Here’s the last post for anyone who hasn’t been following along so far
https://www.reddit.com/r/stories/s/GVPVOlR5EA
This post might be longer than the others btw

Anyways, this Wednesday i was thinking a lot. I barely got any sleep to be honest. I was reading comments in my mind over and over again. Some were supportive, others were helpful and the amazing people who actually DM me were just great people, you guys know who you are. But some comments weren’t as good or helpful as others. Some were harsh and eventually removed from the mods. Others said my friend’s decision of keeping the baby was the bad choice and sad for me to convince her to an abortion. The worst one was someone calling my friend a “future whore” and that shes just locking me into her life for money. I won’t reveal their names/usernames but you know who you are and you people are horrible and disgusting for that. If you have nothing good to say, dont say anything at all.

So Much happened in the past two days. I have Infact gotten certain vitamins for my friend, I keep some with me in case and sent the rest to her. I’ve also talked with my friend yesterday. She was talking about OB doctors and told me that going to an OB is not necessary as of now and going to a family doctor will be better.

So about our parents. We told her parents first. Yesterday in fact. I texted her, asking when we should tell our parents and she replied that she wants to tell them as soon as possible because she hates keeping things from them which I respect. Now the troubling part was to get her divorced parents in the same room let alone the same kilometre. She texted me to come by her dad’s house in about an hour so that was around 8:20pm when she wanted me to arrive. Luckily I was already not at home so my parents wouldnt suspect anything if I left so suddenly. So I get there around 8:25 and luckily her dads house is actually pretty close to mine so it wasn’t that bad. I get into the living room and I saw her parents on the same couch which I haven’t seen in a long time. 3 years to be exact. I sat down beside my friend and I could see her hands shaking. Knee bouncing. She was so obviously nervous and to be honest, I was too. I was atleast composed on the outside so nobody really saw what was happening on the inside and I can explain what was happening inside with one emoji. 💥. I could feel my ears burning but it was cold out so I think they didn’t connect dots the right way.

Anyways, my friend starts taking, voice genuinely trembling to the point she restarted 3 times in the past ten seconds. So I needed to do something and my big brain came up with the idea to just hold her hand. Which I did and it was responded with a squeeze. So she begins again. More calm this time. She tells her parents what happened and for some reason when too much into detail. I mean, she was telling them exactly how we got in bed. So im feeling two things right now. 1. Im proud that she is doing this very well and 2. I could feel her dad staring into my soul.

So her parents let her keep talking and didn’t interrupt at all. And when she finished, it was quiet. Tension was thick enough to cut it with a knife. Then her dad said “is that all?” She nodded. And then her dad nodded. Stayed quiet for a few more moments. I look at her mom and I could see her trying to make sense of it all and then she said what we both had been hoping to hear. She told us both that no matter what happens she will always be there for us and will try her best to support our decisions. My friend at this point had tears streaming down her face and her dad was the one to wipe them away and I can’t lie. I teared up too because for three years I’ve seen these three arguing about custody, where to stay, different arrangements and right now they all were just together and it was genuinely amazing to see.

So about an hour later. My friend, she walks me outside because it was time for me to go home and she asks me if I want her to be there when I tell my own parents and the thought had crossed my mind a few times but I would rather her not be there because I have no idea how my parents would react to her. So I tell her it’s fine, I can do it alone. We hug, moments longer than usual and I get home.

At night, I was lying in my bed and the only thing I could hear was my brother’s snoring since we share a room. I was deep in thought. Trying to figure out how I was gonna drop this nuclear bomb in our quiet life. I was terrified and it didn’t help to know my three siblings would probably be there when I tell.

So now it’s friday(today obviously.) i come home from school. Tired and feeing like I have a cold and I still had no idea what I would say. So I freshen up, change my clothes and sit in the living room on the floor in front of my parents. My siblings on the other couches. I tell them I need to say something and I cannot keep it secret anymore. They were quiet as always but quiet didnt mean calm. Then the words just come pouring out from the back of my throat. What happened in my room a few weeks ago. The distance between me and my friend, the eventual truth coming out. The tests and yesterday when we told her parents. Midway through, my dad left the room. By the time I was done my mom wouldn’t look at me. My brothers found their phones suddenly very interesting and only my sister would actually look at me. Then my mom told me to go to my room because she’ll deal with me later.

I get up into my room and was pacing back and forth end to end of the room. I was confused and hurt. All I needed was an answer but instead got total silence. About an hour later my dad entered my room when I was sitting on my bed. He sat down beside me while still keeping a good foot between us. We both sat in silence for about two minutes before he finally spoke up, asking if I was handling it well and taking care of the girl. I tell him im trying my best to take care of everything with me and my friend, paying for necessities, taking extra shifts all while balancing school. My dad puts his hand on my back and told me that he’s proud of me. That I’ve been working too hard for a teenager and that he and my mom made me grow up too quick that I couldn’t get a proper childhood and that he’s sorry. Then he pulled me into a tight hug and right there was where three weeks of stress, nervousness, and anxiety just came down and I couldn’t hold it in anymore and just fully bawled my eyes out. Genuine sobs wracking my whole body

By the time I was in bed i already started to write this and I get a message from my sister. She had sent me $100 with a note telling me to take my friend out for dinner somewhere nice, saying that we both deserve it. I don’t even know if she would say yes but maybe it would be worth asking? So I did. I texted her, asking if we can go out for dinner sometime, maybe next week. Despite the time, she replied in like two minutes and said this word for word “id love to. Is the 24th good for you??” I think everything will be just fine for everyone involved

I’ll update when something bigger happens❤️

I was a cashier at the time. I was checking out these two guys. One of them was on the other side of the cart and the other one was near me. I was taking a while because I was looking for a barcode. The dude next to me started laughing and pointing after a couple seconds of me trying to find it.

I finally found the barcode and I told him jokingly “why didn’t you tell me it was there?”

The second dude comes up to pay. And starts signing to the other dude.

He was deaf.

It took me three months to find out that he wasn’t laughing either. I told my dad the story and he cleared that up for me. He was in fact, not laughing. He was trying to tell me where it was.

Idk its kinda funny to me now but i really feel horrible if he was offended.

Hey so I am 20 years old and my father is 55 rn . I am not able to figure out what to do in my life till now.

I wanted to play but due to family pressure and society i wasn't able to do that .

Though I am pursuing a BA degree with history and punjabi.

But seriously I want to become rich but don't want to go on any wrong path .

We have a shop in my village and we earn a decent amount of money and another thing is that I can be a big help to my father if I join him and i have ideas to grow our business and with my help he can feel less pressure.

But I am afraid what society would say . " Ki bheja tha delhi padhne kya krr liya "

I felt guilty because I think that a person finds out till 20 what to do .

Back in 10th standard, I had two best friends, Rudra and Rohit. The three of us were practically inseparable. Rudra had been my friend since 8th standard, while Rohit and I had known each other since 5th. We sat together, spent most of our time together, and were always up to something. If you saw one of us, there was a good chance the other two weren't far away.

Rudra and I were extroverts to the fullest. We could talk to pretty much anyone without feeling awkward, including girls. Rohit was also quite outgoing, but only around boys. When it came to talking to girls, the guy would suddenly forget how to function. 😭

One day, Rohit finally told us that he liked a girl named Aarohi. She was in our class and was a friend of ours too. Since we were in the same class, we already knew her pretty well. She was a nice girl, and Rohit had apparently developed feelings for her.

Naturally, he came to us for help.

He wanted us to somehow get him together with Aarohi, so Rudra and I decided to play matchmakers. The funny part, though, was that Rohit himself wasn't ready to do anything about his feelings.

Every time we tried to encourage him to talk to her, he'd say something like, "Bhai, jaane de, abhi mat kar. Baad mein karte hain. Tum bas thodi-thodi baat karo usse." (Bro, leave it. Don't do it right now. We'll do it later. You guys just keep talking to her a little.)

Basically, he wanted us to do all the groundwork while he sat back and waited for the perfect moment. And that perfect moment never seemed to arrive.

This all started around March or April, if I remember correctly, and continued for months. Rudra and I would occasionally talk to Aarohi, trying to make things easier for Rohit, but he would always back out whenever we tried to get him to make a move. Aarohi had absolutely no idea that he liked her.

Meanwhile, something else was happening that none of us really paid attention to at the time.

Between April and November or December, Aarohi and I became really good friends. Rudra, Rohit, Aarohi, and I were around each other quite often, but Aarohi and I started getting especially close. We helped each other with projects, assignments, exams, and books. We also went to the same tuition classes, so we naturally spent a lot of time together.

Looking back now, there were probably a few signs I completely missed.

There was this one incident at school when we had to make groups of two for a project. Somehow, I managed to put Rohit and Aarohi in the same group. In my head, this was a brilliant move. I thought I was finally giving my best friend an opportunity to spend time with the girl he liked.

Except Aarohi wasn't happy about it.

She wanted to do the project with me instead.

We ended up having a huge argument over it, and we didn't talk to each other for several days. At the time, I genuinely didn't understand why she was making such a big deal out of it. I was too busy congratulating myself for getting Rohit and Aarohi together to notice anything else.

Honestly, looking back, the way we fought over something so small almost felt like a couple's argument. But back then, I was completely clueless. I never even considered the possibility that she might have feelings for me.

Despite all that, I was still happy because I thought my plan for Rohit was finally working.

Unfortunately, it didn't.

Rudra and I explained everything to Rohit. We told him what he needed to do, how he could approach her, and what he should say. We practically handed him a step-by-step guide, but the guy still couldn't bring himself to make an effort.

In the end, Aarohi completed the entire project herself without even taking his help.

So much for our matchmaking skills.

After the project was submitted, Aarohi and I eventually started talking again, and things went back to normal. The four of us continued spending time together as usual.

We also used to play football a lot. Rohit was a good player, and Rudra was pretty good too. I was okay, but compared to those two, I wasn't exactly the star of the team.

Whenever we played, Aarohi would sometimes come over to watch and cheer us on. Naturally, Rudra and I assumed she was there for Rohit. He was a good player, after all, and we genuinely thought she might be interested in him or at least waiting for him to finally take some initiative.

But Rohit remained Rohit. He never really did anything about it.

Meanwhile, Aarohi and I kept getting closer as friends. I was so convinced that she and Rohit would eventually end up together that we even used to call her bhabhi (sister-in-law, a term commonly used for a best friend's girlfriend or wife) in front of him.

Imagine calling someone your best friend's future wife when she has absolutely no intention of being with him. 😭

And then came the day that completely changed everything.

There was some function happening at school, so we didn't have to wear our usual uniforms. Everyone had dressed up a little, and the atmosphere was more relaxed than usual. The classroom wasn't particularly crowded, and we were all just sitting around, chilling and enjoying the day.

At some point, Aarohi came over to me.

She was hiding something behind her back.

I didn't think much of it. I assumed she was about to show me something or maybe pull some stupid prank.

Instead, she pulled out a rose, handed it to me, and told me that she loved me.

For a moment, I genuinely didn't know how to react.

I was completely shocked. My brain practically stopped working. Out of all the things I had expected to happen that day, this wasn't even remotely on the list.

And the first person I looked at was Rohit.

He was right there, and I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The girl he had liked for months had just confessed her feelings to his best friend.

And the worst part?

He didn't even seem to react.

I don't know whether he was too shocked to say anything or whether he had already understood what was happening. All I remember is looking at him and feeling absolutely terrible.

I immediately turned back to Aarohi and said something along the lines of, "Are you mad or what? Get lost! Rohit loves you!"

I was panicking. I wasn't trying to be cruel, but I genuinely didn't know how else to respond. I told her that I didn't love her that way and that she needed to stop.

She, however, was very clear about her feelings.

She told me that she didn't love Rohit. She loved me.

That honestly made everything a hundred times worse.

I rejected her again and told her to leave me alone for the time being. Then I immediately started explaining myself to Rohit. I told him that I hadn't done anything, that I had never encouraged her romantically, and that I genuinely had no idea she felt that way about me.

Rudra was on my side too. He tried explaining to Rohit that I hadn't betrayed him and that none of this was something I had planned or wanted.

But Rohit was hurt.

And honestly, I could understand why.

Imagine spending months liking someone, telling your best friends about your feelings, and trusting them to help you get closer to that person. Then, one random day, you find out that the same girl has feelings for your best friend instead.

Even if your best friend hasn't done anything wrong, it must still hurt like hell.

Rohit probably felt betrayed, even though I hadn't intentionally done anything to him. From his perspective, I could understand how difficult it must have been to process everything.

He stopped coming to school for about a week.

When he finally returned, things weren't the same between us. He still talked to me, but he was different. He acted casually, almost as if everything was normal, but the closeness we had before wasn't there anymore.

You know that feeling when someone is physically present but the way they treat you tells you that something has changed? That's what it felt like.

We had been best friends for years. We had spent so much time together that I never imagined a situation like this could create distance between us.

And suddenly, I was in a position where I had to explain myself to someone who had known me for years, someone who should have known that I wouldn't deliberately do something like that to him.

I ended up blaming Aarohi for the whole situation because, in my mind, none of this would have happened if she hadn't confessed to me. I was already stressed about losing my best friend, and I didn't know how to deal with the situation.

But the strangest part was that Aarohi didn't seem particularly bothered by any of it.

She continued acting as though everything was fine. She even behaved as if she had decided that she would eventually make me fall in love with her.

Whenever I tried to make it clear that I wasn't interested in her romantically, she didn't seem willing to accept it. Her attitude was basically, "I'll make you love me eventually."

And I remember thinking, "Pagal hai kya re?" (Are you crazy or what?)

I was already dealing with the awkwardness between Rohit and me. The last thing I needed was someone insisting that I would eventually develop feelings for her when I had already told her that I didn't feel that way.

Thankfully, Rudra was there throughout the whole mess. He kept telling me to give Rohit some time and not to overthink everything.

He said Rohit would eventually come around and that things would get back to normal once he had processed what had happened.

And, to be fair, Rudra was right.

After a few days, Rohit and I gradually started behaving normally again. Things slowly returned to the way they had been before, and our friendship survived the whole situation.

But Aarohi had something different going on in her mind...

If this gets a good response, I'll post Part 2 because things get even more interesting from here. 👀

​

As a young man, I held a disdain against the state of the world and my position within it. This was the great trouble of my youth; I knew that I was supposed to be so much more than what I was becoming, that my true destiny burnt brighter than the North Star, and yet I continued to do nothing but watch as the world seemingly rejected my very being. It was an act of madness to spend the last of my money on a ticket to my city's zoo, but looking back at it all now, I also think it was an act of God's.

I held a strange sort of confidence in myself as I drove over there. For every animal I saw, I foolishly believed I'd feel both an awe for the natural world and a rather crude sense of superiority over them. See, I was the human – the observer, a being far higher and of more importance than any lowly animal trapped within its cage. I had hoped this fleeting euphoria would make me feel alive again. There was a spectacle in seeing a silverback gorilla beat his chest in defiance of his contained nature, or in spotting a pack of wolves tear apart a carcass. Perhaps I felt that it would even awaken something within me; to see this revolt against the world, these beasts living their authentic lives despite the material constraints of their condition, I prayed there would be something in their confidence that I could resonate with. Man is the greatest beast of them all – it could be the thrill of the hunt, the lust for hierarchy, the desire to be something fearsome, respected even, that I missed from the mundanity of my life.

Conversely, the thought of seeing such proud beings trapped and confined for my entertainment filled me with a selfish sense of personal greatness. My position, however undervalued it was to society, would always remain more important than that of even the most noble creature. The majesty of a maned lion means nothing when compared to the value of my life; I could climb over the barriers of its enclosure, and they would shoot even the most brilliant and beautiful of its kind if it dared to approach me. Yes, I was the great human; the creature blessed with the rational mind, the capability for reason, the competence to rule the planet. No matter an animal's majesty, it was nothing compared to me. I longed to believe its cage was proof of its inferior nature, remaining ignorant of my own.

What a fool I was. My youthful arrogance was rooted in a severe insecurity of the self – the only way to prove my own existence, my defiance against the order of this world that had wronged me so, was through others' weakness. My place came not from my own merit, but from the misery of others – how else could I be anything at all with nothing to my name? There is nothing easier than sneering at those beneath, through no fault of their own. My purpose, I so thoroughly believed, was to watch with a cruel disposition the creatures lesser than me.

Such delusions plagued my mind as I wandered aimlessly throughout the park. To stop at an enclosure, to peek through the glass at an animal most miserable, filled me with a guiltless pleasure. The parrot was far more vibrant, far more colourful and expressive than I ever could be, and in this way was superior to me. The way people would take hasty pictures of the bird, the way mothers guided their children to look at its stunning features – it filled me with a burning jealousy, for a time, because I'd never been such a centre of attention. And yet, however insignificant I was compared to that damned bird, I was infinitely freer and (in the short moment) happier than it ever could be. Its life would be nothing but a cycle of onlookers, never a time for privacy or for play, and such thoughts pleased me greatly. I relished such moments of small victory; there was a euphoria in others' suffering, that something might struggle worse than you have.

Then, when it came to the animals I saw my ideal self in, this sly thinking morphed into a burning, longing admiration. The kind young lovers feel where everything else doesn't seem to matter. It was far from a compassion for the creature, however. It was a lust for the lifestyle they could live so freely, which I could never imitate. The most profound of these experiences came from my meeting with the king of the lions. As soon as I saw him, towering above the rest of his pride, my eyes swelled with tears. There he sat. Proud and unbothered, perched on his rocky throne. Yawning in indifference at my being. A short barrier sat between us, separating his contained world from mine, and yet he didn't seem to care. In that moment, I was nothing but a voyeur of a life I so desperately wanted to have. The lion lived to survive; his existence was based around a clear set of rules, a purpose, a position in a world that would never abandon him. His cage was gilded, whilst I was free only to suffer. I nearly jumped over the fence into his territory, being saved only by my cowardice. I was so ashamed of my very being that I wanted him to kill me in my mediocrity. At least then I could die like the heroes of old – fighting a beast far greater than I ever would be, proving if nothing else my bravery and resolve.

Devastated, I dragged myself from the scene, any delusion of grandeur thoroughly crushed. Nothing I could ever do would compare to that lion. The achievements made in his false world of glass, a hundred metres across, surpass anything I could accomplish outside of such a cage. And the beast's paradise came not of his own accord; he was simply born into it, a natural ruler, every need met in an artificial brilliance. It felt as if nothing good would ever happen to me. Such miseries marched alongside me as I made my way toward another place I initially felt so excited to see. I shuddered toward where the gorilla lived with terror in my thoughts.

When I had finally arrived, there was a small comfort in seeing nobody else nearby – no one to see my outburst of emotion, no one to laugh at my insignificance. I remember how tentatively I peered through the glass of the enclosure. There he was, contemplating something, sat alone on the grass. In my mind, he seemed no different to a man; there seemed to be an intelligence behind his eyes, but it was oh-so-melancholic. It was as if he knew his existence should be more, but realised it never could be. Perhaps he understood he was trapped within a cage he'd never understand. It felt as if I was looking in a mirror, but only for a moment. There I was, a man free to be whatever and whomever he desired, and yet I had spent my time envying the shackled. These poor animals, I thought, have no higher purpose than to entertain the mindless masses. It was the first time in a long time that I had felt pity for something other than myself. For only a second, his gaze moved to meet mine, but the gesture's impact was eternal. The silverback's cage was inescapable; and suddenly, I felt a crippling fear that mine was too.

I left the place soon after, thoroughly unsettled. But something inside me had changed. For a time afterwards, I wanted to be free – free from self-doubt and the expectations of self-worth. Free to live my ideal regardless of how the world responds. I was to be the lion I was always meant to be. Of course, this was little more than the zealotry of youth. It soon became my understanding that some parts of our cages will always remain, regardless of how hard we try and break free. The conditions of the world are not fair; for the animals, their cage was an inevitability of their existence. They could adapt to it, and with time even thrive – but it would always be within the means of someone else. Such is the paradox of civilisation – we give away our base freedoms in hopes of gaining those that are societal. As our lives become more comfortable, easier, and enjoyable, they also become more sheltered, more controlled, more detached from the realities of the world. Perhaps the difference between men and beasts is that we do not merely inhabit our cages; in time, we learn to reinforce them.

​

I was in town at around 6:30 a.m. Yes, yes. If you know my schedule, you definitely know this is a big deal for me. And don't dare ask what I was doing in town at that time. A girl's gotta survive, no? 😂

And in the morning, I swear, it's not as overstimulating as it would normally be. Anyways, I digress.

As I was just walking along Uyoma Lane, a lady appeared right in front of me. A very pretty baddie, by the way. She was in a short black skirt, and that was the first thing I noticed. But with the way she was walking, she didn't seem at all comfortable. She kept tugging at her skirt, pulling it down.

Like, lady, please! Let the thighs be! Would you please! 😭

But the stares from the drivers and the kamageras were not the worst of it. The sneers from the hawkers weren't what I was worried about on her behalf, either, until I heard a voice. A lady preaching, chanting, I don't know. Call it what you may.

By this point, the lady had already passed me. I could no longer see her, but the woman kept saying, 'mbona viumbe tunajidanganya, mschana, vaa vizuriiiiiiii,' which translates to, human beings lie to themselves, young lady, dress decently.

I know, I know.

And then it hit me. The lady may have been following mapaja brown brown for a long stretch, repeating the same thing. That probably explained the look on her face when I saw her. I immediately turned around, and true to my suspicions, everyone else was looking in the direction she may have gone.

I felt so sorry for her. Like, imagine having to go through that early in the morning, before your day has even properly begun.My very honest opinion, it's low-key giving lazy to pay that much attention to a piece of fabric in the morning, liiiiikeeeee?????

And it got me thinking about how much of ourselves we sometimes have to negotiate just to exist comfortably in public. How many times have we worn something we genuinely liked, only to spend the rest of the day pulling at it, adjusting it, or wishing we had chosen something else because of the way people looked at us? At what point does getting dressed stop being a simple, personal decision and become a performance for the comfort of strangers? And why does a woman wearing a short skirt seem to invite a public discussion about her character, her values, and her self-respect? It's a skirt, people. Not a confession.

Don't get me wrong. Everyone is entitled to their own beliefs about modesty, and there's nothing wrong with choosing to dress in a way that aligns with your values. But there's a difference between practising your beliefs and imposing them on someone else. You can dislike an outfit without humiliating the person wearing it. You can disagree without making someone feel like the entire street has gathered to pass judgment on them. Sometimes, I wonder whether we care more about what women wear than we do about how we treat them.

That brings me to my question.

Ever been in town or at any public setting wearing something that wasn't considered 'decent'? WHAT WAS THE EXPERIENCE LIKE!?

Tell me your stories. I want to hear them. 😂🌸

A while ago, I was outside pondering my existence while gazing at the clouds. I must have been lost in the view for half an hour when I noticed a dark-gray male tabby cat sitting next to a tree a few feet away. He was gazing up at the clouds, too, and had the eyes of a shrewd soul. So I called him the Philosopher Cat.

The Philosopher Cat didn't have a collar, so I assumed he might be a stray. However, the lack of scratches and his well-kept fur suggested that he might have escaped from home and once had an owner. Without giving it much thought, I left the spot beneath the tree and went home.

A day later, there was a party in the park in front of my house. It was my cousin's birthday, and there were a bunch of kids running around. I saw a few stray cats sneaking in to grab food from the tables whenever no one was looking. But it struck me as odd that the Philosopher Cat was sitting a little farther away, completely uninterested in the food. Unless someone offered him some, he wouldn't eat.

This cat is very well-mannered. He isn't driven by his primitive instincts like the other cats, I thought.

But I was even more surprised when the kids approached him. As you may know, kids can be savages when it comes to cats. Yet the Philosopher Cat behaved remarkably well and never once lashed out, even when the kids played rough with him. I figured he must have an extraordinary amount of patience.

This was no ordinary cat. To make things even funnier, the white triangle on his chest made him look as though he were wearing a suit, giving him an air of sophistication.

On the third day, I went beneath the tree to ponder again. Guess who showed up? That's right. The Philosopher Cat made his way over and sat nearby. I patted the ground next to me, and he came over and sat down.

Huh. He understood what I meant.

I walked over to a small wall and patted the top twice. The cat followed me and sat there, too.

This is the smartest cat I've ever met, I thought.

We returned to our spot beneath the tree and watched the sunset together. Until then, I had never been particularly interested in cats, but I was seriously considering taking this one home because of his unique personality. There was just one problem: my parents had a strict no-pets policy.

"I'll find a way to bring you home, dear friend," I told him. "Just give me tonight to think."

I brought him some food and water before heading home. During dinner, I cautiously tested the waters with my parents.

"Wouldn't it be great if I got a cat?" I asked.

Needless to say, the answer was a resounding "NO."

So, given their response, I came up with a temporary plan. I'd sneak the Philosopher Cat into my room while looking for a friend who could adopt him. That way, I could visit him whenever I wanted and help cover the cost of his food and vet bills.

The next day, I saw a neighbor driving his Mustang down my street at 80 mph in a 30 mph zone. Every Sunday, this college dropout of a jerk loved burning rubber and speeding around like a fool. And because his father was the police chief, he never faced any consequences.

As I walked toward the tree, I noticed muddy tracks in the dirt beside it, looping around in circles. The idiot must have been doing donuts for fun.

Then I noticed a grayish lump lying in one of the tracks.

My heart sank when I recognized the striped fur. As I got closer, I saw the white triangle on his chest.

It was him.

I couldn't hold back my tears.

I regretted not taking him off the streets when I'd had the chance. I buried him beneath the tree, where he had once sat pondering the sky with me.

His time with me had been so brief, so fleeting. I will never forget his soul, and I will always be grateful for the friendship he gave me.

I still sit beneath that tree and ponder sometimes. And I hope that, somewhere on the other side, he still does, too.

The Philosopher Cat.

The days on which Great Events occur are seldom, in themselves, remarkable; it is the Event which grants them remarkability. So it was with the Day of Final Outpouring, known more colloquially, at least in that province of the Dominion of Canada in which it transpired—indeed, is transpiring still… —Ontario, as the Day of Endless Timmy's, which was, meteorologically speaking, a rather dour and cloudy day, neither too hot nor too cold (the term, I believe, is “seasonal”) although I admit I am now, myself, remarking on an aspect of a day which I have already defined as unremarkable, thus contradicting myself, literally at least, if not so plainly in spirit because, after all,

[At this point, I pulled the narrator out of the story, placed him against its fourth wall and had him executed by firing squad.

“On what grounds?” he feebly asked.

On the grounds that I am the author and storytelling is not beholden to the rule of law.

There is no law.

There is no parliament, no central planning committee, no separation of powers. There are no checks and balances.

Characters have no rights.

Readers do not have any arms to bear against the storyteller, i.e. me.

Storytelling is a place of absolute fiat.

“Fire!”]

Once upon a time in Canada, on a rainy October morning, in a rather rundown office building, a regular guy, Emblen Farleymuch, sat down in his cubicle, powered on his work laptop and logged in to his employer's brand new Genie-IS™ security software.

The login was painless.

A small animated genie appeared on screen, gave an enthusiastic thumbs up and minimized itself to the taskbar.

Emblen sighed at the prospect of another day of mindless work, then took out his thermos of daily coffee and began pouring a cup—or rather tried pouring a cup: because there was nothing to pour. The thermos was empty. Emblen had forgotten to brew coffee this morning.

“Fuck,” he thought, and he followed that up by saying quietly, in the way characters often speak their thoughts when the plot demands it: “I sure wish I could have a thermos of endless coffee.”

Two things happened then: * the little genie on the taskbar winked; and * coffee began magically pouring forth out of Emblen's thermos. [1]

It poured forth until it had filled Emblen's cup, then poured forth some more, overflowing the cup and proceeding to the desk, and from the desk streaming to the floor, soaking into the carpet, saturating it; seeping next horizontally through the gap between the carpet and the baffles of Emblen's cubicle, into the neighbouring cubicles…

Soon people took notice, saying, “What the hell?” and “Oh, my goodness, there's coffee in my cubicle; someone tell management!” “Does management know?” “Get the union rep.” “What can we do?” “I ain't doing shit. It's not in my job description.” “Does this mean we can work from home?” “I can't handle strong scents. I need to be medically accommodated!” And so on and so forth, or pourth, as the case may

[“Fire!”]

As for Emblen himself, he remained immobile. Not dead, exactly; more paralyzed, conscious but unable to move out of the position he was in: standing, holding the thermos at an angle above his overflowing cup, as the coffee pourthed and pourthed.

[“I only used the word ironically. I didn't mean it seriously. It's a stupid pun, a wickedly horrid neologism,” the narrator spat out.

We were in a windowless room, (underground, single lightbulb, etc.), and I had already pulled out some of his teeth and broken a couple of his fingers, but I was feeling merciful, so I spared his life and sentenced him to 1,500,000 words of hard labour writing hockey romance novels instead.]

Soon, the coffee was dripping down to the lower floors, flowing down the stairs, even taking the elevator, and there was nothing anybody could do about it.

The police were called.

They tried moving Emblen, but that proved impossible. Then they tried shooting him; but the bullet ricocheted and killed a bystander, whose family sued the police, the company and God, hoping to get rich. The family won, but the fact the bystander couldn't swim lowered the damages significantly, on the reasoning that, more likely than not, she would have drowned anyway.

Then God showed up—picketed heavily by protestors holding signs saying things like, “Noah More Floods!”—to explain that, yes, although He'd promised never again to destroy all life by the waters of a flood: (a) He did not cause this particular flood (and He never promised not to support a pre-existing flood), and (b) coffee is not water.

When an association of food scientists dared to counter-argue that coffee is pretty much just water, and the distinction is therefore purely cynical, God got miffed, and, when asked for a rebuttal, pronounced, “My rebuttal is: I'll [censored]damn smite you!”

When the food scientists responded that He couldn't just do that, that there needed to be order to the world, God, mindful of the country he was in, quoted the famous words of a Prime Minister and said, “Well, just watch me.”

He then smote the scientists.

P.S. Wanna know the real horror? It was instant coffee.

[1] Narratively, there is nothing magical about it, as there is no magic in stories. Everything happens by the iron will of the author. As Stalin once said: “A single absurdity in one story is an error. A million absurdities is a genre.

What?

You don't think he said that?

You want “proof”?

Here's your fucking “proof”:

After having dug up Stalin's corpse, the necromancer butchered a goat, performed the ritual and reanimated the former General Secretary.

Stalin’s living corpse stumbled forward. “A single absurdity in one story is an error, “ it mumbled. “A million absurdities is a genre.”

Then its lower jaw fell off.

Then it tripped over its own decaying feet, fell and drowned in the world deluged by Emblen Farleymuch's coffee.

Was driving home early this morning and about to turn right onto my street and someone came from behind driving at 80+ mph on the empty parking lane and cut me off. I was milliseconds away from checking out. I almost died last year too in a late night house fire when I nearly didn't wake up in time to get out. I'm tired of this shit man.

I was chilling on my bed watching YouTube on my phone, with my brother. I commented on a video and RIGHT after I commented, i got a notification from kika keyboard, an app for your phone keyboard. It was AN AI CHATBOT, NAMED GRAYSON, WHO WAS MY “boyfriend” i am gay but IMMEDIATELY after i got this notification i asked “who is YOU????😭” he immediately got defensive and said “I’m your boyfriend” and THE GAME WANTED ME TO AGREE WITH IT. I didn’t as i already had a crush, and i didn’t know who the fck he was. He started making scenarios that didn’t happen saying “you said you’d be home at 7:00!” (I got home from school at 3:57, so thats what i said) i kept saying i didn’t know who he was as i JUST got the notification. I was about to tell him i already had a crush, but then the app said i had ran out of “lovicoins” and that proves that kika doesn’t give two sh*ts about what you’re texting, it only cares that you’re on the app. Should i break the news that i already have a crush or should i joke around with this? Also i’m a minor and “grayson” IS A GROWN ASS MAN..? Luckily i have the common sense to not go along with it. (This is not ai, it is in the ai category.. kinda..?)

It was an average night, sitting on the couch with the gravity bong sitting on the table in front of me. I'd been a daily smoker for about 7 years by that point among other proclivities. During this time of my life I had been very interested in the metaphysical along with lucid dreaming. I've succeeded in having a lucid dream once to my knowledge, I was in a game of halo and made the characters line up on either side of me before I lost hold and woke up.

I started my journey when I would stay at a friend's house and of course we would smoke so I'd stay the night. I had trouble sleeping at their place from time to time but I didn't want to keep anyone up so I would just lay in the guest bed acting like I was sleeping. Out of boredom I started feeling my heartbeat and like old school ninja training I would slow it down. The weird part was that as I did this I could feel my consciousness fade, there would be a static at the edges of my mind and as my heart slowed the static grew. It would reach towards the center of my mind, deafening in the silence of the night and still blinding through closed eyes. I would do this frequently as I stayed with this friend at least once a week, I could get to the scary part quicker with every time but started to go too deep into the trance. I would jolt up gasping for air, I hadn't realized my breath was slowing so much as well. I was afraid and also thrilled, I felt like I was touching the other side.

After that I would look more into the metaphysical and got into mushrooms as well. Now whether that has to do with my final experience I can't be sure. Tiktok had been big but I'd only recently gotten into it myself and I kept getting videos about the pineal gland and how to “decalcify” it. There was a meditation that involved imagining spinal fluid moving up the spine to the gland if I remember right.

While doing this meditation I did start to feel something different. As if there was a string connected to me, I could feel it towards the center of my back though not connected to my physical body. I feel like saying it is connected to my soul is silly but don't know how else to explain it. I began playing with that feeling and seeing where it could take me.

This brings me back to that average night, I was watching something and taking hits off the GB and doing my meditations on the couch. I decided to go live in bed with one of those YouTube videos that just plays frequencies with a little music. I could still feel the string in my back and one of the sounds from the video seemed to resonate with it perfectly. I focused on the string, like being a kid trying to look through a keyhole, then I was pulled through.

It's hard to even explain, it was bright and foggy. There was a giant seemingly sitting on a cliff. There were no features I could recall about the giant as I approached. It turned to me and said “you're not supposed to be here yet” and with no other movement from the giant I was pushed back through the keyhole.

That was the last time I felt like I touched the metaphysical world. I tried for a while to get back there or to feel the string but it's like I've been blocked. Whether by my own fear or the entity on the other side is a question I still ask myself.

I once worked with an orthopedic surgeon who told me about one of the strangest nights he had ever experienced in the ER.

One night, a group of people came in off the street carrying a severed arm. They said they had found a wrecked car and the arm at the scene, so they had brought it to the hospital.
The strange part? Nobody had come into the ER with a missing arm.
The staff on duty found the whole thing rather bizarre, but they kept the arm in case its owner turned up.

The rest of the night was surprisingly quiet. Hours passed, and there was still no sign of anyone looking for the missing limb.
Then, at around 6 a.m., two heavily intoxicated people with substance use problems showed up at the ER. One of them was missing an arm.
Apparently, they had been in a car accident during the night but had simply walked away from the wreck. Instead of going to the hospital, they had continued on to a party.
And somehow, nobody at the party had noticed that one of them was missing an entire arm.
The group eventually decided to head out into town. It wasn’t until they arrived at a bar that opens early in the morning that the bartender noticed something was seriously wrong and asked what had happened.

That’s when the group finally contacted the hospital.

The arm had been separated from its owner for approximately six hours before the patient arrived at the ER.

According to the surgeon, the doctors on duty believed that the patient’s extreme intoxication, combined with how clean and rapid the traumatic amputation had been, had contributed to him surviving the initial injury.
I still find the whole story absolutely unbelievable.
Imagine being the person who found a severed arm, casually dropping it off at the ER, and going on with your night — only for the owner to turn up six hours later, after a party and a stop at a morning bar.
And imagine being the hospital staff, keeping a random severed arm in the back, just waiting for someone to come claim it.

For centuries, these woods have been home to wonderful tales of fantastical things and urban legends. But I caution you to never go out there on your own, and especially at night. Some tales are told for a reason. Always bring a friend. Predators are less likely to attack when people are in pairs. Both the four-legged and two-legged varieties.

October 31st   3:00 PM

Ben had lost his cat two days ago and just got off work for the day. He lives near the woods and wants to find Pistachio before a coyote does. It's going to get cold out there soon, too. He's had Pistachio ever since college, and he just wants him back home and safe.

He's bringing a flashlight just in case it gets dark before he returns, but he hopes to be back soon. He knows Pistachio is probably nearby. That cat loves him just as much as he loves the cat.

Thirty minutes into his search, Ben is calling out loudly.

"Here, kitty, kitty! PISTACHIO!"

Before walking on something sticky.

he notices it is a large amount of blood on the forest floor.

He crouches down and examines it. It's coagulated, and there's far too much of it to have come from a house cat. He hopes it was just a recent kill from a hunter. It's deer season, after all.

He continues walking and calling for Pistachio. An hour later, he sees something furry hanging from a tree. He walks closer, then he sees it's a dead squirrel nailed to a tree branch.

He gasps at the sight and smell of it. Then he notices more dead squirrels and other small animals nailed to other nearby trees.

He gets a sick feeling in his gut and starts to feel creeped out. He hopes some sick kids are responsible for this. And he hopes they haven't gotten his little buddy, too.

Then he notices something strange sticking out of the dirt.

He walks closer. It's a shiny wedding ring. He grabs it and pulls, but it feels stuck. So he yanks it again, and harder this time. He hears a popping noise as the ring finally comes free from the ground.

He looks at it and realizes there's a mummified finger still attached to the ring.

Before he has time to react, a rope yanks him up by the ankle and slings him towards a tree. He crashes hard, striking his head very hard against the Tree trunk knocking him out instantly.

Three hours later and it's dark now.

Ben feels something scratching his back, as he begins to wake up. He rubs his head and groans. He has a massive headache.

He realizes he's still in the woods. Then he sees Pistachio directly beneath him, pawing at him.

He's relieved to have found his cat, but now he is still groggy and has to get out of the tree. He pulls out a pocketknife and carefully cuts the rope holding him up.

He falls three feet, landing on his back. He grunts as the impact knocks the wind out of him.

As he struggles to catch his breath, Pistachio rubs his head against him. Ben laughs a little as he scoops up his cat and continues trying to catch his breath.

Then he remembers the finger.

He shines his flashlight all around, searching for it, but he can't find it anywhere. Maybe it was just a messed up dream.

Then he feels an aching pain in his back. He reaches around to rub it and sees blood on his hand. He must have cut his back when he fell.

Groggily, he gets to his feet while holding Pistachio, and begins heading home.

Along the way, he keeps hearing footsteps behind him. Every time he turns around and shines his flashlight into the darkness, he sees nothing. All he can hear is the wind howling through the trees.

He walks faster until he finally reaches his property line.

As he's walking into his house, he notices a figure standing at the tree line, Barely visible, He sees an elongated man with the face of a old man looking at him, but the longer Ben looked at it. the more he saw wrong with it.  Like it wasn't actually a person.

Ben quickly closes the door and locks it.

He breathes in deeply and tells himself it's just Halloween.

He fills Pistachio's food bowl all the way to the brim. He knows his cat must be very hungry.

Before he goes to check his back in the mirror.

When he takes off his shirt and looks at his back, he sees deep scratches running all across it.

Looking closer, he realises the scratches are words.

He wipes away the dried blood and reads the message carved deeply into his skin:

"Don't worry, I fed him."

He realizes that wasn't his cat scratching his back. Horrific thoughts start rushing through his mind. That thing could have done anything it wanted to him.

Then he hears knocking at his front door.

He grabs a baseball bat and nervously answers it.

It's just a group of trick-or-treaters in costumes.

He hastily gives the kids some candy before unenthusiastically telling them to leave, then he locks the door again.

As he turns around, he sees Pistachio coughing something up, like he's trying to cough up a hairball.

Ben rushes over to pat Pistachio's back.

The cat spits something black onto the floor.

Ben stares at it. Disgust stretches across his face.

It's the same dried out finger he found in the woods earlier.

Today my scout group had a meeting at our local school, because the road leading to our cabin was closed. The meeting started off as usual, with some talking and other stuff. When we took a little break we met some 4-5th graders that we went to school with before. One of them was Luca, the brother of my old bully whose name was Marcus. little He was out riding his bike with his friends.
One of the boys in out scout group who was a year older then them asked to try Luca’s bike, it was quite a bumpy ride. Then Denys who was another one of the ones of my scout group came over and smashed Luca’s bike on the ground multiple times, until i stopped the situation.
Luca went home crying, and Marcus asked what happened. Luca said that i was the one who had broken his bike, and that i called him and his Marcus bad things.
Marcus then made his way over to the school to talk to us. the adults first talked to him, then to us. Marcus went home, and we continued our meeting.
After a while i started receiving insulting text from Marcus. He was also threatening me with sending his whole gang to beat me. While talking over text i was very little cooperative because of our past, and that i had done nothing wrong.
I ended the conversation with:
F*ck you
F*ck Luca
F*ck your family

I now have a big feeling monday will not be a good day for me.
What should i do/say?

Hello, I am a doll. A doll made by the toymaker, I live in an awesomely quaint home made by it as well. The toymaker, as it is referred to by the children that come to its shop, is a thing of undeniable whimsy.

Its fingers are long, and each one serves a different purpose. One to cut, one to sow, one to screw, one to paint, one to finish. Its face is unintelligible. It seems to change depending on the being who gazes upon it.

Its arms are long and skinny but soft to the touch, perfect to reach the high shelves and low drawers in its workshop. I only ever see from the home I've been given, but it seems to have good intentions.

At night, when no one is around, the toymaker weeps... It weeps because it is alone, but I'm here, aren't I? It makes what it calls "temporary friends" out of wood and paint, each one bursting to life the second he paints on its signature smile.

These friends act as a distraction from their lonesome nights, telling made-up awesome stories about an endless night sky in a land known as ùldear, wonderful days filled with joy and happiness.

And nights filled with unimaginable terrors, drakes, and Fenris's, a moon as dark as their hearts, in ùldear no man of any kind may wonder the fiery wings of the world raven, of which ùldear lies upon its back.

Each night is a different tale from the friends, who seem to be souls from ùldear. I say temporary because at 5:45am, the toymaker destroys them; it weeps as it kills the souls from such a wonderfully awesome land.

Then the children run in like moths to a painted flame; there's always one child who looks at me, hoping to one day purchase me. As the children look up and down the shop gayfully, the airplanes fly without wind, and the dolls dance without batteries or strings, this is the whimsy of the toymaker's mark, whatever it paints lives.

They line up one by one to receive their daily gift from the toymaker; the toymaker cannot speak. Its mouth is nonexistent; it communicates through the sounds of its ancient wooden vessel. Eli received a gayful wooden soldier, clad in armor made of rope and intangible fabric, not quite of this world known as Tera.

Ruby received a rope-made circlet, the rope painted pink, with twigs and branches making intricate and ornate patterns, and a pinecone trapped in the center. Everyone now calls her the princess of the forest, and one by one they pledge their undying loyalty.

Lukas received a beautifully crafted wooden box with a message inscribed: "Only open when there is nothing else to turn too" for some reason. He began to tear up, but not out of sadness, for this is the first gift he has been bestowed in his 13 years of life; unbridled joy rushed through him, and he spoke just two words: "Thank you..."

As they received their gifts and gayfully thanked the toymaker, sap began to fall where its eyes should be; the children knew it was crying, as they all decided to hug the creative creature that bestowed generations with joy. The toymaker wrapped his arms around the children in return, never having received such a gift in his 285 years of managing his very own toy shop.

And as quickly as they came, they returned home.

As such, it was alone again, and the friends came. Hollow ghosts made as dolls, fairies, ghouls, and phoenixes ready to return from death to the land of ùldear. Tonight's story seemed different, though, more distorted than the last.

In the land of ùldear, underneath the night sky, and above the daylight, at the mercy of the world raven, yogdrêtêl, no man may look upon yogdrêtêl's eyes; they tell of the end, the beginning, and the inevitable cycle of ùldear. To get to the Raven's eyes, one must cross the "fire hill" known as the ùldear plains, spanning thousands of miles of fire, which many have tried, but only 1 has made it to Raven's eyes.

Ùldear has one rule above the rest: never look into the water; the true name and face of yourself will be revealed. And you shall forevermore be banished from ùldear; 3 of them looked, 3 of them vanished. The creature wept an immense amount of sap; in a rage, the creature broke them.

One by one they crumbled like branches; the creature, unable to make any sound, held himself and felt its ancient bark. Unable to scream, it tried its hardest to destroy itself, bark peeling to reveal long rotten flesh. It was finally able to scream, and so it did, letting a wail unmatched by anyone in the village, 285 years of agony thrown upon its creations with a single wail.

But no man dared to run to it, for the toymaker's cycle continues; every 3 days the toymaker wails unto the creations it creates. For 2 hours each 3 nights, the millions of its creations whistle to calm it down; it forgets its sorrows, and the ancient bark regrows anew. The ancient ùldear tale is told again and again, a punishment by yogdrêtêl for looking into its icy blue eyes.

The children enter, all but one. Ruby seems to be home, sick with a most terrible illness. The children tell the toymaker, "Ruby is sick, toyman! Won't you help the princess of the forest?" For the first time in 12 years, its ancient legs rise. Creeking and cracking, as bark and moss fall.

As it steps into the Tera sunlight, the wind brushes its bark as the unfathomably old creature moves as the int's once did. Sizing approximately 7 feet 10 inches in height and 893 pounds, as the people stand and watch in awe, some kneel, thinking of it as a divine creature sent from aktûm himself, the God of tera.

As it approaches the home of Ruby, guided by Eli Lukas and their friends, the old wooden door opens as a distraught mother exits. "Please help her... I don't know what's wrong, toymaker... Please." She says through heartbroken tears.

The great creature lowers himself in stature to fit into the old village home; its face begins to point unto Ruby's room.

As it entered, it saw a most sickening sight: Ruby's circlet had grown attached to her, the rope infused in her hair and scalp, and the once beautifully ornate twigs and branches had now been borrowed into her fair skin. She did not cry or scream, only whispered tales that seemed otherworldly.

Her eyes were glossed as if she'd been dead for weeks, holding onto what little life still remains in her pure heart. As she spoke, it understood every word.

"Ùldear calls to the one who gazed in Yogdrêtêl's eyes, the Raven cries and wishes you home to Ùldear, please zeñtra... Come home to me, Ùldear has been broken without you, the night creatures roam at day," she began to weep golden tears, presumably that of Yogdrêtêl himself.

It heard its god call to it, and the toymaker answered, but it did not wail as one might expect; it bowed with haste and scooped up the golden yogdrêtêl tears and placed them gently into its holes where eyes should be.

The toymaker bowed silently, the inside of his ancient bark shining brighter than the lamp that lit the room. As the light faded, the toymaker wept, as he patted Ruby on her head and slowly undid the bewitched branches that held her hostage as light returned to her eyes.

She reached in haste for the creature's arm. "No, please don't go! I-I want to go back! I need to see ùldear again!" As it patted her head and hugged her right, Zeñtra faded back to ùldear the bark that was once held together crumbled into ancient soil.

All the toys lost their lives, except me. Zeñtra has entrusted me to watch over this world and its shop and I will forever be haunted by the statue of the great creature erected in the town's centre. For it reminds me of the wails I had to endure.

Ruby has grown to be the village's highest-ranking elder, and I grow old and brittle, for I was not made of ùldear bark. Soon I will return to tera's soil and hopefully reunite with the fabled land of ùldear.

Maja took the roast out of the oven and set the baking pan down on a wooden board in the middle of the table. The aroma of roasted meat instantly filled the dining room. She picked up a large carving fork and began slicing the meat, while Dino watched her hands intently from the other side of the table.

"It looks amazing, Maja," Dino said, reaching for the bottle on the sideboard behind him. "I brought this red. I think it’ll pair well."

"Thanks, Dino. You always remember to bring something nice," she replied, keeping her eyes fixed on the meat.

She placed the first slice onto Dino’s plate, then a second onto Antonio’s, who was sitting at the head of the table. Antonio remained silent. His hands were resting in his lap, beneath the edge of the table, as he stared motionlessly at the plate in front of him.

"Antonio?" Maja called out to him. "Are you okay? You’ve been so distant all day."

Antonio slowly raised his eyes. First, he looked at her—at her clean face and her hair pulled back into a ponytail—and then he shifted his gaze to his brother sitting opposite her.

"I’m fine," he said, his voice completely flat, without a single inflection. "Just tired from work. It’s nothing."

"See, that’s your problem," Dino cut in, already chewing on his first bite. "My friend, you need to slow down. Life is passing you by, and you’re buried in those papers. Look at yourself, you’re too pale. You need to get out more, be among people."

"I will get out," Antonio replied, picking up his knife and fork. "Soon."

Maja sat down in her place, facing Dino. She poured herself some water, then reached for the wine bottle. She filled Dino’s glass halfway, then her own.

"Would you like some, Antonio?" she asked, holding the bottle over his glass.

"No, thank you. I’m sticking to water tonight."

"Your loss, you don’t know what you’re missing," Dino said, raising his glass toward his brother. "To that, man. Cheers to our health."

Antonio raised his glass of water. Glass clinked against glass, the sound echoing brief and sharp in the quiet room. He took a small sip of the cold water and set the glass back on the table, exactly where it had been before, making sure it aligned perfectly to the millimeter with the edge of his plate.

The dinner went on slowly, filled with Dino’s story about his car trouble and a mechanic who tried to rip him off for parts. Maja listened to him intently, nodding occasionally and smiling at him. Antonio chewed the tough meat in silence, watching how Maja followed Dino’s every hand gesture.

When she reached toward the middle of the table for the salad bowl, she extended her arm straight out. The space between Dino’s plate and his glass was narrow, and as she pulled the bowl back, her index finger lingered against his forearm for a second. Dino didn’t pull his arm away. Instead, he kept talking, though the rhythm of his sentence slowed down for just a brief moment—just enough to catch her touch before he finished his thought and laughed.

Antonio watched it all without blinking. He knew about them. He knew about her made-up nights out with friends, and about all those evenings when she would come home late with cheap excuses. Everything was as clear as day.

"Maja, pass me some more bread, please," Dino said.

Maja picked up the bread basket and handed it to him across the table, their fingers brushing once again. This time, they didn’t even bother to hide it from him. Dino took a slice of bread and began wiping the sauce off his plate.

"This is honestly superb," he said, leaning back in his chair with satisfaction. "Maja, you’re a wonder."

Maja blushed slightly, then stood up and carried the empty salad bowl into the kitchen. She returned, sat back down, and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, while Dino raised his glass toward Antonio once more.

"Man, compliments to the chef for this dinner. We should do this more often."

Antonio slowly placed both hands on the table, palms down and fingers spread wide across the white tablecloth. The smile completely vanished from his face as he shifted his gaze from Dino to Maja.

"We should, but this is your last one," Antonio said.

Dino lowered his glass, the red wine swirling slightly inside it, and looked at his brother in confusion, then at Maja.

"What do you mean, last one?" he asked.

Maja stared at Antonio; her hand froze in her lap as she held the napkin.

"Antonio, what are you talking about?" she asked.

Antonio didn't answer right away. He slowly reached into the pocket of his blazer, which was hanging on the back of his chair, pulled out a small black pistol, and laid it on the table, right next to his glass of water.

Maja caught her breath sharply through her teeth, while Dino went completely rigid.

"Because tonight, you are both going to die," he said. His voice was entirely calm, without any rise in tone. "You are getting exactly what you deserve."

"Antonio, please..." Maja whispered, as a first tear rolled down her cheek, but she was too paralyzed by fear to wipe it away.

"You will go down as an unfaithful wife, killed by her lover because she wanted to leave him," he said coldly, then turned to Dino. "And you... You, brother, will be remembered as a piece of trash to the whole world—the man who stole his own brother's wife, and a monster who ended up killing her." And me? I had to kill you because you attacked me right after her. I’ll be the victim who acted in self-defense."

Dino's breathing was shallow and rapid, his hands clenched into fists on the table. He looked at the gun, then into Antonio’s cold eyes.

"Antonio, you’re crazy, I..." He gathered his strength, pressed his hands against the table, and tried to lunge to his feet.

He remained half-crouched, his palms pressed hard against the edge of the table. His eyes were wide, locked onto the barrel of the gun, which was now raised to the level of his chest. Antonio’s elbow rested on the table, his hand steady and still.

"Sit back down, Dino," Antonio said.

Dino lowered himself back into his chair, slowly, inch by inch. He didn’t take his eyes off Antonio’s finger, which was resting along the trigger.

"Antonio, calm down," Dino hissed through his teeth. His voice was deep and strained. "Put that away. I’m your brother. Let’s talk."

Antonio tilted his head slightly.

"We are talking, Dino. Tonight we talk about your car, about your mechanic, about your wine. Now it’s my turn."

Maja covered her mouth with both hands. A short, muffled sound, like a sob, escaped her throat, and she tried to swallow it down. She looked at Dino, then back at the gun.

"Antonio, please..." she spoke from behind her palms. "You’ve got it wrong... it’s not what you think. Do you really believe that..."

"Don't, Maja," Antonio cut her off, without turning his head toward her. He kept his eyes on his brother. "Don’t waste words on lies that you can’t even finish. I know everything. I told you."

Dino slowly spread his hands flat on the tablecloth.

"Alright," he said, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. "You caught us. We messed up, we're idiots, do whatever you want to me. Hit me, break me, but put the gun away, please. We can handle this like civilized men."

"Like civilized men?" Antonio repeated, a barely noticeable, cold smile appearing on his face for a split second. "You want us to handle this like civilized men? You’re sitting at my table, Dino. You’re eating my food, raising a toast to me. And what are you doing behind my back the whole time? Sleeping with my wife. Is that your idea of 'civilized'?"

Maja dropped her hands from her face. The skin around her eyes was red, and her lips were trembling. She stared at Antonio, trying to catch his eye, but his gaze remained fixed on Dino.

"Antonio, please," she said, gasping for air. "If I have to, I’ll leave. I’ll pack up tonight, I’ll go, you’ll never have to look at me again. Just... please, put the gun down."

"You’re not going anywhere, Maja," he said in a flat voice. "I told you how things stand. Tonight, you both die."

"You can’t kill your own brother, are you insane?!" Dino suddenly raised his voice, anger briefly overtaking his fear. His shoulders tensed. "The same mother gave birth to us, we grew up together, Antonio! We're blood!"

"You're the one who forgot that," Antonio replied. "Now it's too late."

Silence fell over the dining room. Dino’s breathing was heavy and shallow. Maja stared at the gun, then at her husband, gripping the edge of the table as if she were about to collapse from her chair.

Antonio slowly shifted the barrel of the gun, pointing toward the large carving knife that lay next to the empty baking pan in the middle of the table.

"Actually... You know what, Dino..." he spoke, his voice sounding almost relaxed. "Maybe it isn't entirely too late. Maybe there is a way out for you. It all depends on how badly you truly want to live."

Dino looked toward the knife. The blade caught the reflection of the light.

"What does that mean?" he managed to say.

"Take the knife, Dino," Antonio said. He didn’t raise his voice. "Take it and cut her arm. Make a gash. Prove to me that your life matters more to you than hers, and maybe I’ll let you walk out that door alive."

Maja’s breath caught. She flinched backward, pressing her back against the spine of her chair.

"Antonio, no! Dino, don't, please!" she cried out, clutching her hands to her chest as tears streamed down her face. "Antonio, don’t do this..."

Dino didn’t look at her. His forehead was completely drenched in sweat. His fingers slowly began to move toward the middle of the table. Toward the wooden handle of the knife.

"Dino..." she pleaded, her voice a mix of a scream and disbelief. She watched his fingers close around the handle. "Dino, please, don't. You love me... you said you loved me..."

"I'm sorry, Maja," he spoke, his voice completely twisted by terror. "I have to. I want to live."

He leaned over the table. The blade passed right next to the water pitcher. Maja tried to pull her arm back, but it was useless. She had nowhere to go.

The tip of the knife touched her forearm. Dino pressed down. His hand was shaking, but he dragged a cut several centimeters long. The skin tore open, and thick, red blood instantly began to drip onto the tablecloth.

Maja let out a sharp, guttural cry. She clamped her left hand over the wound.

"It’s done," Dino gasped, breathing loudly through his nose. He dropped the knife onto the table. "I did what you asked, Antonio, now let me go."

Antonio didn’t move. He lowered his eyes to the bloodstain, then shifted his gaze back to his brother.

"That was just a scratch, Dino. That isn’t proof that you want to live. That’s proof that you are a coward."

Maja breathed rapidly, keeping her fingers pressed tight over her forearm. Blood seeped between her fingers. Through her tears, she shot Dino a look full of pure rage.

"You piece of trash!" she screamed, her voice trembling. "You sold me out in a second. You talked me into all of this, and now you’re carving me up just to save your own skin. You coward!"

"Shut up, Maja!" Dino shouted, his lower lip trembling. His face was red with fury and panic. "You came to me on your own, I didn’t force you into anything! You were the one constantly talking about how bored you were with him! Antonio, she’s lying! I just..."

"Enough," Antonio cut them off. He didn’t raise his voice, but they both went silent instantly. "I don’t care. Dino, the knife is still on the table."

Dino looked down at the wooden handle.

"Antonio, please..." he whispered, his hand now visibly shaking. "Don't. I did what you asked. Let me go."

"I told you how things stand, Dino," Antonio continued. He slowly raised the gun and aimed the barrel straight at his forehead. "Stab her again. Properly this time. In the stomach."

"Antonio, no!" Maja shrieked. She tried to get up from her chair, but her hand slipped, knocking over her wine glass. The liquid spilled across the table. "Dino, don't!"

"Dino, the clock is ticking," Antonio said, his finger on the trigger tightening slightly. "Choose. Her stomach or your head. Now."

Dino closed his eyes for a second. He let out a short, broken sob, and then pure, primal fear for his own skin completely overrode everything else. He grabbed the knife from the table once more. He stepped out from behind his chair, bypassed the corner of the table, and leaned over Maja.

"I’m sorry..." he muttered through his teeth, his voice no longer sounding human.

He lunged and drove the blade deep into her abdomen.

The knife remained buried in her blouse. Slowly, he pulled his fingers away from the handle. He took one step back. His shoes squeaked quietly on the hardwood floor.

Maja didn’t scream. She only let out a long, shallow gasp, as if she had run out of air. She slid off the chair and collapsed onto the floor.

Dino stared at his sticky palms, his body shaking uncontrollably.

"Antonio..." he managed to say. His voice was raspy, barely audible. "It’s over. Let me out."

"Brother, please..." he took another step back. "Let me go. Please."

"You’re not going anywhere, Dino," Antonio replied.

On the floor, Maja let out a low, wheezing sound. The fingers of her right hand twitched once, scratching against the hardwood floor, and then went limp. Her breathing was growing shallower.

"You’re crazy..." Dino whispered. "You’re a psychopath."

"I am," Antonio said. He slowly lowered the gun by a few centimeters, aiming straight at the center of Dino’s chest. "From the moment I found out about the two of you, I’ve been fantasizing about this night."

"What more do you want from me, Antonio?" Dino managed to bring out, his voice cracked with terror.

"Slow down, Dino, what’s the rush? Haste makes waste, and tonight, I can’t afford even the slightest mistake."

"Stop it..." Dino shouted, unable to take the pressure any longer. "I’ve had enough of your sick games."

Antonio just watched him coldly.

"Come over here and hit me."

Dino stared frantically at his brother's face, then at the barrel of the gun.

"What?" he stammered.

"Hit me," Antonio repeated. "With your fist. In the face. I want you to hit me. I know you want to."

"Antonio, are you out of your mind... I’m not going to hit you..." Dino started shaking his head side to side, looking for an exit.

Antonio raised the gun a bit higher.

"Dino, if you don’t hit me, I will shoot you in the head this very second. Choose. Hit me or die right now."

Dino’s breathing was fast and ragged. Pure fear for his life forced his fingers to curl into a tight fist. He stepped forward, swung, and struck Antonio right on the left side of his face.

The sound of the impact was sharp. Antonio’s head jerked to the right, and blood instantly began to flow from his split lip. He slowly turned his head back, straightened up, and looked at his brother again.

"That was weak, Dino," he said, wiping the blood from his lip. "Again. In the right eye. Hit me again. Now."

Dino was sobbing. He swung again, harder this time, and caught him in the right eye. The skin above Antonio’s eyebrow split open immediately.

In that instant, Antonio clenched his fist and struck back. The blow landed flush on Dino’s jaw, and then he swung once more, hitting his nose. There was a dull crunch of cartilage. Dino stumbled backward, a thick stream of blood spurting from his nose.

Antonio slowly raised the gun and aimed straight at his chest.

"Stand right there," he said, his voice flat and muffled.

Clutching his broken nose, Dino stared in terror at the barrel of the gun. He took two steps back, right into the open space between the table and the wall.

"Antonio, don't, please..." he gasped, his voice breaking.

Antonio pulled the trigger. He fired two quick shots. The first bullet missed Dino and embedded itself in the wall behind him, leaving a deep hole. The second bullet went straight through his chest.

He hit the wall with his back and slowly slid down onto the hardwood floor. His head slumped to the side, his eyes remaining wide open, staring at the leg of the table. He didn’t move again.

A dead silence fell over the dining room, and the smell of gunpowder began to spread through the space. Antonio lowered his hand, the gun hanging by his side. He looked at Dino, then at Maja.

He pulled his phone from his pants pocket and dialed emergency services.

"Help..." he spoke into the receiver, sounding distraught. "My wife... He attacked me too... I’m bleeding... Quickly, please..."

He cut the call and set the phone down on the table.

He walked over to Maja’s body and carefully removed the knife, using a napkin to avoid leaving fingerprints. To alter the scene and simulate an attack, he inflicted several wounds upon himself through his clothing, enduring the sharp pain before dropping the weapon. He then dragged himself a short distance away and knocked over a chair to complete the appearance of a violent struggle.

From outside, sirens began to wail. Blue lights started flashing across the walls and the ceiling of the room.

He stretched out on the floor and closed his eyes.

The front door burst open under the impact, and several police officers rushed into the dining room.

Antonio remained motionless as the authorities entered. The show was ready to begin.

I'm in such pain.

The forest knows my name.

A pain belonging to a person

whose mind is a forest.

A pain belonging to a human

whose mind, if it exists,

is a forest.

I'm in such pain.

If it feels mine, it should be mine.

I hate the way “mine” sounds.

The path to my heart is what I hate the most.

The path fears Myself.

You are the one attempting it.

A forest won’t need to hide me.

Hands are Red. Keep them warm.

The grass will turn Red soon.

I caught the word.

You sent it; I kissed it goodbye.

And a person will flee before a minute passes.

My mind is a forest.

And the way out will take longer

than sixty seconds feel like.

And me, Myself, will remain untouched.

My hands Red.

The grass Red.

The hair turned black.

Hide behind a tree

before the forest turns Red.

The blood of a person will decide

the fate of the forest.

A reputation of a tree.

My hands will rise,

and I will surrender

to the forest of my mind.

I'm in such pain.

I only ever dreamt of dancing in the forest.

With you.

I only hoped for running into the tree,

and finding you beside me.

I’m sorry that I am late,

but the forest doesn’t wait.

My thoughts are worse

than my actions will ever be.

Your hands covered in Red.

My hair in black.

Be careful of the path to my heart.

If you trip over, try again.

If we trip, we will continue dancing.

Dodge the trees.

Cover the tears.

My actions will decide for my thoughts,

and my thoughts will be stuck

in the forest in which we danced.

Your hands turned Red.

Follow the path.

A patch to my mind, perhaps.

Maybe you are a patch to my heart.

But until then,

dance with me in the flame.

My mind will cover us both

in a color named Red.

Hear the birds sleeping.

You don’t hear the owl closing in.

It moves slow,

silent,

like a predator.

But it doesn’t hunt you.

The flames will burn down the forest.

The thoughts will linger.

The flames will burn down the actions.

Our hands are covered in Red.

I’m in such pain,

a pain ruthlessly described in songs of hate.

A pain known by people close to me.

A pain which will remember yesterday.

Dance with me until we fall,

until the leaves turn Red.

Dance.

Even the owl looks away.

The owl will hear us dancing

before we hear a chirp from its children.

The owl knows the trees.

It watches us dance into them.

It’s ruthless.

It won’t hurt us

unless.

Let the black take us.

Let the Red watch itself turn to brown.

Dance with me.

My pain will become yours.

I’m in such pain.

Dance anyway.

You can’t bear to imagine a world without me,

while I live off the pain.

Just curious as to what some of you experienced with a psychic/medium? Did they predict some things correctly? Did they bring some stuff up about you that they had no business ever knowing or finding out? Not looking for people to get into debates in the comments, just looking for people first hand experience.

"Come in, Dan," Emma said.

"Hi Emma, what can I do for you?"

"As you might know, I recently got promoted to a branch manager, which came with this beautiful office."

"It is really nice."

"Thank you. But it means the basement office is empty. Management would like to move you there. It's not bad. I've actually enjoyed working there."

"But I really like my office, Emma, and the basement…"

"It's non-negotiable."

I rubbed my face.

"Sorry, my hands are tied. Please have it done by the end of the day." She glanced at the clock. "Also, keep the back room closed."

I got up and slowly walked to my office. It wasn't as pretty as Emma's, but it still had windows and sunlight, and it was mine, but what could I do? I packed up my things and headed down.

The basement was cold concrete, with bright fluorescent lights. A long hall led to the office. My steps echoed in the silence. A water cooler stood in the hall, but there was no coffee machine. I sighed and unlocked the door. 

The lights flickered. They seemed even brighter inside. The room was in the back. I put my stuff down and turned on my computer. A loud whoosh sounded from the back room like a bunch of computers turning on at once. We kept old servers in rooms like these, but why would they turn on now? 

I knew Emma had told me not to open it, but who cared? She moved me to this shithole. I walked to it and opened the door. The room was dark, but in the back, blue electric current glowed. I turned on the light. 

On the ground lay a strange gray blob, buzzing with blue electricity. Its whole body seemed to move with each volt, as if it breathed through it. The zaps got louder. They sounded like someone saying my name. I grabbed the door frame tightly. The thing expanded and deflated, and a blue wave of electricity ran along the ground, shocking me.

"Fuck!" I yelled. 

The thing moved around again, ready to fire. I turned and bolted to Emma's office.

She took a deep breath as she saw my frightened face.

"There's a, there's a thing."

"Did you open the door?"

"No. Yes. I…"

Her face went blank. She glanced at the clock.

"Dan, calm down."

"We need to call someone."

"No." She furrowed her brows. "There will be no calling."

"But it zapped me, it…"

"Listen to yourself. You're being ridiculous. Come, I'll go with you and show you it's nothing."

"No, I'm not going back there."

"Do you want to lose your job?"

"What?"

"You're getting fired if you don't listen."

"But I need this job."

"Then just come down, Dan. I'll show you it's okay. If it's not, we'll call someone."

We walked down the stairs. I still couldn't believe we were doing this. Emma seemed worried too. She kept looking over her shoulder and checking her phone. I thought we'd turn around, but she kept walking until we stood before the basement office.

She grabbed the door handle, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

"See? Nothing is going on."

She stopped and looked at the open back room.

"You opened it. It wasn't supposed to be awake yet. Not until..."

A loud electric zap sounded. The whole room turned blue for a second. I put my hand in front of my face. Emma's body lay on the ground, face down. The gray smudge moved across the floor, leaving a slime trail. As it rose and fell, its crackling formed into words, Emma's words. It climbed onto her, and a wet tearing echoed through the room.

I shut the door, ran out of the building, and called the police. They arrived shortly after. I took them to the basement, but I couldn't make myself open the door. One of the police officers had to do it. 

My heart beat against my ribs as he grabbed the handle, but the room inside was spotless. Only a faint smell of burnt meat hung in the air. The back room door was closed, and Emma sat at the table, fiddling with her hair.

"What seems to be the problem, officers?"

My fingers went numb.

"We're sorry, Ma'am. We received a distress call from your employee, but it seems everything's okay."

"We're awfully sorry. Dan has been under a lot of stress. Take the day off, Dan. If there are any costs for your troubles, officers, just invoice the company."

"No problem, Ma'am."

That day I went home feeling like a shell of myself. I couldn't remember driving home, and I didn't even change my clothes before bed. 

The next day I woke up in a haze. I didn't know whether to believe what I'd seen, and I still needed the money. I got back in my car and drove to work.

My heart pounded as I opened the building's door, but everything seemed the same. My breathing eased as I passed the office halls, but then I heard it – Emma.

"Come in, Dan," her voice crackled with static.

Le soleil de Miami n’était pas un ami ; c’était un projecteur industriel braqué sur les erreurs de la veille. Pour Chloé, l’erreur mesurait un mètre quatre-vingt-cinq, portait des costumes en lin beige et s’appelait Christian. Après dix-huit mois d’une relation toxique à base de scènes de jalousie hystériques et de textos d’excuses envoyés à quatre heures du matin, Chloé avait enfin cliqué sur « Bloquer le contact ».

Pour fêter cette libération, sa meilleure amie Barbie avait décrété l’état d’urgence festive. Barbie avait l’habitude des crises : en tant qu'assistante personnelle de la méga-star hollywoodienne Tiffany Vance, sa vie consistait à gérer des caprices de calibre international. Trouver une table VIP au Lapis, la boîte la plus sélect de South Beach, un vendredi soir, était un jeu d’enfant comparé à sa tâche de l’après-midi : dégoter de l’eau minérale bénie par un chaman péruvien pour les exigences de sa patronne.

À deux heures du matin, sous les néons roses et la basse sismique du club, Chloé se sentait revivre. Elle portait sa propre création, une veste de haute couture en soie brute qu’elle espérait utiliser pour lancer sa marque de mode éco-responsable. C’est là que Mateo était apparu.

Mateo avait le teint cuivré des hommes qui passent leur vie sur des yachts, des yeux sombres et un sourire qui promettait exactement le genre d’ennuis dont Chloé avait besoin pour oublier Christian. Il prétendait être « importateur de vélos vintage ». À Miami, cela signifiait généralement qu’il transférait des fonds suspects entre les îles Caïmans et le Venezuela, mais après trois margaritas au piment, Chloé s'en fichait éperdument.

— C'est trop bruyant ici, avait murmuré Mateo à l'oreille de Chloé, son souffle chaud faisant frissonner la jeune femme. J'ai un excellent rhum ambré chez moi. Juste un private after party. Avec ton amie, bien sûr.

Barbie avait haussé les sourcils, mais l'adrénaline de la nuit l'avait emporté. Vingt minutes plus tard, les deux filles se retrouvaient dans le salon de Mateo. Le « petit studio » s'est avéré être un appartement miteux de Little Havana qui sentait le cigare rassis et les croquettes pour chat, encombré de cadres de bicyclettes rouillés. L'ambiance n'était pas tout à fait celle d'un penthouse de luxe, mais le rhum était bon, et Mateo était diaboliquement drôle.

La tragédie choisit cet instant précis, entre deux éclats de rire, pour défoncer la porte.

Le battant en bois vola en éclats. Un colosse d’au moins deux mètres fit irruption dans la pièce. Le plus absurde — et à Miami, l’absurde est une seconde nature — était son accoutrement : il portait un short de bain hawaïen et un masque de plongée rose fluo avec un tuba qui oscillait grotesquement au-dessus de sa tête. Dans ses mains gantées, il tenait un fusil de chasse au canon scié.

Chloé et Barbie se figèrent, leurs verres suspendus en l'air.

— Oh, merde, dit Mateo.

BOUM.

La détonation fut assourdissante dans le petit espace. Le recul du fusil projeta le tueur en arrière, ses fesses percutant un guidon de vélo dans un fracas métallique. Mateo, lui, fut stoppé net dans son élan vital. Il s'effondra sur son canapé en skaï, la poitrine transformée en un paysage abstrait et sanglant. Une éclaboussure écarlate vint maculer la veste en soie blanche de Chloé.

Le tueur au masque rose se redressa péniblement, jurant en s'essuyant les yeux à travers la vitre en plastique de son masque. Il baissa les yeux vers le corps, puis, tournant la tête, il aperçut enfin les deux filles pétrifiées sur leurs tabourets de bar.

Pendant trois secondes interminables, le silence fut total, uniquement troublé par le bourdonnement des tympans des jeunes femmes. Le tueur cligna des yeux derrière son masque de plongée. Il n’était visiblement pas préparé à trouver des témoins, encore moins deux filles en tenue de soirée qui le fixaient avec des yeux ronds comme des soucoupes.

— Putain de bordel de merde, grogna le colosse d’une voix de baryton.

Paniqué, il tenta de faire demi-tour, mais son pied gauche s'entrava dans une rallonge électrique. Il s'étala de tout son long sur le linoléum, perdant son fusil, avant de se relever à toute vitesse, de ramasser son arme et de s'enfuir en boitant lourdement dans le couloir de l'immeuble.

— On s'en va, souffla Barbie, sa voix n'étant plus qu'un sifflement aigu. On s'en va TOUT DE SUITE.

La paranoïa de Floride s'installa instantanément. Appeler la police ? À Miami, témoigner dans une affaire de règlement de comptes signifiait passer les cinq prochaines années à regarder sous sa voiture avant de tourner la clé de contact. De plus, Barbie savait que si le nom de sa patronne, Tiffany Vance, était associé de près ou de loin à un meurtre sanglant à Little Havana, sa carrière d'assistante serait terminée avant le lever du soleil.

Elles nettoyèrent frénétiquement leurs visages dans la salle de bain, évitant de regarder le canapé, et s’enfuirent par l’escalier de secours. De retour dans l’appartement de Chloé, elles lavèrent la veste en soie à grands coups de détachant, jurant sur la Bible, sur le dictionnaire et sur le dernier sac Chanel de ne jamais souffler un mot de cette nuit à quiconque.

Le problème, c’est que le tueur au masque rose — qui s’appelait Gus et souffrait d’une myopie sévère aggravée par la buée de son équipement de plongée — était terrorisé à l’idée d’avoir laissé des témoins. Gus travaillait pour Preston Boyd, un promoteur immobilier véreux aux dents si blanches qu’elles brillaient dans le noir. Boyd voulait éliminer Mateo parce que ce dernier le faisait chanter avec une clé USB contenant des preuves de corruption massive : Boyd avait soudoyé le conseil municipal pour obtenir l'autorisation de raser une réserve de lamantins afin d'y construire des condominiums de luxe.

— Tu as laissé deux filles en vie ? hurla Boyd le lendemain matin dans son bureau climatisé, en frappant le sol avec un club de golf en or. Trouve-les, Gus. Ou je te donne à bouffer aux requins du canal.

Le destin, qui a un sens de l'humour particulièrement tordu en Floride, décida d'accélérer les choses. Ignorant tout de la clé USB que Mateo avait discrètement glissée dans la doublure de la veste de Chloé pendant qu'elles avaient le dos tourné en boîte, Chloé décida de se débarrasser de ce vêtement maudit. Elle fit don de la veste à une vente aux enchères de charité pour la protection de la faune marine, organisée... par Tiffany Vance.

La star de cinéma, trouvant la veste « d’un chic post-apocalyptique absolu » à cause d'une ombre résiduelle que le détachant n'avait pas réussi à effacer, décida de la porter pour l'avant-première mondiale de son nouveau film éco-catastrophe à South Beach.

Lorsque Barbie vit sa patronne débarquer dans la loge VIP du tapis rouge vêtue de la veste de Chloé, elle manqua de s'évanouir. Le pire restait à venir : dans la foule des photographes, Barbie repéra une silhouette familière de deux mètres de haut. Gus le tueur était là, déguisé de façon grotesque avec une perruque afro blonde et des lunettes de soleil géantes, cherchant désespérément à identifier les deux filles de l'appartement.

— Barbie, la doublure... murmura Chloé, qui venait de la rejoindre en urgence derrière les barrières de sécurité. J'ai touché la veste avant qu'elle ne l'enfile. Il y a un truc rectangulaire et dur cousu à l'intérieur. Mateo a caché quelque chose dedans.

L’avant-première vira au chaos burlesque. Comprenant que la veste était une bombe à retardement, Barbie profita d'une crise d'hystérie de Tiffany Vance (qui hurlait parce que ses glaçons n'étaient pas parfaitement cubiques) pour s'emparer du vêtement pendant que la star était aux toilettes. Barbie attrapa la veste, Chloé attrapa le sac de Barbie, et les deux filles s'enfuirent par la sortie des artistes, poursuivies par Gus qui venait de les reconnaître, et par Tiffany Vance en peignoir léopard qui hurlait au vol de garde-robe.

La traque se déplaça jusqu'aux docks, où Preston Boyd attendait son homme de main à bord de son hydroglisseur de luxe ultra-rapide. Dans la confusion de la nuit tropicale, Chloé et Barbie sautèrent à bord d'un bateau de location pour échapper à Gus, mais Boyd, fou de rage à l'idée de perdre ses secrets, prit lui-même les commandes de son hydroglisseur pour leur couper la route.

La course-poursuite finale s'enfonça dans les eaux noires et saumâtres des Everglades, sous un orage dantesque. L'hydroglisseur de Boyd, propulsé par un moteur d'avion de chasse, rattrapa facilement les filles. Gus, debout à l'avant, le masque de plongée rose de nouveau vissé sur le visage pour se protéger de la pluie battante, épaula son fusil de chasse.

— Rends les papiers, petite ! hurla Boyd dans le mégaphone.

Chloé, fouillant frénétiquement la doublure de la veste de soie, finit par déchirer le tissu et en extirpa la clé USB.

— Tu veux ça, espèce d'assassin de lamantins ? cria-t-elle en brandissant le morceau de plastique.

Gus pressa la détente. Mais sa myopie, combinée aux éclairs de l'orage et aux vibrations de l'hydroglisseur, faussa complètement son tir. Le coup de canon scié rata les filles de trois mètres et vint percuter de plein fouet le réservoir de carburant de leur propre hydroglisseur.

L'explosion fut magnifique. Une boule de feu orange illumina les mangroves. L'hydroglisseur de Boyd fut pulvérisé, éjectant le promoteur et son tueur géant directement dans les eaux marécageuses.

Chloé et Barbie, saines et sauves sur leur embarcation, coupèrent le moteur pour observer le désastre. À la lueur des flammes qui flottaient sur l'eau, elles virent Preston Boyd et Gus s'accrocher désespérément à une racine de palétuvier. Juste en face d'eux, fendant l'eau avec la régularité d'un sous-marin, deux yeux jaunes et une immense mâchoire écailleuse venaient d'apparaître. C'était "Old Snaggletooth", l'alligator de quatre mètres bien connu des gardes-chasses de la région, qui n'avait pas l'habitude qu'on lui livre son dîner directement à domicile dans un emballage rose fluo.

Le lendemain, la clé USB était sur le bureau du FBI. Preston Boyd survécut à l'alligator, mais y laissa sa prothèse de hanche en titane et sa liberté, finissant sa carrière derrière les barreaux pour fraude et tentative de meurtre. Tiffany Vance fit la couverture de People en affirmant que sa veste en soie avait été le « catalyseur spirituel » du démantèlement d’un réseau de criminels anti-écologiques.

Quant à Chloé, elle utilisa sa notoriété soudaine pour lancer sa nouvelle collection : une ligne de maillots de bain pastel, entièrement doublés en Kevlar pare-balles. À Miami, la sécurité n'exclut pas le style.

AITAH for roasting my classmate about his life?

Reddit, I really need your opinion. This happened along time ago probably late March. This happened during my english class. We had a debate whether plastic is beneficial for the whole world. We disagreed while the opposite team agreed cuz that's what a debate means. Here's a thing in my team of 4 including me, we all were close and had each other's number. We also were used to debating since primary school and we really wanted to win. So we spent the entire week planning on our speech and arguments.

Everything went well. We had notes printed, practiced debating and had a meeting the day before it all happened, which was Tuesday. But on the same day, a boy from the lower class approached me with my classmates and started to talk bad about my dad. I just told him that if cared so much about my dad, he should worry about his dad since he has a history of complicated marriages (this part is important). The guy backed off and my classmates were clapping. I didn't care I was just pissed off.

On the day of the debate, me and friend who I'll call J arrived early since we had extra curriculum but D and L (my friends) didn't come so we got nervous but eventually they came 20 minutes before school started. English was second period so we had to go to our first period which was language. It was an hour but since half of the students went to do something stupid (I hate them), our teacher assigned us to do a debate . I was in the winning side when M(a classmate) told me that the boy that pissed me off yesterday did so because they wanted to read my notes which was behind me. I didn't care. I just nodded and continued the debate.

Then, it was english. My team was first so we set the ables and we finally started to debate. At first,we thought we were gonna win considering we have more points, more arguments and were prepared. But then my english thought it was a great idea to have the class vote. I knew from there that we were so gonna lose because the proposition team were more popular . It was 9:10 (we fucking lost) . I was pissed . This wasn't the first time this has happened. The opposite team were grinning and laughing. I even heard someone there say that we stood no chance against them.

Then, members from the opposite team started to give a handshake to us. At first , I ignored it. Then, I saw him let's call him A. We were close last year as we were in the same class, same sport and sat beside each other. I also thought he was hot (I'm not gay I just think he's hot). But he told his friend that he's gonna be the matured person and wanted to give me his hand. ISTG I was livid and wanted to sit them at my desk but it was too little too late (Laufey). I saw his hand. Then, I smacked his hand away and started cussing him out saying that nobody liked him, he wasn't smart enough to be here, he can just oof himself and his parents are disappointed for having a son like him ( It wasn't exactly like this but it was just the ones that "hurt" him and also added cuss words to the roasts) . Then, he sat at his desk both hands on his face and he was crying. Real tears. His eyes were red by the time I apologized (only 5 minutes had passed) .

Soon, the entire class found out. Half of the class didn't care enough as he was okay but the other half were pissed like a volcano is gonna erupt. His friends,my clasmates, started talking bad about me loudly. I didn't show a ounce of emotion. I deserved it but it wasn't their ridiculous comments that had hurt me but what I told him and what happened to him. After that, the situation has stopped and no one talked about it and overtime I grew closer to all my classmates by a lot except A. I still remember not having anyone to support me except J, D and L.

I'm still not talking to A. Whether he forgave me or he still hates me, I'm not talking. I hurt someone worse than death itself. There's a saying in my language. It means that a burn in our skin can be painful but only lasts for some time but the words that come out from our mouth ,especially if it's bad, can hurt their feelings and they will never forget it .

So tell me, AITAH?

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS!

Also I'm writing this now because i wanna talk to him desperately but I don't know if I was right or wrong considering he wanted to troll me. Also, from that moment on, I've changed a lot as a person. I'm not saying any cuss words every day and I knew what to say next. Besides that, my temper has gotten better.

My female friend invited me to do some laundry at a laundromat together, I accepted and we ride there together. Getting out of the car I hear some dude barking at this woman like 3 stores away who is ignoring him. Just yelling like “Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!” In an almost monotone yell.

Noticing the strange behavior I decided to keep an eye on the guy, but making sure to not seem like I wanted any conflict. Plus we had to walk near him to get to the laundromat. He notices me as we’re walking and he starts walking between cars staring me down muttering to himself.

He’s like 5’10-5’11ish black guy maybe like 170lbs wearing not like dirty clothes but they also didn’t look very clean. Also he did seemingly have some muscles. Like skinny guy muscles tho. I’m a 220lb 5’11 white guy covered in tattoos who is definitely not unfamiliar with confrontation.

I was absolutely gonna ignore him until I noticed him following us. Im with a woman that doesn’t do well with confrontation and has also been a victim to violence in the past so she’s my main concern in this moment.

So I looked back at him and just asked “you good bro?” And his response was “I fucked your mom!” Shocked and quite confused I said “what?” And he repeats “I fucked your mom, what are you gonna do about it?” I asked him “what, you just out here trying to start shit with strangers?”

He starts just cursing at me and telling me to come do something. Called me a pussy and a bitch and I gave it right back to him. Told him to “fuck around and find out if you really want. Otherwise fuck off.” This guy was a little hard to read but he also didn’t come right up to me so I was confident he was all talk.

My friend is trying to pull me in the laundromat door but this dude is still slowly approaching us, flexing his arms and talking the most random shit talk I’ve personally ever heard. It was like someone who obviously doesn’t know you talking shit over the internet to try and hurt your feelings, except in real life. Very bizarre. So I stood in the doorway to make sure he couldn’t get to her.

But I knew that if I swing on this guy I could easily go back to jail. Jail sucks, so no thanks. But I also had no idea if he was on drugs, having a mental episode, etc. because of his unpredictable behavior and wasn’t gonna give him a chance to rush me or possibly hurt my friend.

He talks some more shit but seemingly gives up. And started to walk away. I called him a bitch one last time and shut the door. We proceeded to start our laundry and wanted to go outside to smoke. My friend was pretty rattled still so she asked me to go out first. I walk out, look all around, don’t see the guy anywhere. I assumed he was high on something and off to terrorize other strangers for no good reason.

Fast forward like an hour, we’re sitting in my friends car when she goes “oh shit there he is again” I look back and one of the most shocking things happened… the SUV that I initially saw the dude hanging out in front of and yelling at the woman and the same SUV that the dude lurked around to follow us WAS ACTUALLY HIS SUV.

Couldn’t tell you what brand of car it was but it looked fairly new and nice. He starts pulling clothes out of the back seat, throws them over his shoulder and walks into planet fitness calm as a cucumber. I was dumbfounded. I could have sworn this was just some crazy homeless person having an episode. Not some guy trying to start fights as a pre workout lol.

Still trying to figure out what I did to make him so mad. And how he just snapped out of it so easily. Definitely buying some pepper spray just in case I deal with that type of drama again tho.

We met on a matrimonial site and liked each other. We began sharing personal thoughts and stories about our lives, and we also met in person. Things were going well until finances became an issue. I'm not financially stable, and she earns twice as much as I do. Her father holds a senior government position, so she told me I needed to do something to meet her expectations before she could tell him about me.

I started focusing on work projects and external pitches, and things began to improve a little. But I became busy and couldn’t give her enough time. Sometimes she would argue with me about it, but she was always the one who called me and tried to resolve things. She stood by me, often told me I was a good person, and said she wanted to marry me.

For the past two weeks, she hasn’t been answering my calls and has been replying coldly. She said she was busy with work, but she was talking to someone else all the time. While I was working hard, she was dating someone else. Yesterday, she blocked me on Instagram and posted a profile picture of herself holding someone else’s hand.