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sending-the-message · 7 years

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My Ancestor's Sacrifice by SammyR-13

2011 was a very rough year for me.

I was three years into my marriage and the honeymoon was already over. I still loved her and she still loved me, but we’d gotten to that point where saying we were husband and wife was a given. It certainly didn’t inspire the smiles and joy that it used to, anyway.

On top of that, my father was in the final stages of his fight with leukemia. He had fought hard for a year, but ultimately it was just too much. My father had never been really healthy. He weighed over 350 pounds for most of my life, had diabetes, and was just generally suffering the effects of a lifetime spent performing hard labor. I have to admit that my relationship with my father was complicated at best. Like most sons, there were times I outright hated my father. Still, it was horrible to watch the man who had helped create me and had raised me as best he could wither away to a hollow shell of his former self.

I’m not telling this story to describe the horrors of losing a parent, however. That’s self-explanatory. I need to tell you this because it’s how I came in possession of something that changed my life forever. I know that sounds like a cliché, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

At my father’s funeral, the will was customarily read to all of our immediate family. My stepmother was granted ownership of my childhood home, which I hate to admit inspired a little bitterness in me. The reader of the will then mentioned my name and handed me a small envelope. On the front of it was my name written in my dad’s handwriting. The reader of the will stated that I was to be given this envelope with the strict instruction of not opening it until I had arrived home.

The funeral came to an end and we all drove back to our respective homes. My wife was more than understanding of my near-constant silence the entire day. As she drove us home, I kept looking at the envelope I’d been given. It was just a simple white envelope, nothing outwardly special, but it was my father’s last gift to me. The curiosity of what was inside must’ve been written all over my face because my wife suggested that I go ahead and open it. I repeated the instructions I’d been given and she understood. Like I said, the spark may have been gone at that point in our marriage but we each knew when the other was serious.

We got home and I immediately went to my stationary desk to get a letter opener. I didn’t even bother to change out of my funeral clothes before I went into the living room, sat down on the couch and opened my dad’s final letter to me.

The writing was simple, cutting right to the chase as my dad had a tendency to do:

My son, it read,

If anything should happen to me, I want you to go to our old house. In the attic, at the right corner near the window, there’s a small black box locked shut with a key on top of it. This box is what I am leaving to you. Once you get home, open it and read all of what’s inside. It’s something that our family has had for generations, and now with my passing it belongs to you. Do not under any circumstances tell anyone what you’ll read. It’s your secret to keep.

I love you,

Dad

I thought that reading whatever was in that envelope would quell my curiosity but after reading that, it only got more intense. I jumped up and grabbed the car keys off the hook on the wall and ran out of the house.

Halfway to my childhood home, my wife called to ask where I’d gone. I told her where I was headed and promised that I’d be back as soon as I could. She told me she loved me and I said the same. I’m ashamed to admit that I said it as more of an answer than a meaningful statement.

Being back at my childhood home was extremely emotional. My stepmother was surprised to see me. I felt terrible for disturbing her because she was clearly still in the worst of sorts. Her face was still streaked with dried tears.

I told her that I knew it was an odd request, but I needed to check the attic for something. She was skeptical but agreed.

The attic hadn’t had a person up there in decades. That much was obvious. The box was exactly where my dad’s letter said it would be, key and all. I tucked it under my arm and walked back down into the house. My stepmother asked me if I wanted something to drink, and I happily accepted a glass of water. We talked for a little bit before I told her I had to head home. She asked me what the box was for, and I had to admit I didn’t know. I told her it was what Dad had left to me and that it was supposed to be a secret. She was very understanding, thankfully.

On the drive home, I kept looking at the box. There was nothing really special about it, but my mind was racing with what might be inside.

After parking in my garage, I decided to go right into the basement and open it. I texted my wife to tell her I was home and what I was going to do, and that I needed some time to myself. Less than ten minutes later, the box was opened. Inside was a small, red book. At first I thought it might have belonged to my dad but looking closer it was clearly much, much older than that. I grabbed the book and pulled it out, gasping slightly as a small spider dropped out from between two of the pages.

Looking over the book, I saw that although it was very old, it had been painstakingly reserved. The pages were a sickly brown, but the writing on them had been traced over countless times with a pen, to preserve whatever had been written there. This kind of struck me as odd until I noticed the dates on the pages. The earliest was 1832. My eyes widened. The name at the bottom of the page was “William R.” As soon as I saw that name, a dozen of my dad’s stories flooded back to me.

William R. was an ancestor of mine, the patriarch of my entire family. He had come to America from England in the 1830s and had settled in Georgia. According to my dad’s stories, he had been a hunter of great repute; an expert tracker and one hell of a marksman. He had died in 1867 during a winter expedition after a record cold front stranded him and his party. He had been found alone, frozen, crouched against a tree with a large animal carcass laying only a feet away and his diary still clutched in his hands. I was filled with awe as I realized that I was now holding this same diary in my own hands.

I read through every single page. The diary documented William’s journey to America, his settlement in Georgia, his meeting of his wife and the birth of their son. He had carried it with him on every single hunt he went on, documenting how he had tracked and claimed his kills.

I won’t relate all of the contents of the diary, obviously, but I will relate the final few entries. What I read in them changed not only my idea of my ancestor and my family, but of my life and life in general. I’ll do my best to transcribe what he wrote.

November 27, 1867

It is incumbent upon me to relate what will most likely be my final hunt. After this last excursion, I intend to retire, as I feel I’ve spent far too much time killing God’s other creatures.

I was tasked with this hunt after the events of the last week. On the morning of November 20, a local farmer in our township, Francis Beasley, found a great number of his sheep slain within his yard. Their throats had been torn out and they had been brutally disemboweled. At the risk of sounding rather callous, I must say that I do not envy the mental state of Francis’s wife, who had the displeasure of discovering the poor creatures.

It is suspected that one of the woodland animals, most likely a wolf, was responsible for the devastation of over half of Beasley’s flock. Within the week, I plan to assemble the best possible group with which to find the animal responsible. The weather will certainly be unrelenting, but having one of our community’s own in such dire economic straits makes this an easy decision. I do hope that my wife and son will understand.

November 29, 1867

A terrible tragedy has befallen our community. Beasley is dead. His wife is inconsolable, on the verge of madness, it seems. It was quite a while before she was of any sorts to tell us what had happened. It seems that last night, around one o’clock in the morning, Beasley heard the remainder of his sheep screaming. Assured that whatever had killed them before had returned to claim the rest, Beasley grabbed his gun and ran outside. His wife admitted that she was too frightened to follow. She heard her husband exclaim a terrified, “Dear God!” before a loud shot rang out. After the gunshot, she heard a low growl and then a deafening roar which was quickly replaced with terrified screaming that lasted more than a minute.

That was when their neighbor, Mr. Thomas Mason, ran outside and apparently saw a large hulking shape run off into the woods just beyond the Beasley farm. By the time he had run over to where Beasley had fallen, he saw that his neighbor was not only dead, but savaged. Much like the sheep he had tried so desperately to protect, his torso was horribly mangled and his innards were strewn across the ground. His throat was torn open in such a horrific fashion that his head was nearly separated from the rest of his body.

Poor Thomas Mason was found screaming over the body, the front of his nightshirt covered in vomit. It need not be said that Mr. Mason was almost as inconsolable as poor Mrs. Beasley. I must say that, having had the unfortunate experience of seeing many a ravaging from wild animals, what has happened to Mr. Beasley is beyond anything I’ve seen before. Whatever killed him and his flock is more dangerous and cruel than any mere wolf. There is no more hesitation to be had. I must assemble a group as quickly as I can and we will have to kill this beast as soon as possible or our entire community could meet a fate too grisly to fathom.

December 2, 1867

The task of assembling my hunting group took a little longer than was expected, but it is now done and we will be beginning the hunt in a matter of hours. I admit that I am still unsure as to whether we can possibly prepare ourselves for whatever we might be looking for. My own family remains steadfast in their support, but I can see in my wife’s eyes a doubt and worry I’ve rarely seen before. I continue to assure her that there is nothing to be concerned about, but the doubt and worry remains. I refuse to let her know of my own reservations. I doubt that my son realizes the severity of the situation. I chose not to impart poor Beasley’s fate to him, which I feel is understandable given his young age. His sole concern seems to be my possible absence on Christmas Day.

December 3, 1867

It has been over twenty-four hours since my team and I set out on our hunt. It is already clear that I was not mistaken in my reservations. The animal that killed Beasley and his flock has had plenty of time to throw any other predators off of its scent and the snow and ice provide a considerable amount of cover. I at least expected the snow to provide us with the sight of tracks, or maybe even the occasional sight of the animal’s droppings, but there has been no such fortune yet. My fellow hunters remain assured of our chances of success, however. Even though the animal has had time to cover its tracks, it is still only an animal. That is what my team assures themselves. I remain skeptical, however. The grisly manner in which Beasley died gnaws at my mind. No mere animal I’ve ever hunted has so brutally murdered a person. Any animal I know of would have heard Beasley’s gunshot and immediately ran to safety, but that’s obviously and tragically not what happened. I have a terrible feeling that whatever we are looking for is much more dangerous than any of us could understand.

December 5, 1867

After nearly three days, it seems that our hunt has finally had its first stroke of good fortune. After waking up, one of our party found a length of bark missing from a nearby tree. After walking north for nearly a mile, we found a set of tracks. My fellow hunters felt the need to rejoice at finally having found something, and I must admit I felt ready to celebrate a bit myself. It would be nice to think that after all my worries this beast is only that: a beast. I still have my doubts, though. The tracks we found were enormous, and it makes no sense as to why, after days of no signs at all, the animal would just suddenly leave all these signals. The size alone is enough to leave me unnerved. I do doubt the existence of bears anywhere in this region, but I’ve been surprised before.

December 7, 1867

If my handwriting on this entry is barely legible, I do apologize. My hands are shaking badly and I’m afraid it’s not only from the cold. Last night our hunting party suffered a great loss. When we woke up, it seemed that one of our men had gone. One of the other men, a huge lad named Langstrom, immediately dismissed the other man’s absence as cowardice. He seemed assured that the man had traveled back to our township after so many days in the cold and ice. The others seemed quick to agree until it was discovered that his gun, rations and other effects had remained behind. When this was discovered, I felt a horrible chill run down my spine. No man in his right mind would just leave like this, at least not without rations or a weapon. It was decided then that we should form a search party. One of the other men suggested we form different search parties and go in different directions, but I insisted that we stay together. It was only a matter of a couple of hours before we found our missing comrade. Or, rather, it was a matter of a couple of hours before we found what remained of him.

Beasley’s death had been a terrible one to be sure, but this poor man’s fate was doubly worse. Not only had his throat been torn open, but his bowels and genitals had been mangled almost beyond recognition. Whatever had killed him had eaten much of him as well. The worst part, though, was the man’s face. His mouth was wide open, filled almost entirely with snow. His eyes were open as well, staring off with abject fear into oblivion. The man had died screaming. Whatever doubts I may have had about my own instincts are now gone. I am absolutely assured that whatever we are hunting is like nothing I have ever hunted before.

December 8, 1867

Langstrom is dead. Against all of my efforts to save his life, Langstrom is no more. I can barely write this out, but I must if I hope to somehow provide insight into the situation we now face. During the night, I was awoken by a sound. At first, I was unsure as to whether I had heard it at all, but then it sounded again. It was a sound I’d heard countless times since our hunt had begun, but now it filled me with insurmountable dread. It was the simple sound of footsteps in the snow. I knew that all the remaining members of my hunting group were asleep, so I could not understand what was making the noise. And that’s when I heard a low growl begin to accompany the footsteps. It was coming closer and closer. My dread turned to fear as I looked over and saw an immense shadow slowly making its way towards our camp. Still the growling grew louder. I looked over and saw that my loaded gun was lying mere feet away from me. All I had to do was reach over quickly enough to grab it before this shadow made its way to us. Suddenly, a loud scream pierced the night and echoed among the trees.

My heart beating hard within my chest, I turned to see Langstrom, now awake and looking in the direction of the shadow, screaming continuously. I begged him to stop, but it was already too late. Before I even had a chance to turn around, the shape had bounded towards our camp and thrown its bulk upon Langstrom, whose cries of horror quickly became terrible throes of agony. I heard clothes and flesh rip apart as these agonized wails turned to horrible wet gurgles. I took the opportunity to reach for my gun and jump up, aiming at the gigantic form that had attacked Langstrom. I pulled back the hammer of the gun and prepared to fire, but all of a sudden the shape turned around and looked right at me. It looked something like a wolf, but its face was hard to make out in the dark. It opened its jaws, revealing a maw of razor-sharp teeth. Even in the dark, I could see red dripping from its lips and tatters of Langstrom's flesh in its fangs.

For the first time in my entire life, I was too frightened to pull the trigger. I was frozen in a crippling mix of shock, fright and morbid awe. I watched as the creature before me turned the whole of its body around to face me. And then, in a moment that I can only describe as maddening, it stood up. The creature stood the whole of its size on its hind legs. It was even bigger than I had thought. It was at least eight feet tall and there was no doubt in my mind that if it had decided to attack at that moment, I would not have had an ounce of a chance. It slowly began to walk towards me. I do not know how, but I suddenly found it within myself to raise my gun. I aimed directly at its face, hoping to hit it between the eyes. In my terror, I missed my mark. I struck it in the right eye, and the animal began to let out a mix of roaring and howling. Clawing at its mangled face and with its blood pouring down into the snow, the beast quickly retreated into the woods, roaring and howling in pain.

For another moment I could not move, but I quickly gathered my senses and ran to where Langstrom had fallen. The poor fool was still alive when I got to him, bleeding profusely. I tried my best to stop the bleeding, but it was of no use. I noticed that Langstrom seemed to be groping at his pant leg, desperately trying to remove something from his pocket. He let out another gasp and soon the horrible gurgling stopped. He was dead. I was on the verge of tears, both out of terror and out of anguish at my inability to save the man. I slowly reached into his pocket, wanting to know what it was he had been trying to get in his final agonizing moments. I pulled out a crucifix. The man had been trying to pray for his own soul. Gripping the crucifix, I said a small prayer for Langstrom. I do hope he finds peace in the next world, for such a death in this world is never deserved.

December 11, 1867

This is will be my last entry. It is strange that my record should end here, in this frozen wood, after all I have written. I do not know how much time I have left, so I will try to describe as best I can the events of the last few days. After Langstrom’s death, the rest of my hunting party decided that the risk was far too great. I do not begrudge them their departure, for self-preservation is the first and foremost instinct of all God’s creatures. Though it almost certainly meant my own death, I decided to remain behind. Some may think it was out of some selfish need to conquer this creature that had frightened me, but this is not true. All my thoughts at that time and at this time dwell on my beautiful wife and son, and how their safety remains my foremost priority.

I must admit that I was frightened by the prospect of death, but that fear dwindled in comparison to the fear of my family dying due to an act of cowardice on my part. After considering every possible notion, I had come to a conclusion that seemed impossible but remained the only one that made any sort of sense. After witnessing the creature first-hand, I had to consider that this was not a product of nature itself. Something much more malevolent was at work. I started considering all of the folklore that I had heard in my home country and in my newfound country. Every bit of logic I had flew in the face of my experience. I had to consider the idea that I had, in fact, been hunting some kind of man-wolf. I just hoped with all my being that all the legends I’d heard were inaccurate, for if they were, there was no possible way I could defeat this beast.

It took me nearly three days to track it down. I used every skill I possibly could to catch on to where this beast had gone, but after nearly seventy-two hours of constant tracking, rationed eating and rarely sleeping, I found the creature by a frozen stream. It was nursing its wounded face, the flesh around its eye still caked with dried blood. I’d seen many creatures nursing wounds in my life, but never like this. It used its front left paw like an arm, breaking through the ice, dipping its paw into the water, cupping as much water as it could in its palm, and then bringing the freezing water to its ruined eye. I’d never seen such dexterity in an animal. It was even clearer to me now that this creature was indeed something that folklore had spoken of for centuries. I picked up my gun, trying to keep it steady despite my fear. I stepped forward in an attempt to gain better leverage, and winced as a small branch, hidden by the snow, snapped under my left foot. I swore under my breath as the creature’s head snapped up, looking in my direction.

I made no attempt to hide, for I knew that this beast would find me no matter what I tried. It stood there, gazing at me in rage. It recognized me. It remembered me. Immediately my composure failed, torn asunder by the visage of the man-wolf that stood mere yards away from me... the weapon in my hand grew too heavy and fell with a slightly wet "crunch" in the snow... For a week and two days had I tracked this beast, every clue and grisly death leading to this moment, and it was only in this moment that I realized my finding the man-wolf had been neither luck nor skill... I had only found the beast because it had allowed me to do so... and I was now at the mercy of a creature who knew no mercy. My terror increased tenfold as the creature’s lips pulled back, revealing again that terrible collection of fangs…

Suddenly, I found it in myself to remember everything that this unnatural devil had done. Beasley. Two members of my team… I was not going to let this demon do the same to my wife and child. The man-wolf suddenly bounded, jumping across the frozen stream in one leap. In the time it took for the creature to run closer to me, I had managed to quell my terror and reach down for my gun. I looked up. The beast was mere feet away. I raised the gun, took my aim and fired. This time I did not miss. The gunshot echoed throughout the wood and the man-wolf’s body flew full force into mine. My body tumbled backwards and landed hard on the frozen ground. I screamed as pain shot through my chest. The impact had broken at least two of my ribs.

I managed to ignore the pain and look over to where the man-wolf’s body had landed. It was motionless. I quickly reloaded my gun and walked ever so cautiously to what I hoped was a carcass. In the past few days I had almost forgotten how truly immense the beast was. I walked over to where its head laid, a pool of blood staining the pure white snow underneath. I was not going to take any chances. I raised my gun again, aimed it squarely at the man-wolf’s head, and fired once more. The man-wolf’s head was no more. This was still not enough for me, as my blood lust had taken over all of my senses. I took out my hunting knife and refused to stop until the creature’s heart lie severed and still in the now deep-red snow.

I sit here now, exhausted and broken inside. I know that the rations and ammunition on my person would not hold out for the trip home. I sit here looking at the dead carcass of the creature, once the bane of my community, now no more than a pile of rotting flesh. I do suppose I could try to sustain myself on the meat from the body, but between my broken ribs, my exhaustion, and the uncertainty of what would happen to me should I ingest it, I do think I’ll leave it be. The sun is going down now. It’ll be getting even colder soon. I do not expect to last the night. This time, however, I am not afraid to die. It is enough to know that my wife and child are safe. Should my body be found, I ask my wife to keep this diary safe and to pass it on to my son when he is old enough to understand the writings herein. I trust in you and in my community to keep what has happened here a secret. To my beloved wife and son, I am sorry if ever I was a bad husband and father. I hope God will forgive me for my shortcomings and sins, and I hope that peace awaits me in the next life.

Love undying,

William

The first time I ever read those passages, I was in a mix of absolute shock and grief. At first, I didn’t want to believe it. It couldn’t be true. The existence of this “man-wolf”… it simply couldn’t be true. I still don’t know if I believe it 100%, but I know that every person who ‘s possessed this diary, including my own father, has read those words and possibly believed it. I’m guessing only William himself will ever know for sure.

After reading that diary, I sat there in silence for what seemed like hours. I put the diary back in the box and left it on the desk down there in the basement. Without saying a word, I went upstairs and found my wife sitting on the couch, watching TV. She noticed the look in my eyes and asked if I was okay. I simply walked over to her, sat down beside her, and kissed her. I hadn’t kissed her like that in way too long a time. She was surprised, but pleasantly so. I held her close, and I suddenly felt tears welling up inside of me. Before I knew it, I was crying. I’d rarely cried like that before, and I rarely have since. All the pain from my father’s illness and death and all the shock from what I’d read in William’s diary came out in harsh, choking sobs. My wife was eventually in tears too. We just sat there, holding each other, and had a good cry.

Ever since that day, I’ve found it in myself to be a better husband. I realized that night that I’d begun to take my wife and the life that I had for granted. My wife and I make a point to enjoy our time together, to try many different things and make sure we never fall into a rut again. I’m happy to say that. I’m also happy to say that in about two months, we’ll be welcoming a new addition to our family: a son. I’m scared at the idea of being a daddy but with that fear comes a happiness and excitement that I can’t begin to explain.

I can’t wait to share with my son what my dad left to me. I hope that the story of William’s sacrifice will resonate with him as it has with me.

Dad, William… wherever you are, I hope that you know you didn’t die for nothing. Thank you.

I love you. May you be at peace.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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westplainsspeedway · 4 years

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What Makes the Perfect Sports Car?

When Grassroots Motorsports arrived the scene back when it was known as magazine–occasions were being faced by that the sports car world. Brands such as Triumph MG and Austin-Healey had left our beaches, although Alfa Romeo’s Spider was a carryover from years before. Even the Corvette was new, yet bloated. The Porsche 911 faced an uncertain future.

Subsequently came the Mazda Miata. This tiny roadster revived the flat-lining sports car market, and it had been the real deal, also: rear-drive chassis, ready engine, five-speed gearbox, wonderful looks along with also a fold-down top. It did not cost a mint. Twenty-five years following its launch, the Miata is a cornerstone of the scene.

Here is what we’ve heard about the Miata within its life: This item is anvil-tough and will happily deliver years of support –which support may fluctuate wildly. You use it to bring or just are able to race you.

Individuals will start to reestablish those cases, Should they have not already. The Miata is the creation’s MGB.

The Miata is known by norman Garrett outside and indoors. He functioned as the design engineer — that the man responsible of that project for positioning of the bits, in order to speak.

A life of sports automobile ownership, also that engineering level that was, aided Norman turn sports automobile concept. And, yes, a Miata is owned by him. –David S. Wallens

1. Road Course Skills We all know that the Miata ushered in the golden era of sport cars of today. However, what is a sports car?

That query is a method to begin a dialogue. Passions will dash, expletives will be exchanged, and friendships might be taxed as remarks come to bear with this matter.

The word itself suggests that these cars will take part in some type of sport. A sports car might be described as a car, since sports incorporate a part.

No arguments up to now.

As part of this club, muscle vehicle owners feel now. Drag racing is contest? Not too fast.

Here is our initial stumbling block: Subjectively, rivalry as it pertains to sports cars ought to incorporate left- and right-hand turns, with a couple straights thrown into allow the brakes cool.

Europeans invented the expression in the context of Grand Prix racing on circuits that were expansive — street racing. Sports automobiles were cars that may compete against one another, at a certain degree, on street courses much like those utilized by the best racing cars of their day throughout post-WWI Europe.

An enthusiast marketplace was created, and automobiles started to emerge which were quicker lighter, occasionally fundamental, and accessible to the everyman. Following WWII ended soldiers brought together with the own scalp of Hitler with them. The insect caught on in America.

All this was some Detroit ad guys had a three-martini lunch and maintained the first Thunderbird as a “sports car” Dilution of this idea started allow it to be mentioned.

A sports car started in stock form — as a sort of automobile acceptable for street racing — with or without alteration. This definition works well for its 1949 MG TC that, in comparison with the hefty sedans of this afternoon, was a comparatively athletic automobile that out-cornered virtually everything else in the street. Additionally, it works nicely to get a 2015 Porsche 911, that may, in stock form, operate warm laps daily with no race track in the entire world without turning itself into a molten heap of expensive steel and rubber.

2. Charisma Competition breeds enthusiasm, and that is where sports automobiles have in arrangement to us. No 12-year-old child sets a picture of a Prius because her or his notebook background; it is likely to be a Ferrari, a Lamborghini, a Audi R8 or any other attractive, high performance, worthy-of-passion automobile metering proudly through the monitor.

Something stirs. My son explained it another night when we had been cruising about in his ’95 Miata–well lowered to autocross spec. “Dad,” he stated, “it fails. Because it moves by each time I pass a child inside this vehicle, he stares. It fails to prevent them in their tracks” I responded the exact identical way for a boy, drooling over new Austin-Healey 3000s or even Jaguar XKEs pushed by joyful, smiling guys in our area on hot days.

A sports car has to be appropriate for contest and evoke fire. We are having a discussion up to now. Today allow me to roll my sleeves up and get started getting blunt.

3. Rear-Wheel Drive Sports cars need to be push. There, I said it.

I push and am able to talk with some authority as an automobile packaging engineer who drive isn’t picked for operation — unless you reside in the Alps. Front-wheel-drive packs are preferred because a) they are less costly to fabricate, and b) since they maximize interior room for passengers.

Even though front-wheel-drive automobiles felt precisely the same as rear wheel- drive cars at a 0.90gram turn, this could be accurate. Obviously, front-wheel-drive automobiles surely do not induce or sense or handle exactly the exact same as rear-wheel-drive automobiles, along with also the physics of why would not alter.

I must request the all-wheel- force proponents stay quiet. You drive mutants — enviously and quite quickly mutants that are fast, however, mutants a different day and you’ll be discussed by us. This is all about sports cars that are conventional.

4. Two Seats Sports cars need to be two-seaters. Three is a crowd: You can have a navigator/cop-spotter along with a driver / friend/skilled mechanic. No fat is permitted.

The purpose here would be to be nimble and fast. Four chairs signify and sports automobiles have functionality as their aim.

I maintain this an integer-based debate, and I rounded down: ” A Porsche 911 of every year has 2.7 chairs in the top, therefore it qualifies as a two-seat sports car to me personally. No adult state it has seats that are back and could sit at the row of a 911.

I’ve been packed into those pockets for heaps of hours that were accumulative in my personal own life for the pleasure of having to ride in these cars that were wonderful. I had to consider the annoyance of this position contrary to the delight of being at a 911 speed. Passion won out, plus I have not been defeated. Therefore that the 911 has a bye in this circumstance.

Even the Porsche 944 and 928 possess 2.9 chairs in their best days, but they are also sports automobiles that almost fall in the GT class. Porsche uses chairs to evade taxation legislation that are German therefore that their heart is in the ideal location.

We are becoming a grey area, but this is the Mazda RX-7 that is third generation never arrived with. Seats in sports automobiles are similar to the apples women of Adam: confusion is caused by them.

5. A Stick Shift Sports cars should have manual transmissions. Be aware that lots of the brand newest “shiftable automatics” actually serve as automatic clutches, therefore there might be an argument for their addition. (They do change faster.) Nonetheless, in my thoughts, automatics (and auto-clutches) are unnecessary and costly complications.

I would like to rev-match myself, and heel-and-toe, thank you very much better. ECU-controlled transmission switching to get a motorist is similar to Auto-Tune to get a singer: For those who do not have the ability, you should not possess the mic (or steering wheel) on your hand at the first location.

The debate: they will, and Automatic transmissions cannot forecast the future. Case in point: I do not need the automatic altering me whenever I am barrelling to knock against the rev limiter for 3 cycles until I lift and then hit the brakes. Plus it will, since it’s idiotic and does not read my thoughts.

They do not belong into a sports car, although I have noticed automatics come a very long way by the slush boxes of the’60s. Sports cars need to have a stick by which to row those gears.

6. Less Weight Sports cars have to be lightweight. Weight taxes the motor, but more significantly a car’s ability. It is pure physics: It requires considerably more lively ability to get a chassis–by the tires into the construction –to withstand the centrifugal power of 1.5 plenty of mass vs 1.0 ton of mass.

Lotus founder Colin Chapman understood that better than anybody. His renowned recipe for pace had been “Simplify, then add lightness.”

The Miata endeavor, in the start, was called our moderate Weight Sports job. Lighter and simpler makes for much improved handling and cornering–attributes that are amazingly distinct.

Along such lines, sports automobiles should have weight reduction. With managing in mind they need to be equipped. Weight reduction along with Even a 50/50 front-to-rear is just one of those holy grails of sport car design, along with also the choices which impact this result at the beginning of any job are made by the packing engineer.

The powertrain, gas tank and passengers — and a bunch of additional components of a sports car –should be set out. Place at the wrong areas, and you will not ever earn a car work. You cannot tune out weight reduction that is bad. The Porsche 911 is the exclusion –decades of development and back tires also have trumped its equilibrium that is inadequate.

The Lotus Elan is not the same stoy. Among the most memorable quotations in Road & Track magazine has been composed in their own inspection of the automobile, also a nose-heavy, front-wheel-drive misfit in the very early’90s:”Lotus might have instructed this pig to dancing, however in the conclusion of the afternoon, they have abandoned you dance with a pig” Since there’s just so much that you can do as soon as you place parts it managed. Balance is still now king.

7. Stunning Looks Sports cars must be appealing –even the more amazing. People find it simpler to have enthusiasm for something and also are shallow.

Italy has ever known that. Others. There is a beauty even into the simplest such as MG Midget and the Lotus 7.

Some machines also have played wrong way. Most of us understand well-styled “sports” cars which don’t actually fulfil their promises. But I place Corvettes, the dearly departed Solstice that the Saturn Sky, along with its own cousin.

Beauty strains fire at some amounts that are very basic, however it does not offset core flaws. Remembering my house nation’s motto: “Esse quam videri.” Look this up.

8. A View of the Sky Sports cars need to have a top. Notice the term “should.” The Lotus Exige, the Corvette Z06, the Ferrari 308–they are all amazing sports automobiles, but a convertible (or even targa) top consistently makes them chassis rigidity notwithstanding.

When the Miata were available Picture. Imagine if the Jaguar or even TR6 XKE had roofs that are stiff? Less fire.

It is not a fatal flaw when the shirt is scraped on, but let us face it that Roadsters are more fun, and also sports cars should be about entertaining. Debate: Convertibles allow you to seem cool.

9. Enough Power In addition to handling, a sports vehicle ought to have an engine using a book of electricity. Observe that I didn’t state a great deal of electricity.

The ancestors of the sports cars were so slow with some standard: a MG isn’t violate. The same is true for any Triumph.

What’s necessary is that a “good enough” power-to-weight ratio so that the car can escape its way. The Porsche 911 had so or just 18 lbs per horsepower. All time, the MGB’s sports car, had a ratio of 24:1. (We have to live in good times, since now low-dollar econoboxes could conquer a 24:1 ratio) In reviewing sports automobiles, we came up to the best with the dining table.

10. Enough Torque More significant than the horsepower–that covers top rate –can be more. Back when we began the Miata job, we needed to specify precisely exactly what a sports vehicle had been first before the line was drawn by us. 1 question which came up was, “What automobiles are being revived by fans?”

Was full. They felt fantastic to push, although these cars were the fastest or strongest. I really like floors the gas pedal onto a ’67 Pontiac GTO. Forcing one round is a small chore, although it is a terrific way to recharge your testosterone.

There is in almost any equipment about any corner A Sprite really a hoot, irrespective of position, and that’s what a sports car is about. There’s a saying that individuals will not remember half of everything you can do, of what you state none, however, 100 percent of the way you make them feel. Sports cars make you feel something after they are driven by you. And making them more memorable.

Can we agree that there is a sports car a lightweight two-seat convertible having fantastic handling, great looks and possible for street racing? Make mine red.

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theconservativebrief · 6 years

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Ten years ago this month, the first Twilight movie sparkled broodily into movie theaters. By then, the four-volume book series had already been published in full, made the best-seller lists several times over, and was safely established as a cult phenomenon for its target demographic of teen girls — but with that first movie, Twilight became mainstream.

In the fall of 2008, America at large was introduced to the story of Bella Swan, teenage everygirl, and her fraught, star-crossed love for glitter-streaked vampire Edward Cullen. Twilight introduced us to Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson, and it continued the Harry Potter tradition of the YA book-to-movie franchise as a dominant box office force.

It also became a cultural flashpoint. Think piece after think piece by turn celebrated Twilight’s cultural dominance, mocked its shimmery vampire mythology, and feared the effects that romanticizing its tortured, dysfunctional love story might have on its teen readers. In 2008, Twilight was adored, but it was also hated, feared, and mocked.

Here in 2018, we finally have room to get a little perspective on the whole thing. In celebration of the 10-year anniversary of the first Twilight movie, Vox culture writers Constance Grady, Alex Abad-Santos, and Aja Romano joined forces with deputy managing editor Eleanor Barkhorn to look back at the unlife and legacy of the Twilight phenomenon.

Constance: When the first Twilight movie came out in 2008, I was 19, and I was positive that the entire franchise was a blight on the pop culture landscape. Before the movie even came out, I made up my mind about it. I read the posts about how the Edward-Bella love story ticked all the boxes of an abusive relationship; I shook my head over Stephenie Meyer’s bland, boring sentences; I howled over the whole concept of everything that happened in Breaking Dawn. (He chews the baby out of her uterus!)

But I was also completely fascinated by the franchise. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I picked up the first book to see what the fuss was all about, and even though I thought the love story was creepy and the prose was blah and absolutely nothing happened until about three-quarters of the way through the book beyond some vampire baseball (vampire baseball!), I kept turning those pages. I was compelled. I couldn’t help myself.

I hate-read every Breaking Dawn review, and every review of the movie. I developed opinions on Kristen Stewart (bit her lip too much) and Robert Pattinson (I appreciated his palpable hatred of the franchise). I spent so much emotional energy thinking about the whole Twilight thing that I was, for all intents and purposes, a fan. I was just a fan who hated it.

Looking back 10 years later, I don’t think I was necessarily wrong about most of the things I disliked about the franchise then. Bella and Edward’s relationship does have some disturbing power dynamics (which we’ll get into in a bit). Myer’s prose is pretty bland. The structure of the plot is bananas. (I was wrong about Kristen Stewart, though, and the way she was penalized for sometimes seeming mildly uncomfortable with the Twilight phenomenon while Pattinson was lauded for his outright hatred of it says a lot about gender politics circa 2008.)

But I also think that I clearly found Twilight really compelling when I was 19, and I was mad about that, because smart girls weren’t supposed to like books and movies like Twilight. There’s a weird, creepy eroticism to those books that is calibrated to speak precisely to the sexual and romantic fantasies of teenage girls, and I was a teenage girl. It did speak to me. And that pissed me off.

There are few pop cultural products that our society likes to shit on more than the pop culture created for teenage girls, and Twilight circa 2008 was the pinnacle of that phenomenon. This was a franchise that was built for teen girls, marketed to teen girls, and loved by teen girls, and because of that, it became accepted common knowledge that all correct-thinking people could only despise and revile it. So when I look back 10 years later, I find it difficult to untangle my hatred of Twilight from my own internalized misogyny, and from my profound and at the time unexamined belief that anything made for teenage girls must inherently be less-than.

How did you feel about Twilight back in 2008? Has it changed for you since then?

Eleanor: I was 24 when the first movie came out, and I think being just past teenagehood made all the difference for me. I loved the movie — fully, earnestly, without irony, without reservations. I loved the moody Pacific Northwest setting. I loved the longing glances. I loved the vampire baseball! (But then I am a sucker for the “characters with superpowers show off their superpowers” scene that these movies always tend to have. Ask me how I felt watching Tobey Maguire leap from Queens rooftop to Queens rooftop in the 2002 Spider-Man.)

I had spent my teenage years full of feelings, full of angst, full of deep, painful crushes on mysterious boys. And I’d mostly felt embarrassed by those feelings. I wanted to be calm, detached — a Cool Girl, to reference Gone Girl, another best-selling book turned hit movie. Seeing Bella feel so many of the things I’d felt was tremendously validating. I was normal! I’m okay, you’re okay, etc.

The fact that I watched the movie at 24 instead of 19 also meant that Twilight inspired a fair amount of nostalgia for me. By my mid-20s, I was no longer having those intense feelings anymore. I was turning into a much more practical, grounded person — realizing that I should be looking for stability, kindness, and shared values in the men I dated, rather than hotness or mysteriousness.

This was a necessary step in my maturation as a human being. (I’m very glad to be married to my kind, stable husband, whom I met at church, rather than the hot guy in my algebra class who sometimes showered me with attention and sometimes ignored me.) But it came with a sense of loss — intense teenage feelings have a particular joy and drama to them.

Twilight came at just the right moment for me to be a fan: I was close enough to my teenage years to appreciate the validation of my feelings, but far enough away that I could appreciate, rather than be embarrassed by, the romanticization of those feelings.

And that’s why I never fully understood all the hand-wringing about whether Twilight was “good” for women, or whether Bella was a “good role model” for girls. Pop culture doesn’t need to be instructive to be good. It can simply show people as they are, rather than as they should be. Bella isn’t a character I want to be like as an adult, or want my daughters to be — but that’s fine. Fiction for young people is full of spunky, plucky young women role models. It’s okay for Bella to capture a particular way that many young women are — even if, with the benefit of a few years of hindsight, we recognize that’s not the way we want to be forever.

Alex: I mean, I understand the hand-wringing and analysis of whether Bella is a “good role model” because of Twilight’s audience. The books were being consumed by teenage girls (and younger-than-teenage girls), and the natural response from adults, when it comes to any piece of culture as popular as Twilight was, is to fret over “what is it teaching the children?”

Many adults seem to believe that books for younger audiences should follow a certain moral code or provide some kind of moral guidance. Though overhauling the way we teach kids about books and how we approach books ourselves warrants its own entire article.

I read New Moon — the one where Bella wants to die so Edward will come and save her — and I’ve seen every movie except Breaking Dawn Part I. I guess my main impression of that one book and the four movies (I don’t want to speak for Stephenie Meyer’s entire oeuvre) is that Twilight is both a not-so-well-written book and a mildly exciting movie franchise.

But like Constance said, it gets criticized exponentially harder than other pieces of pop culture because teenage girls like it. I think some of that criticism is warranted, in that the book wallows in shallow descriptions, but it gets magnified because of who its target audience is.

One of the things I wish the movies had done more of was lean into the vampire action. There wasn’t enough vampire baseball. If you’re gonna give these vampires magical superpowers — elemental manipulation, mind-reading, pain projection, etc. — then show us those powers. Make it seem cool to be a vampire. Or at least make it seem cooler to be an immortal high schooler than Twilight often did, with the characters just trolling around a Pacific Northwest high school looking for an eternal mate.

Aja: We also can’t really talk about whether Twilight was instructive or not without talking about the kinds of real-world legacies it left us with — including a full decade and counting of YA novels with extremely problematic relationships at their centers. Despite the many red flags flying around Bella and Edward’s relationship — starting with their 87-year age difference, his stalking and controlling behavior, and the fact that he wants to bite her more than any other human he’s ever met, fans loved the couple. And because plenty of Twilight fans were so interested in their codependent passion, publishers started marketing books that featured similar relationships as a selling point.

(One of the most disturbing of these books was Hush, Hush, a New York Times best-seller that featured a hero who literally stalks, threatens to sexually assault, and tries to kill the teen protagonist. It’s a controversial book that’s currently being made into a movie, so the phenomenon is still very much with us.)

But we also have a whole generation of Twilight fans who turned the publishing industry on its head with their insistence and demand for trope-filled stories that indulged their fantasies. And their unashamed consumption of a brand of media that nakedly catered to them arguably presaged the flourishing romantic comedy resurgence we now appear to be in the middle of.

Twilight fans were also responsible for one of the most remarkable and underdiscussed publishing phenomena in history, in that they essentially built an entire new publishing genre from scratch. They started by creating a controversial but very effective system of pull-to-publish Twilight fanfiction — stories that centered on Bella and Edward analogues, without any copyrighted names or details. Then, backed by the money and enthusiasm of ravenous Twilight fans who wanted to read more, more, more, they created their own small-press publishing houses in order to ship those fics-turned-novels directly to their audiences.

It was from one of these Twilight fandom publishing houses, created for and by Twilight fans, that Fifty Shades of Grey — which was originally a massively popular Twilight fanfic called “Master of the Universe” — originated. By blowing the doors wide open on the potential financial power of fanfiction, and introducing it to mainstream culture for the first time, Fifty Shades of Grey forever changed publishing. And it wouldn’t have existed without this very specific way in which Twilight fans commercialized their fandom.

We could debate endlessly whether the marketing of any of these fics was “good” or “morally instructive,” but I do believe these fans were galvanized to do what they did because they were forced to spend years defending their hobby and their reading pleasures. And we all know the best way to defend your hobby is to find a way to make money from it.

Constance: Aja brings up a great point here: Twilight was such a giant franchise that it had a real effect on pop culture. So what do you think is its most lasting legacy?

An interesting counterbalance to the wave of YA romances about creepy, mysterious, controlling boys that Aja correctly pegs to Twilight’s popularity is that Twilight also fundamentally changed the way we talked about those romances. Before Twilight, they were considered silly and fun and not really worth critiquing, but the criticism of Twilight was so heated and so pointed that it ended up influencing the discourse around practically all relationships built on the Bella-Edward model.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer is a lot more sophisticated about the power dynamics of its relationships than Twilight was, but I don’t know that it could have gotten away with a ship like Buffy-Angel in a post-Twilight era. When Buffy first aired, a scene where Buffy wakes up in the middle of the night to find Angel sitting on her windowsill passed without comment, but after Edward Cullen, it became one of the scenes that people brought up when they talked about why they don’t like that pairing. That’s because one of the things the hand-wringing over Twilight established is that it is creepy when a boy breaks into a girl’s bedroom to watch her sleep, the way Edward does with Bella.

And The Vampire Diaries, the next big vampire romance franchise after Twilight, went out of its way to subvert any Twilight comparisons with its central romance between Stefan and Elena. That show very pointedly played the big reveal that Stefan was a vampire in an echo of the famous “Say it!” / “Vampire,” scene in Twilight, but in this version, Elena ran screaming in the other direction as soon as she realized what Stefan was. There’s even a scene in one episode where Elena is watching Stefan sleep, rather than the other way around, and he tells her it’s creepy.

There’s plenty for us to critique about the gender politics of The Vampire Diaries, but it’s a show that clearly wanted to be the woke alternative to Twilight, and the way it positioned itself to take that slot was by subverting the tropes that the Twilight discourse had established were gross.

Eleanor: The only love triangle YA story I really got into after Twilight was The Hunger Games, which provided an interesting (but also maddening) foil to Twilight. I saw The Hunger Games get treated a lot more seriously as a franchise because of its apparent critique of income inequality (the movie came out just months after Occupy Wall Street), and because Katniss was in so many ways the anti-Bella: tough, resourceful, independent. Also in The Hunger Games’ favor: Jennifer Lawrence, who played Katniss, was much, much better at the celebrity image game than Kristen Stewart.

But I found everything about The Hunger Games a little too perfect; the good role model protagonist and the “serious” commentary on today’s social issues was all a bit much. I still appreciate Twilight’s stubborn refusal to be anything more than what it was: an evocative, albeit problematic, teen love story that took its characters’ feelings seriously.

Would it be a stretch to call movies like Brooklyn and Lady Bird part of the legacy of Twilight? Of course, they’re in an entirely different genre; they’re also more nuanced and better acted, and the relationships at their center are largely absent of the troubling power dynamics we discussed above. But they fill a place in my heart that Twilight once did, for the way they show that the stories of young women and their romantic choices are important and worthy of deep study.

Alex: The world would be a better, kinder place if everyone was required to watch Brooklyn. Though I’m not sure if it and Lady Bird are a part of Twilight’s legacy or are simply terrific stories about teenage girls growing up that haven’t been given the credit they’re due.

Twilight’s more direct legacy is Fifty Shades of Grey and the phenomena — the backlash and the fandom — that followed it. Right? When Fifty Shades came out, article after article depicted and chided its readers as desperate, horny middle-aged women. The book was considered “mommy porn.” Like Twilight, Fifty Shades is no beautiful tome of language. But the criticism of it seemed amplified because women, particularly women of a certain age, were really into it. And If there’s one demographic whose taste people like to judge more than that of teenage girls, it has to be moms. Poor moms.

Aja: I definitely think we can’t discount the fact that a lot of the teen girls who got vilified for loving Twilight grew up and got vilified for loving New Adult erotica, so I’m doubling down on the stance that Twilight’s legacy is creating a generation of women who became loud and proud about their fictional kinks as a result of being perpetually shamed for them. I want to think that ultimately, this confidence outweighs all of Twilight’s problematic tropes.

I will add that Twilight sparked a weird purity backlash in YA literature whereby depictions of sex and sexuality between teens became newly taboo, in part because of all the hand-wringing over Twilight and its ilk. I think that’s taken a while to wear off, in part because Twilight’s imprint was so indelible.

Also, there’s one really obvious thing Twilight bequeathed us, simple but huge, and that’s “Team X” and “Team Y.” Twilight made shipping, and discussion of shipping, a standard part of the pop culture discourse around media franchises, and it did so specifically via “Team Edward” and “Team Jacob.” (And the perennial underdog, Team Bella.) These ideas — and the specific concept of shipping as rooting for your pairing or character, or “team,” to win the love triangle — entered the pop culture landscape with Twilight, and now they’re ubiquitous. And crucially, by framing shipping as a pastime akin to rooting for a sports team, they made shipping into something harmless and fun rather than yet another toxic, galling thing to shame fans for doing. If only for this, I am Team Twilight all the way.

Original Source -> Reckoning with Twilight, 10 years later

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