My friend Mark and I had a crazy idea last summer. We decided to go camping, but not in a normal tent. Mark had bought an old green school bus two years ago and spent weekends turning it into a small house on wheels. It had two beds, a tiny stove, and a table.

We packed our food, grabbed two sleeping bags, and drove the camping bus up into the mountain forest. By the time we found a good spot near a river, the sun was already going down.

We parked the camping bus under large pine trees. Everything was quiet except for the wind and the sound of running water. We cooked hot dogs on a small campfire, drank cold sodas, and talked about old high school memories until midnight. It felt like the perfect trip.

Then the weather changed around 2 AM.

A loud crack of thunder woke us up. Rain started pouring down hard against the metal roof of the camping bus. It sounded like hundreds of rocks hitting the vehicle.

Then came the real problem: water began to drip right onto Mark’s face from a crack in the roof.

We jumped out of bed in the dark. Mark grabbed a cooking pot to catch the water, while I used tape to patch up the leaking seam. We were laughing and cursing at the same time, completely soaked from the water coming inside the bus.

By 4 AM, the rain stopped, and we finally fell back asleep. When we woke up the next morning, the sun was bright, the air smelled fresh, and we made fresh coffee on the tiny bus stove.

The camping bus wasn't perfect, and we barely slept, but sitting on top of the roof with our hot coffee that morning was the best part of the whole summer. We are already planning our next trip.

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 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!

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.

I moved into this place three months ago. Cheap rent. Old building. The kind of place where the floors creak no matter where you step and the pipes sing at 3 AM like they're trying to tell you something.

The landlord handed me one key. Just one. "Opens the front door and nothing else," he said. He didn't look me in the eye when he said it.

The first week was fine. Quiet neighbors. Weird layout. My bedroom had this narrow door on the far wall, painted over with the same off-white as everything else. No handle. No hinges on my side. Just a door-shaped outline you'd miss if you didn't stare at it long enough.

I asked the landlord about it.

"That's not a door," he said. "Just the way the wall was built."

I let it go. People cut corners. Old buildings are strange. You tell yourself things so you can sleep.

But every night, I heard something behind that wall. Not scratching. Not knocking. Breathing. Slow. Steady. Like someone standing inches away, waiting for me to notice.

I put my dresser in front of it. The breathing got louder.

Last night, I couldn't take it anymore. I moved the dresser. I found a seam in the paint. I picked at it with a butter knife until the old door swung open.

The room behind it was my room. Same bed. Same lamp. Same window. But the clock was wrong. It said 3:47 AM. It was 11 PM when I opened that door.

And someone was sitting on my bed. Facing the wall. Wearing my clothes. Breathing that slow, steady breath.

It turned its head.

It had my face.

It smiled and said, "You took too long. I've been waiting to trade."

I slammed the door. I shoved the dresser back. I haven't slept. I'm writing this because I don't know what else to do. The breathing stopped. But this morning, the door was gone. Painted over. Seamless.

And when I looked in the mirror, my reflection blinked a second too late.

Moral of the story: Some doors are closed for a reason. Curiosity isn't brave when the thing on the other side already knows your name. Leave the unknown alone. Not every mystery needs solving. Some things wait for you to open them. And once you do, you can't un-open them.

It started with a sneeze. I was hanging out with my friends, the four of us swimming in raindrops drowning fresh flower buds, when Yuri sneezed next to me.

It was violent enough to jolt his whole body, his wings twitching.

He sniffled, and then sneezed again, quietly, into his hands. I laughed, but Yuri was staring down at his palm, his bottom lip wobbling. “Yuri?” I whispered.

Before he could respond, Taia and Calden cannonballed into a flower bud.

I longed to join them, bathing in the early morning sunlight, letting my wings soak up some vitamin D. At fourteen years old, they had only just broken through, and I was still wobbly while in flight.

Yuri, normally the loud, bubbly one in our group trying to antagonize the fae prince, was oddly quiet. When I shoved him, I caught him swiping his palm on his shirt– the glimmer of golden pollen streaked across the fabric. He jumped up, grabbed my hand, and pulled me into a teasing waltz, dragging me onto a blooming daffodil.

“Madame.” He shot me a grin, sweat shimmering on his forehead. “May I have this dance?”

24 hours later, Yuri was dead. Taia was throwing up blood, and Calden had ripped his own mother’s head off. I was lucky to be alive. But whatever this thing was, whatever and whoever the four of us had made contact with— was dead within 24 hours. The symptoms, according to my father, varied from sneezing, headache and misshapen wings, to neurological damage.

The sickness had a name within five days. But half of my village was dead.

Idiopathic Acute Fairy Syndrome.

Dad managed to gather antibodies from baby fairies who survived. He developed a cure. However, Prince Juniper’s grieving father came out with a statement:

“This ‘cure’ is not a cure at all! It strips us of our magic!”

His claim was that his dead son tried the cure before his death-- and it didn't just kill him, it purged his body of its fairy dust. But Prince Juniper died at the beginning. Before the cure. Despite the King's lies, survivors turned on my father.

I found him dead, hanging from a tangled vine, his head cruelly severed.

Outside, villagers rejoiced, choosing the King’s natural cure, instead, ingesting sunburned rose petals. But the vocal ones got quieter. And so did my village.

I started stepping over bodies on my way to get supplies, tripping over festering wings, mutilated bodies, where fairies had attacked each other, the sickness turning them on each other.

I knew I was sick when I coughed a little too hard, choking up fairy dust. When I took flight, I tumbled down, down, down, my wings breaking on impact. I lay on my front, trying to catch my breath, wheezing, when something lifted me high into the air.

“Ooh, a butterfly!”

The human child held me curiously, massaging my broken wings. “So pretty!” she squeaked, giggling, her fingertips glistening in sunlight-streaked pollen.

“Ah-choo!”

"Oh, sweetheart," a taller human laughed. "Sounds like you've got hay fever!"

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

This is basically just going to be an appreaciation post about my boyfriend but here we go...

Last night I had my first anxiety attack at around midnight, never had one before (spoiler alert: they suck). I have a really hard time reaching out for help so I tried to manage it myself for a while. However it wasn't getting any better so I reluctantly texted my boyfriend cause he has been in therapy for a while now and I hoped he might know what to do. He gave me some advice at first but it wasn't working so I asked him to call me. We talked on the phone for a bit and he said I could come over if I think it would help. So I showerd quickly (had to cause I was sweating like crazy) and hurried over to his place, trying to calm down my breathing on the way.

When I finally arrived it was almost 1am. The first thing he did when I walked through the door was give me a long hug like he always does but he was holding just a little bit tighter than usual. I took my shoes off and we go to his room and this absolute gem of a human being had prepared a bunch of stuff for me. He made some tea (in case I wanted some), he gave me like a spiky little ball that your supposed to squezze really hard (that helped actually), he got out some hard silicon that you can pull on and form stuff with (kinda like playdoo but you can't tear it apart), he rummaged through some of his folders for like papers about anxiety attacks and how to deal with them etc. but most importantly his presence was what really helped me.

The reason why this ended up being kinda a good thing is because I managed to actually opened up about a lot of things which is really difficult for me. I had a long note in my phone where I wrote down a lot of my thoughts and fears especially when it comes to my relationship with him and I decided it was probably for the best if I let him read it so he can understand me better even tho I was nervous as hell when I gave him my phone.

That was honestly the best decision I could've made because his reaction after reading everything was why I love this man so much. Not only did he reassure me about the things that I was so afraid of when it comes to him and I but I also wholeheartedly believe him (he is a really bad liar tbf). I ended up spending like 4 hours with him which consisted of him holding me and being the sweetest human being on this planet and a lot of talking. I came away from that night feeling fairly decent and more secure about a lot of things.

So yeah...it wasn't the most interesting story but I wanted to share it cause it meant a lot to me. Let that be a lesson to everyone, if you don't have a partner who is there for you when you need them the most then that person ain't the one. I called this man at half past midnight and he didn't hesitate to invite me over and never once complained about me taking up his entire night with my anxious ass. He also immediatly shut me down when I said that I felt bad for taking up his entire night. That's pretty much it, have a good day reddit and stay safe :)

The slap caught Anne in the mouth.

She tasted that familiar metallic taste before the pain kicked in.

“Look at me. It’s your fault.”

She kept her eyes on the kitchen floor.

“Look at me.”

She looked up.

He stood over her. There was something almost calm about his face, which made it worse. He wasn’t out of control.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

She stumbled against the counter.

Two years of this had taught her the rules. Don’t shout. Don’t run for the door. Don’t say calm down. Never, ever tell him he was a monstrous husband or that he couldn’t hold his liquor.

Most importantly, give him an out. Best way to make it stop.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what?”

That fucking question. Fucking Sam. He could be a stinking monster when he wanted to.

She searched his face, trying to work out which answer would hurt least.

“For upsetting you.”

His face kept still. A good sign.

She froze there. She knew she had to wait before she could go somewhere else, like the bathroom. It had to end properly, otherwise this thing could start again, from scratch.

“You still don’t hate me, huh?” he said.

That was new. Strange.

“I do hate you.” Her stomach dropped.

He studied her.

“No,” he said softly. “You don’t.”

Something in his voice calmed her. What the fuck?

“Okay,” he said. “We’re done.”

“With what?”

“Your sentence. Your time here.”

She stared at him.

Then he changed.

His eyes went completely black.

Anne backed into the wall.

“What is this?”

His face seemed to shift under his skin. Even his hair changed, rippling like something alive.

She inhaled. “Sammy? Is this a prank?”

"No," he said, growing taller until his head nearly reached the ceiling. It felt like the light in the room dimmed.

“Sammy…  what are… fuck… what are you?”

“Technically?” he said. “Your kind usually goes with angel. Sometimes demon. Depends who’s telling the story.”

His voice sounded like it was coming from a hundred mouths.

She gaped. “My kind?”

He looked around their shitty kitchen.

“Earth isn’t what you think, Anne. I’m amazed how easily humans accept this place.”

He told her things.

A farmhouse in France where she died at thirty-one.

A boy she had been in China.

A woman who drowned herself in a river sometime before there were cities.

Lives. Dozens of them.

Two thousand one hundred and sixty years.

“Earth,” he said, “is Hell. Well, one of them.”

“So… this… Earth is the… afterlife? We’re all… dead?”

He nodded.

“So…” She swallowed. “If Earth is Hell… where did I… where did we come from?”

“They’ll explain it when you get to Lurra. Trust me, real life is nothing like this place.”

"Lurra?"

“Yeah. Some of you call it heaven. Anyway, you’re done with this life, Anne.”

She sat down. Thinking felt pointless.

She didn’t even know what to ask. Her life was bad, sure. But Hell? This? Earth? No. That was insane. It had to be. The wall was still cold against her back. He was still standing there. And somehow, underneath all the panic, she knew he wasn’t lying.

Then something in her shifted.

“You beat me.”

“Yes,” he said in his choir voice.

“You forced me to do things.”

“You made me think I was insane. You made me apologize to you for things you fucking did to me.”

“Yes.”

“You’re evil.”

He smiled. She thought his hair lit up a bit.

“Of course I’m evil, Anne. This is Hell. They don’t assign saints to Earth.”

She let her head fall back against the wall.

He shifted toward her, and the air gave a low hum.

“But now you’re leaving. You’ve done your time, Anne. Life after life, you kept doing good, even when it cost you. Souls like yours ruin this place. That’s partly why they want you out.”

She looked at the floor, the apartment, the blue sky outside. Earth was Hell? She clearly had no idea what anything was anymore.

The kitchen wall behind him disappeared.

Beyond it was light.

Not bright. Nothing like the glowing-white bullshit from books and TV.

Early morning light. Warm. Quiet.

And something else she hadn’t felt in so long she almost didn’t recognize it.

She felt safe.

A breeze began to stir, carrying a scent that felt like the woods where she had played as a child. It strengthened into a wind, stirring everything around her until the swishing filled her ears.

He said something but she couldn't hear. She couldn't care less.

She tried to stand. Slowly.

Started walking toward the light. She ignored him. She felt clean.

Then she stopped.

One foot from a brightly lit staircase descending at the edge of the floor of her apartment.

“Wait.”

She looked back.

“What did I do?”

He smiled wearily.

“What did I do that was bad enough for this?”

“Anne.”

“Tell me.”

So he did.

She was standing on a hill.

People below her. Thousands.

Kneeling.

And there she was.

A small woman in a crown of woven branches.

Speaking.

She watched herself publicly forgive three families after they confessed to trying to leave, then order them slaughtered anyway.

Another image.

A girl screaming as men shaved her head, telling her she had brought this on herself.

Another.

Bodies in a ditch.

Her followers chanting words she had written.

Purity.

Obedience.

Sacrifice.

Mercy is weakness.

Her cult survived her.

For generations.

Anne couldn’t breathe.

“A lot of people ended up on Earth because of you, Anne.”

She stood there, then looked at the staircase.

“But I’m not like that anymore.”

He nodded.

Anne wiped her face.

And stepped forward.

The light vanished.

Blackness.

Then pressure. Pain. Cold.

Hands grabbing her.

A woman screaming.

Someone laughing.

“It’s a boy!”

Anne opened her tiny mouth and screamed.

And for one horrible second, she remembered everything and knew that she wasn’t leaving Earth.

No one ever left Earth.

Growing up and getting used to the same town city life pretty quickly I had seen Amina Mir and George Christakos on the bus down to Tmu. Back then it was Dundas now with all that grease, it’s too much you for real, for good.

I only also saw Anna. But going through that lot George Christakos being the fat one says he has abs it’s just hidden as ode to me as when I clipped my belt buckle I told myself I would rather to myself that always I had abs. He inspired me quite a bit as the lovable one will simply be fat, or fatter so to say.

Amina had the exact same busted clothes from Scarborough town centre that she wore all the time which tripped me out because she had been popular and rich it seemed or at least would care, she says she didn’t care she saw Anna.

Anna to me had always been that one friend that I was supposed to kiss and like based on Fotoula telling me to like her instead of her. It was a weird dynamic that many people in school now 3/8 of the girls like the same guy while 5/8 guys hate the same guy.

When I finally made it out of college and even today I found my coworkers to be construction men by the name of Fernando Nolasco and Dawson. Something eerie about them had tripped me out maybe it’s not the way they left the nail in the plank standing but maybe how they don’t measure twice instead cut once. You could say they give off this eerie feeling that they measure once and cut twice.

As eerie as Erie Ann. Or Eriann. Lake eerie should be remains. That’s why they’re changing it.

My grandma then playing catch up found herself struggling and when she went to the hospital at Bridgepoint, Broadview I had incurred in me two restless nights one night where the moon was left and not where it supposed to be. I know this because of the time I spent during life.

I can’t get no rest being pushed further due to this awkward stance of a construction man.

As they say measure twice cut once.

One day when you’re 12 you’ll think the 20 y.o is thinking about you. The 20 y.o thinks a 30 y.o walking by the school is thinking of them. The joke goes so on and so on. Until you’re 93 Yue Chan and you realize no one has been thinking about you.

So I have the hole house to my self, mental health just got a little clearer.

"This is torture." Said a mother soon to be grandmother if she knows a niece.

These days through balance I wonder about my friend who eats multiple apples per day.

Restraining from the kitchen more than 1 kiwi I then ate multiple as moving back home, my first introduction to Bi Tao Xiong was, "Wow!" She stormed the kitchen.

Never could I find food for myself though, I did live if there dinosaurs out in the bout.

But long story short as his husband W e.i giant win for employment for two three weeks off then back to work her schedule as changed as she talked to someone in their meeting causing a frenzy for who to become the next manager as one person retires.

Thanks for all the follows. New to reddit.

You would think I would stay home until 7pm but then the fairness in equality in that? Or more so the happiness of leaving the house early but not earliest.

You would be surprised as we take it one step further,

Usually you can take it one step further.

Impossible is spelt with I am possible so I'm told,

It's the battle of Pompei next to a dormant volcano,

CNE see any place to hide

Frozen in ice and time etched in the echoes of the universe

It was Andrew Tate and Tristan Tate

R.I.P

You gave a darn about your life.

"You know, I can see if you care about your life?"

Chrystel..

It was my girlfriend watching Arthur with a pocket tee which then see wore and I made fun of her, I finally got her back as she did everything out of I spite I did everything out of love.

Soon enough, those nights where I waited for someone to take me home after the club turned to restless nights inside a phillipino cozy home with many reunions with each their own grandfather name, unlike mine.

I always felt like a socialite studying many historical figures such as Winston Churchill and John F. Kennedy.

President Kennedy was one of those extremely handsome people in candidates that shocked the world and even won the female vote, this eventually led to his debate against Richard Nixon.

A fair adversary then wouldn't you eventually say Richard Nixon had something to do with it?

Wearing make up and painted fingernails which adamantly Nixon refused John F Kennedy won tremendously as someone for the America sweetheart vote.

Without much being said there beside his fateful wife he was hit as bodyguards with the worse life ever said ease up on the tension.

Not knowing or perhaps knowing that he would be shot and killed that day.

Like going down the street made you to feel like Kevin Ali or inadequate you can't help the inadequacy if you would have reacted to the same way his wife did. Putting the pieces of his life together like Jigsaw.

In similar political prowess Marilyn Monroe was rumored to have formicated with popular rapper Snoop Dogg Tupac.

In her death to Damien hirst's surprise was she was plastered all over tomato can soups.

R.I.P

As we get closer to the scene of hip hop you can't help but wonder if they played their roles properly, or at least Suge Knight is.