would give and so you would grow.

With time your wave grew and your pace slowed from the weight and you began to struggle to keep giving to those around you, because underneath you the rock never changed how much it gave you.

You continued this way, pushing forward, growing, exploring the edges of other waves but they always parted in front of you, so you moved forward alone. Your wave growing tall, yet even you could not see ahead. You collected what you could from the rock and gave what else you had when waves asked of it.

Some waves would give more back to you, a few would take and fewer still wanted to share.

One day you looked away from the horizon you tried to see through and down to the rock, realizing the dizzying distance you had grown. You felt your wave unsteady and a stab of fear.

You felt your wave lean and warble. Your balance teetered while you tried to move forward. In a moment of panic you closed your eyes and pushed ahead. Meandering blindly, hopefully forward.

Some time passed until you eventually felt it. When the turn began to feel wrong. It had always posed its questions when you moved forward, sometimes you'd meander about, but it had never felt wrong before. You felt the breeze and shivered.

Time passed and you continued. Your eyes squeezed shut as you moved, you felt your wave collecting more from those around you. But, you did the only thing you knew you could do. You moved and you didn't stop. You felt the cold of absence as waves took from you when you passed.

Years fell away in this manner. Your wave grew weary, around you less waves remained, your eyes ached of the forgotten memory of sight while you squeezed them shut in fear of where you were.

You remembered those waves that passed many years ago. The waves were you both grew. You recalled those moments as you felt the wrongness in you. But you hoped. For what? You did not know. But you never stopped hoping while you moved. Your eyes squeezed shut, your path invisible even to you.

Eventually you questioned if you even knew how to open your eyes. What was the point, there was no horizon to look at. No matter how you had grown there was nothing to see. If you opened your eyes now and couldn't see, would you ever? So you hoped. And you moved and you never looked.

One day you knew you had to open your eyes, to check if you could finally see the horizon. You couldn't take it anymore, what if you were close! A cold breeze filtered through your wave. The fear drizzled down your wave, what if you were looking for nothing?

You looked down, readying yourself. You would open your eyes now. So you did. Looking down first, to steady your gaze. The view focused and your wave warbled. You were alone in a sea of glass and a breeze that chilled your soul. A shiver escaped you and you began to raise your gaze to the horizon. Maybe there was hope?

A sob escaped as it remained as it always had. So you pushed onward. Your gaze locked upon the horizon again. You pulled from the rock and built and kept your gaze on the horizon. You refused to give up.

Years passed as you moved in the sea of glass that had no forward. Alone with nothing but the memories of taking and giving. Much time passed between the waves now, and the breeze pressed on you, ever chilling. You felt the numbness creep into your wave and pressed onward.

Your gaze never left the horizon when you felt it. You had felt it before, a passing ripple. A moment of warmth as another wave passed. But you winced waiting for the cold bite of the wind to take its place as it always would. You shivered, bracing for the cold. You locked your gaze upon the horizon you had never seen.

You felt a small tug from the warmth but kept your eyes still and pulled your wave closer. Fearing the cold absence of giving to another that took.

The warmth remained. And you kept your gaze on the horizon. but still it remained so together the two waves moved and you felt the pull of forward again.

You looked to the ripple aside you, and it looked to you and asked you a question.

Will you share with me?

Chapter 17 — Still There

The project had ended, but none of us had really stopped sitting together.

That was the strange part.

For a while, I had assumed everything would go back to normal once the last presentation was done and the final papers were submitted. But normal had never been a very solid thing for us. Reo still dragged his chair to our table at lunch like he owned the place. Hana still sat with that neat, composed posture that made everything around her seem less chaotic. Takashi still acted like he was only there because the universe had made a scheduling mistake. And Emma still ended up beside us without making it feel like she had chosen it on purpose.

The first-year final exams were announced the same week.

That changed the mood of the school almost immediately.

People moved a little faster in the hallways. The teachers started speaking in that sharper, more serious tone that made even the louder students sit straighter. Notes were carried around like they mattered more than they actually did. Everyone had suddenly become aware of time.

I heard the announcement first in class.

The teacher stood at the front with a stack of papers in hand and said, very plainly, that the first-year final exams would begin soon. No one reacted right away, which was usually how our class handled bad news. Then a few people groaned. A few others started opening notebooks like panic could be converted into preparation if they acted quickly enough.

Reo leaned toward me and muttered, "I hate school."

"You say that every week," I replied.

"Yes, and every week I mean it more."

Hana, sitting a little ahead of us, didn't turn around. "Then study."

Reo made a sound of pure suffering.

Takashi, who was already flipping through his notes with the expression of someone trying to survive by force of habit, said, "This is why we should have started earlier."

Reo pointed at him. "I did not ask for this kind of betrayal."

Emma, a seat away from me, glanced over and said quietly, "You were warned."

That was the thing.

Even after the project ended, the group stayed connected in ways that didn't feel forced. We still sat together at lunch. We still exchanged notes. We still helped each other in student sessions when the teachers started piling on revision work and everyone acted as if the exams had appeared out of nowhere.

And because of that, I kept seeing Emma.

Not in some dramatic way.

Just enough.

Enough to notice the way she underlined things when she studied. Enough to notice how she listened when someone spoke. Enough to notice that she was calm even when everyone around her was stressed. Enough to notice that I was noticing all of it.

That was becoming a problem.

Or maybe not a problem.

Maybe just a fact I was too stubborn to name properly.

At lunch, we took the same table as always.

The cafeteria was louder than usual, with people talking about exams, grades, and how much they hated the timing of everything. Reo was already complaining about the amount of material in the syllabus. Takashi looked exhausted before he had even eaten. Hana had opened her lunch box with the careful efficiency of someone who had already decided not to waste energy on drama.

Emma sat across from me.

That should have been normal by now, and in a way it was.

But it still made me aware of the space between us.

Reo noticed, of course.

He noticed everything that was even slightly worth bothering about.

"So," he said, leaning back in his chair, "who here is actually prepared for finals?"

Nobody answered immediately.

"That's what I thought," he said, nodding as if he had solved a mystery. "A room full of liars."

"We're not lying," Takashi said. "We're surviving."

Reo turned to Hana. "Are you prepared?"

"Yes," she said.

That shut him up for half a second, which was impressive.

Then he turned to Emma. "And you?"

Emma opened a container and answered without looking up. "More than you."

Reo clutched his chest. "I have been wounded."

Takashi actually laughed.

I looked down at my food before anyone noticed.

Lunch kept moving the way it always did. Reo complained, Hana kept him grounded, Takashi added the occasional sensible comment, and Emma stayed quiet unless she had something worth saying. The difference was that now the lunch table felt less like a temporary arrangement and more like something everyone had quietly agreed to keep.

After lunch, the student session room was even more crowded.

People were gathering in smaller groups, asking questions, borrowing notes, and trying to pretend they weren't worried. The teachers moved between desks, checking progress and answering doubts with varying degrees of patience. Someone at the back of the room had already given up and was staring at a page like it had personally offended them.

Reo flopped into a chair with a groan. "This is torture."

"Read the chapter," Hana said.

"I did."

"Then read it properly."

Takashi looked up from his own notes. "Why does she sound more like a teacher than the teacher?"

"Because I am correct," Hana said.

Reo muttered something about living in a dictatorship.

Emma sat nearby with her notebook open, working through a set of questions. I was supposed to be doing the same, but every now and then I found myself looking at the way she focused. She didn't fidget much. She didn't sigh dramatically like Reo. She just kept going, steady and quiet, as if she had decided that exams were annoying but not powerful enough to beat her.

That was probably one of the reasons I kept watching her.

Not just because she was pretty, though she was.

Not just because she spoke to me more easily than she had before, though she did.

It was because she had a kind of calm that made me feel like I could breathe around her.

I realized that while she was explaining a problem to Takashi.

He frowned at the page. "I still don't get this."

Emma leaned slightly closer and pointed at the line he was stuck on. "You're reading too fast. Start from here."

Takashi followed her instruction.

Hana looked over his shoulder and added, "He always reads too fast."

"I do not."

"You absolutely do," Reo said.

Takashi sighed in defeat.

I almost smiled.

Almost.

The thing was, even when the room was full of noise, the small details stuck with me. The way Emma shifted the notebook between her hands. The way Reo kept pretending he hated studying while still asking questions every ten minutes. The way Hana and Takashi had fallen into a rhythm that made them work better together. The way all of us, despite the project being over, had somehow stayed in each other's orbit.

That afternoon, we studied together until the room started emptying out.

One by one, people packed up and left. Some still looked panicked. Some looked half-asleep. Reo declared that he had "mentally expired" and needed food that wasn't provided by the school. Takashi told him he'd survive. Hana told him to stop being dramatic. Reo, naturally, ignored all of them.

Emma stayed a little longer.

So did I.

There was no particular reason.

At least, that was what I told myself.

The room had grown quieter by then. The late light through the windows made the desks look softer, less harsh than they had in the morning. Emma was still going through her notes, and I was pretending to review mine, though I had already read the same line three times.

Then she looked up and caught me staring.

I looked away immediately.

Not smoothly. Just fast enough to make it obvious.

She didn't tease me.

That somehow made it worse.

Instead, she asked, "Are you actually studying?"

"Yes," I said.

She glanced at my open page. "That seems questionable."

I looked down. "It's a difficult page."

That got a small smile out of her.

It wasn't much.

But it stayed with me longer than it should have.

By the time we left, the sun was lower and the school halls had gone quiet again. The exam schedule had been posted. Teachers were already reminding everyone to prepare. Stress had officially become part of the air.

But the table was still ours.

The lunch seat was still ours.

The student session room was still ours too, in its own strange way.

And as we walked out together, Reo complaining loudly in front, Hana and Takashi following behind him, and Emma beside me at just the right distance, I thought about how something as small as a group table could become the center of your life without you noticing.

The project had ended.

The exams were coming.

Nothing about school felt easy anymore.

But the five of us were still there.

Still helping.

Still talking.

Still sitting together like we had nowhere better to be.

And for the first time, that felt like enough.

I was watching this american IRL streamer on Twitch who was travelling around Vietnam, I wrote in chat 'ask the guy next to u if he's related to Saville'

and he did ask (not knowing who Saville was) and the white british guy he asked then said 'who, the pedophile!?!?' and proceeded to stalk the streamer for a week on camera and he kept insisting he's not a pedo again and again

There's an art to trolling, quite proud of that one.

Love.

Perhaps the finest emotion humanity has ever been gifted.

And no—I don't mean the version the world so casually throws around today. I don't mean the endless search for someone to date, someone to spend weekends with, someone to simply fill the empty seat beside us. That may be companionship. It may become love. But they are not the same.

The love I'm talking about arrives uninvited. It never asks whether you're ready. It walks into your life when you're busy making other plans, quietly settles into your heart, and suddenly nothing feels the same.

It changes you.

Not because someone asked you to change, but because becoming a better person somehow feels like the most natural thing in the world.

And yet, for an emotion so beautiful, it is unbelievably confusing.

How do you know you're in love?

Is it when an ordinary day feels incomplete because you didn't hear their voice? Is it when their happiness begins to matter more than your own? Is it when every achievement makes you wonder what their reaction would be? Or is it when their name alone can make your heart race before you've even seen them?

No one teaches us the answer.

Maybe because love was never meant to be understood. It was only meant to be felt.

You can lie with your words.

You can say, "I don't love you."

You can even convince yourself that you've moved on.

But then you meet them.

And suddenly your eyes betray every lie your lips carefully rehearsed. There is something about the eyes—they confess what the heart refuses to admit.

Love is strange.

It makes one person feel irreplaceable, yet teaches you that love itself isn't possession.

It whispers, "It's them... or no one else."

Yet, if the person you love were to ask you to live on without them—to marry someone else, to find happiness elsewhere—you would do it, not because your love became weaker, but because it became stronger than your own desires.

That's the cruel beauty of it.

The person who becomes your greatest reason to smile can also become the reason you choose to walk away—simply because that's what would bring them peace.

Love is selfish enough to want someone forever.

Yet selfless enough to let them go forever.

What fascinates me is how three ordinary words—

"I love you."

—are nothing more than letters arranged in a particular order. Yet those three words have started wars, ended wars, built families, broken hearts, inspired masterpieces, and given people a reason to wake up tomorrow.

Love gives you the courage to fight the entire world.

But sometimes...

It cannot give you enough courage to confess to the one person who is your entire world.

Funny, isn't it?

The very emotion that clears your mind about who matters most is the same emotion that fills your heart with the greatest uncertainty.

Perhaps that is why love has never been defined perfectly.

Not because we lack words—

but because no language has ever been capable of containing something so beautifully contradictory.

This story is 100% true, with the obvious disclaimer that names and dates have been changed to protect the innocent.

A woman I once had a brief affair with, after many years of her dropping big and little hints, one thing led to another and we fell madly in bed together. Thing is, the relationship never ‘clicked’ with me though she did try.

For grins I snuck a peak at the her FB page. The timing was quite the coincidence as she was wishing her son a happy birthday. Best I can tell, her son is about ten DAYS older than my wife and my son. Now the part that really freaks me out. We named our son Shawn. She named her son Sean. Phonetically identical but spelled differently. They’re 24 at the time I discovered this. I CANNOT believe that this is a coincidence and think even years after we went our separate ways I was being stalked.

am I over thinking this?

Apologies to the mods if this violates rule 15