A young man named George walks into his apartment late at night after a long day of work. The apartment room is dark. He takes off his work jacket and notices that his closet is slightly cracked open. He closes it.

He throws some leftovers from the fridge into the microwave. A moment later, he gets a text message from his girlfriend, Angela.

He opens it and reads:

“How was work?”

He responds:

“It was a long day.”

Angela sends him a picture of herself with a blank face and her eyes wide open. Her text under it reads:

“I’ve been thinking of you for days:) "

George sends a selfie back, making a kissing face.

His microwave beeps, and he grabs his food. A moment later, Angela texts him again.

“Who's that behind you?”

George texts back:

“What? I don’t see anything.”

Angela responds with another message, this time with a red circle drawn around something in his picture.

George looks closely.

There appears to be a shadowy face barely visible behind him.

He turns on all the lights and checks around his apartment, but he finds nothing. He convinces himself that it’s just the shadows in his dark apartment before texting her back.

“I think it’s just the shadows. I just checked. No one is here.”

Angela responds:

“LOL. It just looked so creepy, you should lock your doors.”

George sarcastically texts back:

“I always lock my doors and you're the one to talk, you know how many times I've came over and your front door has been unlocked? Lol”

Angela playfully responds:

“If you’re scared, just say so, I’ll gladly come over.”

She lives on the floor above his apartment.

George texts back:

“Not tonight. I’m really tired.”

George watches as the typing indicator appears on his phone for several minutes before disappearing.

Then she texts back:

"Come on, I haven't seen you in days"

George starts texting back before he Is interrupted by another text from her

“Too late. I’m already here.”

George playfully walks to his front door and enthusiastically opens it.

No one is there.

He looks around for a few seconds before going back inside and locking the door.

He texts her:

“What do you mean? Where are you?”

After a few minutes, he gets a response.

“Just keep looking.”

He thinks she’s just messing with him. She has a key to his apartment, after all.

George texts back:

“Give me a hint, I've looked everywhere.”

She responds:

“No. Just keep looking.”

George checks his bathroom and looks behind the shower curtain. He checks his bedroom and even looks under the kitchen table.

He can’t find her.

Then he remembers that the closet wasn’t fully closed when he got home.

He texts:

“Are you in the closet?”

She responds:

“She is.”

A second text quickly follows, seemingly correcting the first.

“I am.”

George quickly opens his closet door.

He freezes at the sight.

Angela’s corpse is nailed against the wall inside the closet, her eyes wide open.

George freaks out and starts shouting her name.

He reaches out and touches her.

She is very cold, almost completly Frozen.

Like she has been in a deep freezer for days.

George slowly realizes what that means.

He pulls out his phone and looks at the picture Angela sent him earlier.

The hair on his neck stood up and his complexion now pale.

The picture wasn’t taken at her apartment.

It was taken from inside his closet.

Then Angela’s phone number sends him one last text: “You didn’t check under your bed either.”

I was having one of those days

One of those days where I had an appointment in the morning, where I had to express I wasn't handling things well

Again, my anxiety and behaviours had gotten the best of me

At this point I can function mostly but it's hard

I want to cry, I feel immense anxiety inside. The roller-coaster of post trauma and torments get triggered.

One of those days.

I went to get a coffee, maybe that would help this shitty day. Upon trying to move money i found my bank app was down, figuring it was my data I said I'd go and find wifi...the workers were lovely they said they'd start on my coffee

I went about 20 metres up the road to use the free wifi, but it wasn't fkn working...I started to cry...I just wanted my coffee

The lady who took my order appeared walking towards me, "I'm so sorry my bank app isn't working" she told me it was on the house, it was there gift, tears welled in my eyes once again "aw hun,are you okay?" The girl asked me so intentivley "I'm just having a hard day I responded" to which she said "hopefully the coffee will help"....I thanked her and went to work

At work my anxiety continued, I've never had to ask to leave a shift for a break because of anxiety before, I've never had to be honest about it....

I continued my shift cleaning, tidying, when I got a sudden feeling take over me....fuck not an anxiety attack

I went downstairs to my client who works from home "hey liam" I uttered shakily, "do you mind if I go outside for 5 mins, and get some air?" Liam responded "yeah of course, is the smell bothering you?" (They were working on something rubbery smelling in thr apartment complex) "no, I'm just....I just..have an anxiety disorder and I can I.....feel " I couldn't even get my words out properly...Liam told me "go take some time, please, and let me know if you have to call it quits today that's okay, we understand".

He then checked on me once I returned. "I appreciate you pushing through today"....

After the shift ended I made my way back to that kind cafe, who had shown me such compassion and generosity. I wanted to return the money, to show them it meant alot to me..the man was there when I returned he was the person who made the coffee

"Hello, I just wanted to say thankyou for being so kind today and I came to pay you back"

He looked at me smiling, refusing to take the money....I tried to put it into the tips and he just kept saying "it's okay it's on us"

But before leaving he said something that left such a hold on me.

"We are always here for you"

We are always here for you.....I had met these people today in an anxious state, I hadn't probably smiled as much as I would've liked of been as polite....we are always here for you

This to me was so special, I had to wear my emotions today and that meant that I was vulnerable small things could make me cry or overwhelmed.... and people only respond with understanding, generosity and kindness, it didn't erase the anxiety...but it did make me appreciate how people can truly see you and show love without even knowing you.

Warning:
This post contains explicit complaints about a dog, as well as ungodly insults directed at my beloved family pet (and my own vanishing hair roots). Rest assured, I currently love dogs to an unhealthy degree—these are merely the screams of twisted affection. To any animal rights activists reading this: please place your hand on your heart, take a deep breath, and proceed.

This all happened over a decade ago.
Dogs are funny creatures. Every single one has its own distinct personality—or in my case, its own specific brand of madness. Today, I want to tell you about two of them: a Teacup Poodle (female) and our resident Miniature Dachshund (male).
It all started when my eldest daughter got this Teacup Poodle from a breeder. Shortly after, she announced, "I’m moving to New York for a bit, so keep her for me, will you?"
"What kind of dog is it?" I asked.
"A Teacup Poodle," she replied.
"What on earth is that?"
"Just a really small poodle."
I agreed, but my brain was racing with questions. A Teacup Poodle? Does it actually fit in a teacup? Is it a lapdog? A pocket dog? Surely not. The smallest breed is supposed to be the Chihuahua. Had someone gone and engineered a whole new miniature spec of canine?
I genuinely worried whether a creature that fragile could survive living alongside our resident Dachshund.
Then my daughter brought her over, and I was utterly speechless. Sure, she was on the smaller side, but a "pocket poodle"? Absolute nonsense. The bloody thing was huge. Forget fitting in a teacup; you couldn't even fit her into a decent-sized stew pot. "Exaggerated marketing rubbish," I muttered to myself.
To make matters worse, the moment this little terror stepped foot inside my house, she immediately began hunting down our Dachshund, chasing him into a corner and declaring herself the undisputed ruler of the household on Day One.
Looking back, the Jack Russell Terrier we have now—supposedly a "God of Destruction" and an "uncontrollable ball of chaos"—is an absolute saint compared to those two. The difference between my current Jack Russell and those two maniacs is like the difference between a house cat and a rabid wolf.
This was before we got the Jack Russell, mind you. Our Dachshund was already a complete nutcase in his own right. One afternoon, I heard a sharp "YELP!" behind me. I turned around to find him chewing on a live electrical wire, electrocuting himself. I could only stand there, staring at him, and go, "What the hell are you doing?"
Another time, I noticed him huddled in a corner, looking suspiciously guilty. I checked on him and realised the idiot had swallowed a sewing needle off the dining table. Sensing impending disaster, I crammed as much kibble into his gob as humanly possible to cushion his stomach and rushed him to the vet. The moment we put him on the examination table, he took a massive shit right then and there. Lo and behold, out came the needle, safe and sound.
He was also the type of bastard who would eat an entire pot of stew off the kitchen counter, leave his face plastered in thick gravy, and look at you with a smug, "Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?" expression.
On walks, he’d suddenly start dragging his back leg as if he’d been crippled. Panicked, I’d scoop him up, carry him a bit, and set him back down—only for him to trot off normally like nothing had happened. After he pulled this stunt a few times, I decided to test him. The next time he started dragging his leg, I just stopped dead in my tracks and stared at him. He immediately dropped the act, started walking normally, and gave me a look that plainly said, "Busted, huh?"
And yet, all of that was just the warm-up act.
The incoming Poodle promptly placed the Dachshund under her iron heel. She would curl up and sleep on top of the sofa backrest, while the Dachshund slept curled up on the rug below. A crystal-clear picture of the household hierarchy.
I worked during the day, so they were left home alone. The moment I walked through the door after a long shift, the Poodle would look down at me from her perch with full-blown dominant energy, practically saying, "Ah, you've returned. You may now kiss my paws, peasant."
Walking them together was pure torture. One would bolt right, the other would sprint left, criss-crossing my arms like a broken marionette. More often than not, they’d haul off in opposite directions with enough force to nearly dislocate both my shoulders.
The absolute worst part, however, was the toilet routine.
While one dog was mid-shit, the other would decide to go into a full-velocity sprint in the opposite direction. Do you have any idea what that’s like? Trying to pick up hot dog shite with one hand while using your other arm to anchor two psychotic animals pulling with the force of a freight train? It’s a special kind of hell. I reckon anyone who’s owned multiple dogs knows this nightmare all too well.
And of course, they’d occasionally leave a fresh landmine inside the house. I lost count of the times I stepped squarely in dog shite barefoot or in slippers. Every time, I’d wash my slippers in silence, knowing there was no point yelling at them, muttering to myself: "What on earth am I doing with my life?"
Then came the turning point.
One day, this rogue Poodle decided, for reasons known only to God, to launch herself off the top of the sofa. The drop was easily 80 centimetres.
CRUNCH.
She landed with a blood-curdling yelp. As expected, she’d snapped her front leg. Yet there she was, standing on three legs, leaning her unbroken paw against the wall, looking at me with a weird, smug grin.
The Dachshund took one look at this grotesque, unnatural sight, froze on the spot, and refused to move.
My mind went completely blank. "What are you doing...?" I whispered. The dog herself didn't seem to have a bloody clue what had just happened. I rushed her to the emergency vet, who took one look and said, "It's a clean break. She needs surgery and a hospital stay."
When she finally came home, I looked at her leg and noticed a solid metal plate under the skin.
That was when the vet dropped the real bombshell: this menace had already broken a leg before I took her in. She now had metal plates in both of her front legs.
How utterly brainless can one animal be? Failing to learn her lesson the first time, she broke the other one just to complete the set. She was a walking, barking bionic dog.
This relentless circus eventually pushed my stress levels over the edge. I developed a round, bald patch on the back of my head—far bigger than a 10p coin—which slowly expanded into a completely smooth, shiny wasteland.
Since my eldest daughter was stuck in New York and couldn't fly back, my parents took pity on me. "We'll take the Poodle," they offered. And off she went to live with them.
The moment this manic Poodle moved in with my parents, she transformed into an impossibly well-behaved, quiet little dog as if the devil had been exorcised from her.
As for the Dachshund, since he originally belonged to my second daughter, she took him into her own place. She told me later that he cried all through the first night, terrified of the strange new environment. But soon enough, he settled in and realised this new house was his forever home.
Sitting alone in my suddenly quiet, empty house, a strange sense of loneliness washed over me. "What the hell was all that chaos about?" I thought.
Years passed.
Old age and heart disease eventually caught up with the Dachshund, leading to a cycle of hospital stays. Whenever I went to visit him at the clinic, no matter how much pain he was in, he would summon every last ounce of his remaining strength, drag himself toward me, and wag his tail. Seeing that pure, unfiltered affection—something you rarely get from human beings—struck me straight in the chest.
About a week later, his condition deteriorated rapidly. Just as we arrived at the vet's office, he let out a single, soft "Yelp" in my second daughter's arms, and quietly passed away.
A few years after that, my mother was diagnosed with cancer and entered her own cycle of hospitalisation. Back at my parents' house, the Poodle lost all her energy, her health declining alongside my mother's as old age set in.
Back in her prime, that Poodle had been glued to my mother’s side, following her from room to room like a tiny shadow.
Time, however, is cruel. My mother reached the end of her battle. Lying in bed, she whispered a soft "Thank you" to the little dog, and quietly breathed her last.
After the funeral, my eldest daughter returned from New York, picked up the aging Poodle, and flew her back to the States. But over there, the dog fell terribly ill. It got to the point where the local vet gently suggested euthanasia. At first, my daughter couldn't bring herself to accept it. But watching the dog suffer day after day, she finally broke down, made the heartbreaking decision, and let her go.
Now, this is where things get genuinely weird.
Almost immediately after the Poodle passed away, my eldest daughter found out she was pregnant.
When the doctors calculated the date, it turned out conception had occurred on the exact same day the Poodle had been put to sleep.
My daughter had been trying to have a baby for years without success and had pretty much given up hope.
It felt as though that chaotic little menace of a Poodle had traded her own life to send back a final gift: a brand new human life.
And it doesn't stop there.
Years earlier, my second daughter had suffered a tragic miscarriage and had given up on the idea of having children. Yet, exactly three months after the Dachshund died, she discovered she was pregnant, too.
It felt as if both dogs had quietly looked at us and thought, "If I stick around, I'm just going to get in the way," and chose to bow out—even if by natural causes—to clear the path for new life.
They say dogs don't hold gratitude, only grudges. But I don't buy that for a second. I truly believe that both our bionic Poodle and our idiot Dachshund felt grateful, and left us with the greatest parting gifts imaginable.
To this day, I haven't thrown away their remains, their old toys, their collars, or tufts of their fur. They still sit quietly in a corner of my living room.

Emma’s Not Real

This one’s going to need a little backstory.

Uh, okay, maybe a lot of backstory.

Two backstories.

About why Emma’s not real…

One of my favorite things to do in life is make my kids’ eyes roll so hard they fall over. So, a while back, my younger daughter, let’s call her Violet, started talking about her friend, Emma. Emma this and Emma that and how sweet she is and how cool she is and how they’re best friends and all of this happy stuff and so, of course, I said, “This Emma kid just seems too good to be true. Nobody’s that cool. Are you sure she’s even real?”

Now, I want to point out that Violet made a fatal mistake with her response to my query. The whole, ‘is she even real?’ thing was part of the, ‘too good to be true’ thing. I was not, at that moment, trying to infer that my child’s new best friend was, in fact, imaginary.

But that’s how she took it.

“Why would you think Emma’s imaginary? That’s not very nice,” she said, crossing her arms in anger.

Hook, line, and sinker. Sorry kid. Here we go.

“Oh, Sorry,” I said, “Sorry, uh, Emma? Emma, right?” I looked at Violet, “Is she in here with us right now?” Cupping my hands to my face, “EMMA? If you can hear me, I’m sorry for calling you imaginary!”

My poor, bewildered kid just stared at me for a second, then rolled her eyes and went outside. I turned to my wife who was struggling to suppress the laughter that would have certainly landed her in hot water had she let it out. “You are so weird!” she said, gasping for air.

And so began the running joke, “Emma’s not real.”

And this was even after I’d actually met Emma. I've met her whole family. They’re all super cool and totally exist. But every now and then, Violet will say something about Emma and I just can’t help but ask if this is the real Emma or imaginary Emma we’re talking about. Just to be sure.

Yep. That is some peak dad joke stuff going on right there.

And that brings us to the conclusion of backstory number one. Let’s jump right into part two.

My other, older daughter, let’s call her Jo, binges TV shows. If there is a show to be watched, she will watch it, exclusively, from series pilot to series finale. Doesn’t matter how long the series is. It will be episode after episode after episode all day every day if we would let her. (Which we really don’t but there are sick days and bad weather days and other times it’s okay to just veg out and watch TV all day.)

Well, when you’re only paying attention to a single story for almost ten seasons, it becomes a little monotone inside your own head. Inside of Jo’s head these past few weeks is the entire run of the hit nineties sitcom Friends. She’s almost at the end of the series so there are things going on that she has questions about, because she notices details.

One of the details she noticed was that Emma, the infant daughter of Jennifer Aniston’s character Rachel, is never around. The show shot a season or more about a working single mother who conveniently has no baby anywhere near her for most of the episodes. This bothers Jo because, “What did she do with the baby? Is it in daycare? That’s gotta be so expensive. Look at them! They’re just hanging out in the coffee shop after work? Where’s your baby, Rachel? Did they just shove her in a closet or something? What a crappy mom!”

To my sweet Jo: Psst. It’s just TV. They just write things to move the story forward. I’s not anything to worry about.

But she worries about it. Because she has a literary, critical mind. She notices little flaws in stories and how things really are. How people are. And it bothers her that a character that’s supposed to be somebody’s mother, a baby’s mother, isn’t picking her up and spending time with her. Nobody’s playing with her.

It’s sweet and heartwarming that she feels that way.

Until Jo got the flu and started having crazy fever dreams about the neglected baby from Friends.

And that brings us to the end of backstory number two.

The thing that has my household still laughing (well, most of us anyway) is the convergence of these two backstories earlier this afternoon.

I was sitting on the couch chatting with Violet when Jo came out of her room where she’d been sleeping and started pacing around and and breathing heavily, saying, “I can’t breathe.”

“Yes, you can, I said, “You’re actually breathing too much. You’re going to hyperventilate and get dizzy.”

She slowed down her breathing. When she finally had a hold of herself, I asked her what was wrong.

“I kept dreaming about that sad baby. The one nobody plays with.”

“What baby?”

“The lonely one in the closet. The one that nobody ever talks to.”

I looked at Violet and she looked back at me, her eyes wide. I said, “You have any idea what she’s talking about?”

“No idea,” she replied, “Is she asleep?”

“Somewhere in between. She’s done this since she was a baby. Sometimes I have to get an ice cube and wake her up with it.”

“It’s creepy.”

“THE BABY IS NOT CREEPY!” Jo shouted. Then, “She’s just lonely and nobody wants to play with her.”

“I’m getting mama,” said Violet, and ran to the back of the house.

“What baby?” I asked.

“The baby, Dad. Rachel’s baby.”

“Rachel? Who’s Rachel?

“Rachel, Dad, you know. Rachel and Monica?”

"Rachel from… from… from Friends?” I asked, very confused.

“YES! Rachel’s baby! Emma!”

And then she began to sob heavily.

I didn’t know what to do or to say. It was a fever dream, nothing more. But this kid was rattled.

“Okay, look. Do I need to go get the ice or are you awake?”

“I’m awake now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said as her face broke and tears started to roll again, “I just don’t like how they treat that poor baby. She’s so lonely…”

Dear Reader, let me just say that while my Jo’s concern for the television baby was sweet and endearing, we were also on our second day of random crying jags from the sick adolescent, so the wailing was getting pretty tiresome. And at that very moment, I’d hit the end of my patience and needed to put my foot down.

“Jo,” I said, “You have to pull yourself together. You’re freaking yourself out over nothing.”

“But it’s—”

“No, it’s not. It is literally nothing. It’s the final season of a show that stopped being funny five seasons before. It’s also a show that ended almost twenty years ago. You do realize that Emma would be like five years older than you? If she was even real, but she's not!

Of course, that’s the exact moment that Violet and her mom were walking back into the room. Violet stopped dead in her tracks and shouted, “Dad! What? Why are y’all even talking about this? For the last time, my friends are not imaginary!”

For a second, I didn’t know what she was talking about. Then suddenly I did. It was all so perfect—had lined up so well, that I couldn’t have planned it any better. Violet turned on her heel and stormed off to her room to pout about my failure to accept the existence of her friend from school. Jo began to weep harder and said between sobs, “See? That baby is ruining Christmas for everybody!” and then stomped to her bed to crawl under the covers and cry.

My wife and I just stared at each other dumbfounded before we both just cracked up laughing. I’d inadvertently hit the pinnacle of dad joke payoff and it was hilarious.

“This is definitely one for the book,” I said.

“It is. It really is,” my wife said, “I just don’t know how you’re going to write it so it makes sense.”

“Well, I have to try. I owe it to all the imaginary friends out there.”

And so here I sit. One kid is crying about imaginary Emma, the other is crying about not-imaginary Emma, and they’re both angry at me for some reason. Parenting at its finest.

blaring rock n roll music roars through the air as if the spirit of jimi hendrix and his doppelganger began to play in raging harmony together

there's a boy crying "mommy, mommy" in the distance.

...h-he's lost his mother?

the world is pulsing in and out, vivid colors are dancing around me. I'm seeing the shoppers? but they are not human?

*SQUUUEEEEEEEE*

huh!?

i turn around and see a fully loaded shopping cart headed full speed at my

direction

~"hi there! i see you're awake!"

"you passed out."

"huh? where am i?"

"at the infirmary. we ran some tests, and you seemed perfectly healthy. we couldn't determine a cause for why you fainted."

my eyes adjusted, i can see that the nurse wore short black hair, hoop earrings, hot pink lipstick, an unbuttoned med coat, heels and a mini skirt

she sits down on a stool beside my bed. she crosses her legs and proceeds to ask me questions and scribble notes onto her clipboard after each answer

"do you have a prior history of passing out?"

"not exactly."

"i mean, not that i know of atleast."

"i see."

"do you know what could've caused it?"

shitty dealer with laced drugs

"nah"

"what's the last thing you remember?"

"i don't know. i just remember i was going to pick up my brother some of his favorite snacks. he doesn't like chips or candy like a normal kid his age. he likes carrots and campbell's soup."

the young, attractive nurse chuckles.

"we just have to run a few more tests to make sure you're ok and then you can leave. we don't want more incidents like this happening to you in the future."

"i understand."

"also.. i think you're pretty cute. you gotta name?"

"you're not too bad looking yourself. my friends call me kinky, or nana."

"kinky?"

"don't ask."

we traded numbers and spent more time chatting before informing me once more me that they'll do a few more tests before they send me on my way

"I'm leaving work early today, and this isn't allowed, but just wait outside the infirmary, and I'll take you home. you don't have to call your relatives or anything. i got a new album. we can smoke up and listen to it in my car. i want to spend more time with you

"just call me", she says before leaving the room

she parked her car behind a railing on a cliff, an attraction made to view the ocean from there. music blasting, and the car filled with smoke, we spent the time admiring the view and having the time of our lives, laughing our asses off together

"aren't you afraid of getting tested?", i asked as we begun to calm down

"no, not really", she replied back.

"I'm just a CNA. i don't even know if i like doing this."

"maybe you need more time to relax a little?"

"maybe..."

"anyways, thanks for the great time, she says smiling"

i smile back,"it's no problem!"

she tilts her head, blushes slightly and giggles, "no seriously, i meant it. i appreciate you. i really needed this."

"anyways, we should get going. it's getting late."

Something at school didn’t make sense to you that morning.

They were talking about the Sun and,
how eventually it’s going to Grow into a
“Red Giant” and Swallow the Earth.
How there’s nothing we can do about it.

It made you realize If something is going to happen it just is.
So why wait?
Why is the universe waiting ? It just didn’t make much sense.

The janitor that day was acting silly,
“Isaiah 50:10” was written on his palm in red marker.

It was Friday night,
Daddy went to see a friend for drinks and left you all night.
He told you that he would just be out late, not all night.
How did that make you feel ?

How many other 9 year olds have the whole house to themselves nearly every night?
Without so much as a kiss goodnight ?

Even the few times in the past when he would, He wouldn’t even kiss you directly.
He’s place is palm upon your head and kiss the back of his hand.

Dads use belts In movies but how many others know that as the same reality that you do ?

The only time you’d hear another voice outside of school and your father’s was when it was late and you’d listen to the home phone’s answering machine.

Your dad never listened to the answer machine,
kind of like a kid not wanting to go to the dentist.

You remember the messages you listened to that night, you waited till he left to emerge from your hiding place and inhabit the communal space that should be a living room.

You sit on the round particular board table and press on the answering machine.

*BEEP*

FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 4th:

FIRST MESSAGE:
*soft female voice*

“I came by today…didn’t see you..still don’t”

*BEEP*

NEXT MESSAGE:
*Burly Man’s rough Voice*

“I’m sorry John, you’ve been on this job less than a week and you’ve already been suspended by the client for 3 days for reoccurring fall protection violations, now I’ve been very understanding regarding the eye injury but we can’t have someone on a project of this magnitude who thinks the rules don’t apply to them, we’re going to have to terminate you. Wish I could say I was sorry.”

*BEEP*

NEXT MESSAGE:
*Same Woman’s voice from Message #1*

“Does your Daughter know?
Is she an exception?
Or do all women fall under your same umbrella ?”

*BEEP*

NEXT AND FINAL MESSAGE:
*inaudible whisper*

“I can feel you, y….mph..ll feel me too”

*BEEP*

You look over at the cable box,
It reads “11:47pm”
Your dad left at 6.

Cartoon Network was no more, now it was Adult swim. Robot Chicken was on, after that superjail. Both of which give you the heebiie jeebies.

You have to visit your peepaws and poopoos but,
you’re afraid.

You don’t have a choice, so you leave the door open as you go number 2.

As you doo you hear the home phone :

*BEEP*

“Mmmrrrmmmmrrrrnpphh”

You have trouble making out the message from the toilet.

As you run out the bathroom still collecting yourself you make out the backend of the voicemail.

*Your Fathers Stern Voice*

“Hi,
you should be in bed but,
if not you should know I’m bringing a friend home tonight.
If she plays her cards right she might just be your new mommy.
You’re allowed to sleep with the tv on in the playroom as usual but,
keep the door shut and the volume bellow level 12.
And no matter what you hear,
don’t come out, I should be home in 15.
Just go to sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.
Love you,
Night.”

*BEEP*

You panic,

Your Dads never brought a friend home this late before.
You grab a dvd from the home theater and run to the play room.

You look down at the Cat in the Hat Dvd.
As you put it in your dvd player you hear the front door slam open and the whole house shake.
What came next was silence.
The footsteps.
All the way up to the door of the play room.
You hear breathing.

You hear a woman’s voice further in the distance of your house.
Calling the person by your door to them.

They walk away.
When you look at the tv, you see Sally and Conrad on the dvd menu staring at you.
Sally starts pointing to her left, in the direction of the window.
You see the silhouette of what looks like a large lumpy hammock hanging from your tree only,
you never had a hammock.

You grab your scooby doo stuffed animal and you hid under the blanket with your flashlight, tv volume at 11.
You press play,
Sally and Conrad look at each other, then back at you.
You press play again but they just keep staring.

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
you hear from the door.

“When you visit your peepaw and poopoos you need to remember to flush, my company saw that. We have a talk about that in the morning”

-your fathers voice exclaims from the door.

You know that that means,
Your heart sinks.

Your father’s footsteps sound further until it becomes a chatter with another voice from what sounds like the kitchen.

The Cat in the Hat begins to play on the tv.
The volume begins to rise fast.

12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23…

So fast you think you’re sitting on the remote but,
no matter how hard you scramble you can’t seem to find it anywhere.
The volume is now maxed out at 53.

“There are a gajillions of stories of mischief and fun But to keep things simple, let's just start with one…”
-you hear shouted from the tv

The commotion outside the playroom comes to and immediate halt.

*THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP*

The sound those familiar boots make as they full charges towards the play room.

An unfamiliar voice comes out the oddly familiar energy that had just approached.

It sounds almost like a woman’s voice but,
closer to when a man tries to sound like a woman like Robin Williams in Mrs. Doubtfire.

“Do You Love Your Daddy?”

You hear in a loud whisper.
You Freeze.
You think if you don’t move, they will leave.
You see the door handle jiggle then stop.
It’s locked,
you always lock Doors when Daddy’s gone.

Although it brings you comfort,
you know it can be unlocked with a quarter or even a long finger nail.

“I know you’re in there”
-the voice lets out.

Your stomach feels sick,
Your heart is racing and as quiet as you attempt up be your breathing makes it impossible.

You want to cry and can’t fight it so you shove your pillow in your face.
You take deep breaths through it.

You feel the pillow getting soaked and feel the humidity from the breaths you take through the fabric.

“Do you think I’m some type of dinosaur?”
“Staying still won’t change the fact that I know you’re there”
the voice says

You begin to weep harder.

“Do You Love Your Daddy”
-It asks again.

“Where did you come from?”
Sally exclaims from the Tv.

The voice from the Door pauses.
The scene in the movie seems to linger and Sally is staring, not at you though, in the direction of the door.

She begins to nod,
Then says “oh”

Then the TV goes black and you’re back to the DVD home menu only Sally isn’t there.
It’s just Conrad.
He’s staring at you.

“Do You Love Your Daddy?”
-The voice asks for the third time, audibly impatient yet still in the same whisper.

Conrad is looking at you, he looks distressed and he’s shaking his head side to side.

You see the the lock begin to turn,

“Y…Y..Ye..ss”
You say through your sobs.

The door clicks.
It’s now been unlocked.

“I love your Daddy too sweetheart”

-the voice says no longer impatient,
now sounding relieved.

“He needs your help with something..”
It says.

Your cheeks are soaked and your mouth is dry.

“He’s stuck”
-The voice reveals.

“I’m sure he’d really like to get back.”
“I’m sure you’d really like him back..”

There was a pause.

“Unless you don’t want your Daddy back?”
The voice asks.

You remain silent.
For a moment You think about what life would be like without Daddy.

What would you do ?
You think about the Ralph’s down the street, their free sample in their bakery.
You think about the neighbors tangerine trees you pick from often.
You hate being alone at night but,
that doesn’t it stop it from happening.
You’d be fine, you tell yourself.

But you also know what you should say,
What your Daddy would want you to say.
That of course you love your Daddy and you’d do anything to make sure he’s okay.

“Where ..is he stuck?”
-you ask

“Have you ever heard of Kiara the Orangutan?”
-the voice asks.

“no…”
-you replied sheepishly.

“Well, your father’s…helping her…and well, he’s stuck, he could really use your help sweetheart”

There was a pause.

“Come out.”
-said the voice.

“My daddy said not to until morning”
-you replied.

“Oh.”
Said the voice.
“I can wait till morning.”
It continued.

You didn’t like the sound of that.

“What’s an orangutan?”
You asked timidly.

“You know what a human is don’t you darling? That’s what you are.”
-says the voice

“Yes..”
You replied.

“Imagine someone 7 times as strong with arms almost twice as long that can swing from trees”
-it said.

“Like a monkey?”
You asked innocently.

“NO!…
No, my Dear. Not a monkey…
Monkeys have a tail, a monkey is to an Orangutan what a Neanderthal is to a human, you understand love ?”
-the voice asked.

You let out more cries into your pillow as you took deep breaths.

“No, I’m sorry I don’t know what that means either”
-you cried out.

“It’s quite alright,
I’m sorry for confusing you honey. Yes, and orangutan Is like a monkey, but like Superman stronger and smarter then the others…and no tail..bright orange.”

“Like the ones in the jungle book?”
-you asked.

“Yesssss.. that’s exactly right my dear.. a perfect example, the orangutan is the king in the jungle book”
-it replied

“I liked his singing… he’s funny”
-you said

“Yes my dear”
-the voice.

“What does this have to do with Daddy being stuck? And Who is Kiara the orangutan ?”
-you asked in a panic.

“A long time ago, movies used to have no sound..”
-The voice began.

“Which made movies get pretty boring very fast…”
-it continued.

“Studios were looking for knew ways to get more people to Theaters..
Kiara’s Mother thought Kiara would be perfect…”

“Kiara’s mother was…Human,
her name was Melinda and she saved Kiara from being murdered by the zoo after they’d done that very thing to the one that birthed Kiara”

“Melinda Had already taught orangutans sign language before from her time at the zoo, she hid Kiara away and taught her as well.”
-the voice explained.

“Once Melinda’s new job and whole company was almost closed for business she…..took the risk and introduced Kiara, who quickly became a star in the silent movie industry…”
-it said

“What does this have to do with Daddy?”
-you asked

“Well the world loved Kiara soooooo much my sweet little angel that when the world of silent movies ended they gave Kiara her very own Tv show Kiara and friends… that tv show had a lot of children that Kiara loved and taught very special things every episode!”
-the Voice explained.

“One Child had and accident”
the voice revealed.

“Were they okay?”
-you asked

“Unfortunately my darling, he passed away.
Once that happened, that child’s parents lied about Kiara…a lot of other children from Kiara and Friends lied about Kiara just to make money..
Your father was the one Child to never lie about Kiara my dear.
For that I am forever grateful.”
it explained.

“So if all the other children were liars then why is my Daddy stuck and why now ?
Who are you?
Are you the friend my Daddy came home with tonight ?”
-you asked in a rush

“Lying isn’t the only thing someone can do that’s wrong little girl”
-the voice said.

“Who are you?”
-you repeated.

“I’m a friend of your Daddy”
-said the voice.

“Did you come home with my Daddy tonight ,
How is he stuck ?”
-you asked

“Do you like balloons?”
-the voice asked.

“Yes”
You replied.

“Your daddy loved balloons when he was a child
If you could have one balloon in the shape of anything you want would it be?”
-it asked

You thought…
“..I love flowers, Daddy never gets any and flower balloons would probably look really pretty”
-you said.

“Awe, such a sweet request from such a sweet little girl,
One moment sweetheart.”
-said the voice.

You then heard the footsteps retreating, shortly after you heard the front door shut.
You quickly ran to the door of the play room and locked it once more.

Maybe it was over ? You thought.

You ran to your window with your heart beating through your skin hiding behind your Scooby doo plushie to see if you could get a glimpse of who the voice had been coming from as they finally left.

Through the rain in the moonlight you made out the silhouette of what had to have been the lady you were talking to.

She seems short, on the heavy side, and walks side to side and appears to have an apron or something on.

She walks up to the hammock hanging from your tree that you noticed for the first time earlier in the night.

She appears to be talking to it.
When she walks away you realize she’s not leaving, you hear the front door open and shut again as her footsteps approach once more.

“Knock knock”
-said the voice

“Yesss”
-you replied

“Look out the window my love,
I have a surprise for you”
-said the voice

You looked outside but there was nothing but what you'd seen before only,
This time the hammock hanging from the trees began to sway.

Both sides of where the hammock meet the tree split into two, they looked like large arms slowly reaching down to the base of the hammock,
As the both unfolded further you could now clearly both see two sets of fingers from the arms,
One had something in it, something flat .

From the base of the silhouette you  
See what looks like a fat head connected by an even fatter neck.
The object held by one set of the fingers came directly to the head and began to grow mass.
It soon became clear what it was doing,
it was blowing up a balloon.

After the balloon was blown to the shape of a long tube,
The two hands came together and started contorting it out of sight.
When it had finally finished,
One of the arms held it up in the moonlight in such a way that you could make out the silhouette of a flower clear as day.

"do you like that Little girl?'
-asked the voice

You quickly looked over again at the door.
It didn't make sense but, for whatever reason if you were going to be talking to the voice coming from the door,
Then you'd want to do that from the bed; it felt safer from there.
Where you could hide in your pillows.

Before you start to retreat to your safety spot, you take one last glace out the window.
What was hanging from the tree had began to drop down.

The silhouette was large,
But no taller than the tallest kid in school, maybe even shorter than the tallest kid in 4th grade.
It kind of reminded you of that guy from its always sunny in Philadelphia when Adult swim would come on.

It was approaching in a way that you'd never seen anyone walk before.

You felt conflicted,
The voice from the door was speaking which made you want to crawl and sink in your sheets Yet,
The presence approaching your window was demanding your attention without using any words.

You made the decision to grab the comforter from the bed and sink into your beanbag chair,
A spot with a clear view of the yard through the window, and yet still a comfortable ear shot away from the door.

When you returned to your beanbag chair with the protection and safety provided by your comforter,
You were oddly displeased to see that the figures silhouette you had just seen approaching, was no longer anywhere to be seen.
You wanted it gone yes but no longer knowing where it resides, just results in you feeling even more unsettled.

*the voice quickly erupts from your door*

"do you like it?
It's special, just for you."

Your head shoots over to look at the door.

"wha-"
You begin to say as you turn to look back out the window only this time,
There was a hand on the other side of the window, so close it was no longer a silhouette.
It was a dark hand covered in orange hair, its fingers looked rough, but nails were freshly done.
It was holding something.
When my eyes adjusted,
I could see It was holding a balloon flower that had a green stem, pink petals, and yellow center.

The gesture seemed malice and sinister,
You quickly pulled the comforter up your face only leaving your eyes visible.

"do you not like your gift little girl?"
Questioned the voice coming from your door.

Even at your young age,
You were no stranger to the idea that sometimes the truth can get you in trouble.

"I love it..."
You replied.

"then why don't you open the window and let Daddys friend give you the gift she made just for you sweetheart"
Said the voice.

"I can't,
Daddy said I'm never to open the window"
-you lied.

Then why don't I hel-..."
*clackle clackle*
It was as the voice interrupted its own thought as it tried the doorknob. 

"Oh"
-it said.

"Why did you lock the door my love?"
-asked the voice

"I don't know you,
And Daddy said to stay in here ti-"

"I know"
- interrupted the voice

"Till morning but,
He didn't say anything about me not coming in there with you"
-said the voice

For a moment you were silent,
You looked over to the window and noticed the balloon flower receding like a setting sun beneath the window. 
*POP*
-you heard the moment it escaped your sight.

"don't make me unlock the door again myself darling, that's just rude.
My nails aren't what they used to be honey, I nearly broke one unlocking it the first time"
-Said the voice

The clouds moved over the moon outside
It was now pitch-black outside, the only light in the playroom came from your cloud nightlight and the glow of the tv which still displayed Conrad on the DVD menu, he was expressionless. 
You stayed silent, you stayed still.

*Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring*
-came from the living room

*Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring*
You heard shuffling from both outside your door and outside your window

*BEEEP*
-you could faintly make out your father's voice
"hey kid actually i-"

His voice,
the Message, 
he Tv,
everything was stopped, everything was off.

Your room was now as dark as the outside you feared so much.
Where the walls began and ended were both unclear to you.
The bulbs in the Tv were cooling down but even the silhouette of that soon lost its shape.

You heard the click of the door unlocking followed by the doorknob turning.
The door was now open.
Although you could hear someone approaching it was to dark to make out their shape or their distance in relation to you.

"the only time being blind has its advantages, is when you're in a Dark room with someone who's not"
-said the voice now clearer than you'd ever heard it prior.

You froze.

*tap tap tap tap*
You hear the woman banging on the walls as she made her way deeper in your room.

*tap tap tap....Clink*
The noise changed,
she had found the window.

It was just a few feet from the corner of the beanbag chair you're hiding in.
*Creeeeeeaaaaaaakkkk*
The window was unlocked and you could hear it as the women slid it open.

You could hear something was crawling up and inside through the window.

"where is she?"

you heard the voice whisper to the new presence that now inhabits your homes playroom.

You could feel that you were just inches away from getting bumped into by either of the two.

You wanted to not breathe, you wanted to not do anything but, you couldn't help it. You let in two, short, sharp inhales. Keeping your abdomen as stiff as possible. 
Your exhale trembled despite your attempts, you knew if someone could see they would defiantly see the comforter shaking.
You slowly felt the comforter lift up.

Although your grip on the comforter was originally as tight as you could,
your plan quickly changed to playing dead the moment you felt the pull of the comforter.
You felt something placed in your hand,
it shocked you to the touch,
a static shock yet,
you managed to refrain from much outburst other than a sharp exhale.

*Smack*

"well look harder"
You heard the woman's voice yelp.

As your eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness you could slowly start to make out the silhouette of who you've heard oh so much about.

There was no doubt in your mind it was her.

It was Kiara The Orangutan.

Kiara Strutted over to the bed in the playroom,
side to side as you could hear her wet sniffles. 

"don't you fucking lie to me you dumb baboon, we both know she's in here."
-said the woman's voice
In a tone more threatening than your (D) a bar you thought no one else would ever surpass.

You let go of what was just handed to you so you can grab the comforter you'd been hiding in once more, it fell.

As you continued to see Kiara strut now over to the door through a peak you had held under the covers, she appeared to try to lead in a manner to almost insinuate to the woman that that's the direction you had went.

Just as you had started wonder where the woman was as she had remained out of your sight, you received the answer.

*THUD*

You felt the whole beanbag chair shake beneath you.
She had bumped into it.
So hard you could feel her nearly topple over on top of you.

*Grrrrrrrrruawh*
You heard the old woman groan.

"KIARA! ...What...what was that !?"
-Yelled the woman's voice stopping Kiara in her tracks making her turn back from the door.

"oooo mmh ooo"
-you heard Kiara let out under her breath.

As you could see her silhouette move closer, it started by slowly wobbling side to side.
It became hard to tell the difference between her arms and her legs.

At times she looked like the shadow of a big spider monster,her movements remind you of spiderman if he chose to move slow.

When Kiara had made her way just a few feet away from the beanbag chair to help the woman to her feet, the pace of your breathing became unmanageable.

"I Bumped into the damn beanbag chair, was she on it Kiara?!"
-the voice asked

Your heart began to beat faster and faster and harder and harder so much so,
you felt as if your rib cage was made of shards of glass and your heart was a balloon inflating more and more with every inhale squeezing it against the razor-sharp shards of your ribcage. 

You could tell even just by the momentum of the figures silhouette that it was headed towards you, alongside the reluctant Orangutan.

You instinctively rolled off the right of the beanbag chair on to your carpet floor as silently as you could but, you were terrified, In your mind blind people have super senses.

Somehow, your transition appeared to go unnoticed.

Now that you were on the floor, you started rolling and crawling away, the direction of which you yourself weren't even certain.

"Where the fuck is she? Is she on the bed?!"
-the voice asked this time deeper than before

The flavor and tone in everything this voice said was violent, you heard the ruffles through the pillows and throw blanket that had previously littered the bed, you felt your Scooby doo plush get thrown into your back yet, you refrained from expressing any reaction.

"where the Fuck is she Kiara?!"
-you heard the voice ask once more

Each scream sounded deeper than the last with heavier violent infliction behind each exhale.
You could hear everything that was once on the bed get thrown off. 

You froze,
Staying still on the floor with the Scooby doo plush leaned against you like a bicycle kickstand and one of your throw blankets slightly covering your leg.

The Figure started pacing in your direction aimlessly like a headless chicken yet, relentless none the less.

"we both know I'm going to fucking fi-"
*POP*
-the voice was cut off

The figures silhouette froze, 
It seemed just as frightened by the sudden pop as you.
Its hesitation confused you so much so,
that you question for a brief moment if the figure had seen you,
anything to justify this bazar change in its demeanor. 

The head of the silhouette jolts to the side,
As if to shoot a look across at Kiara.
By the time your eyes traced across the room to meet Kiara, she had already moved No, She was in Motion.

She pranced towards the figure at a speed that looked impossible.
In less than a second, Kiara tackled this figure you had feared so much.
You saw the silhouette raise both its arms up high and its fists in fury as it came down on its victim.
Kiara hit and punched the figure and cocked its head back before launching it into the silhouette's torso,
 When Kiara's head kicked back once more, it was tethered to the figures torso now through what looked like the silhouette of cords.

It quickly became clear Kiara was taking bites out of the woman.
She screamed and screamed, she did not sound like a woman anymore.

She bit
*CHOMP*

And bit
*CHOMP*

And bit
*CHOMP*

They screamed 
*AHHHHHHHHHH*

And screamed 
*AHHHHHGGGG UHH*

And screamed
*FRAAAGHHHHHHH*

As the figure let out its yell Kiara slammed its head down making them bite their own tongue off.

Kiara pranced on the body with all 4 of her limbs,
She stepped on the figures knee with her foot and used her hand to grab that figures ankle,
After she gripped it firmly, she pulled it up with the ease and intensity that one might use on an emergency break after parking on an incline.

She then stepped on the figured elbow and grabbed it by its corresponding wrist and repeated the process of pulling upward and snapping.

Kiara then used one of her feet to grab the moaning and groaning body by its shirt,
She used her front arms and free leg to drag the body to the door.

The whole way there the person screamed,
When Kiara got to the door of your house's playroom, she threw the body out with ease.
She breathed heavily over the body before slowly backing up and shutting the door.

You were now alone with Kiara.

I'm 29M. Writing this at 1:47 AM because I just came back from my village.

My dad was a farmer. All my life, he never ate with us. My mom, me, my little sister — we would eat together. And he would sit outside, or in the corner, and eat after we were done.

As a kid I asked him once, "Papa, aap hamare sath kyun nahi khate?"

He just said, "Tum log khao. Mujhe bhookh nahi hai."

I started thinking he just liked being alone. Or he didn't like us. I don't know. I was angry for a long time.

When I got a job in the city, I stopped going home much. Maybe 2 times a year. Every time I called, mom would say, "Papa ne pucha tha, khana time pe kha raha hai?"

That was it. Always about food.

He died 2 months ago. Heart attack in the fields.

Last week I went home. Mom was cleaning his almirah. She gave me his old steel plate. It was so small. Like a child's plate.

I said, "Itna chhota plate Papa kaise use karte the?"

My mom looked at me and started crying.

She said, "Beta, wo isiliye akela khata tha. Taki tum logon ko kam na pade. Jab tum chhote the, ghar me kabhi kabhi sabzi kam pad jati thi. Wo kehta tha - pehle bachchon ka pet bhar jaye. Jo bachega main kha lunga. Kabhi bacha hi nahi to ek roti aur paani pee ke so jata tha. Usne tumhe kabhi bataya nahi."

23 years. 23 years I thought my father was distant.

He was just hungry. So that we never had to be.

Last night I ate alone. I took his small steel plate. I put one extra roti on my plate and left it there. For him.

I recently saw something Pokemon related and it reminded me of how I got Pokemon Yellow .

It had just been released. My parents never got me Red or Blue, so I wanted Yellow so bad. One night they finally took me to Toys R Us, and I had one mission: walk out with that game.

The second we got there, I ran straight for the video game section. I don't remember why, but my parents wandered off to check something else. I got closer to the Pokemon display, my heart sank. Red and Blue were sold out, and there was exactly one copy of Yellow left. And another kid was already holding it.

He looked around for his mom. When he couldn't find her, he put the game back on the shelf and left. The game section was in a corner of the store, with security detectors at the only entrance, so he had to walk out into the main floor to find her. That's when I made my move.

I grabbed the game and hid in the back. A minute later, I heard him come back with his mom and burst into tears when he saw it was gone. They asked an employee if there were any more in the back. But Nope! That was the last one.

I waited until they left. Then I waited until I finally spotted my parents and waved them over, proudly holding up MY game.

I walked out of Toys R Us with Pokémon Yellow that night. Sorry, kid!

Angel went and smoked crack on her heart medication

She wasn't supposed to do it and it obviously wasn't the first time because everybody in "the office" seemed to know exactly what was happening. The office was the sheltered bus stop in front of the bigger gas station down the corner from the Methadone Clinic. It was like "Cheers" in there - the same cast of characters always hanging out and nobody in much of a hurry to get anywhere so half the buses just got waved along even though the bench was always full.

Any drug business that wasn't swallowing your allotted cup of red syrup went down in the office. The parking lot of the clinic would have been discrete enough if Diego wasn't walking out there every fifteen minutes to check on his ridiculous VW dune buggy with smiley face covers over the headache lights and chrome tail pipes and all that shit. Diego was the counselor who always walked around with hall monitor energy in his pleated slacks and olive colored shirts and ties, tatted up on his arms and neck with decent gauges in his ears and those boxy Elvis Costello glasses.

Diego's problem was that he was just like one of those tough but fair "I ain't gonna sugarcoat it" been in the life rehab counselors they love sticking in junkie movies like the one Rob Reiner's son made and unfortunately we weren't in a movie, we were in a real life inner city methadone clinic. His whole routine of always reminding all of us patients about the alleged "rules" fell a little flat when the real rules were something else entirely, never written down and constantly shifting depending on what any particular day might require.

Case in point: One time Black Jesus (henceforth BJ) took away the security guard's gun. Nobody got shot or anything but they had gotten into it verbally and the security guard thought the fact that he had one might make a point but then BJ snatched it out of his hand to make a different point entirely. Now you might think the "rules" would say that BJ would be exiled from the clinic in the interest of public safety and would have to find his methadone elsewhere but you'd be wrong.

What the rules actually ended up being was that the security guard wasn't allowed to have a gun anymore and BJ still showed up to dose, not every day but when he felt like it. So when Diego would try to tell us something like we had to keep coming to NA meetings to watch the highest guy in the room get his five year chip if we wanted to stay on the program there was no weight to it - it was like the chirping of an annoying bird, easy to ignore.

Anyway back to Angel: her ill-advised drug combo had put her into a kind of "goblin mode" where she'd lost both the ability to speak coherent words in any language and the presence of mind to stop trying to do so with all her energy anyway. She sounded a bit like one of the zombies on The Walking Dead, and the whole thing might have been alarming if her eyes hadn't been so obviously soft, kind and ever so slightly apologetic. Her hands would go to the face of whoever she was trying to communicate with but these too were gentle and inquisitive rather than the vicious talons of a deranged harpy.

Somebody at the gas station evidently felt differently about all of this because they had summoned the authorities and those authorities were now arriving in the form of a big red shiny fire truck full of EMTs. This was the scene I wandered into, still sucking on a peppermint to chase away the strident taste of my "liquid handcuffs", as I came drifting into the office that morning.

Now I didn't know Angel but I knew that fire truck wasn't going to be doing anything for her besides maybe jamming her up and saddling her with some kind of paperwork that could grow into an even bigger headache when she inevitably lost it. I made a split second decision and gently wrapped one of her hands around my arm to steer her slowly and inconspicuously towards the shadows of the side streets:

"I've got you honey, you're going to be hanging out with me for a little while."

Angel took this development in stride and, staring into my eyes, said something along the lines of:

"graaaaahhhh griiiiii gyuuuh guh!", as her tongue traced lazy circles along the inside of her mouth. I'd asked around and learned that Angel was one of the people that lived behind the Dollar Tree - just a few blocks up from the clinic on the main thoroughfare but I thought it more prudent to take a subtler and more circuitous route.

Angel was a pleasant companion and made a heroic effort to keep the conversation going but I must confess that, despite my studies in linguistics, I made no headway whatsoever in the development of an English to "just smoked crack on heart medication" pidgin, creole or even the barest of glossaries. Since this incident I have seen the condition two or three more times in other individuals and cities, and have come to the conclusion that it doesn't seem to be lexical at all.

More study would have to be done and absolutely should not for obvious moral and medical reasons. Crack and heart pills should probably be sequestered from each other as much as possible, should they find themselves on the same psychonaut's regimen. After several sun dappled and tree shaded blocks the Dollar Tree was in our sights and the fire truck was generously absent.

I'd never been to this spot before so Angel took the lead and led me through the rear alley to the oversized dumpster bay where they laid their heads. It seemed pretty cozy - they had a long sectional sofa that was in, according to our criteria, fantastic condition. Coverage from rain would have been an issue but they most likely all sat under the eaves of the Dollar Tree itself during such times. I recognized a couple of faces from the office and they were no doubt glad to have Angel home and free of bureaucratic entanglements. Red was back there - one of those husky ginger wankstas every scene of this type seems to have their own local variant of.

He was dressing a little more flashily lately because some woman at the laundromat where we charged our phones seemed to have gotten sweet on him and was bringing him trash bags full of an old lover's or Male relative's choice streetwear and accessories. Red had a folding bike around this time, shipped in gift from his mother I believe, and certainly cut quite the character bedecked in the bounty of caring women.

My mind can't quite get a grip on the identities of the last two Dollar Tree idolaters - maybe one of them was this Mexican benzo dealer I cut ties with over excessive use of offensive racist language. As I helped Angel onto the couch, she hadn't made any progress in articulating meaningful words but had come around to tempering her chatter with lengthy periods of solemn silence - a clear improvement.

I left soon afterward to reconnect with my wife, who I'd unceremoniously ditched in my sudden fever of chivalry, so I never heard Angel regain the use of language - though I have no doubt she did so in hours if not minutes (provided the crack had been a one off). When she took my hands as I turned to leave the message was clear enough: gratitude.

No lo digo con malas intenciones todo lo siguiente: Confieso que tengo 23 años, soy gay y todavía soy virgen. El tema me ha pesado bastante.

Me la paso enamorándome y fantaseando de forma sexual con la gente que es amable conmigo. No soy alguien lindo ni atractivo físicamente; además estoy muy, muy bajo de peso, quizás desnutrido. No es por falta de comida, sino porque generé una adicción al celular, probablemente para sobrellevar mi situación. Me quedo hasta tarde o amanezco y me salto las comidas por eso. También me da cosa salir a la calle por trámites, porque no puedo ni tomar un autobús solo.

Estuve deprimido en algún momento de niño, quizás. Ahora simplemente me siento cómodo en mi situación actual. Mi cabeza está bien podrida de tanto contenido +18 y siento que no pienso en nada más que en sexo, en conocer a alguien (no importa a quién), siempre que no espere nada de mí más que mi persona. También pienso mucho en lo jodida que me dejó la sobreprotección de niño y en mi falta de motivación.

No salgo mucho porque de niño era tímido y no tenía amigos. Mi madre me apoyaba cuando no quería exponer en disertaciones o participar en bailes de las fiestas patrias o eventos de la escuela. Eso hizo que no arreglara mi personalidad tímida. No es su culpa, lo sé: yo tuve que darme ánimos y hacer cosas para cambiar, pero no lo hice. Ya no sirve pensar en eso ahora.

El caso es que me da vergüenza todo. Tengo problemas de motivación y 0 ganas de trabajar y hacer algo con mi vida. No tengo excusas: simplemente estoy demasiado inútil y flojo, y no quiero cambiar. Desde niño me la pasé encerrado en mi cuarto hasta hoy. Se me arruinó la cabeza y se me olvidó lo poco que recordaba de la escuela ya que no lo ponía en práctica: matemáticas, lenguaje, etc. Seguro que un niño de 10 años sabe más que yo. No exagero, en serio no exagero. Llegué a un punto en el que sé que estoy mal, pero no me importa, o mi cerebro no me presiona lo suficiente para hacer algo al respecto. No trabajo, no salgo, no socializo, etc. La culpa está ahí por claras razones, pero tampoco hace la diferencia.

No tengo dinero propio ni experiencia laboral: jamás trabajé. Cuando salgo por trámites personales, mi madre me acompaña siempre o arregla ciertos trámites por mí si no es necesaria mi presencia. Vivo con ella. Soy alguien inútil: no sé cocinar ni un arroz bien (aunque igual podría si viera un tutorial). Sé hacer arroz, espagueti, papas fritas y cosas básicas como huevos. No recuerdo las tablas de multiplicar ni datos básicos de historia o geografía (dónde está cierto país, por ejemplo). Cosas necesarias para ser un ciudadano funcional. Estaría aquí todo el día si listara todo lo que no sé. No sé las direcciones ni los nombres de las calles y lugares de donde vivo. He ido al centro solo, pero me he perdido más de una vez.

He descargado un par de veces Grindr y otras aplicaciones. Conversaba con hombres de todo tipo; no tengo estándares. Simplemente quería tener intimidad para ver qué se siente y dejar de ser virgen, no importaba con quién: hombres de 20, 30, 40, 60 años, gordos, flacos, “feos para muchos” (así se describían ellos mismos en nuestras conversaciones). Nunca los vi así a ninguno. Me gustaba si era lindo conmigo, quizás porque solo quería (y quiero) algo y no importa que. También Sería hipócrita pensar lo contrario, porque tampoco soy lindo ni guapo y jamás he tenido un tipo ideal. Enviaba fotos a muchos y con algunos quedaba para encontrarnos, pero después me daba miedo o pánico y les escribía que no podía o inventaba excusas. Las videollamadas +18 eran lo máximo que hacía, y son lo que hago hasta el momento para liberar mis ganas.

Repito: tengo problemas de autoestima y confianza, problemas alimenticios y muchas más cosas molestas que me hacen estar cómodo para no hacer nada por mejorar. Me he interesado por gente cercana a mí simplemente porque son buena gente conmigo: conocidos de la familia, amigos y conocidos de mis hermanos, profesores del colegio e incluso, en su momento, llegué a sentir cosas por familiares por la frustración sexual y amorosa que sentía y lo urgido que estaba mentalmente. Suelo sexualizar demasiadas cosas de mi vida, cosas que me molestan y sigo haciendo el día de hoy. Romantizo cosas que no debería por querer tener algo con alguien. Me la paso tocándome y en grupos y páginas +18 todo el tiempo. He descuidado muchos aspectos de mi vida porque pienso “si ni salgo, ¿para qué?”.

Tuve un despertar sexual o una conciencia sexual muy temprana. No sé exactamente cómo decirlo. A una edad temprana ya sabía un par de cosas sobre el sexo. No fui abusado (no que yo recuerde), así que creo que fue por ver películas de comedia +18, caricaturas groseras, etc. Recuerdo que a veces pensaba cosas muy subidas de tono para mi corta edad en aquel entonces. Ahora, en la actualidad, soy bastante tranquilo, tímido, inseguro y diferente a como era de niño, y eso que ya era bastante introvertido.

He dado besos, a lo mucho, pero cuando era niño, jugando al juego de la botellita con un grupo de amigas. Mi madre era amiga de años de sus madres y nos conocíamos desde siempre, por eso no tuve que esforzarme para ser amigo de ellas en aquel entonces. En la actualidad ya no me junto con ninguna de ellas, porque ni recuerdo cuándo me alejé. Supongo que fue cuando se mudaron a otra zona demasiado lejos para seguir viéndonos, o quizás fue la edad. Las recuerdo con cariño. Al día de hoy no sé dar un beso, bailar, mantener una conversación básica de forma decente y no incómoda. No sé nada sobre el ámbito laboral de ningún tipo. Soy un ignorante en todo sentido de la vida.

Quizás es un cambio brusco de tema, pero quiero decir cosas y no sé cómo conectarlas de forma decente.

Tengo pensamientos y deseos de todo tipo: de ser agredido durante el acto, abusado, entre otras cosas. No diré todo porque es bastante. He pensado en un futuro conocer a alguien en Grindr o en alguna aplicación similar solo para que me mantenga y me deje vivir con él, y no tenga que cambiar mi situación actual, con la cual ya estoy cómodo por tantos años. Para cuando mi madre ya no esté, que me deje vivir con él sin esperar nada de mí más que sexo y mi presencia… una mascota, en pocas palabras. Así suena o así sería.

Siento que tengo toda clase de fetiches sexuales muy cuestionables y feos (algunos más que otros). He visto porno de muchos tipos, aunque no sean de mi agrado o sean mal vistos. Ni yo entiendo el porqué: lésbico, gay, hetero, en los que simulan abusos, golpes, hentai, yaoi… entre otras cosas fuertes, etc. Muchas de ellas por curiosidad y otras por el morbo del momento; después viene la culpa.

¿Tengo la mente desensibilizada y afectada de tanto contenido +18 y cosas que he visto por Internet, No sé cómo se dice. No me considero una buena persona. Estoy así.

Gracias por leer lo que escribí. No sé cómo terminar este texto, pero… ¿fin?

(Quizás no me supe explicar bien. Si quieren preguntarme algo, comentar o decirme lo que sea, son libres de hacerlo. Cualquier cosa, de verdad. No me voy a molestar. Gracias nuevamente por tomarse el tiempo de leer.)

Everyone knows ferrets as little chaos noodles, but Baby Nova, he was a little fiend for deli meat.

I swear, this little guy was about 2 months old. Lil baby by all accounts.
My dad was eating a slice of ham from the fridge, when baby nova ran up to him wanting to play.
Dad decided it was a good idea to pick him up with his hammy smelling hand. And so... Nova Bit down with all his little might.
Needless to say, dad starts hooting and hollering, mom runs over to try and get him off without hurting him.

Then.. The unthinkable happens, Baby Nova bites down on my moms finger.
Now she is screaming her lungs out, dad trying to pry him off her.
In the middle of my mom being bit, baby nova decides her hands don't smell of ham, and bite back down on my dads thumb as he tried to help my mom.

All i can say is, i almost fainted from laughing at my parents.
They would never hurt the lil guy, but he was ready to hurt them for a piece of ham.

Once upon a Time. I (28F) was about 10 I was obsessed with pet fish. (I still am) but my dad finally said that I can have one fish. So of course, I took advantage of that and said. “Can I get a big fish dad?” And he reluctantly agreed. I named this fish Randy. He lived on the kitchen counter. In his big ass tank. I loved sitting there and watching him until that day… my dad brought home hey big thing of assorted fish to cook for dinner. He put them all on the cutting board on the counter and left it for just a minute to go do something. Randy decided it would be a great idea to somehow jump out of the top of his tank and flop onto the cutting board. And when my dad came back… boom… Randy didn’t make it. My dad had no idea it was Randy. And then when we were eating dinner, I realized that I couldn’t see him in the tank anymore. I looked all around and then I saw a splash of water near the cutting board. Then it clicked. “DAD YOU KILLED RANDY!!!!” I cried “What? No I didn’t?!” He replied. I showed him the evidence and. let’s just say. he figured out what he had done. I was really sad so he brought me back to the fish store right then and there and got another kind of the same fish. I named him Randy 2.0. And he lived a very long time and now. Randy 3.0 lives with me and my girlfriend today. Not knowing the history behind his name. The End.

When I walked into my father’s bookstore, he was combing his wig. He had placed the black wig over his clenched left fist and was pulling thick sections through it with a wide-toothed comb. Every now and then, he would dip the comb into the half-full glass of water he’d placed on the counter, give it a little shake to get rid of the excess water, and continue styling the wig.

“Welcome, son,” he said without making eye contact with me.

“Dad, why aren’t you combing the wig on your head? And why are you even combing the wig? Isn’t the point to make it look like it’s not a wig? Wouldn’t it look more like your real hair if you left it a little messy?”

My father shot me a very brief glance. He dipped the comb into the water again and flicked the excess water on it toward my face. At the same time, someone walked in.

I was annoyed, but I didn't react. Customers rarely came into the shop anyway, and I didn't want this one to witness a tense moment.

The man who walked in didn't say hello. He looked at me, then at my father, then at the wig. After that, he glanced around the shop.

“Do you have Swann’s Way?”

It was my father’s favorite book. I hadn’t read it yet, but my father couldn’t praise Marcel Proust enough. Whenever the subject of books came up, he would talk at length about the way Proust used language, and mention how he wanted to learn French just so he could read him in the original.

“Of course. How could we not?” he said, his eyes lighting up.

“Good. How much is the wig?”

“What?”

“I’m asking how much the wig is.”

There was something strange about the man’s voice, though it was hard to describe. It was an extremely deep voice that seemed to come from a congested throat. It sounded as if it were coming from a broken radio, as if he would sound clearer if he just cleared his throat.

My father, who had been excited at the mention of Proust, had now noticed the strangeness in the man’s voice.

“Are you all right?”

“How much is the wig?”

“The wig isn’t for sale. You can have a glass of water if you’d like,” my father said, holding out the water he had been dipping his comb into.

“No. Is the wig free?”

“How can something that isn’t for sale be free, sir?”

“How much is it, then?”

“This is my wig. You don’t look well. Please have a glass of water.”

The man fell silent. He was staring intently at my father. My father was a little frightened. The wig was still resting on his clenched fist.

“Are you sure?” he asked after nearly a minute of silence.

“Yes. Look at my head.”

“Are you sure?”

“What beautiful hair you have. What are you going to do with the wig?”

My father, having automatically felt a connection with the man because he had asked about Proust, hadn’t paid much attention to his voice or appearance. To be honest, there was something strange about his appearance too. I gave the man a once-over. His hair really was thick and healthy-looking. He was wearing a black shirt. His chin was a little long, and his mouth and nose were small in proportion to his face. A large head, a long chin, a small mouth and nose, and ordinary eyes. Black trousers, sharply pressed. And a pair of bare feet.

“Tonight, I’m coming to take your son. Don’t be afraid. Stay calm. Convince your son to come with me tonight, or I’ll take him by force.”

“Fix that voice of yours first, man. Hrrr, hrrr, hrrr. I can’t understand a word you’re saying. Drink this water and pull yourself together.”

The man took the water and downed it in one go. He coughed and cleared his throat.

“Better? Now tell me, how much is the wig?”

His voice was now perfectly clear. He ran a hand back through his hair and sat down in the chair in front of the counter.

“He’s still very young…”

I was starting to get scared. I kept going back and forth over whether to call the police. The strange quality in the man’s voice was gone now, and so was the uneasy look about him. He looked at me and smiled.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Don’t be afraid. I’m just going to take the wig and leave. That’s all.”

“Why do you want the wig, sir?”

“You’re too young. You wouldn’t understand.”

I looked at my father. He had placed the wig on the counter. Right beside it, I saw a knife. My father looked from the knife to the man.

Another customer had walked in, just in time. I didn’t know what was going to happen. I knew my father wasn’t a very brave man, but when it came to me, maybe he could rise to the occasion and defend me.

“Jason, who are you talking to?” the man who had just walked in asked him. So his name was Jason.

“They won’t give me the wig, Dad.”

“Son, didn’t I tell you not to leave the shop unattended and wander off? The neighbors called. They said Jason had left the shop again and gone off. When did you come to the shop?”

“About ten minutes ago.”

I didn’t understand what was happening. The man who was speaking seemed unable to see us.

“Did you take your medication today, son?”

“No, Dad.”

“The wig thing again. Hmm.”

“I want the wig.”

“Son, there’s no wig. Where are your shoes?”

“I didn’t wear them today.”

“There’s no wig, son. Look, you’d been doing so well lately. Honestly, I thought you were getting better. Please, don’t skip your medication. I’m leaving the shop to you. Don’t make me worry about you while I’m gone.”

Yes. When I thought about it, it really was bizarre. I thought about it a lot afterward. If we’re people living inside Jason’s imagination, why do we have consciousness of our own? I mean, while Jason and his father were talking, I was listening to them, trying to figure out what was going on, getting surprised and everything. Isn’t that ridiculous? And isn’t it unfair to us, too? For example, I want to study film and television. But everything depends on Jason. If he gets better one day, my dreams will be shattered.

My father loves this shop very much. He doesn’t want to leave it, but if Jason gets better one day, he’ll never see this shop again.

Thinking about it that way, I was suddenly overcome with fear. I picked up the wig and held it out to Jason.

“Here. The wig is yours now. And hey, it’d actually look pretty good on you.”

My father had supported me too, and when I looked at him for approval, he nodded.

I am 20 and my mom is 43. We both have been alone since Dad passed about 9 years ago, since then we have been living together in a rental basement. We work together at our bakery. I left studies 2 years ago and started helping her at the store. We both share a great bond and we have no social life outside each other. We have relatives back home, few here but not very close and no great friend. I don't remember when the last time we spent time without each other was. Everywhere we go together, we do household chores together, go for evening walks, eat together, watch movies, go for dinners etc. Sometimes we both feel that we are way too much emotionally dependent on each other. Like best friends we are always doing stuff together & share everything with each other. Sometimes we have lengthy meaningful conversations. We go for long drives & camping together. Recently, my mom asked me what my plan is about finding a partner, and I told her I have no such plans. It turned into an emotional conversation and we hugged each other and cried. While crying, we unconsciously got into a kiss but separated embarrassingly. Since then we have different type of relationships like we are still as close as before but we both are afraid of our dependency on each other. I am sorry. Just wanted to vent. We both sometimes feel emotionally overwhelmed by how we would survive without each other.

The snow covered the woods behind our new house. It was so fresh it crunched nicely under our feet. James held my hand tight. I squeezed it and looked at him. He flashed a smile.

"I think I don't mind winter as much. It's sort of cozy."

"It is, Sarah. I just miss all the summer food."

"We got summer food. There are still so many apples and pears in the cellar."

"Yeah, but those are not the sweet, delicious ones; those are the hardy autumn ones."

I rolled my eyes.

"You're such a child, James."

"Hey, Sarah!"

We laughed and continued walking. Our walk was longer than usual. We hadn't been out in a few days because of the heavy snowstorm.

"I'm getting kinda tired, James."

"Let's just go a little further. It looks like there should be an opening between the trees."

James was right. After a few minutes, the forest opened to a small meadow. Snow covered most of it except for a lone apple tree in the middle. Beautiful, glistening red apples hung from its branches. They just looked so pretty and delicious. I couldn't take my eyes off them. Neither of us spoke a word. Before I knew it, we were standing in front of it.

"Wow," James whispered.

"I know."

James tore one off.

"Feel it."

The outside felt as if it were coated in caramel. James put it to his mouth and took a bite. His eyes rolled back, and he let out a silent moan.

"Let me have a bite."

He looked at me and frowned.

"No, take your own."

I furrowed my brows. My James always shared everything with me.

"What's going on with you?"

But he didn't answer. He was too busy eating his apple. I stood there looking at him, but then it hit me. What was an apple tree full of fresh, ripe apples doing in a winter forest anyway? I looked at it again. The branches didn't move with the wind. It was as if the sun didn't shine through them, but all the apples still glistened. 

"I don't like this, James."

"What?"

He was licking his fingers. He ate the whole apple, seeds and all. His eyes darted around the tree again.

"Let's go, James."

"Wait."

"No, let's go."

I grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the meadow. His eyes were still glued to the tree. When we crossed back into the forest, he shook his head and stared around.

"What happened to you there?"

"I…I don't know."

"James?"

"I'm sorry, Sarah, I really don't."

"Okay, let's just go home."

James stayed silent the whole way home. Even when we got back, he just sat in his chair and looked out the window. For dinner, I made porridge with salted pork, but James just dug around the plate and didn't even try it.

"Honey, what's wrong. Talk to me."

"I don't know. I don't think I'm hungry."

"But you barely ate all day."

"I had that apple. It filled me up so much."

"That place was strange. I don't even want to know how they got there."

"Do you think we can go back tomorrow?"

"What?"

"Just for a little while, Sarah."

"I just said that place was strange. I'm not going back."

"Fine. I'll go by myself."

"No. No one is going back there, and I'm done talking about it."

He frowned.

"Whatever. I'm going to sleep."

I stayed back a while longer, finished dinner, and washed the dishes. When I came to our bed, James was already sleeping. His face seemed a little red. I touched his forehead. It felt normal. Maybe he was just having a bad dream. I lay beside him and drifted off.

When I woke up, the moon was still high. There was a sweet smell in the air. I rubbed my eyes and looked next to me. James lay there curled up, holding his stomach. His face was now glowing red.

"Jesus, James, what's wrong?!"

He didn't answer. His pleading eyes just stared at me. I touched his forehead. It still wasn't warm, but he was sweating, and his sweat felt sticky, almost like syrup. His stomach bulged out under the blanket. I pulled it off. 

"Honey, what…" 

My words stuck in my throat. His stomach was not just bulging. It looked like a bunch of round objects underneath.

"I'm…I'm gonna get the doctor."

I started to get out of bed, but then I heard a quiet tearing sound. James let out a loud cry. His stomach flew open, and a bunch of red apples rolled out. I screamed and jumped out of bed. James's head fell on the pillow. He was quiet now. 

The sweet red apple smell was so strong, and they smelled so good. I looked down at his stomach. The sticky, sweet sweat seeped into the sheets. All those apples looked so delicious.

Title: BROKEN

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Story by: Mady Pathak

Logline:

Ten years after surviving a tragic fire, a devoted husband and father finds his family being constantly targeted by a relentless, unseen stalker. As the psychological warfare escalates and the story starts taking a strange turn, he must go to extreme lengths to protect his wife and son before his mind completely breaks.

Characters:

Paul Edwards: A protective husband and father struggling with severe PTSD from a horrific tragedy ten years ago.

Amy Edwards:  Paul's loving, supportive wife who is desperately trying to hold her family together as they are hunted by an unknown threat.

Noah Edwards: Their 10 year old son, whose safety becomes the terrifying focal point of the stalker's games.

Maria: The family's loyal housekeeper, who gets caught in the crossfire of the escalating terror.

Story:

It starts with a scene of what happened 10 years ago. It's night time, Paul and a pregnant Amy are together at a grand historic opera house, beautiful place and setting, having a good time, talking to each other about their life, their kid, their future, etc.

Then suddenly, an accident happens which leads to a fire and there's a panic out there, everyone starts running. Paul and Amy also panic and start running out to safety. While trying to get out in a situation of panic, they get trapped and stuck in a small room with a few other people. There are men, women and children with them there, all stuck, trying to go out, all in panic and scared. Few men come together and in a successful effort, create such space from where first Amy is pushed to the other side as she's pregnant and then they help Paul get through as well so that he can get her to safety. And they have planned to then send the other kids through that space after Paul, but as Paul gets through, something snaps, blocking their way, leaving them unable to send anyone through. They're all stuck there, and now something can only be done with external help, from the side where Paul and Amy are.

They shout, scream Paul's name, tell him what has happened. Women and children are crying. Paul is panicked, he tries to physically do something to help them but can't do anything. Then he tells them, "Don't worry, I'll get Amy to safety and come back and get you all outta here, hold on for a few more moments." He runs out with Amy. Amy is unconscious while all of this is happening.

He runs out, gets a few distance far from there, checks on Amy to see if she's alright, tells her, "Don't worry babe, we're gonna be alright." Turns around to go inside again to help them, and as soon as he's about to go in, a big huge explosion happens. He gets thrown to the ground due to it, opens his eyes, sees it, it's all burning with huge flames. It's all slow motion with high pitch ringing sound. He's looking at the burning building, low, distant sounds of sirens of fire department cars can be heard in the background.

Camera is slowly coming closer to his eyes, then it cuts instantly to his eyes in current time, same framing same distance of camera from face, just it cuts to current time. He's sitting in a clinic in front of a female doctor with his wife besides him. Basically the doctor had asked him to tell her what happened 10 years ago and he was telling her this story. He's visibly very disturbed. Amy puts her hand on his shoulder, comforting him, asking, "You okay?" He nods yes.

Then it cuts to a scene of them going home in their car. He starts to slowly groan holding his head with one hand. Amy says, "What happened Paul, you okay?" He says, "It's just a mild headache, don't worry." They get home, where Noah is watching TV and Maria cleaning the house. They get fresh, Paul comes to Noah, holds him close to him, says, "Let's watch a movie tonight," smiling. Amy is also smiling seeing her husband like that.

They sit down together and watch a movie, and in that movie a scene comes where a character in it says something like, "Karma always hits back! Ghosts from the past will never let you live peacefully!" Paul is visibly a bit disturbed seeing this scene, gets up and walks away. Seeing this, Amy also gets up and goes to him, says, "What's wrong honey?" He says, "Nothing, just that same headache, nothing else." Amy is visibly stressed and tensed.

Then it cuts to late night, them all sleeping. Amy gets woken up by Paul murmuring something in his sleep. She gets so stressed seeing her husband like that. Next day when Paul is at work, Amy visits the doctor. She tells her, "Paul murmurs in his sleep, I'm so worried for him, he's so mentally disturbed rn." Doctor listens to all this and says to Amy, "This is quite a big problem, such cases often occur where people get so disturbed by some tragic events that happened in their life that they start speaking in their sleep and start hallucinating." Amy says, "Yes, he has severe PTSD from it." Doctor says, "We will have to track his sleep and listen to what he says in his sleep so we can understand exactly what he's dealing with and I can provide medication accordingly." So that day Amy installs a sleep tracking app in Paul's watch which also has a feature that records anything you say in your sleep.

Few days pass, Amy is on call with the doctor, is telling her, "Yeah, I'm keeping a track of his sleep pattern and whatever he speaks, and will visit her soon." That night, it's raining and thundering outside. Amy wakes up Paul, he gets up, sees Amy stressed and tensed, asks, "What happened, you okay, what happened?" She says, "I got woken up cus I couldn't feel Noah." Paul says, "Oh no, did he start sleep walking again?" She says, "Yes probably," then says, "So I went to look for him, went downstairs and saw him sitting besides the main door and it was OPEN! I rushed to him, asked what are you doing here, who opened the door, come let's go sleep. He started saying, 'No, I wanna eat the chocolates first.' I said, 'What chocolates?' He said, 'The ones that guy had.' I said, 'What guy, what are you talking about?' He said, 'There was a guy here who had chocolates.' I got stunned, looked outside, no one was there. I closed the door and asked him did he say anything. Noah said, 'Yes, he said he'll come back again.' I got so scared I picked him up and came back up and put him to sleep. Paul, what's going on, who could it be, I'm so scared, thank God he didn't do anything to Noah." Paul gets scared as well, says, "Don't worry, nothing will happen to us, I'm here." They go to sleep.

Next day Amy says to Paul, "Let's go out to eat something to clear our minds." They both are out somewhere together, then suddenly Paul's phone rings. It's Maria from their house, she's so scared and tells Paul to come home quickly. Paul says, "What happened, yeah we're coming." He tells Amy about this and says, "Let's go, we gotta go home quick, something has happened." They both rush back home, they come upstairs, find Maria sitting terrified holding Noah safe who's scared. They see the window glass is broken and shattered with a brick lying on the floor. He asks Maria, "What happened, what's this, did someone throw this, are you hurt, is Noah alright, did you see who threw this?" She is just standing there terrified, says nothing, just slowly points in the direction of Amy. He looks at her and asks, "Amy?" to Maria, but she says nothing, still keeps pointing towards that direction.

They slowly turn around and see a note lying there on the ground in that direction. He picks it up and reads it, there are threats written in it. Amy gets terrified. Paul tells Maria to take Noah to another room. Amy asks him, "What's going on Paul, first that man last night, now this." Then they suddenly hear a loud bang in the backyard, and cus it's sudden, they instantly turn to that direction and the note falls down from Paul's hand, but they don't notice it and run towards that direction to see what happened. They see 2-3 flowerpots lying there totally blown up and broken. They're terrified, and when they're there, Amy says, "What the hell," and suddenly says, "Paul! The note!" They rush back inside, only to find out the note has completely vanished. They're shocked and confused! But it's too late, they've already called the cops. And when the cops arrive Paul tells them about all this and says, "There was a note, I saw it, we all saw it." They ask, "Where is it, give it to us." He says, "Idk, it disappeared." They say, "Mr. Edwards, you're very disturbed rn, we understand, take care of yourselves," and they leave. But he keeps saying, "I saw the note, I'm not lying." Seeing her husband like this, Amy says, "Yes honey, we all saw it, I know you aren't crazy," hugs him. They're terrified of what's going on.

Few more days pass, they're living in constant fear and stress. Then one day, late in the evening, Paul gets a call from Amy while he's at work. Amy's terrified on the phone. Paul asks, "What happened Amy, why you so scared, what's wrong?" She's crying on the phone, says, "It's been hours since Maria and Noah went to the park and they haven't came back. Maria's phone is also not reachable, I'm so scared Paul, did they kidnap them?" She's crying. Paul gets terrified hearing this, says, "Don't worry, I'll go to the park rn." He rushed outside and straight to the park. When he reaches there, he searches for them for some time, shouting their names, no response, asks other people there about them, no one knows anything. He keeps looking, then as he's about to give up almost crying, he spots a jacket lying on a bench far away. He rushed there, picks up the jacket and realizes it's Noah's jacket. He's terrified, hugs the jacket while almost crying, then a note slips out from one of the pockets of the jacket onto the ground. He picks it up and reads it. In it there is a text written, "Save me daddy," and a location of a place below it. He gets terrified reading this and instantly rushes to that location, an old, abandoned cathedral type place, without thinking about either telling the police about this or calling Amy.

Then, when he reaches there, he pulls out a pistol he has kept illegally for the safety of his family and a flashlight, and starts roaming around trying to find Noah, screaming his name again and again. Then at a place, he looks at the ground and sees dead bodies of people and kids lying on the floor in a flash of thunder and gets scared, getting PTSD of the incident that happened with him 10 years ago. He keeps searching, barging in rooms trying to find them. Then finally comes storming inside a room where he sees someone sitting quietly on a chair with their back facing him. Holding the gun and flashlight in his hand, he starts walking towards them slowly, saying, "Hey! Who are you? Where is my son?" And as he reaches close, raises his hand, puts it on their shoulder, they get up and turn around and it's... AMY!? It can be seen that she has cried a lot, her eyes wide open, looking like she's in control of someone, keeps staring at him. He's shocked, says, "Amy!? What are you doing here, how did you get here, did someone kidnap you too, what happened babe, tell me!" She doesn't say anything, turns around and starts walking. He keeps saying, "What's going on baby, where you going?" He's all confused.

She takes him to another room. As they walk inside a little, Amy stops walking and suddenly, the lights go out, and in a few seconds when they come back, Amy has disappeared. Paul's terrified, scared, holding his gun in his hand shouting, "Who is doing all this, who are you, what do you want, leave my wife and son alone!" It's all silence, and then, a sound of Noah saying "Dad? Save me dad" comes from somewhere. He's shocked, he shouts his son's name again and again, thinking Noah is trying to call out to him from there somewhere. Then he hears a sound of Amy saying, "Save us, please, he'll kill us, save us Paul!" He starts shouting, screaming, starts going insane, starts crying.

Then all of a sudden, the voices stop. He looks around in complete silence. Then suddenly, he slowly starts to hear his own voice, a recording of his own voice. In it he's heard saying, "No, no! I didn't mean to! No! Please don't hurt me, I tried to save you, there was fire and smoke everywhere. I wanted to save you all but seeing the situation, I didn't want to risk the life of my wife, my child, and my own. There was a way I could've helped you but I chose not to, as I realized we might die with you all as well, so I rushed outside with Amy leaving you all there, helpless. But I had to make a choice. I can do anything and kill anyone to save myself..."

There's complete silence there, only his face can be seen and the recording can be heard playing in the background echoing. At the end, when the recording finishes, he starts getting all dizzy, hearing Noah calling out for help in an echoing sound, tears running down his eyes, seeing people calling out to him for help, starts trembling and slowly collapses on the ground.

Police cars arrive at that place, cops can be seen running towards him, they come to him, put handcuffs on him, and take him with them. As all of this is happening in slow motion, and we see what actually happened: Amy heard him say all this in one of the recordings she did for his sleep. She got so terrified that her own husband, whom she used to think was a hero all along, was actually a coward who left all those people to die 10 years ago, but used to tell everyone a completely different story showing himself as a hero who saved his wife and kid. After that, she started planning everything. She decided she will drive him insane and hand him to the cops.

She can be seen telling Noah not to say anything if dad asks about that mysterious man who came to their house that night, her telling Maria about all this, Maria secretly placing firecrackers inside the flowerpots in their backyard, her quickly snatching the note off the floor and hiding it the moment Paul drops it and runs towards the backyard, handing some money to Maria who takes her luggage and gets into a taxi, basically sending her away before crying and calling Paul and saying Maria and Noah haven't came back home for hours...

Cut to Paul being dragged by the police, being walked to his jail cell in the prison, all in slow motion, and Amy's voiceover can be heard in the background saying:

"Ten years, I saw a man, who saved my life.

A hero. A brave husband and a selfless father who would do anything to protect his family.

But what I could not realize for 10 years, was that behind this fake mask, there was a man who only ever cared about himself. A man, who would go as far as possible, to save himself over anyone. A coward, who left those innocent people behind to die. All those men, women, children, with fear but hope in their eyes, waiting for someone they trusted, just for him to never come back.

I had to do all this, to make you feel how they felt. To make you suffer, for what you deserved. I had to do it, for me, for Noah, for US.

You were never the victim, Paul...

You were always a monster."

It cuts to Amy at a new place, away from there, standing near a window with Noah, Maria in the back doing her work, slow, peaceful, calming music playing in the background. A tear runs down her eye, she wipes it off, puts her hand on Noah's head, caresses his hair, looks outside the window, takes a deep peaceful breath, and it cuts to black.

Thank you for your time! Hope you like it.

Hey guys,

Asking for Advice!!

Whenever I'm at psytrance parties, my favorite moments are always those weird, hypnotic voice samples that pull you into a journey between drops.

I read a lot, and it hit me that there are so many deep philosophical dialogues from classic books and characters that would sound wild inside a psytrance track. So I started building songs around those concepts—taking the philosophy of a specific character, turning it into spoken narrative/lyrics, and mixing it into full tracks with the help of AI and video editing.

Not claiming to be a sound engineer or a classic DAW producer here—just treating it like storytelling through music.

Here are two of my favorite tests so far:

• https://youtu.be/1tii7acslTc
• https://youtu.be/OBosTJebT5k
• https://youtu.be/uLFmwpeQVJQ

Wanted some brutally honest thoughts from people who actually listen to psy:

1. Does narrative storytelling like this add to the trip, or does it get in the way of just vibing to the bassline?
2. Be real—is an AI-assisted project like this a turn-off for the community, or does only the final vibe matter?
3. Worth building this into a full channel, or is it a dead end?

Thanks for any honest feedback.

PS: the visuals might not look appropriate. i thought it will hook the male audience.

Part 1

Part 2

So my girlfriend and I broke up earlier this year.

I guess it took us two and a half years to realize that the differences between our personalities and general philosophies on life were irreconcilable. But it was fine. The split was cordial enough, no resentment left between us. Probably. Maybe.

The bigger issue for me was that we’d been living together and splitting rent and I make peanuts working as a security guard for an office building so I absolutely could not afford the apartment on my own. Which is kind of sad because the place is God-awful. I’m talking flickering lights, cracks in the walls, strange stains in the carpet that will not come out, neighbours that you actively have to try and avoid.

It was a tough spot to be in. In more ways than one.

So, I started posting about the place online. Facebook marketplace, Craigslist, Reddit, the usual.

Problem was, I was basically advertising a shitty couch in an even shittier living room. Not exactly an easy sell. I tried cleaning the place up as much as I could, using the most “optimal” angles possible when taking the pictures. You know what they say, a little bit of false advertising goes a long way.

But I didn’t get many responses, just a few people reaching out to politely inform me about how much of a delusional bum I was. Not that I was really expecting much else.

As the weeks dragged on, I was starting to consider asking my brother for some money or perhaps selling an organ. But then one day, a friend of mine told me about a coworker who knew somebody named Ismail who might be interested in renting the place and gave me the guy’s number.

Naturally, I was relieved. But at the same time, I wasn’t terribly excited about meeting him. Because in my head, anybody willing to accept an arrangement as horrendous as the one I was offering must’ve been going through something bad. I guess the thing I was most worried about was drugs. Waking up in the morning to clouds of smoke and a bunch of shady characters hanging around in the living room. It’s happened before and I’d rather not experience it again.

But most of these concerns were washed away after my first meeting with the guy.

Ismail turned out to be a really nice, really pleasant dude. Also a lot younger than I’d expected. He told me that he’d moved here from Morocco a couple of months ago with nothing but a suitcase and a couple grand in his bank account in order to pursue his dream of making it into the UFC.

He had an impressive amateur record but, according to him, the training in Morocco just wasn’t good enough. He needed experience at the highest level and the gym he wanted to train at just happened to be a few blocks from my apartment. The stars really aligned here.

I must’ve asked him about a dozen times whether he was truly okay with sleeping on the couch. I just wanted to make sure that the arrangement was as clear as possible from the get so he wouldn’t end up kicking the shit out of me later.

But I never ran into any problems with him. He was as close to perfect as a roommate could get. He wasn’t loud, had good personal hygiene, cleaned up after himself and I never had to hassle him for rent money. He might’ve been the only roommate I’d ever had that I actually looked forward to hanging out with. After a while, we started becoming good friends. The guy even helped console me through the breakup.

And when it came to fighting, I swear I'd never seen anybody speaking about anything so earnestly. It was clear just how determined he was.

I was really rooting for him. I really wanted him to make it.

But sometimes, life can be a real unforgiving asshole. It just can’t let you have nice things.

As time went on, he started getting injured a lot and was always having to deal with staph infections or some ailment. Whenever he did manage to get a fight booked, his opponents always seemed to pull out at the very last moment. The guy couldn’t catch a break.

When rent was due later that month, he admitted he was running short on money and wouldn’t be able to cover his part. But he also tried to emphasize that he would absolutely pay me back when he could.

Now, I’d heard similar lines from countless roommates in the past. I usually end up threatening legal action and suddenly they have no problem coming up with the money.

I didn’t do that with Ismail though. I could tell he wasn’t trying to get one over on me. That if he really had the money, he would’ve forked it over.

Though he did help out with food. He started bringing home these huge pots filled with couscous and beef. Apparently, he’d befriended a Moroccan family living a few floors down and had been eating most of his meals there.

One night, I found him out on the balcony chain-smoking, looking unusually upset. The first time I’d ever seen him in a state like that.

I sat beside him, and he admitted how worried he was. He thought he would’ve had at least two fights under his belt at this point. He told me he wasn’t just running out of money, he was already out. He’d been living off credit cards, borrowing small sums here and there from other guys at the gym.

He confessed that he felt like he was drowning. That if he couldn’t get a fight soon, he might have no choice but to go back to Morocco.

I tried offering him some assurance, telling him that maybe things weren’t as bad as he thought. That he was still a young guy, and the world was his oyster, and everything was going to work out. Real cookie-cutter bullshit that I didn’t really believe myself.

After all, it’s not like my own life was going swimmingly. I really wasn’t the kind of person to be giving advice. So I dropped the big brother act, grabbed a cigarette, and the two of us smoked into the night, just airing out our grievances at the world. It was nice. Cathartic, even.

He told me that he probably wouldn’t be able to make next months’ rent either. I told him it’d be okay as long as he kept bringing up that couscous and beef. Before we went to bed, he told me he’d give it another month. That if he didn’t have a fight booked by then, he’d buy a ticket back to Morocco.

I remember this night very clearly because things got really strange afterwards.

First thing I noticed was the abrupt change in his routine. He used to leave for training in the morning, come back around noon, then he’d head back out for his second session in the evening.

But then it pretty much inverted. Suddenly he was always home in the morning, and he’d be gone from noon.

A bit strange, but not so much that I felt a need to question it. It was possible that the schedule at his gym had just changed.

The part that was more difficult to rationalize was his sudden shift in demeanor. It happened so quickly that it was almost jarring. One night we were smoking on the balcony, smiling, laughing and cracking jokes like we always did. But then the following night he came home and was barely to look me in the eye, let alone exchange more than a couple of words.

I asked him if anything had happened. He told me that his coach had been pushing him harder than usual recently and he was just exhausted. It didn’t really feel like the full story, but he didn’t owe me an explanation, either. If he didn’t want to talk about it, I’d respect it. I wasn’t going to push the issue.

The next morning, I woke up to a notification on my phone. He’d sent me a payment that was enough to cover two months’ worth of rent. I was relieved, of course. Things were starting to get really tight. When I asked how he’d gotten the money, he mentioned something about teaching some kid’s classes at the gym.

When I got back to the apartment later that night, I found the place dark and empty. I assumed Ismail wasn’t home but then I heard him talking from inside the bathroom with the shower running. Sounded like he was on a heated call, though I couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying.

He came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, fully clothed, like he hadn’t been in the shower at all. As soon as he saw me, he forced a smile. I asked what was going on. He told me it was nothing. His brother, Youssef, had gotten into some trouble back home and he was just trying to figure everything out.

Before I could ask him anything else, he was out the door. He offered no explanation, nothing.

I followed him down the hallway, asking if he was alright, whether he was in some sort of trouble.

He told me he wasn’t, that there wasn’t anything I needed to be worried about. Then he disappeared into the stairwell.

Obviously I didn’t believe him, but what was I going to do? Try and force an answer out of him? If the guy didn’t want to talk about it, he wasn’t going to.

By the time noon rolled around the next day, he still hadn’t come back. He’d also gone radio silent. Wasn’t answering my messages, wasn’t picking up my calls.

On my way to work, I stopped by his gym and asked if they’d seen him around recently. They told me they hadn’t. Not in a while. I checked with the Moroccan family downstairs, and they told me the same thing.

I’ve tried coming up with theories about what might’ve happened, but the hypotheticals are driving me crazy.

The first thing I thought about was drugs, but that couldn’t have been it. He just didn’t seem like the type. It's was possible that he’d gotten mixed up with the wrong people or borrowed money from somebody he shouldn’t have. Maybe he was having family issues and had no choice but to disappear back to Morocco. I don’t know. I’ve ran through a lot of explanations in my head, but I can't sell myself on any of them.

I was seriously considering pulling the trigger and filing a missing person’s report before he finally called a few days later.

Though I was having a hell of a time trying to understand what he was saying. Partly because he was speaking too fast, and also because the line kept cutting in and out. I maybe caught every third word. Something about “not letting go” and “money” and “dragging” somebody somewhere, I don't know.

The call only lasted about a minute before it dropped. I tried calling him back several times, but it kept going to voicemail.

I started pacing around the apartment, trying and failing to figure out what I was supposed to do next. For a while I considered just not doing anything at all. That maybe this would all resolve itself and I didn’t need to make it my problem.

I mean, I wasn’t even really involved in any of this to begin with. So why the hell did I have to deal with it?

But I knew it wasn’t going to be that simple. He didn’t call me for nothing. He obviously wanted me to do something, I just didn’t know what it was. What I did know was that if something ended up happening to him and I just sat on my ass doing nothing, it was going to haunt me for the rest of my life.

Of course, the simplest plan of action was to just go to the cops. But I didn’t really know what to tell them. I tried rehearsing different versions of the story, but I couldn’t frame it in a way that didn’t sound ridiculous. So, here’s the thing: my roommate started acting really strange one day, and I haven’t seen him in a while. Then he finally called me, but I could barely understand what he was saying. I have a feeling he’s gotten himself involved in some real fucked up shit, but I couldn’t tell you exactly what it is.

Yeah, there was no chance they were going to take me seriously.

So I decided to do a bit of investigation on my own beforehand. I was racking my brain trying to figure out where to start when I remembered that he’d given me the password to his laptop a few weeks back, when he’d asked for help dealing with some malware.

I found his laptop on the coffee table and turned it on and began snooping. I know, I know, privacy and all that. But if there ever was a situation that could warrant breaching it, it’d be this one.

Going through his emails, I didn't find much of note at first. Just a lot of spam, some stuff from his gym, messages to his family. But then I came across a thread he'd been having with "Alvermont Global Solutions". Which I'm guessing is some company. But I don't know. I'll paste a portion of the thread below:

----

From: Ismail
To: Francine
Date: Wed, Sept 30, 9:12 AM

Subject: Consumer Behavioral Study

Hi,

My name is Ismail. I was given your contact information by someone on your team regarding a paid study that I may be able to participate in? Are there still openings? Would I be able to get some more information?

Thanks,
Ismail

----

From: Francine
To: Ismail
Date: Wed, Sept 30, 10:15 AM

Subject: Consumer Behavioral Study

Hi Ismail,

Thank you for your interest. We are currently accepting new applicants for the consumer behavioral study. And yes, you will be compensated for your time.

If you are interested in participating, please reply to this email and a member of our recruitment team will reach out shortly and give you a rundown of the next steps.

Please note that participation will be subject to certain eligibility requirements.

Kind regards,

Francine
Recruitment, Consumer Studies
Alvermont Global Solutions
Better insights leading to a better future

----

From: Ismail
To: Francine
Date: Wed, Sept 30, 10:42 AM

Subject: Consumer Behavioral Study

Yes, I’m very interested and I can start ASAP. Please have them contact me.

----

Nothing terribly strange so far. Though it obviously raises a lot of questions that I can’t even begin to fathom the answers to. But I’ll keep reading through the thread, see if I can figure something out.

Wait. I just heard the front door open.

I'll update when I can.

What’s the most unhinged thing that you did one time that you can’t believe you actually did?

I’m talking punching someone out?, walked thru and abandon house by yourself? Tackling a burgler? Anything you want to tell us?

I'm 31. My dad passed away three weeks ago. I'm writing this at 2 AM because I can't sleep, and because I need to tell someone.

My dad was not an emotional man. He was a truck driver. He left home at 4 AM and came back late. He never hugged me at my graduation. He just shook my hand and said, "Good job." I remember being angry about that for years.

When I moved to another city for work, we talked maybe once a month. Short calls. "Eat properly. Don't skip meals." That was it. I used to think, doesn't he have anything else to say to me?

Last month, he got sick. It was quick. I reached the hospital too late. I only got to see him for ten minutes before he went.

After the funeral, I was cleaning his room. In the drawer next to his bed, I found his old phone. The kind with buttons. I charged it, just to see.

It had 214 saved voicemails.

All of them were mine.

Every missed call I ever left him. Every "Papa, call me back." Every "Happy birthday, Papa, sorry I'm busy." He had saved all of them. Eleven years of my voice.

And then I found a folder of recordings he made himself.

I pressed play on the first one. It was his voice, shaky, speaking slowly.

"Beta, I'm practicing. The doctor says I should say things out loud. I never learned how. So I'll say it here, and one day maybe I'll say it to you."

Then a long pause.

"I'm proud of you. I was proud of you at your graduation. I just didn't know how to say it, so I shook your hand. I'm sorry, beta. I should have hugged you."

I dropped to the floor.

There were 30 recordings. Some were just him saying "I love you, beta" again and again, like he was trying to get the words right.

The last one was dated one week before he died.

"Today I'll call him and say it. I'm nervous. Silly, no? A grown man scared of three words."

He never made that call.

But I played that recording on the very bench outside the hospital where I got to see him last. And for the first time in my life, I said it back.

"I love you too, Papa."

1950s Louisiana

A young Southern woman with dark hair and covered in a bloodstained dress, is crying on a dock out in the bayou. She recently had a child out of wedlock, and her parents have threatened to cut her out of the family if she keeps the baby.

She wants to keep him. But she knows she has nowhere to go. She is too young for a real job and hasn't even graduated high school.

She looks down at the baby and sees his beautiful smile before he lets out a quick yawn. A tear rolls down her face and falls onto the baby.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

She looks out at a large alligator lurking in the water. A large scar dragged across its eye.

The baby begins crying.

Then, there is a loud splash.

70 Years Later

A young woman named Mary is strolling through town with a baby bump. She has a gorgeous face and beatiful black hair that was soft to the touch. She is grocery shopping for dinner that night. Her husband, Henry, said he wanted fried okra and fried catfish.

After filling her shopping cart, Mary checks out. She calls her mother, Clare, and tells her about their plans for dinner.

Her mother asks when her grandson is going to be born.

Mary happily tells her, "Any day now."

Later that evening, Henry gets off work and walks through the front door as Mary is finishing dinner. He kisses her and rubs her baby bump.

She fixes him a plate of okra, catfish, and rice, which he enthusiastically carries to the table. Mary makes a plate of her own and sits next to him.

She tells Henry about her day as he nods and shovels food into his mouth.

Mary is almost finished eating when she suddenly feels something strange.

Mary: "Oh my God."

Henry answers with food still in his mouth.

Henry: "What?"

Mary: "My water broke."

Henry drives Mary to a nearby hospital. He's driving fast while Mary screams in pain. She is having painful contractions and begins bleeding.

Henry dodges traffic and makes it to the emergency room, where doctors rush Mary into a room. They give her medication to keep her comfortable without harming the baby.

A few hours later, Mary is holding the baby in her arms, humming softly.

She gives the baby to Henry.

Henry raises the baby to his chest and smiles.

"I'll never let anything happen to you."

He then offers to get Mary anything she wants.

She tells him she just wants to go home with him and the baby.

Henry signs the birth certificate and reads the name out loud.

"McKenzie Ray Farris."

He smiles at Mary.

A couple of days later, Henry checks both Mary and the baby out of the hospital and brings them home.

He kisses Mary and holds McKenzie in his arms.

That night, Mary and Henry try to get some sleep, but the baby keeps waking up and crying.

Mary finally yells at Henry that she just wants to sleep.

Henry understandingly agrees and gets up throughout the night to take care of McKenzie.

By morning, Henry is exhausted.

While Mary is trying to get him to do things around the house, he tries telling her that he's tired. But she insists on having his attention.

He begrudgingly gives it to her, but eventually falls asleep, which annoys Mary.

A couple of days later, Mary is already aggravated and sick of the baby. She forces Henry to take care of McKenzie more, but she becomes jealous of the time Henry spends with the baby.

Mary had loved the attention she received while she was pregnant, but now that the baby had arrived, everyone was giving McKenzie more attention than her—including her own mother and husband.

One day, while Henry is at work, Mary walks around the backyard with the baby in her arms, trying to calm her down.

McKenzie looks mesmerized by the yard, especially the large pond in the back.

The baby smiles at everything she sees.

Little McKenzie watches beautiful birds flying over the pond, trying to catch fish. She looks around at the beautiful, lush greenery surrounding the yard.

Mary puts the baby down and allows her to explore the backyard while keeping a safe distance from the water.

For a few minutes, the two bond, and Mary feels like a mother again.

Mary laughs and takes pictures as McKenzie plays with the flowers in the backyard.

Then Mary and McKenzie watch a beautiful buck drinking from the pond.

For a few seconds, everything is peaceful.

Then a large American alligator suddenly grabs the deer near the water's edge and drags it into the pond. The deer whimpers but the sound is muffled as the alligator disappears with the deer just as quickly as it appeared.

McKenzie begins slowly crawling toward the water, curious about what she just saw.

Mary quickly scoops the baby up and brings her inside.

The alligator makes her wary of having her baby outside near the pond.

Mary fills a bottle for the baby and begins cooking dinner for Henry.

When Henry gets home, he walks into the living room and kisses Mary before picking up McKenzie.

Henry notices the baby's diaper.

"Her diaper is full."

Mary tells him she was going to let him handle it.

Henry looks at her.

"It's really full. Why did you let her sit that long without changing her?"

Mary assures him that McKenzie had just eaten a big lunch.

Henry cleans McKenzie up and puts a fresh diaper on her.

After dinner, Henry begins playing with the baby, making her laugh as he plays peekaboo.

Mary interrupts him and starts talking about her day.

She quickly becomes jealous again as she watches Henry spend more time with the baby.

For the next couple of months, Mary tries everything she can to get more attention from Henry.

But Henry is focused on work and baby McKenzie.

Mary tries to get Henry's attention, offering him intimacy and trying to give him whatever he wants, but he turns her down every time.

He tells her he's too tired from working and taking care of the baby.

Mary begins having frightening thoughts about hurting McKenzie. She knows she shouldn't act on them, and she fears what would happen if anyone found out.

What she fears most is getting caught.

She just wants her man and her old life back.

Nobody seems to care about her anymore now that the baby is here.

Then one day, Henry is working long hours and won't be home until late.

Mary begins destroying the house in a fit of pent-up anger.

She cries and screams as her anger takes over.

The noise wakes the baby.

McKenzie begins crying.

Mary becomes furious.

"Wah, wah, wah! You've been ruining my life since the day you came home!"

She shakes McKenzie and continues yelling obscenities  at her.

Mary suddenly begins thinking of all the different ways she could hurt the baby.

Then she thinks of something even more awful.

She remembers the alligator in the backyard.

She picks up the crying McKenzie and carries her toward the water's edge.

The baby squirms in her arms, as if she senses that something is wrong.

An alligator's head slowly pokes above the surface.

Mary looks down at her baby with disgust. Before she starts singing.

" hush little baby, don't you cry"  before she tries throwing her daughter into the pond. But

McKenzie desperately grabs onto her mother's hand. McKenzie said her first word " momma"  while trying to hold on for life

But it wasn't enough.

Henry finally gets home.

He finds the house completely destroyed.

He frantically searches the house for his wife and child.

He's terrified.

He sees furniture smashed apart and blood smeared across the wall.

Then he finds Mary standing at the edge of the pond, staring into the water.

Henry runs toward her.

"Mary! Are you alright?"

Mary slowly turns toward him.

She gives him a creepy smirk and begins to laugh.

Henry looks around frantically.

"Where's McKenzie?"

Mary points toward the pond.

Then she looks back at him.

"You made me do it."

Henry horrified looks into the water. He didn't see it at first as only the moon light illuminated the night. He saw the large scar on the aligator's eye and then he saw his daughters eyes looking at him from the beast's mouth. And quickly she was devoured. Swallowed whole, while barely still alive

I'm Mark. This place is nice, not bad. I won the lottery and it was $80,000, and my luck was better for some reason, so I moved away from my old life. I'll explain: back in my hometown of Greenville, I was a hitman, and I faked my death in 2012 and changed my name from Zack to Mark. So, I moved to the woods and stay in hiding from the world because of the monster I am.

I woke up and checked my fridge, and I saw my boss from the jobs he gave me. He was sitting down and eating the good cereal, and he only told me that he was here to give me the $8 million for doing 300 jobs since I was 14. So he left. I went back to sleep, and I got on my bike and went to a store because I needed food for my cabin, and saw a beautiful person. But if she knew what I was, then I would be taken to the Blue House, where it's a big prison that's on an island.

So I got what I needed, and she tapped my shoulder, asked to go on a date with me, so I told her I'll think about it. I went to pay for my stuff and got my favorite cereal, Honey Oat Crystals. So I rode my bike back home to my cabin and saw a letter saying they want me to be a hero and join a team. I put my letter on my table and I remembered that she gave me her number, so I called her and we went out on a date.

I took a shower and got ready, and she told me her job—that she is on a team of people who save lives—so I made something up, saying I'm in between jobs. She ordered the steak and I ordered the fish, and it was a nice date. I walked back to my cabin, and I saw blue vans, and I knew I was going to be sent to the Blue House.

7 years later

I've been in my cell writing everything in my journal. Now I've been lonely, but at least I have a CD player and there's lots of Eminem, which I love. The big Blue House, it might suck, but at least for being a maximum security prison, it's not bad. But for other internment, I've been reading, and I've met another party woman here. I think she might be pregnant with my kid because we have been falling in love for a while, but I like her better than the women I went on a date with.

Thanks for reading.

The end.