#The timer person also did this for the person who went on that lane before me

[aniverse-x]

if you’re a track runner, you know how frustrating it is when the person timing you doesn’t time you right

[notthatlady]

There is also a deleted scene from The Last Olympian, the last book of Percy Jackson and the Olympians series!

The following was posted by Rick Riordan on his blog, a long, long time ago (October 3, 2013).

A Deleted Scene from The Last Olympian

Recently on Twitter I mentioned a deleted scene from The Last Olympian, in which Percy Jackson comes across his old nemesis Nancy Bobofit, the mortal girl who bullied him in The Lightning Thief. The scene was cut from the book for the sake of keeping the narrative moving, but I’ve always liked it. This week I spoke with Publisher’s Weekly about how I decide which characters to highlight and sideline in each book. As an extension of that interview, the deleted Nancy Bobofit scene is featured below.

Percy, Thalia, Annabeth and Grover are heading to Central Park to fight the Titans when they run across a group of unconscious mortals. As you may recall, the god Morpheus put all the mortals in Manhattan to sleep before Kronos’ army attacked the city:

The lights of the city were blinking on. I guess they were on automatic timers. The streetlamps in the park glowed, making the lanes and the trees look spooky – like we needed any more spookiness.

Thalia stopped and tensed, like she was catching a scent. “I’ll be back. Need to check the Hunters on the right flank.”

Her bow appeared in her hands and she disappeared into the trees.

We stepped over bodies of sleeping New Yorkers, moving them to safety when we could. We were just coming to a stone bridge on the northern side of the park when we came across a dozen kids, all slumped next to a pretzel stand, like they’d been lined up to buy snacks.

Grover yelped. “Percy . . . look.”

He crouched next to a girl with orange hair and freckles. She reminded me a little of Clarisse, because she was a big girl, like she was built for tackle football.

And then my eyes widened. “Oh my gods. It’s . . . Nancy?”

I hadn’t seen her in four years, but I still recognized her. Nancy Bobofit, a bully who’d made my life miserable in sixth grade. Grover and I had been at Yancy Academy, and she would pick on us mercilessly. She’d been around the first day I suspected that I was a demigod.

“Who’s Nancy?” Annabeth asked.

“A girl we used to know,” Grover muttered. “Not a very nice girl.”

I looked at the other sleeping kids. Some I’d never seen, but a few looked familiar.

“This is our class from Yancy,” I said. “They must’ve been on the summer trip.”

“Yeah,” Grover said. He pointed to a lady in a flowery dress. “Here’s Mrs. Watt. She always chaperoned the summer New York trip. If we’d stayed at Yancy . . .”

He didn’t finish the thought. We both knew that was impossible. We didn’t live normal lives. We never would’ve made it through middle school without monsters destroying us or the school or both. Still, it was strange looking at my former classmates. I never went backward. Once I left a school, I always tried to leave it behind for good. Besides, the memories were usually bad. But looking at the kids who’d kept going, even stupid old Nancy Bobofit, I felt a wave of sadness wash over me.

“They’re right in the path of the battle,” Grover said, and he looked at me to see what I’d suggest.

“We have to move them,” I said. “Under the bridge, maybe. They’ll be safer.”

“After all she did to us,” Grover mused, “it kind of serves her right to be stomped by a titan army.”

“But we can’t.”

He sighed. “Yeah. You’re right. Maybe . . . draw a moustache on her, at least?”

Four years ago, it would’ve been tempting. Now, I realized that I didn’t hate Nancy anymore. I was a different person. She was a mortal in the path of danger – we were the only thing between her and destruction.

“No moustaches,” I said. “Annabeth, give me a hand?”

She was studying me carefully, trying to read my thoughts, but she didn’t say anything. She just helped me drag the school group to safety.

This deleted part is in Chapter 14: Pigs Fly, between these lines:

“Do you think Ethan suspects about your weak spot?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “He didn’t tell Kronos anything, but if he figures it out—”

“We can’t let him.”

“I’ll bonk him on the head harder next time,” I suggested. “Any idea what surprise Kronos was talking about?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t see anything in the shield, but I don’t like surprises.”

“Agreed.”

“So,” she said, “are you going to argue about me coming along?”

“Nah. You’d just beat me up.”

She managed a laugh, which was good to hear. I grabbed my sword, and we went to rally the troops.

--- Somewhere here. ---

Thalia and the head counselors were waiting for us at the reservoir. The lights of the city were blinking on at twilight. I guess a lot of them were on automatic timers. Streetlamps glowed around the shore of the lake, making the water and trees look even spookier.

“They’re coming,” Thalia confirmed, pointing north with a silver arrow. “One of my scouts just reported they’ve crossed the Harlem River. There was no way to hold them back. The army . . .” She shrugged. “It’s huge.”

“We’ll hold them at the park,” I said. “Grover, you ready?”

He nodded. “As ready as we’ll ever be. If my nature spirits can stop them anywhere, this is the place.”

[djokeery]

hold my heart and watch it burn (and i will hold on to you)

Or, alternatively, Steve reflects on the last three years of his life on Robin’s kitchen floor.

December 19th, 1985.

It was snowing, soft and quiet. Robin’s house was safe, sound, warm—Christmas lights were strung all along her pale yellow kitchen, making the already inviting space cozier than usual. Flour and sugar were dusted on every single surface you could see, and cookie cutters were lying everywhere else. Absentmindedly, Steve ran his fingers through his hair, definitely coating it with flecks of white. 

If you didn’t know him, or see the purple bruising around his left eye, you wouldn’t even suspect he’d just managed to save the world yet again. (Believe it or not, he won a fight this time around, too.) Three years of fighting creatures from alternate dimensions, and he figured he deserved at least one normal night. That’s why, when Robin suggested he come over to help bake Christmas cookies after he mentioned that he’d never done it before, he did. 

So, here he was, on timer duty, listening to Robin’s beat up radio alone while she cleaned herself up. The sugar cookies had roughly four minutes left and the room smelt like...home. Home. It was a word he’d come to understand in new ways, with the help of new people. 

It’s weird. Before he knew that monsters actually existed, he would’ve told you home was 1146 Norwood Lane. Nowadays, though, he’d tell you home wasn’t really a place—it was a feeling. Home was Dustin trying to educate him about Star Wars. Home was Lucas and Mike begging him to teach them how to drive. Home was dropping Max off at the arcade and giving her all the spare change he had. Home was something outside of King Steve’s castle, and the kingdom no longer existed. 

To be honest, he was starting to wonder if it ever really did.

He hummed along to “Everybody Wants To Rule The World” by Tears For Fears as it faded out, only to be met by the top 40 DJ greeting him.

“I’m Carl Jetson and you’re listening to B97! Here’s a new one for anyone spending this holiday season alone. This is “Last Christmas” by Wham!—good luck getting it out of your head.”

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart But the very next day, you gave it away This year, to save me from tears I’ll give it to someone special

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,”

Steve slid to the floor, further covering his apron in various baking powders in the process. 

A year ago, he spent Christmas alone, save for a visit from Dustin on Christmas Eve where he had to convince him that yes, his parents would be home in time for Christmas, so no, he wasn’t going to be alone, and yes, he would be fine by himself until they got there.

And he was. He was used to it. For the past nineteen years of his life, the rare days when his parents were home were painfully structured and quietly deafening. He preferred their absence, honestly. But ever since demogorgons ripped through the ceiling of his life, he found himself leaving every light in his house on every single night. Not because he was scared, he’d be damned if anyone ever found out that he was, but in case his parents might see when they decided to finally stumble back home. In case they decided to knock on his bedroom door and ask him if he’s alright after climbing the stairs. In case they decided to tell him they love him, fingers stroking his hair, after not uttering those very words in years.

He never really talked about it. How he felt cursed because no one ever loved him back. How, when he was at his lowest, he blamed Nancy for everything, even though he knew she had no control over any of it. 

Perfect, pretty, poised, princess Nancy. 

Steve sighed.

All he ever wanted was to feel something more. Something like the movies. And in the movies, stupid teenagers went to parties, were beyond popular, and almost worshipped in their immense normal-ness. He figured he had it in the bag. Everything.

He was good-looking, athletic—being captain of the baseball team was something he’d never admit he was actually proud of—had more than enough money to throw around whenever he felt like making it rain, was friends with the right people, the kids of his parents’ friends. His grades weren’t the best, but they also weren’t the worst, and he had the Harrington name to fall back on if sport scholarships weren’t enough to carry him through to a top school. He was set. He was set for his entire life without even blinking an eye.

But then his swimming pool turned into a graveyard and his reputation drowned. 

Regardless of however many beers he managed to swallow, the number of appearances he made at various parties, he couldn’t move past that. It followed him everywhere. It was a constant reminder that, even though he’d graduated from high school, he still dreamed about being a stupid teenager. He doesn’t miss King Steve, he really doesn’t, but at least King Steve made sense to everyone. 

People liked King Steve.

They responded to him, listened to him, followed him. The world was at his fingertips until it suddenly wasn’t.

He, contrary to popular belief, wasn’t an idiot. He heard all the whispers in the hallways. He knew people were talking. He just couldn’t explain the king’s downfall without mentioning tunnels and blinking lights and a baseball bat covered in nails, and he signed all of that away the moment Dr. Owens handed him a stack of forms to keep quiet.

And he has. He’s been good and everything King Steve wasn’t—real, genuine, kind, a dependable emergency contact.

The biggest difference of all, though, was that people loved this Steve.

That’s why he thinks that the gate is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. King Steve had to perish for Real Steve to have what he has now. And what he has now is everything. 

He has friends. Not just people his own age using him for his money and personal gain. Real friends. True comrades. People that have seen him at his worst and loved him just as much as they did when he was on top of the world. Friends that care about him. Friends that don’t lie, fight monsters, and always, always have his back.

People to remind him that he isn’t alone on his invisible throne, a throne that never existed at all, because there was never even a kingdom to rule in the first place.

He has Dustin. God, he loves that little shithead. 

Sometimes he thinks the universe really heard him when he was seven and begged for a friend. He thought Tommy H was his solution, since he moved to Hawkins a week after he pleaded to his bedroom walls. Tommy had been inseparable by his side since they met. But he wasn’t what he needed. Steve needed cleidocranial dysplasia, curly hair with a hat every day. Steve needed someone who saw through him, someone who saw him for him and who he could be. Someone who didn’t care that he was a Harrington, and someone who loved having him around.

Steve needed someone who’d die if he died. He needed a brother.

That’s why Steve Harrington would do it all over again if he had the chance. Not to change things, or fix things, but to do it exactly the same. 

He’d leave that note in Nancy’s locker, fall for her with every bone in his body, just for her to crush him and end up alone.

He’d break Jonathan’s camera, cause a scene in the alley downtown, and then swing a bat to save him in a heartbeat. He’d do it without even thinking. 

He’d do absolutely anything for the kids. His kids. He’d take plates to the head, kicks to the ribs, slaps to the face, whatever he needed to do to make sure they weren’t feeling any pain or in any danger. It didn’t matter if he got battered and bruised in the process. They were his number one priority. He’d never had anything to stand for until Dustin requested his assistance with Dart. It felt good to be needed, to be actually wanted.

God, it was something he could get used to.

He’s thinking about all of this, and about last Christmas, and how this year is so wondrously different, when he notices smoke billowing into the air, turning everything slightly hazy, bringing a gray cloud into the bright atmosphere, breaking the moment.

“Shit, shit, SHIT!” He’s up and on his feet faster than the speed of light, running straight towards the oven, so fast he doesn’t see Robin racing in from across the hall.

They collide into a tangled heap on the floor, laughter drowning out the radio and the timer that was buzzing its life away. (Because some things never change.)

“Harrington, I can’t even leave you alone for one minute without you causing a scene...give me some warning if you’re planning on burning the house down, okay?”

“Rob, I—” “All you had to do was open the oven and place the cookies on the stove. We went over this,” She was still laughing. Steve would do anything if she’d just keep laughing. It was his favorite kind of music.

He never wanted it to stop.

He took a breath and wiped his eyes. “I didn’t hear the timer go off,”

“What was that? I can’t hear you if you whisper, dingus.”

He tried again, a little louder. “The timer. I didn’t hear it.”

She looked at him like he’d grown two heads. “Are you deaf now and didn’t feel like telling anyone?”

What he really meant was thank you. Thank you for everything—for being his friend, for standing up for him, for trusting him with who she is, for taking the time to see that he’d never really been a king in the first place, and for still sticking around after that. For caring even more about him after that.

He wanted to ask her to never become a stranger he could recognize anywhere. To never be someone who leaves.

Because this, this was good. This was something he wanted forever. This was something he could hold and never shatter. This was something that actually mattered. 

“Steve, did you OD over there?” Robin’s voice snapped him back into reality and a familiar memory.

“No, sorry, I—just thinking, you know?” 

He didn’t have to say it. He could tell she knew and understood from the look on her face. She loved him back. She felt the same. He wasn’t alone. He wasn’t ever going to be again.

“Yeah. I know the feeling.” 

They both paused for a moment, the tiniest of moments, to remember the feeling, the unspoken “I love you, I’m so grateful you’re here right now and alive”, and then they stood up, Robin immediately grabbing their smoldering cookies from the still smoking oven.

They’re both shuffling around the kitchen, trying to determine if any of their blackened hard work is salvageable while simultaneously attempting to keep the smoke detectors from going off, when, in the middle of the commotion, there’s a series of knocks on the front door.

“Go do something useful and get that, won’t you?” Robin said it with a cheeky smile.

“For the last time, IT’S NOT MY FAULT I DIDN’T HEAR THE TIMER DIDN’T GO OFF,” Steve wiped his hands on his apron and stretched his arm out as he walked to the front door.

Out of every single person in the world, the one he least expected to see greeted him with a smile. He doesn’t realize it until she’s standing right in front of him and he sees her rosy face, traces of snow still in her hair, but then it’s all he can think about. It’s all he can feel.

“Hey, Dustin said I might find you here. Are you alright? Is that smoke?!” She motioned to his disheveled look and the smell of burnt sugar. Steve smiled to himself.

He’s okay. Honestly. Really. After two concussions, one broken heart, a scar from being interrogated by Russians, endless nightmares, after all of the bullshit—

“Yeah, Nance. I’m good.” And for the first time since his life turned upside down, he meant it.

[justanoutlawfic]

Where You Lead: Here Comes The Son Pt. III

Summary: There's always two sides to every tale. In this situation...there's five sides: the triplets and their parents'.

This installment takes place before the first part, before the dinner with Henry & Jacinda.

Also on AO3

Mat knocked on the door of the yellow house that sat in the middle of Mockingbird Lane. He forgot just how many streets had those ridiculously cheery names, with equally pukeworthy houses. There was a reason he had wanted to escape the small town and get into the city. Stars Hollow had been home once, but there were times it just felt so…suffocating.

 The door opened and Lucy stood there, looking decent for having a 2-month-old. Her dark curls were tousled and she wore a light pink sweater, paired with white leggings. In her arms was the baby in question, little Sebastian. She looked exhausted and yet held the baby with such love, in a way he had only seen parents ever do with their babies. He supposed it was something that just couldn’t be explained to someone without kids.

 “Hey,” he said.

Lucy smiled. “Hey.” She gave him a quick hug and then stepped to the side. “Come on in.”

 He walked into the cluttered living room, realizing how little had changed since he was last there. Lucy was a photographer and Melody taught dance, so both of them were artists. That lead to their home being a bit of organized chaos. Mismatched furniture, with fuzzy throw blankets folded up for use. There was a baby swing in the corner, along with a few other items clearly meant for his new nephew. Photographs practically swallowed the room whole, ranging from family to Melody’s work to places they had visited.

 “Is Mel home?” Mat asked, wondering about his sister-in-law.

“No,” Lucy replied, placing her son into the swing and fiddling with a few buttons. “She’s got a tap class tonight.”

Xiomara exited the kitchen, wearing a blazer and jeans, her hair loose just like Lucy’s. They weren’t identical by any means but the sisters looked so much alike. “I am, though.”

“Xo.” Mat only got to hug her for a minute before feeling his legs be attacked.

“Uncle Matty!”

 Mat looked down and found Xiomara’s daughter standing there. At 5-years-old, she was so much like her mother: long dark curls, brown eyes and the widest smile you’d ever seen (though he noticed she was missing a tooth now).

 Little Wren entered the family how most of the first babies in the family did, unexpectedly and young. Xiomara was in her finishing up her junior year of college when she discovered that she was pregnant. Needless to say, it was a shock, but her parents stood by her side and supported whatever she wanted to do. The father wasn’t a boyfriend, moreso a friends with benefits situation and Xiomara gave him a choice, no guilt. He walked away and hadn’t been seen since. When the baby was born, she was named Wren Catalina Cassidy, after the man Xiomara had always idolized most. Despite how difficult it was, Xiomara finished college and went to law school, graduating right before Wren died. He finally got one lawyer in the family like he always dreamed.

 “Hey kiddo,” Mat lifted up his niece and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Where have you been?” Wren questioned.

Mat chuckled. “Working, lots.”

She dropped her head back dramatically. “That’s boring.”

“It is, isn’t it?” He put her down. “Hey, did you bring some toys or something?”

“She did,” Xiomara cut in. “Go play in Tia Lucy’s room, the adults have to talk.”

 Wren sighed, but stalked away, the sound of a door closing could be heard a few minutes later. Mat sat down on the couch, Lucy and Xiomara sitting with him.

 “So,” Lucy said. “Talk to Mom and Dad much lately?”

Mat pursed his lips. “Mom some. Dad…not so much.”

“You gotta just rip the band-aid off. You were able to open up to us, remember?”

He snorted. “That wasn’t so much opening up. That was more…me being a huge dick.”

Xiomara shrugged. “I think we all needed it.”

 The triplets had been super close as kids, doing everything together. Lucy and Xiomara were easily the ones in charge, with Mat following everything that they did. As they became teens, they slowly began to grow apart. Lucy and Xo were remaining the best of friends, but Mat resented them for how their parents acted, not realizing at the time that it wasn’t their fault. It was partially why he chose Stanford. He had gotten into Yale and NYU too, but so had Xiomara was attending their dad’s alma mater and Lucy was going to school in New York City. California was the furthest away, the place he could be his own person. Not a triplet, not a Cassidy, just Mat.

 Then when Xiomara got pregnant, he felt like he got even more lost in the shuffle with his parents. Every conversation was about making room for the baby at their house since she was moving out of the dorms and back with them, how awful the father was and everything they would need. They spent a trip out to California looking at numerous baby stores with Mat in tow, feeling the anger fester as they didn’t even ask about his studies or how he was doing in school, worrying far more about their pregnant daughter.

 It all lead to a huge blowup come that Christmas. Xiomara was only a month from her due date and it was all anyone could talk about. Mat was drinking and spent most of the time hiding out. When the three were alone in their dad’s old room at their Grandpa’s, trying to get him to join the party and Lucy made a joke about him being a hermit, he just snapped.

 “Maybe I just need some air from the damn Xiomara show!”

 The fight had probably been the worst they had ever had. It was lucky that loud music was playing and no one noticed them gone, because they went at it. Their entire childhood was dragged out. They replayed most moments, with Lucy and Xiomara vehemently defending their parents at first…until they couldn’t. Suddenly, it was all laid out in front of them. Mat would later apologize for taking it out on them, as it wasn’t their fault, but they felt guilty anyway. Even so, no one knew how to tell their parents.

 “I just don’t think they want to hear it,” Mat said.

“They’re not bad people,” Lucy told him. “They fucked up, and I don’t even think they realize it.”

“That’s the shit of it. If they did, that would be one thing. But they don’t and it just…I don’t want to have to be the one to say it.”

Xiomara shrugged. “But if you don’t, how is anything ever going to get done?”

 Mat sighed, thinking over his sisters’ words. A timer went off in the kitchen, which got Lucy to her feet and going in there. Wren started calling from the bedroom and Xiomara excused herself, heading down the hall. Mat pushed himself up, walking over to the swing and picking up Sebastian. He looked down into his nephew’s eyes, letting him wiggle and coo, feeling a tug at his heart. He hadn’t been there much after Wren was born, he started working in New York. She was getting older, now Sebastian was here.

 His mind floated to the past few months, all the doctors and the tests. The chest pains that had started and the fears. Sitting in the doctor’s office and wondering what would happen if he didn’t make things right with his family. Finding out that he had the same condition as his grandfather, but that he was younger, it could be treated with medication and exercise. He would live a long healthy life.

 “No need to make a bucket list,” his doctor had said.

 That didn’t mean that there shouldn’t be one.

 Lucy came back into the room, smiling at the two of them. “Wow, who knew you were good with babies.”

“You don’t know, I could have one, one day.”

“There’s still time, we’re not 30, yet.”

“We’ve got nothing but time.” Mat’s eyes stayed on the baby’s before looking back at her. “You know how Nana Belle wants to move, but she doesn’t know what to do with the house?”

“Yeah, she’s afraid of strangers owning it.”

“Well…I think I’m gonna buy it.”

Lucy tilted her head. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Mat looked back down at Sebastian. “Life is way too short to be far away from family.”

[edogawatranslations]

Danganronpa Kirigiri (3) - Chapter 1, Part 3

Table of Contents | Previous: Chapter 1, Part 2

Ryuuzouji began delivering commands into his cell phone. “In precisely 60 seconds, change all of the traffic signals on Route 4 between Point A and Point C to red.”

He then pulled out a second phone and continued speaking. “The bus hijacking is not an act of terrorism; it is cover for a heist targeting valuables onboard the vehicle. An elderly man with a suitcase filled with 50 million yen in cash and an old woman with 200 million yen worth of accessories in her bag are among the passengers. No, it is not mere coincidence; it is all part of the thieves’ plan. The chaos has diverted the attention of the passengers from their belongings; in fact, the real suitcase and bag have already been stolen and replaced with fakes. The valuables will be transferred to an accomplice driving a convertible with the roof retracted, an unnatural sight in this frigid weather. Their plan is to toss the bags from the bus window into the convertible when the vehicles pass one another at the intersection.”

I was more or less able to grasp the situation from his one-sided conversation—he was acting to stop a busjacking in progress.

“Stop the car in the middle of the next intersection,” Ryuuzouji ordered the driver.

I peeked out the window. We were approaching the intersection, but the traffic light up ahead was red. No other cars were in our lane.

“Two... One... Zero.”

The second Ryuuzouji’s countdown ended, the light changed to green, and we entered the intersection without decelerating.

Once we did, a speeding convertible came into view on our left. As Ryuuzouji said, even on this cold, snowy day, the car’s roof was fully open. At the same time, a local bus flashing an SOS signal raced towards us from the right.

This was where they were planning to pass each other!

Both vehicles appeared intent on barreling through the intersection, even after the light turned red for them. But the limousine we were in suddenly braked and came to a complete stop in the middle of the road, effectively blocking both lanes with its body.

The convertible and bus came hurtling towards us from both sides. At this rate...

“They’ll crash into us!” I shut my eyes and braced my body for impact.

The screech of emergency brakes pierced my eardrums. For a second, I had been prepared to die. Why hadn’t I written a will?

But there was no impact.

Upon opening my eyes, I saw that the convertible and bus had stopped on either side of the limo, barely avoiding contact.

Sirens blared through the air as a sea of cop cars swarmed around us. In an attempt to escape, the convertible and bus tried to back up, but they were swiftly surrounded. Riot police encircled the hijackers and their accomplice, and managed to successfully secure the hostages. The scene that unfolded before my eyes was something I had only seen in movies.

“W-Wow...” I stammered, amazed at the sight outside the window.

No sooner had I realized we were pursuing a case than Ryuuzouji solved it. While it was commonplace for famous detectives to have the authority to bend ordinary people to their will, Gekka Ryuuzouji was likely in a class of his own.

Once the scene was taken care of, the officers stopped by the window to express their gratitude. Taking that as a sign of the case being wrapped up, the limo started moving again.

“I thought we were going to die...”

“Do not worry. Nobody dies when I take over,” Ryuuzouji said while fighting a bad cough. He turned his attention back to the cell phone against his ear. “My apologies, I was speaking to someone else. The criminal is most likely transporting his target in the storage trailer. He plans to kill the victim at the destination, before returning to his starting location...”

He had already moved on to another case. This was the power of Gekka Ryuuzouji, the Count of the Armchair...

A genius of parallel thinking and multitasking. Out of all the detectives registered with the Detective Library, he had the greatest number of solved cases to his name.

“Now then, is there anything else you wish to ask me?” Ryuuzouji asked, clasping his hands above his knees. He had stored his phone somewhere in the blink of an eye.

“Are you all behind Kyoko’s disappearance? Where is she?”

“I regret to inform you, but her whereabouts are unknown to us. I am telling you the truth. Normally, we would never lose track of an individual like this, but since we are unable to locate her, it must be assumed that she is leveraging her detective skills to intentionally shield herself from detection.”

“Intentionally...?”

“Might you not have an idea of where she went? Do warn her that it is a waste of time to attempt to run and hide from us.”

The Crime Victims’ Salvation Committee was apparently also looking for Kyoko. Finding out she hadn’t been captured more than justified coming this far.

Still, I didn’t want to be stuck in this car any longer than I had to. My shoulders sagged and I slunk deeper into the seat.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Ryuuzouji said with a calm smile. “As I said earlier, I mean you no harm. I am simply escorting you like one does a princess in a fairy tale, and I shall return you all the same.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“It is but a matter of personal desire.”

“Personal desire...?”

“Indeed. The Crime Victims’ Salvation Committee has nothing to do with the fact that you are presently inside this vehicle. I am acting without their knowledge.”

A look of confusion spread across my face. He wasn’t making any sense.

“This is confidential information,” he continued, “But the Committee has already prepared a new Duel Noir, summoning you as the detective.”

“Huh...?”

Hearing those words should’ve been shocking to me, but the feeling of surprise never came. So much had happened since I entered this car that my mind couldn’t process everything fast enough.

“The next challenge addressed to you is currently in my possession. It would be easy to hand it over, but as someone who has taken an interest in you, I do not wish to lose you.” His soothing voice suddenly grew stern.

While that last part was flattering, I would’ve liked to hear those words from someone else.

“As such, I have taken up a certain wager,” he continued. “Although I have abstained from gambling and the like throughout my life, I felt an inclination to seek an answer from fate.” For a moment, Ryuuzouji focused his gaze on the window that was being gently pelted by snow, before turning his head and staring me straight in the eyes. “Yui Samidare—shall we play a game?”

—A game?

I’d had enough of these stupid grownup games. Was he really going to make me play another one so soon?

“The rules are simple. Twice, I shall present you with a choice. All you have to do is make a decision based on your convictions. However, what I ask you will be the same on both occasions.”

“All I have to do is pick something?”

“If that is how you choose to understand it, then so be it. Will you accept?”

I nodded, without a clear idea of what was going on. It sounded fairly simple, but...

“Then, allow me to ask you—” Ryuuzouji pulled out a black envelope from inside his overcoat. That accursed envelope. The insignia of the Crime Victims’ Salvation Committee looked like it had been freshly pressed into the red sealing wax.

He then took out a second, different envelope. This one was colored completely white, but the seal was identical.

He held the two envelopes out in front of me—the black envelope in his left hand, the white envelope in his right.

“The black envelope contains details of a new challenge, much like the ones you have previously encountered. It has been prepared by the Committee. The summoned detective is you, Yui Samidare, and the moment you open this envelope, a Duel Noir will commence.”

Paying no attention to my bewildered expression, Ryuuzouji continued. “The white envelope contains a letter inviting you to join the Crime Victims’ Salvation Committee. Such an invitation is required from an executive member of the Committee to enter the organization. I have endorsed it for you.”

Ryuuzouji glared at me with expectant eyes.

I finally understood the meaning of this game. White or black—would I join them or resist them?

“I must also mention, you have a third option of not choosing either path. However, knowing you, you will not consider such an action. Now, it is time. Make your decision.”

As the car came to a halt at a red light, time stopped inside the car. My body remained frozen until the car started moving again.

“You need not be so anxious. As I mentioned, I shall present this choice to you a second time. You are welcome to change your mind before then.”

“Then what’s the point of making a choice now?”

Ryuuzouji didn’t respond. He thrust the two envelopes closer to me, pretending that an invisible timer was counting down.

The choice was simple.

Still, I was baffled by the fact that Ryuuzouji was inviting me to join the Committee. What was there to gain from allowing someone unremarkable and talentless like me into their inner circle?

“Has your mind been made up?”

“Yes.”

—The answer can’t be any more obvious.

Without hesitation, I confidently pointed to the black envelope.

Who in their right mind would willingly choose to join a criminal organization?

“Very well.” Ryuuzouji smiled smugly as he returned the two envelopes to his suit pocket. “Please relax.”

“Is that the end of this charade?”

“The game shall continue at a later point. We will be arriving at my headquarters momentarily. There is something I would like to show you there. Will you join me?”

“...Sure.”

Fear was yelling at me to run away, but after a little consideration, I realized it would be the perfect chance to observe the enemy from inside their base. I didn’t want to overlook an opportunity to gain even the slightest bit of information on them.

The scenery outside the window gradually transformed from blocks of urban buildings into snow-laden fields and forests.

“Six years ago, I joined the Crime Victims’ Salvation Committee.” Ryuuzouji launched into a monologue completely unprompted. “Ever since then, I have continued to devise tricks for Duel Noirs. In most cases, Duel Noirs are planned by multiple creators and coordinators, and executed and directed by Mikado Shinsen.”

Ryuuzouji casually disclosed information about the Committee like it was idle gossip. He sounded confident that divulging these secrets wouldn’t affect his standing in any way.

The depravity of detectives who stood among gods—

It was a shock to hear the truth reaffirmed from his mouth.

“I presume that you believe the Crime Victims’ Salvation Committee is no different from the average criminal syndicate, a vile organization that offers murder shows to people who take pleasure in those kinds of things.”

“Is that wrong?”

“What you know is simply the mechanism by which the organization secures its necessary funding. At the very least, that is not where the Committee’s principles lie. If the Committee were such a lowly organization, I would have never offered to cooperate with them in the first place.”

Principles... huh.

He seemed to suggest they had their own notion of justice.

The car passed through a brick arch and continued down a boulevard of withered trees.

“From here onward is my private estate,” Ryuuzouji said, gazing at the scenery outside. “Can you hear them? The voices calling out for a detective to save them.”

I looked out the window. Even though we were well beyond city limits, a surprising number of people were strolling down the boulevard. Entire families, couples, and more. Children waved at our window and playfully chased after our car, but unable to keep up, they fell farther and farther behind until they eventually disappeared out of sight.

As we continued down the road, I saw more and more people. At some point, the crowd transformed into a single orderly line.

What are they lining up for? I wondered.

The car reached the end of the boulevard and passed through another brick archway. We emerged into a circular driveway with a fountain and rose garden, a beautiful sight that retained its magnificence in spite of the somber wintry background. Our car drove deeper into the property, tracing the line of people circling around the fountain.

Finally, Ryuuzouji’s headquarters came into view.

The building was no different from a castle. The walled perimeter was surrounded by a deep moat, across which spanned an old-fashioned stone bridge that led to the front gate. Round towers with windows spiraling upwards and battlements lining the top of the castle completed the look of a medieval European fortress. I had lost all sense of reality since entering the estate.

The limo stopped in front of the marble entrance, and shortly afterwards, the boy in the vest opened the rear door from the outside. I took his outstretched hand and got out of the vehicle.

The line that continued through the entrance suddenly collapsed, as everyone crowded around. Old and young, men and women, people from all walks of life gathered together, staring at the car with hopeful expressions on their faces.

After a brief moment, a ramp extended out from the limo, and Ryuuzouji descended it in his motorized wheelchair. As soon as he came into view, excited voices from the crowd filled the air.

“Mr. Ryuuzouji, welcome back!” “Well done on another hard day’s work, Mr. Ryuuzouji!” “Thank you for your help the other day!”

Everyone greeted him with upbeat cheers, treating him as a minor idol or a movie star who had arrived on the scene. Ryuuzouji held up one hand, and without uttering a word, gestured for the crowd to calm down.

The boy in the vest circled behind him and started pushing his wheelchair towards the building’s entrance. I hurried after them, still recovering from a state of disbelief.

Next: Chapter 1, Part 4

[alexboehm55144]

Alex Final Wars 2: Dark Alex, Chapter 12 - A Well Deserved Break

Another chapter for you guys today! I've been thinking about getting more art done for this story, but I have it on good authority that my words paint the perfect picture! This chapter actually had me really nervous as I went over it, but hopefully, it's good! Let me know what you guys think, and let's get right into this slower paced chapter!

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North Korea had been defeated, their leadership killed, and their nuclear weapons captured. But the war was far from over. US troops had pushed far into the country, almost right to China's doorstep. But the Chinese had anticipated this and had heavily upgraded the defenses on their border with the country, constructing the most powerful fortifications in existence. It would be hell to push through, but when the time came US forces would break through those defenses. A staging area right at China's door was a major victory so early in the war, but the country was still fit to fight. Chinese ships and troops were all over the Pacific, and they could still strike almost anywhere.

However, right now, Heroes was taking a break after striking such a savage blow for China. The typhoon had landed near Mt Fuji, and Alex and JayJay were sitting in chairs out on the deck of the ship, watching the sunset over the mountain. The two ate Japanese cuisine and drank tea from a local shop as they watched the beautiful colors in the sky.

"I've always wanted to visit Japan," JayJay said between bites "such a beautiful country"

"Very advanced too." Alex responded, munching on a chopstick full of sushi rice "and not just technology wise, they have all sorts of cool little gizmos and tricks around the country"

"What do you mean?"

"Like a lot of Japanese toilets have a sink built into the top. So the water that you use to wash your hands can then be used to flush the toilet"

"Oh, that's environmentally friendly"

"It's those cool little tricks that I really enjoy" Alex sipped some tea "and as you can clearly see, the beauty of the country is astounding.

"Such a beautiful sunset, can you take a picture of me with it?"

The wolf handed Alex her phone and struck a pose a few feet away.

"Oh, it's prettier now" Alex joked, lining up the shot, prompting the wolf to chuckle and blush slightly as the captain took a couple of pictures.

"Hopefully these are good"

JayJay looked through the pictures before thanking her friend.

"I'm glad to finally get a break"

"Same, I couldn't handle endless combat"

"Here's to a job well done in Korea," Alex said, holding up his teacup, prompting JayJay to clink her own cup against his. "We eliminated a rogue state that has been a problem for decades, struck a decisive blow against the enemy, and freed so many people"

"I feel great, knowing that I had a hand in helping all those people"

"Based on reports, we're taking in and caring for a lot of North Korean citizens that have been imprisoned and mistreated"

"Alex, remember how I was depressed when the Chinese blew up that aircraft carrier in Guam? You were right, I just had to keep going. And now, I've been able to make an amazing difference in the world. I couldn't have done it without you"

"We'll be doing a lot more for people once we make a move on China. The country has done a lot of bad things, oppression of many certain groups, censoring large parts of media, the list goes on. It will be another major accomplishment to help those people as well"

"You know I'm ready to assist you anytime, anywhere"

"Also give yourself more credit, it's not just me doing all this work. Your holding your own on the battlefield, and your a great and talented individual to have on this team"

"Thank you, that means a lot," the wolf said, putting her hand on Alex's shoulder.

The captain gently squeezed her hand. "I'm glad to hear you feel better"

000

Nick, Judy, Jack, and Skye spent a lot of time together, watching movies, performing daily tasks, or just chatting. Today was different though, as Skye and Judy were in the shooting range keeping their skills sharp for the next combat situation. Nick and Jack were off doing something else, with Judy suspecting it would involve pawpsicles. Toothdee headed down to the range to test her skills and revived a warm greeting from the 2 mammals already there.

What made this shooting range advanced was its holographic targets, which removed the need for actual physical targets that would degrade over time. Also, it allowed for easy customization of training programs.

"So how do you guys know each other?" Toothdee asked, selecting a training program and checking her rifle.

"Well, Nick and Jack were friends as kits" Judy explained, shooting a target down range with her tranquilizer pistol "then later on the 4 of us started working together as part of an effort to establish a link between the ZPD & ZIA. That's how we all got acquainted."

"And since then we've been inseparable," Skye said, finishing her friend's sentence.

"I'm glad to have ZIA & ZPD operatives on this team, it promotes better connectivity," Toothdee said, engaging some targets downrange. "Is it just me or does Alex seem more distant lately?"

"What do you mean?" Judy asked.

"I can't put my finger on it, but he seems different with regards to our counterparts. Like something about them changed him. He's almost like... more aggressive, more ruthless. And between you guys and me, I'm worried about how we have evil versions of ourselves killing people out there"

"He seems fine to me, but I wouldn't know," Skye said "but it's possible that he's in a way upset that there's a dark version of him, after all, you just said you were worried about the same thing"

"Yeah, I am, but..." she trailed off, unable to put what she was thinking into words, leaving Skye and Judy wondering what was gonna come next. "...maybe I'm just overreacting. But I think it would be important to make sure we stay warriors for peace and justice and don't become the dark villains we hope to destroy."

The rabbit and fox nodded in agreement.

"Now then, how about a friendly competition?" Toothdee asked, pressing a few buttons on the console to link Judy's firing lane, Skye's lane, and her own. Point indicators appeared above the lanes of all 3 heroes, who raised their weapons as the timer counted down.

3... 2... 1...

000

Haida and Retsuko had left the typhoon and were visiting their home city of Tokyo. Kion and Jasiri had also come along, wanting to see the sights, and figuring there were no better guides than people who actually lived in the city.

The hyena and red panda had shown the couple all sorts of interesting areas around the city, such as a local art museum, and a scenic walk with cherry blossom trees. Kion described the walk as romantic, with the other mammals agreeing. As such, the 2 couples had spent almost half an hour making out, before they decided to leave after receiving some weird looks.

The group had also visited the Tokyo sky tree, which was a massive tower with a stunning view from the observation deck. Jasiri had spent a little too much money on the metal viewing scopes implanted in the deck. However she did manage to catch some good views of , and Retsuko had directed the hyena to view her apartment. She had even taken a look at the typhoon, spotting Alex and JayJay sitting outside on the ship's deck.

Tokyo was a city with less of a human presence than other locations. It wasn't out of the ordinary to see non-humans across the planet, but humans did greatly outnumber other sentient species on earth. Tokyo reminded Kion & Jasiri of their home city of Zootopia, one of many places where it was rare to see humans. It almost felt like a metropolis they knew & loved.

Now, as the day was ending and night was falling, the city's lights became alive, transforming Tokyo into a display of color. A light drizzle of rain poured down from the sky as Retsuko lead the group to a karaoke bar, a place that she and Haida knew all too well. Entering the building, an attendant lead them to a room Retsuko requested, before taking an order for food and drinks.

Retsuko and Haida got something with alcohol in it, while Kion and Jasiri opted for tea.

"Come on Kion, sing something" Jasiri encouraged, trying to get her lion to sing something. "They have songs in English"

"Oh, I can't sing," Kion said, scrolling through the songs on a tablet, and thinking he would die from embarrassment if he tried singing. "Retsuko, why don't you try something?"

He handed the microphone to the red panda, who then typed '9091-89' in on the tablet.

She took a deep breath as the music began to build, before screaming out as loud as she could into the mic.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Kion and Jasiri covered their ears, while Haida just stared wide-eyed at the red panda. Kion worried that the glasses with their drinks would shatter. Jasiri tried to say something to her mate, but the lion could only see her lips moving.

Meanwhile, Haida just continued to watch his red panda as she belted out frustration in her favorite song.

000

While Heroes was taking a well-deserved break after their victory in North Korea, their counterparts had done something much sinister. They had just eliminated one of the powerful individuals who had afforded them their prominent positions in the Chinese military, meaning now they were sovereign figures. They no longer had to listen to the plans and demands of the meterex leader who had found them, and the person they had just killed.

The battle wasn't even that tough, they severely outnumbered their enemy, who was in a weakened state. It was almost too easy filling him with holes and driving swords through his body. Now they were heading back to their ship, where they could plan the next phase of their operations.

"What kind of name is 'Dark Oak?'" Toothdee's counterpart laughed, her comment almost a way of spitting on the grave of the meterex they had slaughtered a few minutes prior.

"You mean what kind of name was 'Dark Oak" Alex's counterpart said, "he and his meterex failed to conquer this world once before, but we will succeed where they failed."

"You know I have to say that's a nice addition to your arsenal," Dark Eris said, pointing to Alex's wrist.

"Thank you," the dark warrior said, looking at his wrist, which was clad in a black gauntlet with an integrated grappling hook. The hook allowed him to pull enemies or objects in from afar, quickly bringing them within striking distance. It was also capable of pulling panels off walls and tearing apart objects.

Arriving back at the Black Typhoon, the group made their way into the command room after stashing their weapons in the armory.

"Toothdee, get me a status report," Dark Alex said, to which his friend obliged, lighting the room up with screens displaying information.

"North Korea is lost." Dark Toothdee said, looking over some screens "but this is only a small victory for the United States."

"Are our tactics working?"

"Yes, with no real front line, and no defined separation of territory, we will keep the US on their toes. Guessing where we're gonna attack next, and eventually wearing them down. We are still able to get our troops to most positions in the Pacific, and strike at places the United States won't expect."

"However we do have to acknowledge that they are on our doorstep now, are our defenses ready?"

"Our defenses are ready to hold back any assault, and reports suggest the US won't attack won't attack. In fact, bombing campaigns and ground-based incursions have led them to pull back somewhat, meaning a large area of North Korea is without a military presence. And the US has taken in many civilians, meaning there are fewer people in general."

"Perfect looks like they failed at establishing a beachhead close too China, but we should still be on guard for attacks from North Korea. However, it's time to strike back at the United States. Laval, is your fleet ready?"

The lion stepped forward and spoke. "Yes, the new vessels have been seamlessly integrated into our battle formations, we're ready to get back out there."

"Kion? Are your teams ready?"

The other lion began his explanation "Our gear is ready & the plan is set, all that's left is to put it into action"

"Brilliant, I say we couldn't have picked a better time for a war" Dark Alex said "the political, economic, and military climate was perfect"

"Tensions have been growing between the nations for a while now, it was obviously going to erupt in war," Dark Toothdee said, swiping through some data pages on a tablet. "Growing tension as China expands is territory & grows its military. Not to mention the US leading more towards a policy of isolationism, as China strives forward in terms of its economy, & its environmental protection efforts."

The dark warrior paused & looked out a nearby window as he collected his thoughts.

“The time when the United States is the world's dominant power is at an end. A new era is emerging. You have your orders, go forth and enact our will!"

The dark characters filed out of the room, ready to enforce their machinations upon the United States & Heroes.

"Let's show the world what we can really do."

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Hopefully, everyone liked that forboding scene at the end! A nice peek into the mind of the enemy. This update was a pain to post for some reason as well. But this was a nice, slower paced chapter, but next time there will be more action for all you thrill seekers! Please leave a review and have a great day!

[nanlicia]

First, To Do No Harm

Ransom Week Day 1 - primum non nocere - “first, to do no harm”

There’s something to be said about impulse decisions. There’s a certain thrill that rises in a person’s bloodstream and makes the brain all fuzzy-happy-feely. There’s also a lack of time to be stressed, concerned, or overwhelmed.

But the best thing Justin can figure about impulse decisions is that they’re made with the gut. Not the head, which works itself into such a frenzy it can sometimes paralyze the rest of the body. And not the heart, either, which tugs itself into so many different directions it’s hard to know if the final decision is in his own best interest, or that of one of the other dozens of important people in his life.

No; impulse decisions are made with the firmness and sincerity of pure intuition. There’s second guesses which can arise, sure. But there’s nothing like the clarity that comes after recklessly proclaiming a decision, even if you’re not sure if it’s the right one.

Set the timer and give yourself the 20 seconds to think it through and then blurt out the answer before the beep comes and in that one single moment after doing so your entire body will react and you will know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, if what just came out of your mouth was the right thing or not.

And then you’ll have your correct answer.

That’s why Justin said it out loud before he’d ever really given it any thought.

“I don’t wanna go to medical school.”

The attic was quiet, Holster having been in class at the time, and the rest of the Haus mates downstairs but not being overly obnoxious. There was an open notebook in his lap and a textbook resting on his knees and a weight lifted off his shoulders.

He didn’t wanna go to medical school.

Not yet, anyway. Maybe, not ever.

He put some more thought into it, shared it with Holster, argued about it with Holster, and then set plans into motion that would keep him moving in a forward direction without having to commit to throwing the idea of medical school out the window just yet.

And then he made another impulse decision and asked Holster to borrow the Jeep so he could drive the 9 hours back to Toronto to inform his parents.

“What do you mean you haven’t told your parents?” Holster had asked.

“I mean I haven’t told them,” Justin had replied, shoving some clothes into the overnight bag he used on roadies. “And I need to.”

“Well yeah, but-”

“Now.”

“Ok but-”

“Right now, Holtzy, I need to be in a car on my way home to tell them I’m not going.”

“Ok, ok, I got you, lemme just-”

“Alone.”

Holster had been upset and had argued but Justin was adamant. Some things in life required an audience, a support system, a source of encouragement. But others could only be done if no one else was around to make Justin feel like he was doing this for any reason other than for himself.

The drive had passed in a blur of highway lanes, billboard signs, and gas stations. The radio had went fuzzy and silent for a while and left Justin in static filled quiet, but it was an absent quiet. Like the kind you don’t even notice is happening until it’s almost over and your mind comes back to your body and you realize you’re one traffic light away from your destination.

Pulling up outside his childhood home at 4 AM had felt strange, like seeing a behind the scenes picture of the set from your favorite tv show that stopped airing twelve years ago. It’s been a while since you’ve even watched any re-runs, but the faces in the picture are all just as you remember them, even if the colors on the photo are faded and you can tell it was taken on a camera with technology that’s completely obsolete by now.

A knock on a bedroom window and an awkward half-hug with his little sister in the doorway were the only thing he really took in before he was lying in his old bed, leg bouncing, body shaking, and heart racing.

His parents were creatures of habit, and his mom emerged from her room at exactly 5:56 AM.

Justin made another impulsive decision and said “hey mom” just loud enough for her to hear and be startled and have to have him come rushing out to reassure her everything was ok and the voice from the should-be-empty bedroom belonged to her son, who was about to miss his Friday morning thesis seminar.

She had hugged him tight and then smacked his shoulder for scaring her like that and then his dad had shouted out from his place still lying in bed, asking what was happening, and Justin had went over, plopped down next to him and cuddled up so they were lying face to face sharing the same pillow and smiling the same fond smile at each other.

All the morning distractions made them all running late, especially his dad who really didn’t want to be late to work, so Justin helped get his sister to school and his mom to work, then spent the rest of the day at home by himself, waiting for them all to come home.

His mind was surprisingly calm and at ease, heart centered and full after being in this warm and cozy house again.

Once everyone came home his mom got started on dinner and Justin sat at the breakfast bar trading sarcastic comments with his sister and discussing world news with his parents. They talked about the weather, the upcoming election, the stock exchange, and Dami’s calculus homework.

And then, just as the oven beeped to let everyone know the chicken was done, Justin said “so I’ve decided I’m not going to medical school”, and the entire house fell so silent even the oven stopped beeping.

Justin let the silence sit, not really knowing what else there was for him to say.

Eventually, his sister said she had a question on one of her problems, and he leaned over to help her as his mom went to get the food out of the oven. They ate dinner with almost nothing being said until finally his father set his fork down on his plate, steepled his fingers over it, looked at Justin and asked him to explain.

So he did.

Justin explained that he wasn’t sure what direction he wanted his life to take at this point. That some days the idea of one more day, one more class, one more test, was too much to handle so he didn’t. He’d spent at least two days of every week for the last five months ditching class and staying home to sleep.

His mind was exhausted, and while he knew that he’s capable of maintaining a high grade point average, even with missing so much class, he also knew that trying to do so was slowly eating away at his motivation and making him less happy to be there, and more resentful of it for the amount of mental energy it takes.

He wanted to give himself a chance to breathe. To re-adjust, re-evaluate, and re-focus.

He wanted to consider other options, because, in all honesty and all fairness and with all respect, he didn’t think he’d ever been given the room to consider other options.

“You want to be a doctor,” his dad said, voice watery. “You told us that.”

“Yeah, Pop, I know I did. And back then… maybe I did. I don’t know. But right now, I - I don’t know if that’s what I want, or if that’s what I thought you wanted me to want.”

“So, you are not happy?” he asked.

Justin bit his lip, looking over at his mom who was was sitting up straight in her seat and bringing her hand to her face in a way she probably thought was subtle, but which Justin could tell was just an excuse to wipe at her watery eyes. His heart was racing because he could see the heartbreak she was experiencing plain on her face.

He shook his head. “No. I’m not happy.”

His mom reached out and pulled him into a hug, saying “We love you, Justin, and we want you to be happy, and to do well. We support you, no matter what, and if this will make you happy, it will make us happy.”

Dinner was cold and forgotten by the time she let him go, and she told him to wash up and get some sleep; he’d have a long drive the next day.

As he stood, he placed a hand on Dami’s shoulder and she reached up and patted the back of his hand, smiling up at him.

His father came over then, and hugged him tight, rubbing across his back. He pressed a kiss to his cheek and Justin pressed one of his own into his dad’s beard, and then they pulled apart and he headed to bed.

The next morning when he woke, his dad was outside washing the Jeep.

Justin took his time getting dressed, kissed his mother good morning as she stood over the stove cooking breakfast. She told him he should go speak with his father, told him he should go hear him out.  

Justin grew concerned as he went out front and the closer he came to his father, the man who built their family into a home with his own two hands and every gene in his body, he could feel the air become thick with tension.

“Ma says you have something to say to me,” Justin said, speaking up to be heard over the spray from the hose.

His dad kept rinsing the Jeep, his face unreadable.

“The car should be clean when you return it,” he said.

Justin shook his head. “I don’t think that’s what you wanna say to me.”

“I don’t think this is what you really want to do,” his dad snapped back.

Justin tried to stay calm, but he could feel all the guilt and dread and shame rolling in the pit of his stomach all the sudden, and he didn’t know how he was going to contain it.

“Dad, please-”

“How am I supposed to support this decision when I don’t even know what the alternative is?” His dad asked, dropping the hose and moving to pick up the soapy car sponge from the small bucket at his feet. “What is it you plan to do instead?”

“I’m gonna go into consulting. At least, at first.” Justin watched as his father scrubbed at a particularly nasty spot on the hood of the car with as much passive aggression as any one person could manage. “I’ve already done several interviews, and I have some offers. I’m gonna stay in Boston, get an apartment, and in a year, if I decide I wanna go back to school, I’ll still have all my options open.”

His dad finished scrubbing and picked up the hose again, and as the breeze blew by Justin was hit with some of the backspray. He stepped out of the way and closer toward his dad.

“I want you to be happy, Justin, you know that. I just don’t understand how you don’t see how happy this could make you.”

“Dad,” Justin sighed, trailing off and glancing toward the ground.

The hose dropped down by his feet and his father leaned over and turned off the spout.

“Grab a towel,” his dad said, and together they both moved to begin drying the car on opposite sides.

They worked in silence until they met up at the back, and Justin gently reached out and took the wet towel from his dad’s hands.

“Doctors take an oath, right? To do no harm?” Justin asked. His dad was watching him intensely, eyes searching Justin’s face for some sort of answer. “When does that begin, do you think, dad? With the first patient? With the first cadaver on the first day of med school? Or does it begin with the doctor, themself? I just - shouldn’t I make sure that I’m not doing any harm to myself first, dad?”

“Are-” his dad tried to speak but his voice cracked. He cleared his throat, reaching out and setting a hand on Justin’s. “Are you harming yourself?”

Justin’s eyes welled with tears and his face started to break and all he could do was nod.

Before he could have a moment more to think, his dad was holding him in his arms and they were crying together, voices wet as they apologized to each other over and over.

“I’m sorry, dad, I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, my boy, shh.” His dad rocked them back and forth, the movement soothing. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t see it before. I'm sorry you felt like you couldn't tell us what you've been going through. I don't ever want to miss something like this again.

“You, your sisters, and your mom are my world, and I don’t want to ever cause any of you pain by wishing something for you that is only hurting you.”

“I should have said something sooner.”

“You should have. But that’s past now, and you’ve told us now, so it’s going to be ok. Everything is going to be ok now.”

And as Justin stood there in the driveway, soaking wet from the mist in the air and rivers on his face, wrapped in his father’s arms, he could see how that could be true, how everything, from here on out, would be ok.

[lovewhatyoudodolan]

Fight Night Pt 10 || Bad!Boy Ethan

“Fight night was an unspoken tradition, and if you didn’t go then your years at Taylor Island High School would be hell. It was worse though if you were the guy who turned down a fight. Sometimes things were taken too far, but there was nothing you could do unless you wanted to suffer the same fate…”

Word Count: 3075

A/N: I literally couldn’t bring myself to actually post this. I’m not crying right now, you’re crazy if you think I am. Listened to a lot of old Green Day songs while writing this.

Warnings: Underage Drinking, Fighting, Cursing Probably other illegal things…

Pt 1 || Pt 2 || Pt 3 || Pt 4 || Pt 5 || Pt 6 || Pt 7 || Pt 8 || Pt 9

MASTERLIST

REQUEST

Did you know that it only takes one second for a car to accidently swerve into the other lane and cause a fatal car accident? One second to turn someone’s world completely upside down? One second can change a person’s life forever, but we don’t like to think about the split second decisions. We just go with our instincts, and on most occasions that could be the best or worst thing for your future.

The hard plastic stick was gripped in my right hand as I continuously checked the timer on my cellphone. “Is it up yet?” Trish was impatiently sitting against the wall and Colton was glaring at her from the spot next to me.

“Just be patient,” Colton seemed more on edge about the situation than I was. His eyes darted to the timer, before looking up at me. Before he could say anything the obnoxious alarm went off and I swore my heart was no longer in my body. “Do you want me to look or?”

My eyes dart down to the white stick sitting next to my leg with the results upside down. “What am I going to tell Ethan if this is positive? Oh well Gretchen just went through all that shit saying she was pregnant with your kid, but I actually am. Sorry.”

“Exactly,” I glare at the curly haired girl before letting out a frustrated sigh, “Just took at the damn test already. Colton and I have been stressing the fuck out since we left school.”

“You think I haven’t?” I have no time to react before Colton snatches the test from my side jumping away to read the results. “Well?”

He doesn’t say anything when he turns around. A blank expression covered his features as he and Trish share a look, “You should probably call Ethan y/n…”

As I said, a second can change everything in your life. In this instance, a second informed me that I was in fact pregnant with none other than Ethan Dolan’s child. What the hell was I supposed to do now?

---

I was sprawled out on the living room couch when Ethan knocked on the door to my house. At this point I have no idea what I’m supposed to say to him. “It’s open Ethan!”

“Are you okay babe?” Ethan asked once he was inside, “You sounded on edge.” I sat up so he could take a seat next to me, but before I could start my confession he started talking again. “I’m not going through with this fight tomorrow. Hit me as hard as you can, you deserve it.”

My head snaps in his direction, “Ethan are you crazy?”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” His voice was harsher than usual as he glanced at me through the corner of his eye. I knew he was on edge, and it made me worry about the news I was about to drop on him. “Just take me out before someone else jumps in to hurt you.”

“I know that we have to go,” My voice was hushed when I started talking again, “But can’t we just continuously refuse to fight?

Ethan’s head falls into his hands with a sigh, “If we do that the football bouncers will come after us for disobeying the rules once again. I could never bring myself to hit a girl, let alone you so please just-”

“Ethan I’m pregnant,” It slipped out before I even knew what I was saying. My hand flew over my mouth and my eyes widen at the realization, “Shit I-”

His hand cupped my cheek, making me turn to face him. His eyes didn’t show any signs of shock or anger. They were their normal sparkling hazel color that made my stomach do sporadic flips, “You’re pregnant? Like completely one hundred percent for sure? There’s actually a piece of me growing inside of you?”

“Y-Yeah,” I stutter a little, “I took two tests this afternoon with Trish and Colton and called you right after we got the results. Both were positive…” My eyes squeeze closed in fear of his reaction.

“Oh my god,” His voice was low and when I opened my eyes, he was grinning ear to ear. “I wasn’t serious when I said I wanted to get your pregnant, but holy shit we’re going to have a kid!”

I chuckle and run my fingers through my knotted hair, “Figured this would happen eventually.”

“What’s that supposed to mean” Ethan leans in to blow his hot breath on my ear, “Baby girl?”

A shiver rippled down my spine at the words, “God fuck you Ethan.”

“You’re already knocked up babe,” Ethan jokes and wraps an arm tightly around my shoulders, “You don’t need to fuck me anymore.”

My hand comes around to smack his chest, “Sometimes I really hate you.”

“No you don’t,” His large hand landed on my upper thigh causing my body to stiffen, “Be honest, if I gave you the option you’d want me to fuck you right now wouldn’t you?”

When I didn’t answer right away, his hand moved up to my hip causing my body to get antsy. He can’t do things like this and not expect to get a reaction out of me, “And just when I thought you were going soft on me.”

“You just make me feel some type of way,” Ethan smiles while taking his hand away. “You want to go get something to eat?”

My eyes glance at his large hand before going back to his hazel eyes, “Yeah you thought.” In record time I had pushed Ethan over and was straddling his waist, “We’re finishing what you just started Mr. Bad Boy.”

---

Friday’s classes seemed to fly by, and every time I glanced up at the clock my anxiety for tonight grew. “Y/n!” Grayson’s voice caught my attention and when I turned around, the boy was rushing towards me. “Hey I haven’t had a chance to talk to you today. How are you holding up?”

“Did Ethan tell you?” I didn’t know if he was talking about tonight or the baby. It wouldn’t surprise me if Ethan already told Gray, since he is his brother but I wish he would’ve told me.

His face contorted into a look of confusion, “Told me what? I was talking about the fight tonight.”

“What Trish?”” I pretend that I heard my best friend call me, “I better go find her…” Grayson just watched as I darted around him and towards my next class. How awkward can I get?

A hand grabbed mine, pulling me back. “Babe what’s the rush?”

“I just embarrassed the hell out of myself in front of your twin,” I groaned and glanced behind me, “Have you not told him yet?”

He shakes his head, “No I was thinking we could do it together.”

“After that encounter, I don’t think I want to ever face him again.” I sighed and stepped forward to hug Ethan. Today had been overly stressful; every time I turn around people are watching me.

His lips lightly press to my forehead, “Hey it’ll all be over before we know it. Don’t stress too much. It’s not good for either of my girls.”

“Girls?” I step back slightly to look up at his face. “What makes you think it’s a girl?”

Ethan just shrugs, “Just a feeling I guess? Anyways, no one is for this fight tonight. There are enough people on our side that will keep Gretchen and Jamie at bay. We’ll have to get in the ring, but no one will be able to jump in after us if we refuse to fight. People will eventually give up.”

“Well I’m hoping for a boy,” I grin up at the boy, “I’m also hoping you’re right about this.”

“Let’s just get you to class,” He says before starting towards my English room.

Remember what I said about those seconds? Well, good things don’t always happen. “You fucking slut!” Gretchen’s voice cracked as she stormed over, “God just wow when is the spawn due?”

“What the fuck?” Ethan tried to cut in, but Gretchen just shot the boy a glare.

“You’re such a sad excuse for a person y/n,” She chuckles darkly, “I mean your parents even left because they didn’t want such a fuck up being in their family. Wonder what they would say if they saw you now.”

I drop Ethan’s hand and take a step forward, “My family life is none of your business Gretchen. Get your snout out of it because you don’t know anything about me. I never told you or Jamie anything for a reason.”

“Yeah because you were embarrassed,” She snarls.

“Not even close,” If it wasn’t for the fact that a crowd had grown I wouldn’t slapped the shit out of her, “I don’t need that family. My family is right here, helping me through the crazy ass shit you’ve been pulling since the first week of school.”

Jamie came sprinting frantically out of nowhere, “Gretchen what the fuck is your problem?” The question from the sister caught me off guard, “You need to get your shit together and just leave them alone. You lost give it up already!”

“God you’re one to talk,” Gretchen spat at her sister, “Grayson still talks to you for some reason.”

I glance up at Ethan who just shrugs and continues to watch the twin sisters arguing in the hallway, “Let’s get out of here before Twin War breaks out.” He grabs my hand, but I stay in place. Before today, I could never put my finger on it but there was something off about Gretchen ever since we got back to school… “Babe?”

“Wait,” I sigh and pull him back to my side, “Is it just me or does Gretchen’s hair look off?”

Jamie strode up to her sister, “Do you think that everything happening to you isn’t affecting me as well?”

“Shut up Jamie,” Gretchen’s eyes scan the packed hallway of teenagers watching them, “Everyone’s watching.”

“Well someone needs to tell them because you obviously aren’t. You need to calm the hell down because the things you’re doing aren’t acceptable, even if you have a health problem.” That’s when it clicked. See seconds reveal so many things, and this one revealed that Gretchen was sick to the entire school.

“Jamie stop!” Her sister shook her head before turning away, “Where are you going?”

“I can’t deal with this anymore Gretchen,” She sighed and continued down the hall, “You need help.”

“Okay,” I glance up at the brunette at my side, “Let’s go…”

---

Screams were the only things that could be heard as Trish, Colton and I entered the crowded arena. “Are you sure Ethan is right? What if something goes wrong?”

“We have a backup plan,” Ethan caught my eye as he leaned against the railing of the makeshift fighting arena. He looked amazing, the overhead lighting accented his skin perfectly and his eyes seemed to be a perfect honey color. All this time I saw him, but never actually SAW him. The boy that I just recently realized I was in love with…

The crowd of people paved a way for me to reach the area, and Ethan eventually helped me up. His hand never left my back as we made our way to a nervous looking Richy. “Are you two ready?”

“Let’s get this over with.” Ethan muttered. Gretchen was standing behind Ethan’s side of the ring with her arms crossed over her chest. Jamie has been MIA since the hallway incident, but I knew she would turn up eventually.

Ethan took a knee as Richy began introducing the fight causing the audience to gasp, “I’m not fighting her. I told you all that Wednesday, and my words still stand. She’s the only person who makes me feel this way, so what would be the point in causing harm to her?”

I smile down at Ethan and stick my hand out to help him back up. Surprisingly, none of the Football players were rushing the arena meaning we were in the clear. “I’m perfectly fine with this decision,” Richy adds before dropping the microphone.

Next thing I knew, Trish had Gretchen pinned to the ground in front of Ethan and I. “You have no idea how much you annoyed the fuck out of me while we were friend Gretchen.” She sent a slap to the girls face causing the wig on her head to be a bit more noticeable, “Go ruin someone else’s life please.”

“None of you get it!” I help Trish off the girl before glaring down at her helpless state, “I don’t care if people hate me because I’m fucking dying a little more every day. By next year I won’t even be here; I just wanted to be out of the shadows before it happened.”

My heart broke for the girl at my feet. She may have made these last couple of weeks a living hell, but she was my friend since freshman year. We have some good memories together, “Why didn’t you just say you felt left out? Also, why didn’t you tell us that you were sick Gretchen?”

“You wouldn’t have cared,” She spat and I notice tears were starting to form in her eyes.

“If that’s what you think,” I sigh and shake my head at the girl, “You really didn’t know me at all.”

“I don’t care about knowing you,” she groaned in annoyance, “You aren’t who I thought you were when we met.”

I shrug, “Then you didn’t need to stay around. You could’ve just found a new group of friends.” Colton’s voice caught me off guard as his hand rests on my shoulder, “I did it so many times while in Arizona. When people found out I was gay it was as if the world was ending.”

“There were plenty of people around to make friends with,” Ethan adds in, “When Gray and I came back none of our original friends were around anymore. We moved so many times while we were younger that we never kept the same friends for long.”

That’s when I notice Jamie finally making her way up with an annoyed expression on her face, “Mom is here. Let’s go.”

“What?” Gretchen’s face grew pale at her sisters words.

“Just come on Gretch,” Jamie sighs and glances up at us, “Don’t make this harder than it has to be please.”

With that the girl slowly gets to her feet, “Well this is probably goodbye…” None of us say anything as she walks away. Mainly because we didn’t have any idea what we could say to her.

I didn’t know what was happening when Trish and Colton pull me into a hug. Ethan joined, and at some point I guess Grayson did as well because when the group pulled away he was smiling as well. “So Ethan told me.”

“He did?” I glance up at chuckle at the guilty look on his face, “Sorry I almost gave it away earlier.”

Grayson pulls me into another tight hug, “I’m just glad he finally got his head screwed on straight. You’re the right choice.”

My face grows hot at Gray’s words, “He’s pretty cool I guess.” Ethan shoots me a wink and I chuckle, “Wanna get out of here?”

“I think we’re gonna stay a bit longer, but you guys have fun!” Gray said while pointing at Trish and Colton. “I’m nowhere near drunk enough yet for it being a Friday night.”

I roll my eyes at the floppy haired boy before turning to Ethan, “Do you want to stay?”

“Stay and watch random people beat one another up,” He puts one hand up, “Go back to my girlfriend’s house and eat all of her food,” He puts his other hand up higher than the other before glancing at me. “Guess I’m staying.”

“Yeah okay asshole,” I roll my eyes and begin heading towards the exit.

---

Ethan’s arms tightened around my waist as the movie we were watching came to an end, “Do you want to watch another one or just go to sleep?”

“I don’t know,” I brush a few strands away from his eyes, “I’m just glad you’re here.”

“Look at who’s being cliché now,” He jokes before pressing a kiss to my cheek, “I love you y/n. I just want to make sure you know how serious I am about that. I’m not leaving you again.”

My thumb lightly strokes his cheek, “Good because I’m not letting you go anywhere. I don’t think bean would appreciate her dad leaving.”

“Oh so you think it’s a girl now too do you?” A smirk forms on his lips and I stick my tongue out, “I mean it could always turn out to be twins. It is a gene I carry.”

My eyes widen and I frantically shake my head, “I hope to god it isn’t twins.” He just chuckles before pulling me in for a soft kiss. “What was that for?”

“You never gave up on me,” He sighs and a smile grazes his lips, “Even back when I was an asshole practically using you for sex, you never left. It just blows my mind how someone so perfect could care about a guy like me…”

“What do you mean ‘a guy like you’?” I shake my head at his words, “You make yourself sound like a terrible person. Ethan you’re hidden personality is literally perfect. You don’t need to hide who you really are.”

“It’s just a force of habit since Grayson and I were always bullied,” He told me the story shortly after we started getting intimate with one another. Things just slipped out, and neither of us knew why at the time. Now however, it makes all kinds of sense.

“Well you’re perfect,” I peck his nose and smile at him, “It doesn’t matter what others make you think. I wanted to help you feel better because you’re special to me, in more ways than one now.”

“Please never leave me,” Ethan’s final wall fell in that moment. “I would probably lose my mind…”

Some seconds seem to last forever, and this one was no exception. Ethan was completely giving himself to me, for the first time I knew I could completely trust him. “I’m all yours Ethan Grant Dolan. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

It’s officially over guys! All kinds of emotions are hitting me night now, so I’m just gonna go ahead and post without having a sappy ass A/N at the end. Thank you so much for the support along the way! I love you all!

Tag List:

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[newstfionline]

Man of Letters

Stephen Meyers, City Lab, July 24, 2018

My fourth day delivering mail for the U.S. Postal Service, it snowed-one of those heavy, wet, spring-in-Colorado snows that knocks down tree branches and crushes newly-bloomed tulips. I was training with a veteran letter carrier on a walk-out route, the type where the carrier pushes a blue buggy full of mail and small packages. It’s a lot harder, I discovered, to push that thing through slush.

I schlepped my disheveled, wet self into downtown businesses where concerned secretaries took pity on me as I handed them their soaked mail.

Welcome to the Postal Service.

“Neither snow nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night ...” that’s how the saying goes right?

The rude welcome to the Postal Service quickly taught me mail delivery is no leisurely stroll through the neighborhood, dismantling the idyllic image of a smiling Mr. McFeeley handing out birthday cards in “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.” My first week on the job, I lost 5 pounds.

Being a mail carrier is hard.

I’d eventually get used to the physical rigors of the job and learn the rhythms, tricks and routines of delivering mail, but what surprised me the most over the next 15 months working on the front lines of this vast, imperfect, but essential big-government institution is how the Postal Service delivers much more than just letters, magazines and Amazon packages to a neighborhood.

I met elderly residents who lived alone and just wanted someone to talk to for a couple minutes a day. I saw how critical the Postal Service is for local businesses, like the one that ships dozens of Priority Mail boxes of custom-made zippers for wedding gowns across the country every day. I met strangers willing to donate grocery bags full of food during the long-running Letter Carriers’ Stamp Out Hunger Food Drive, which tallied 71.6 million pounds of found collected nationwide. I learned the value of a powerful union and experienced the most diverse workplace I’ve ever encountered. And most importantly, what I found while roving from house to house on foot was an intimate insight into my community and fellow Americans.

Like many who come to work for the Postal Service, I didn’t find my way into the USPS because I had a burning desire to deliver mail; I just needed a job. A laid-off journalist, I’d spent six months striking out on landing a writing gig and grew tired of the soul-sucking grind that is job searching. An old college friend was working happily delivering mail, and making more than I ever did in newspapering: The benefits are good, you don’t take the job home with you, and there’s lots of overtime if you want it.

And the USPS is nearly always hiring, especially in metro areas in advance of the holiday shopping season. Colorado’s Front Range, which includes Denver, Boulder, and Fort Collins, is currently short more than 500 positions. The hiring process is long--I applied in mid-February and didn’t start until May--and includes two exams, a personality assessment, and the 473 Postal Exam, which tests your ability to check addresses for errors, accurately fill out forms, and memorize and recall lists of street addresses. I had to also pass a drug test (that’s the biggest hurdle to hiring in weed-legal Colorado, the Fort Collins Postmaster told me) and an exhaustive background check. Then it was off to city carrier academy, where veteran carriers taught my fellow classmates and me the tricks of organizing and carrying mail and how to drive the postal vehicles. We each got a navy blue USPS hat and T-shirt and were sent to our respective post offices to begin our postal careers; I was now a USPS employee, working as a city carrier assistant.

In the evenings I’d continue my search for a Plan B career after journalism, but for the other 8-to-10 hours a day (and up to 12 during holiday season) I’d deliver mail and packages to residents of Fort Collins, Colorado.

A lot of packages.

Receive an Instant Pot for Christmas? Yeah, so did your neighbor. My record was 18 delivered in one day--we saw that craze coming on well before Black Friday.

The old-timers at my office remember the days they’d deliver, five, maybe, 10 packages a day. Now it’s more like 50 or 60 a day, from 40-pound bags of dog food to furniture and food-in-a-box meal kits. The Postal Service wasn’t really built for the Amazon era: Our (badly outdated) vehicles don’t have enough space to house them, and few have shelves, leaving carriers to play an Amazon box-sized game of Jenga every day.

(Sidenote on those trucks, called LLVs, or Long Life Vehicles: Most are about 30 years old, with that many years of cigarette smoke soaked into the seats; they lack airbags or air conditioning, and the heaters are less than effective. The USPS is facing a major budget challenge because it needs to replace up to 180,000 of these elderly machines over the next several years, which is going to cost more than $6 billion.)

Every Sunday we’d fill our LLVs with 100 to 175 Amazon packages, thanks to USPS’ exclusive contract with the e-commerce giant--that’s the one that the president keeps objecting to, though it’s been a revenue source for the cash-strapped service. And, no fail, every Sunday, customers would ask why I was working and I’d jokingly (is it a joke, though?) tell them “Because Amazon is taking over the world.”

Other comments I’d hear almost every day:

“You bringing me a check today?”

“You can keep the bills.”

“This one better be a winner!” (I had no idea Publisher’s Clearing House was still a thing, but it is, especially in low-income and senior-living communities.)

“You staying cool out there?” (The answer is always “No, but I’m trying!”).

No one is ever upset to see their mail carrier, you know? This was so foreign to me, as a journalist who was used to being less warmly received. And while predictable and routine and mostly about the weather, I loved these little conversations with residents along my route.

When kids saw me driving around the corner, they’d drop their ballgame and race me down the sidewalk. Others were excited to see me because I was about to be a lucky customer at their lemonade stand. At the retirement home, residents greeted me every day at the wall of mailboxes; if I’d show up five minutes early or five minutes late, they’d jokingly let me have it. “You know, Sue is usually here by 3:30!”

Residents learned my name, and more importantly I learned the intricacies of their neighborhoods. A fellow carrier, a Fort Collins native and Mexican American, proudly showed me his home that’s part of the historically Hispanic neighborhood that I had never taken the time to properly explore and experience on foot. I learned from longtime residents how they felt about the gentrification happening in pockets of Fort Collins. This booming college town has outgrown its farming and ranching roots and is transforming into a progressive tech hub, known for its breweries and affinity for bike lanes, coffee shops, and high-priced boutiques.

Delivering the mail gives you a granular insight into America’s growing cultural, political, and wealth divide. North of town, there’s a senior-living mobile home community sitting in the shadow of newly-built eco-friendly condos that sell for half a million dollars. Residents at the condos subscribe to The Atlantic and New Yorker; residents in the trailer park a few hundred feet away get People and National Enquirer.

After several months, the rhythms of carrying mail became second nature; I’d successfully carried nearly every one of the office’s 50 routes around the city. I also became familiar with the downsides of the job. As one might expect at a financially beleaguered organization that’s been losing money for more than a decade, office morale was often low: Nearly every week, there’d be a shouting match between carriers complaining about mail arriving late to the office, thus delaying and extending their day, and management only shrugging their shoulders and saying that’s an issue out of their control. Clerks, whose duties include working the front desk helping customers and sorting mail and packages (sometimes overnight), were brutally overworked, often clocking 60- to 70-hour weeks. Many of my coworkers felt trapped: Sure, the job sucked sometimes, but where else can you find a secure job that pays as well?

It was my relationships with fellow carriers and clerks--a diverse group, from first-generation Americans to military veterans--that made the job bearable most days. But once I landed a long-sought communications gig, I made the decision to move on from the USPS.

After I shared my Postal Service experience in a thread on Twitter that went semi-viral, I received dozens of comments from readers who shared their nostalgia and affection for this beloved and embattled American institution. One told me about a mail carrier who heard a smoke alarm going off in an empty house and alerted a neighbor. Others were children of postal workers, grateful for the livelihoods that the jobs provided. “Both my parents retired from the post office,” one reader told me. “My mom started when she was just 19 years old. It’s not what it used to be��. They work the new folks into the ground, so I hear. I try to tip my carrier well for dealing with the BS.”

The response made me even more proud of my time wearing the blue uniform; I’m more deeply connected to my community and have a better understanding of my fellow Americans. From now on, I’ll tip my mail carrier well. You should, too.

[entergamingxp]

Making a Video Game Hero: Sports Edition

May 29, 2020 1:00 PM EST

Our latest Making a Video Game Hero series takes to the digital sports arenas around the world as we strive to create the best athlete.

Thus far, these lists have been relatively easy to put together. After all, whether you’re platforming in 2D or 3D, you’re still jumping around. Action-adventure is a little murkier, but even there, you basically know what you’re getting yourself into. However, when trying to build the ultimate sports game star, we ran into some obvious difficulties.

What sport are you playing? How do you possibly weigh the difference between a silky smooth jumper and a devastating stiff arm? We decided to just do the best we could to build the Bo Jackson of virtual sports. Except without, ya know, the crippling hip injuries that will derail his career before it really gets started.

So, what does this monstrosity of bulging muscles, computer-like intelligence, and boyish charm look like? Well, give our creation a look below, and be sure to let us know why we’re wrong in the comments below. And remember, the only rule is we can only use one character per game entry. Otherwise, this would just be all Backyard Sports characters.

Brain: Pablo Sanchez (Backyard Sports) Runners’ Up: Tom Brady (Madden NFL 09), Tiger Woods (Tiger Woods PGA Tour 14)

Tom Brady in Madden NFL 09 is the football savant’s most cerebral version. While his arm skills are worth salivating over, it’s the star’s mind that makes him one of the all-time greats. And while he lost that season in real life due to injury, his virtual counterpart tore up the NFL with reckless abandon.

Likewise, there aren’t many athletes that possess the same killer instincts that Tiger Woods had in his heyday. While we can argue over which video game version is his best, you can’t tell us there’s a virtual player who dominates with their brain and brawn more than Tiger did.

However, our ultimate choice is Pablo Sanchez from the Backyard Sports series. Look at the young lad. If you’re on the playground and selecting your first pick for any sport based on appearances, Pablo is one of the last kids you pick. He’s short. He’s got a potbelly. Heck, he even pretends like he can’t speak English, tossing in an unneeded communication gap for literally no reason. But then you see him on the field.

Regardless of the sport, Pablo Sanchez is, in action, the most dominant athlete in the video game sports world. He is good at everything. Literally everything. That talent has to come from somewhere, and it’s definitely not his 8-year-old beer gut. He’s like that kid in intramurals who was a stud in high school but came to college wanting to party more than practice and got kicked off the football team. Now he looks out of shape, but if you give him a sliver of lane, he’ll still dunk all over you. Not that that specific situation ever happened to me, or anything.

Put that propensity to be great in a genetically superior body and you have something truly scary on your hands.

Eyes: Vladimir Guerrero (MVP Baseball 2005) Runners’ Up: Barry Sanders (Madden NFL 99), Kobe Bryant (NBA Live 2005)

Barry Sanders is one of the best to ever lace up. What set him apart from other running backs was not just his other-worldly body control that let him slip away from would-be tacklers, but his vision to find a sliver of daylight where no one else could. Plus, he was the subject of one of the best video game commercials of all time.

Kobe, on the other hand, had that locked-in glare that made opponents whither late in games. The Black Mamba was one of the most intimidating players in the NBA. When he got serious, you knew you were in for a show.

However, our choice for eyes is Vladimir Guerrero. Vlad never saw a pitch he couldn’t hit. Just watch some of the garbage he’s able to get a hold of in this video. And, in MVP Baseball 2005, the man was absolutely dominant. Manny Rameriz gives him a run for his money, but Vlad is certifiably that dude. He hit pitches off the ground, for goodness sakes!

Mouth: Michael Jordan (NBA 2K11) Runners’ Up: The Announcer (NBA Hangtime), Quentin Sands (Blitz: The League)

Please tell us you’ve watched The Last Dance by now. For sports fans, it is must-watch TV. Like, take a break from reading this, flip to another tab, and enjoy 10 hours of some top-tier content. Now that you’ve seen it, you know that MJ isn’t just the greatest basketball player ever. He’s also a truly next-level trash talker.

Sure, if our abomination had the booming voice of the Hangtime announcer, he’d be fun to hang out with. And, Quentin Sands certainly knows how to talk some junk. That said, Jordan takes it to a different universe. While some are going to say we’re wasting our Jordan slot on his mouth, others will remember he allegedly killed a man’s whole career just by talking to him. Ruthless.

Torso: Jadeveon Clowney (NCAA Football 14) Runners’ Up: Dante Culpepper (Madden NFL 06), Karl Malone (NBA Jam)

Dante Culpepper in Madden NFL 06 was an absolute hoss: impossible to bring down in the backfield and nearly unstoppable once he got up to speed on scrambles. His insane power would make for an excellent base for our monster.

Likewise, the Mailman was a force in NBA Jam. His defense and dunking were off the charts, making him the perfect counterpick when your friend inevitably selected Scottie Pippen and Horace Grant.

However, neither of those characters were inspired by this kind of real-world performance. That hit from Clowney might be the greatest hit anyone has ever laid out in any football game ever. Best of all, his NCAA Football 14 counterpart is capable of the same type of backfield destruction. Good gravy.

Left Arm: Ken Griffey Jr. (The Ken Griffey series) Runners’ Up: Michael Vick (Madden NFL 2004), Mike Tyson (Fight Night Round 4)

Some will probably balk at having Mike Vick’s arm as the option over his legs. That said, the sheer power that his Madden NFL 2004 character was able to generate essentially made EA rewrite the game’s defense for Madden NFL 2005 to compensate. The things he could do in that game were downright silly.

Another potentially surprising inclusion that comes due to our one character per game rule is Mike Tyson. While his turn in Punch-Out!! is legendary, we’re saving that game for something else. Iron Mike’s left arm is earth-shattering in the real and virtual worlds. Watch him throw punches as a 52-year-old man and then imagine taking one of those to the dome in his prime. No thanks!

But, for our money, we’re getting Griffey. If you were a ‘90s kid, there wasn’t a more lovable baseball star than Ken Griffey Jr. He has four different video games with his name on them and is among the best in every single one of them. We’d probably go with his Slugfest version, but you’re welcome to your preference. Regardless, there isn’t a left-arm we want more than The Kid’s.

Right Arm: Waluigi (Mario Tennis) Runners’ Up: Steph Curry (NBA 2K20), Scott Stevens (NHL Hitz 2002)

Steph Curry might just be the best pure shooter in NBA history. His touch from beyond the arc is without equal in the modern game and he makes full-court shots look routine. And Scott Stevens had one of the meanest right hooks in NHL Hitz. If you got into a fight with the New Jersey Devils’ man, you already knew the knockout was coming. But we can do better than either of those.

Waluigi was created in a vat at Nintendo for Mario Tennis. And, to this day, Nintendo refuses to allow him to take his talents to anything other than side games. They’re too scared to see what Waluigi could do to their poster boy in a mainline Mario video game.

We’re not afraid though. Instead, we’ll use what Nintendon’t and graft the best Wa brother’s arm onto our monster, turning his right arm into a machine of sports prowess.

Legs: Devin Hester (Madden NFL 08) Runners’ Up: Didier Drogba (FIFA World Cup 2010), Tony Hawk (Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 3)

Excuse the potato quality, but watch this rocket Drogba delivers from almost the centerline in FIFA World Cup 2010. Sure, it’s on a lower difficulty, but the power that the man from the Ivory Coast possessed in that video game was astounding.

Tony Hawk brings a bit more finesse to the party. His level of control with his feet baffles the mind. Later games would let him do more with the board, but THPS3 is the series’ pinnacle. It’s the Hawkman at his best.

However, Devin Hester is the first Madden player to get 100 speed. Seeing him line up for a return caused grown men and women to immediately wet their pants. He was absolutely a game-changer in Madden NFL 08, and we had to include him here.

Mentor: Doc Louis (Punch-Out!!) Runners’ Up: Bo Jackson (Tecmo Super Bowl), Stretch (NBA Street)

Sports aren’t just about your own personal skills. You need someone to teach you how to be great. Jordan had Phil Jackson. Brady had Bill Belicheck. Even an early prodigy like Cristiano Ronaldo needed a top-class manager in Alex Ferguson to completely bring out his visionary skill.

And so, our creation needs his own mentor. While we considered going with an all-time great player like Bo Jackson or an old-timer who still has it in Stretch, we ultimately went with Doc Louis.

After all, if he can take that chump Little Mac and teach him how to beat the video game version of Mike Tyson, imagine what he can do for our hulking behemoth. Our creation will not only outplay his competition but with Doc Louis’ help, he’ll outwit them too.

So there you have it. Our third video game creation is finished. Are there any changes you’d like to see? If so, let us know about them in the comments. And check back soon for our next dive into the wonderful world of human body modification. It’s sure to be a doozy.

May 29, 2020 1:00 PM EST

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/05/making-a-video-game-hero-sports-edition/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=making-a-video-game-hero-sports-edition

[morgantakestinder]

San Frantastic (or the Longest Date Ever)

This stunning photo of me and Alcatraz is courtesy of Prost and our whirlwind long weekend together in San Francisco. Despite only having known him for a month, I managed to enjoy some of my favourite things with him including Halloween, wine, warm gooey cookies, hotel rooms, Marvel movies, and finally the stunning west coast paradise of San Francisco. Considering that this blog was reignited in this crazy city, I was psyched to come back not too long after, although I can honestly say that until I pulled up to our airbnb I couldn’t believe that I was actually taking this trip with a Tinder date!

Unlike a regular date I’m not exactly sure how to write about this one as I don’t want to bog readers down with the inane details of every uber ride, drink, or sight that we experienced together over 4 days. That sounds terribly boring. So I think I’ll break it down into categories, maybe? An odd way to explain a date/trip but this is uncharted territory for me...

 Sights & Adventures

In only a few short days I felt like we covered a lot of ground. Prost booked us Alcatraz tickets before we got there ensuring that I got to see another creepy prison (I’ve got a thing for desolate places...) that I missed out on last trip. This was fantastic and we spent a large chunk of the afternoon wandering the island while I made more than too many Aussie convict jokes. We also did a fair bit of wandering back on the mainland and watched the city get dark on the pier. Also a new adventure for me, is we checked out the Exploratorium which is basically a kickass science museum and I was science fangirling hard. I found it really sweet that Prost was willing to spend $30 to indulge my science teacher desires. (Also, there is a really great observation deck that made for a pretty cute photo of the two of us...) Back out and about we hiked up Lombard St, which has great views if you don’t care about being able to feel your calves the next day - should have known better than to go to a hilly city with a guy who circumnavigated Manhattan on foot. Many of our other moments together I took right out of my playbook from my not-dates with Wino from my last weekend in SF. I know it sounds a bit like cheating, but if I had all these cute, almost romantic moments then, why not have actual cute romantic moments now that I was properly available. So we did sunset at Baker Beach and stayed until well past dark. And we walked across the Golden Gate Bridge and all the way to Sausalito until we got the ferry back across the windy but stunning bay. I wouldn’t say it was 100% Hollywood movie material but the whole thing was pretty darn cute.

Noms & Bevvies 

Prost and I went for dinner together right before leaving the east coast and he mentioned that he not only was not a picky eater, but also was quite adventurous with food and loved good food so I was pleased when this was 100% accurate. Nothing to ruin a good trip like someone who can’t find anything on the menu or has bizarre dietary requirements. While my last trip to SF was all about wine, this one was all cocktails! We had lovely drinks on a cool outdoor terrace (recommended to me by none other than Ted Mosby from last trip) but the best drink moment was at this piratey, cramped, dark bar that made dozens of cool and delicious rum drinks. I was in rum heaven and we stayed there for hours looking over all the exciting options, including ones with edible flowers. Vibes 10/10. Drinks 10/10. But the indulging didn’t stop there! We also managed to eat wayyy too much ice cream, empanadas, tim tams, chocolate (for breakfast I might add), pastries, fried chicken and waffles, noodles, toast, fried fish, calamari, and prawns, and really not a whole lot of veg... oops, bye diet. We ate a lot of really scrumptious things but a few stood out to me the most. One was breakfast at Bluestone Lane, an Aussie coffee place, that just opened their first west coast location. And when I say just opened, literally we walked in on opening day! It’s one of my locals back home so I was delighted to get a spot on cup of coffee and just chill out of the rain. Prost doesn’t like coffee, but per usual, he indulged my whim with zero complaints. He does however like hot chocolate so at least he’s not anti hot beverage. His coffee behaviour though is really quite odd for a Melburnian though! Our last day we had another breakfast meal at a Southern inspired joint in the Mission and we both were in full brunch mode: drinks, beignets, and full plates of chicken and waffles. Honestly, I know it gets a lot of hype but brunch is clearly the best meal of the day and I also really just enjoyed being able to spend my last meal looking over the table at this really cute bloke I’d been lucky to spend so much time with.  But by far the best meal was at a tiny little fish and chips shop in Sausalito, up the high street, where we sat casually eating fish and chips out of takeaway boxes and drinking beers. I’m not always the “cool girl” but I sure felt like it then and such a low key moment is exactly the kind of date I’m all about.

Moments (The Cute, The Sexy, and The Awkward)

So I’ve talked about the food and the sights and all the lovely things about San Francisco, and that would be enough if this was some kind of mediocre travel blog, but alas instead you’ve ended up reading a shitty blog about a hopelessly romantic pessimist so you get some other weird details added in too. Now one of the best things about meeting someone new is that you get to have sex all the time. You’re both excited, always in the mood, and want to get to know the other person intimately. Prost and I were no exception to this and despite it being a quick trip, managed to push our number into double digits. (This is mainly due to the fact that he was literally waking me up in the middle of the night to fuck, which I had absolutely zero complaints about.) But besides the frequent sex, there was also heaps of hand holding to warm up his absolutely frigid hands, endearing compliments passed back and forth, and those very sweet kisses that tall guys give you on the top of your forehead when you’re wrapped into their arms and flood your brain with dopamine.

Also the first night we got there, Prost arrived in SF before I did and got all checked into our Airbnb. I had wi-fi on the flight so we kept in contact for most of my journey. Knowing that my flight was delayed and I’d be getting in late and exhausted (having been up since 5 am EST that day) he asked me if I’d want to get dinner or if instead there was anything he could go out and pick up so I’d have something to snack on when I arrived. I know it sounds so basic but I was floored by this - what an incredibly thoughtful gesture. Ignoring anything else that happened all weekend, that moment alone reminded me why I’ve been spending all this time with Prost: he’s a really thoughtful, genuine person. 

We also had this totally nerdy night in moment on our last evening. It was freezing out and I wasn’t super feeling like staying out and drinking so instead we headed back to our humble abode and had a bit of friendly competition. We both are big Sporcle players (for the uninitiated it’s a trivia website that has every thing!) and as big travellers we’re both well versed in countries of the world. So we went old school version and set a timer for 15 minutes and tried to name as many countries as possible. Now I’d been talking a big game about this all weekend so you can imagine I had to eat a huge slice of humble pie afterwards when I lost... by two countries, at 168 and 166. To be fair I think that’s still pretty impressive on both of our parts. Prost and I also talked about other trivia bits - US state capitals, European capitals, periodic table elements that have symbols that don’t match their names... I found myself laughing wholeheartedly over silly things, happier than many moments I’ve had in recent months.

That carefree relaxed laughter was a stark contrast so some of the revelations that came up during the weekend, starting with Prost admitting that he’d read some of my other blog entries - like my first moment post Not The One where I lament my heartbreak and then meet the Tradie. This would have been all well and good, I’m not shy about the fact that I choose to share my intimate details with the world, but it was how he followed it up: telling me that he too had fallen victim to a recent heartbreak. It certainly broke my notion of this “by chance traveller.” I didn’t push it in the moment but a day or so later followed up and discovered that rather than coming to America to visit his brother and explore as I’d been led to believe, his original intention was to spend the trip with a Midwestern girl he’d met in Berlin. Unfortunately, this went less than spectacularly and once there it didn’t work out and he found himself rocking up to NYC instead. I was (still am) not exactly sure how I was supposed to react to this confession but I know my first instinct was to hug him as tight as possible and not let go. I certainly can’t understand what this flyover-state gal was thinking, but I know that Prost is incredible and the loss in this situation is hers, whether she knows it now or not. Beyond my true empathy for his situation I’ll admit I found myself a bit blindsided and instantly on guard. Am I just a rebound for Prost? Have I simply been serving as a time/bed filler while he nurses his own broken heart? I’d like to think not but I wouldn’t blame him if it was the case, and in the scheme of things it doesn’t really matter.

I had a San Frantastic weekend and for a change I got to share my travels, with someone I found particularly endearing! And like every other time I’ve found myself at the airport with someone, I was once again terrible at saying good-bye.

[ursafilms]

Chapter 5 - I Liked Killing so Much, I Decided to do it Again

Roger woke the next morning, Memorial Day Monday, and felt the repercussions of sleeping in a Barcalounger. He couldn't move his head up and down without a pain severe enough to convince him to stay still and allow it to subside.

This made for an interesting morning of drinking coffee without tilting his head back. Roger swallowed a couple of Excedrin by sucking them through a narrow slit between his upper and lower teeth. He followed that action by inhaling some coffee. He moved out of the kitchen. The pain got his attention again when he sat down in the now upright Barcalounger to read his news feeds. The reborn headache and neck ache also reminded him of what he saw on Google Earth the night before.

On nytimes.com in the local tab.

Body Discovered on Theater Alley

Roger couldn’t tilt his head enough to read the article. He put the laptop down on top of one of the boxes in the living room. He held his head perfectly still as he got out of the chair. He walked into the bathroom; leaned over a single small box marked ‘Meds,’ and with a grunt tore open the flaps on top. Roger looked in. His eyes were drawn to a white and blue bottle, which advertised ‘Ibuprofen.’

"Might as well complete the cocktail,” he said.

He continued his ‘Frankenstein’ walk to the kitchen where he located an opened bottle of bourbon. He slugged down three capsules with a full swallow of the alcohol.

“Aaaaaaah,” he exhaled, which hurt his neck. “Old Kentucky, best muscle relaxer on the planet.”

He leaned against the counter and set the kitchen timer for ten minutes. When the alarm sounded, he walked a little more fluidly back to the Barcalounger.  Roger picked up the laptop and forced his head down to read the article.

Body Discovered on Theater Alley

The body of a young woman was discovered by the NYPD early this morning. The police came across it during standard patrol.

The young woman, whose identity is being withheld pending notification of next of kin, had been stabbed multiple times.

Anyone with any information should contact the NYPD immediately.

“I did contact you, NYPD,” said Roger. “I did.”

Roger reached behind his head and massaged his neck. After two minutes he felt much better, at least physically.  

“But what do I do now, besides talking to myself, which is a sign of insanity? I have no evidence of the Google Earth image. It wasn’t clear enough to give the police a description.”

He heads back to the kitchen for another drink. He lifted the bottle of bourbon off the counter and unscrewed the cap. Roger brought the opening to his lips.

“It’s a National Holiday and my Wedding Anniversary. Cheers!”

***

Roger returned to work on Tuesday. The week passed without incident, as did the entire month of June. The divorce, or at the least the possibility of it, and his job occupied him as the murder, and his conversations with the police, faded.

Chapter 6 – Victim #2 Annie Chapman, 9/8/1888

The Autopsy Report on Jack the Ripper’s Second Victim, Annie Chapman:

The throat was dissevered deeply with a very sharp knife with a thin narrow blade, and must have been at least 6 in. to 8 in. in length, as such an instrument as a medical man used. The incisions into the skin indicated that they had been made from the left side of the neck. There are indications of anatomical knowledge. There was no evidence of a struggle taken place. A handkerchief was round the throat tied, but cut when the incisions made.

He noticed a protrusion of the tongue. There was a bruise over the right temple, on the upper eyelid there and on the forepart of the top of the chest perhaps delivered by a blow. However, the bruises on the face are recent, especially about the chin and side of the jaw. Therefore the person who cut the deceased throat took hold of her by the chin, and then commenced the incision from left to right.

There were two distinct clean cuts on the left side of the spine. They were parallel with each other and separated by about half an inch. The muscular structures appeared as though an attempt had made to separate the bones of the neck.

The abdomen had been entirely laid open: the intestines, severed from their mesenteric attachments, had been lifted out of the body and placed on the shoulder of the corpse. From the pelvis, the uterus and its appendages with the upper portion of the vagina and the posterior two thirds of the bladder, had been entirely removed. No trace of these parts could be found and the incisions were cleanly cut, avoiding the rectum, and dividing the vagina low enough to avoid injury to the cervix uteri. Obviously the work was that of an expert -- of one, at least, who had such knowledge of anatomical or pathological examinations as to be enabled to secure the pelvic organs with one sweep of the knife.

The appearance of the cuts confirmed that the instrument, like the one which divided the neck, had been of a very sharp character. The mode in which the knife had been used seemed to indicate great anatomical knowledge.

Chapter 6A – Victim #2 Nickie Walsh, Independence Day

Ruben disliked this murder site. He disliked it a lot. It gave very little cover. The place where the thing is supposed to happen is too open. He did not like this at all.

At least when he first saw it.

Now, here early in the morning of July 4th, he liked it. It looked different from just a week ago. Yes. A week ago, there were people all over the place and nowhere to hide. A week ago there were bright lights and cars and other traffic and those pesky kids with their Ubers and stuff.But there would be one less of them soon.

Yes soon.

And now the place had big orange barriers to hide behind, and scaffolding with its opaque blue plastic cover which ran along one side of Maiden Lane, and all the way up to the weird statue where the thing would happen. There were rows and rows of police barricades and metal dividers that looked like bike racks.

The place had very little room for anything or anybody else, and the weird statue, well, that just looked darker than ever. He needed that right person to come along and walk the wrong way.

****

Nickie Walsh, a beautiful bottle-blond intern at Goldman-Sachs in her first summer between semesters at Georgetown, walked down Maiden Lane. She had fallen asleep on the 2 train and ended up in Brooklyn after missing the last stop in Manhattan.

She waited an hour on an empty platform for another train to take her back into Manhattan. She shot out of the train when it stopped at Wall Street and flew up Pine Street to get to the apartment she shared with three other interns. It sat at the intersection of William and Platt Streets.

She turned the wrong way on Pine Street, walking east as opposed to west. She stood at Pearl Street and screamed; stopped; composed herself and ran back up Pearl to Maiden Lane, which would save her a quarter of a block once she got to William.

She hustled down Maiden Lane in the direction of William. She approached the point where Maiden forked. Liberty to the left and Maiden continued to the right.

“No more wrong turns,” she said.

The steel chisel crashed against her right cheek and orbit bone. She went down in a broken and bloody heap.

Once more the hand reached into the jacket pocket.

Sever the throat deeply with a very sharp knife with a thin narrow blade. It must have been at least 6 in. to 8 in. in length. Use the medical saw if you have to.

And the instructions continued.

[wozman23]

Roller Coasters and Car Wrecks: Both The Physical and The Emotional Kinds

I’ve recently taken a couple of trips to Six Flags, but those haven’t been the only roller coasters I’ve been on. And I’ve recently been part of or witnessed a few car wrecks. In every instance, these last few months have been absolutely absurd in the most beautifully nerve-racking of ways. For my own well being and sanity, I’ve needed to severely cut my time at Aldi for quite some time. Despite the fact that I’ll be losing about $1000 a month, I’ve now done that. I’m two weeks in to being a part timer. Yet I fear I pushed myself a bit too far for those eight months. The constant lack of sleep has seriously impaired me, yet I continued to push my limits despite countless signs. First off, many months ago, after a gym split shift that started at 5 AM and ended at I-don’t-even-remember-how-late PM, I backed into someone pulling out of a parking space in a Walmart parking lot. It was the most minor accident imaginable, but my insurance company didn’t give a damn. So when it came time to renew, they raised my rates, and I decided to stop carrying collision and comprehension on my 12 year old car. Then a few months back I destroyed two tires after falling asleep at the wheel. That was the most literal of wake up calls, and a $400 mistake. It was really the turning point that made me question how hard I was pushing myself. I’m still grateful that the situation wasn’t much worse. Then again, yesterday, while not paying enough attention while trying to maneuver my way out from a gas station and in to a turn lane through a few lanes of traffic stopped at a light, I took too narrow of a path when squeezing between vehicles and put a nasty scrape across my passenger side rear door and quarter panel when I brushed up against the bumper of a semi. On one hand I was pissed off! Why wasn’t I paying more attention?! It’s either something that’s gonna cost quite a chunk of change to fix, or it’s something that won’t be worth fixing and I’ll just have to stare at my mistake until it’s time for a new ride. On the other I was relieved that the semi driver didn’t care since the rigid metal bumper took pretty much zero damage, so all we did was shake hands and agree that we didn’t need to exchange insurance. So now my car, which looked alright when it moved to California, is in much worse shape these days. The right side alone has taken a rock to the windshield (hey, at least that one wasn’t my fault), some chipped paint on the rear bumper, and now a giant war wound. Like many cars on the road out here, it is beat up. I now joke that it’s my badge that I’m a true Angeleno. But, contrary to how it sounds, my life hasn’t completely been a series of car accidents. It’s had its ups as well. I’m fortunate that my gym job is a pleasure. I absolutely love it, my clients, and the vast majority of my coworkers. I couldn’t imagine a better, more fulfilling job. And just tonight I cemented a promotion by barely squeezing out the required amount of training sales dollars and supplement sales - largely in part thanks to my amazing clients and coworkers who pulled some favors for me to get close enough to those requirements, and me throwing a few hundred down on supplements knowing I will make my money back in the next three months.

But just as I lessened my role at Aldi, I’ve also lost some good clients. While my paychecks have been on the up-and-up, my overall net pay is in a state of flux right now. And if those sales numbers don’t maintain - which they’re trending not to - I take a demotion back to where I was after another three months. So I’m really uncertain on where that roller coaster is heading next. Couple that with the fact that I’m still clearly mentally and physically exhausted from both jobs and the continued effort of trying to make that relationship I was interested in work, I’ve been in a really weird headspace. That physical exhaustion also means that I’ve curtailed my workouts. I haven’t consistently run since my injury around six months ago, and my lifting has been the most inconsistent it’s been since I began this journey a few years ago. I don’t doubt that’s also influenced the uneasy feeling I’ve been having. Most days I’m still filled with chipper whimsy, but I’ve noticed my mood start to swing in less desirable directions. While it’s nowhere near as crippling as it once was, I’ve finally began to feel a normal, acceptable amount of anxiety about my future, which is to be expected from such chaos. I’m actually surprised it took this long. But that small level is actually nice to have again, because it lets me know I’ve crossed my limits. I wish it would have let me know months ago. Maybe then my car - which seems to be more and more representative of my battered psyche every day - wouldn’t have taken the brunt of the damage it has. Maybe this steam of consciousness would be more coherent, and maybe I’d have the energy to proof read it. Then the pinnacle! Tonight we were supposed to celebrate promotions at work by meeting for dinner. Reservations were made around a month ago, but it kept getting pushed back. Finally hitting my goals, I was invited hours before the event. So after putting in a full day at the gym striking out on getting that out of pocket cost of my supplements any lower- because I’m still not that great of a salesman - I picked up another $200 worth of amino acids, creatine, joint flex, and multivitamins, drove over to the place we were supposed to meet... and found out it had closed down a few weeks ago due to a fire. A backup plan hadn’t materialized yet, so being mentally and physically spent, I laughed it off and went home. And on the way home what should I find: a traffic jam. The cause: the same generation Corolla as mine with a crushed front end after rear ending someone on the 5 (see again I’m a true Angeleno because I don’t call the interstate I-5 anymore). I’ve had some pessimistic moments. I’ve laughed. I’ve cried. I’ve been angry. I’ve been desperate. I’ve questioned whether or not moving here was the right choice. Yet, despite all of my turmoil and absurdity, there are constant reminders that things could always be worse. My place of employment didn’t burn down and while my car may be unsightly, it is still drive-able. Thanks to killing myself with two jobs, I’ve nearly replaced all the money in my savings that I blew through to get established. Overall, I remain predominately optimistic. My roller coaster has the potential to be heading up. I’ll be making around $4 more per hour when training clients, which equates to around $22/hr. I’m coaching an all-time high of 7 Gold’s Burn classes a week, which gets me $32/hr. I’m getting more full nights of sleep, which is the thing I need the most. I’ve got more free time. I’ll have most weekends off. I went for a run today with a client and her husband - the one who I resigned that put me literally $10 over my sales goal. (As a thank you I bought her some protein powder.) I’m hoping I can make those runs a semiweek(end)ly occurrence with a few clients/friends. I’ll have more time to catch up on video games, a month’s worth of Conan episodes that I haven’t watched, and a few other shows. And despite a few missed opportunities on previous invites, I might have finally talked Lisa into coming to Six Flags with me and our mutual friend on July 10th. And maybe we’ll hit the water park later next month. When I went to Six Flags last weekend, one roller coaster was shut down almost the entire day. But it reopened just before close. We hopped in line, got all the way to the front, literally waiting to be the next to hop on... And then a car got stuck on the climb... We waited while they tried to fix it,and watched as the next person-less test car got stuck again. Many people behind us left. But in the end we stayed, they got it up and running, and we got to ride arguable the best ride there.

That’s me: I push through shit, stubbornly. I’m determined. I’m always looking to move forward. When I want to hit a goal for a half marathon, I do so at the expense of my ligaments. When I hit a curb, I don’t put the car in reverse. I just run it over. When I start to hear my car door scraping against a semi, instead of stopping I just let it scrape the whole way. It’s not always the smartest decision - clearly. Had I stopped, fixing a single small blemish on the door would have been a relatively cheap repair. But in other, not-car-destroying related instances, it can be a benefit. Life is fucking weird, and that’s why it’s fun. It reminds me of a snippet from a song I fell in love with that I found not long ago, Incandenza by Waking Aida. I posted it before, but it bears repeating: “When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises; when you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape; when your boots will fill with rain, and you'll be up to your knees in disappointment. And those are the very days you have all the more reason to say thank you. Because there's nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it's sent away. You will put the wind in winsome, lose some. You will put the star in starting over, and over. And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute, be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life" - Sarah Kay

That poem eviscerates my soul for so many reasons. It exemplifies the last few years of my life perfectly. It reduces me to tears - happy tears. I honestly have no clue where this roller coaster is headed, but I’m enjoying the ride, the people I’m riding it with, and all its ups and downs. If you’ve made it this far into this post, or even just cared enough to skip to the bottom, thank you for being in my life. Thanks for the encouragement. Thanks for laughing with or at me. Thanks for inspiring me. I hope you see life through the same glasses I do. If I can give you but one thing, I hope it’s that childlike optimism.

[dovley]

lmao work rant under the cut

i like my job a LOT it’s really the job i wanted out of college but i just thinnk it’s dumb that i havent even GRADUATED YET and i have to teach this new part-timer (Mandy, 2 months at this job so far, 30 years old, minimal TV experience, no news experience) everything that i learned in 4 years for free and she basically gets paid for it. she’s not even an intern. how she’d fucking get this job. 

and she sstill doesn’t get it. she doesn’t understand a newsroom or news stations at all even after being here two months. and i dont know if she’s jsut a slow learner or what but it doesn’t matter because it’s like she doesnt even want to learn?? and yet she’s always touching stuff she’s not supposed to and not staying in her lane bc she’s eager to learn etc and SHE HASN’T LEARNED A THING. so frustrating to finally get a job i really like that’s full time in MY FIELD and out of nowhere this woman w no experience snags a job at the station and essentially ruins the status quo of the morning show by not knowing anything and having minimal TD experience. And it’s not even the right kind of TD experience. and she wasn’t even hired as a TD and yet SHE’S PUSHED HERSELF OVER THERE. GO BACK TO CG MANDY STOP FUCKING UP MY SHOW?? EVERYTHING SHE FUCKS UP REFLECTS BACK ON ME, THE DIRECTOR.

and im trying to be positive about teaching her things (everyone in the control room needs to learn all positions anyway)  but it’s hard. im literally not even graduated and now i gotta teach her everything that took everyone in my class four years to learn??? shooting for news is HARD, commanding an entire control room is HARD, there are classes for a reason and im not exactly qualified to be a teacher. im just a person in college who knows how to do shit. 

and it’s literally not just “this is how we do things at THIS news station” like we have w the interns and other new workers, it’s entirely THIS IS HOW A NEWS STATION WORKS THIS IS HOW NEWS WORKS like she’s a blank slate. what the fuck. why do i get stuck w this kind of junk all the time???????? i have such bad luck. 

we literally had to have one on one meetings w our news director today because of how much tension sh’es been creating in the news room, too. like not only is she hardly absorbing anything, she’s RUDE. all the time. anytime anything goes wrong, she talks back when SHE fucks up. im her director, her only job as a TD is to git gud and listen to my commands and do them. that’s it. that’s the basic TD job. and yet here she is, ignoring me, fucking up the show, getting mad at US when SHE fucks up. we all had meetings w news director Julie bc Julie listened to the control room track from the other day (all convos are recorded, I know this). 

Here’s what happened: we were in a sports package, and the reporter was still talking. I say, “ready three” AS I ALWAYS DO, and instead of READYING THREE (by putting it in preview, not live) she TAKES TO THREE. and suddneyl the anchors are live and the package is still happening. and i say “go back” and she doesn’t do anything (WHICH IS SUCH A HUGE NO-NO IN A CONTROL ROOM, NOT LISTENING TO YOUR DIRECTOR IS SUCH A BAD THING BECAUSE NOT ONLY ARE YOU GETTING YOURSELF IN DEEP SHIT, BUT YOU FUCK UP THE SHOW FOR ///EVERYONE/// INVOLVED), so louder i say GO BACK and she said “well we’re here now” and that’s not???????? what you fucking say?????????? as a TD, you do NOT decide what’s going on. you do NOT get to decide cameras. you are NOT in control. YOU DO NOT JUST SIT THERE AND DO NOTHING. im completely helpless when that happens because she controls everything that’s live on the TV. i could reach over and do it myself but that’s such a huge other issue.

so i do what we’re supposed to: MOVE ON. i silence the package, cue the anchors, and MOVE ON. Mandy has SUCH AN ISSUE W MOVING ON. she can’t. she gets stuck on one thing. she always has to question my calls during the show, EVEN THOUGH SHE KNOWS NOTHING!! SHE DIDNT CUT ANY VIDEO SHE DIDNT ATTACH IT SHE DOESN’T HAVE A SCRIPT IN FRONT OF HER. she litrally knows NOTHING and yet here she is, questioning MY CALLS. and when she does that, i have to double check to mkae sure that everything is good to go, which takes up valuable time during the show. 

so then, during the show i think or during break?? or SOMETHING, she turns aroudn to the producer, and RUDELY says:

Mandy: hey pete, have you ever TD’d before?

pete: ... yes

mandy: did you mess up

pete: all the time

mandy: OKAY [turns around]

-

???????? NOT OKAY AT ALL. our new control room intern said she was uncomfortable because of that. when mandy becomes rude and aggressive, she makes ERVERYONE uncomfortable and she doesn’t even know. she’s so self-centered she doesn’t know she’s making it bad for EVERYONE. 

she always tries to initiate dumb convo during the show. she doesnt know how to sit down shut up move on. 

another example: we had one anchor at camera one, and we had a graphic in the screen behind them. a video the anchor was talking over was live, and we were going to camera three after his voice over, NOT CAMERA ONE. so, this exchange happens:

mandy: can i put x-server in aux 5? (this changes the graphic on the screen in camera 1 from the story we’re talking about to a standard one we use for tosses.)

me: ready cam 3

mandy: ... x-server??

me: no, leave it. ready 3.

mandy: what do you want me to do with the vertical plasma?????

me: nothing, we’re not coming out to it we’re going out to camera three.

mandy: i need to know

me, frantically BECAUSE WE’RE LOSING TIME IN THE V-O AND WE NEED TO BE OUT TO CAMERA THREE: /nothing,/ it’s not important we’re not coming out to cam 1, ready three.

mandy: okay but what aobut the plasma??

me: we’re coming out to CAMERA THREE.

mandy, aggressively: okay, DIRECTOR

-

OKAY LIEK WHAT THE FUCK WAS WITH THIS?? WHY WAS SHE SO CAUGHT UP ON SOMETHING WE DIDN’T HAVE TO DEAL WITH AND COULD RESET DURING BREAK IN LITERALLY 1 MINUTE????/ it’s so hard to focus on that and the show im suppsoed to be directing like GOD, LEAVE IT.

-

back to learning, i literally had to explain a basic rundown to her for like an hour the other day while we sat down to talk .because i wanted to have a meeting to iron out some things such as her attitude and the show. because she doesn’t understand that nothing in the show is permanent, it’s constantly getting moved around and changed and added to. she doesn’t undestand there isn’t a formula to it. her only job is to listen to me. and when she tries to find a “rhythm” she starts ignoring my calls more and fucking up. it’s so annoying. everything she does that fucsk up live reflects back on Pete and I. also im her fuckening supervisor,,,,,,,,

I had to explain how to shoot news today. she didn’t understand what the anchor wanted from a wide shot, medium, and close up. the most basic of shots. or even how long to stay on a shot. or how the camera worked.

and i know she doesn’t have a degree and i am NOT criticizing her for that - college is hard and expensive and not everyone can do it, but you think she’d at least try?? harder???? try to fit in better????? not be a DICK at a job she wants to “be at for a long time” ?? apparently she told our tech guy that she doesn’t fit in. Julie told me that she feels like she has to prove something to us, that she can do it. well she’s not proving anything. she said we feel “clique-ish” in the news room. we’re literally not. at the end of the day we’re all just coworkers at a job. the difference between her and us is that we all have journalism backgrounds. and i have always tried to include her in everything, i have invited her up to the newsroom SO MANY TIMES, and other things but she never comes. if she wants to see change, she can make it herself. im done trying. i’ve given her so many chances. 

our new intern, Tiffany, who was hired on my recommendation, already knows more things than Mandy just because she follows me around and is present and doesn’t hide in the control room. everyone likes Tiffany because Tiffany comes upstairs and says good morning. our live reporter says that Mandy ignores him when they’re outside smoking. she wants to fit in and be friends w everyone and yet she’s IGNORING EVERYONE. if she was even the least bit personable everyone would be fine w her. but she’s not.

and she told Tiffany that she feels “under appreciated” at the station because she’s working all the time, three jobs etc. guess what. Tiffany and I both have three jobs AND class. Tiffany is even full-time in college. im only part time and finally dropping my two other jobs since i got a promotion at the station, but still. you’re not under appreciated Mandy, you’re just never around. 🙄

she said she would help w camera shots, but when i offer them to her, she says no. she wants to know font times for packages, but never comes upstairs. like????????????????????? MAKE A FUCKING EFFORT. IT’S 3 AM WE’RE ALL TIRED BUT YOU SIT IN THE CONTROL ROOM FOR 40 MINUTES JUST READING BEFORE THE SHOW. YOU HAVE TIME TO LEARN.

and she doesn’t understand how hard it is to direct, produce, or even write for news. you can’t just learn that stuff in a week. i went to college for a reason. it would take me MONTHS to even get her director ready. i slid over into my position immediately upon being offered it, just because i had expereince. if she even tried to direct, it owuld be an absolute disaster. the kids in the basic directing class on campus even struggle a lot. it’s really hard. and producing is so much fucking work. so much. Pete gets there two hours earlier than i do - midnight or 1 am. our show doesn’t start until 5 am. 

and on campus, the basic directing class should be easy. but it’s so much info crammed in, even in a semester. they print out scripts and mark them up with their commands. at the station, i have the rundown+scripts on an ipad and i dont write any commands. i just look at the rundown and instantly know what we’re doing. and i do this for two hours. the new directors on campus cant even go for 3 minutes w/o fucking up. it’s HARD. like i pick up on shit fast but for my first few shows i was struggling HARD. and Mandy is the type of person to jsut give up when it gets too hard, which you absolutely CANNOT do during a live show. you can’t abandon your own show. it fucks up the ENTIRE show. that’s on TV. that people are watching. it affects the anchors, it reflects on the station. it’s going to be hard to teach her. and i think it’s gonig to be frustrating for her to learn because Tiffany at least has a little directing experience and will probably pick up on it faster. 

Mandy apparently once complained during her first month that she was in the “intern chair” when she was working CG. that’s not an intern chair?? we put interns there, sure, but people at the late show have been doing CG for years. it’s just another position. also the thing is is that mandy knows less than an intern so i’d literally rather have an intern anyway lol. 

Mandy has legitimately given me so much anxiety i went home from work crying last week. work was so chill until she showed up. 

this is really long and i have more to say but this is enough. it’s past my bedtime lmao bye 

[nobelmemories]

                                           Part VI

      More Nobel Memories – Along The Nobel Road

     I have inserted two photographs. The first being the Hammel homestead as it is today, the second is of the homesteaders William James “Billy” Hammel and his wife Jessman “ Emily” Hailstone and their three daughters. Elizabeth, Berta, Mable.  The two boys Charlie and Gordon were not in the Photograph.

           My starting point for this session is the laneway that runs from present day Nobel Rd to Hammel Avenue. I think we use to call it Cecs Lane.  As most  of the old timers know the confectionary store located there was owned by Cec Mayotte. Pretty well everything in that part of Nobel was supplied by Cec’s Confectionary. Cec was a shrewd business man business man and had his hand in many ventures. He was also an excellent dry wall and plasterer.  His companion was Dot Edwards who usually could be found behind the counter in the Confectionary store.  Dot had two boys that I remember Jimmy was the oldest and Reg a year or two younger. Reg was a likeable sort and was involved in hockey and other sports. I never chummed with Reg, but we often would be in the same crowds and spoke often. The last time I seen Reg was about 1952 or 53. In 1979 I was on the OPP stationed at Wawa Ontario. I was acting Detachment Commander at the time. One weekend we received a call that an airplane had crashed on Midgin Lake about 25 miles south east of Wawa. This was a fly in lake about ten miles off the Highway. I sent a Constable down to investigate with instructions to call me and fill me in when he returned. About six hours later I received the call from the Constable, he filled me in on his investigation and the notifications he had made. Then he informed me that the pilot knew me and wanted to talk to me. The Pilot came on the phone and it was Reg Edwards. It turned out that he had screwed up and did several things wrong which led to the crash but the good thing was he and his three passengers were not hurt. Before he hung up he said to me Garry I have always remembered something you told me about girls. He never did tell me just what I had told him, but I have always wondered what great piece of advice it was. I have been married for almost 59 years and my wife Rhoda will tell you that I still don’t understand women. Can you just imagine, it was something I said to him when I was 15 or 16 years old and he remembered it for another 27 years?

     Now Jimmy Edwards was tarred with a different brush. He taught me a lesson which I have never forgotten.  Jimmy had a reputation for being a bit of a bully and a dirty fighter. One night at the High School I picked a fight with him. I thought I was going to teach him a lesson. Jimmy was a pretty good boxer but I thought I could handle that part. Anyway we sparred around a little bit and I was planning on giving him an Elephant Fling. It is a wrestling move where you grab the opponent’s right wrist with your left hand, put your right hand under his left armpit, pull, lift and twist.

If done properly, he goes up in the air does a summersault and lands on his back. It usually ends the fight. I was dancing around with my right fist cocked and my left hand open. Jimmy threw a right heading for my nose and I blocked it with my open left hand. His fist struck my hand where the joint is that joins your thumb to your hand. I did not realize what had happened, but my thumb joint was suddenly in the palm of my hand. I made a fist and struck him with my left hand and suddenly was on my knees with the pain. Jimmy stopped fighting, took one look and said you better get to a doctor. Now if he had been a dirty fighter, he certainly had me at a disadvantage. So the lesson learned was never ever pick a fight. When you lose it is double embarrassing. Don’t say someone is a dirty fighter unless you can prove it. By the way it took three doctors to put the thumb back into place.

     Moving on west on Hammel Ave from Cec’s Lane was the Galipeau’s. Alex and Nora were the parents, and I remember Roger and Milly as being two of the children. Roger was a little younger than I, but was always happy and friendly. Roger became a very good hockey player and was quite successful as a teacher and a lawyer. I did not know this but stumbled onto the fact that he was inducted into the Bobby Orr Hall of fame in 2010. Anyone querying his name will see just how successful he was. Sadly he passed to Cancer in 1997. He certainly came from humble beginnings at Nobel and reading his story will make any local person proud.

     I know there were more houses as we travelled on west on Hammel Ave., but I don’t remember who they were. I do remember a certain maple tree as you start down the hill on the north side of the road. It came up out of the ground and hooked to the right like a chair back. As a young boy I went to the Nobel United Church Sunday School and I seldom walked by that I did not stop and admire that tree. That was close to 72 years ago and the tree is still there, just grown closer to the ground. Speaking of Sunday School, how many of you older people still have your pins for perfect  attendance. I have both the silver and gold ones.

     The next place I remember from the 1940’s is the Hammel Place. It is presently located at 125 Hammel Ave. and is occupied by my friends Bob & Isabel Hammel. In the 1940’s it was occupied by Ed & Maggie Hammel. Ed was a Master Mechanic at DIL during the war. He was well respected for his work both at DIL and his shop which was located just west of his house at the edge of the road.

     I remember when I was eight or nine years old. My Dad had a 1928 Chevrolet. It had a crack about 10” long in the front fender. The metal in those fenders was quite thick. Dad took me with him and we drove up to Ed’s to get it welded. Ed took the wheel off and welded the fender from the underside. It’s not everyone who can do overhead welding. Ed’s weld was a thing of beauty, every bead was like a wishbone, all neat and in a perfect row. They put the wheel back on and Dad was on his knee’s looking at the weld. He could not resist reaching up and touching it. He quickly pulled back his hand and stood up and I noticed he put his hand in his pocket. He thanked Ed and paid him for the job and we left. As we were driving down the road, Dad lifted up his hand and looked at his fingers. The skin was burnt off the tips of three of them. I said that must hurt, Dad said: when you do something stupid you don’t advertise it! I often thought of that in later years when I likewise did something stupid. Ed’s shop was something very special even compared with shops of today. He had just about ever tool you could imagine. There was grinders, saws, drill presses, lathes and more. The fascinating thing was that they were all driven by an old gasoline hit and miss motor. A series of belts and pulleys were distributed around the shop so they could all be engaged as they were needed using the same drive source.

     In later years I worked at Stanrock Mine during the uranium boom at ELLIOT Lake and also spent a few years working as a Lead Burner at the Sulphuric acid plant at Cutler. It did not seem to matter where I went in the north I would run across someone who had worked with or knew of Ed Hammel.

     I remember my Uncle Harry telling me that when he worked with him, Ed developed a way to successfully weld cast iron. He built a small furnace that he could preheat the cast iron, then lift up the top, lean in and weld it while it was still hot. This prevented it from cracking as it cooled.

◦                It was sad, years later that I learned that old age did not treat him well. He developed memory problems. He had walked the land behind his farm most of his life. He first got turned around on the rocks behind his farm and was found I believe on Hwy 124 near Waubamic. Sometime later he walked in the same area, but never was found. Many people have searched the area hoping to find his remains. At one time the Canadian Army had a search for him. To date all searches have been unsuccessful.

     Ed & Maggie had two daughters, Isabel & Beryl. I think in the 40’s Beryl lived in the house that was located between their shop and their house. The thing I remember is that there was a very tasty crabapple tree beside Beryl’s house that the kids from the school would visit quite often. This resulted in an announcement being made at school that the Apple tree was on private property and we were not to pick the apples. I think it helped, Some!

     I recently visited Bob and Isabel Hammel nee Gougeon and learned some very interesting information. I am not sure whether Hammel Ave., is named after Ed or just the family, either way it is well deserved. To begin with six generations of Hammel.s have lived on that property. The first generation began with the marriage of Willam James “Billy” Hammel and Emily Hailstone. I am assuming that this took place in the early 1880’s. I am told there were three girls and two boy as a result of this union. I only learned of the name of one of the girls, who was named Mable. The boys were Charlie and ED. These were second generation. Charlie and Ena nee Fenton had two boys, Gordon and Jim. Ed and Maggie had two girls, Isabel and Beryl. These were third generation. Gordon and Agnes nee Thompson had a boy, Bob and a girl Wilma, these were fourth generation. Bob and Isabel nee Gougeon had a boy Chuck, fifth generation and finally Chuck had a boy Cameron who would be the sixth generation. The Hammel’s have continued to contribute to the growth of the Municipality for these many years. Gerry Hammel one of Billy Hammel’s grandsons was killed in one of the tow explosions that took place at Nobel. He lost his life in 1940.

     The next home that I remember from the forties is the old United Church Manse. The first name that comes to mind was Tristrams.  The father was the church minister and I remember two boys one was Tom I believe and the older brother was John. John worked for a number of years in the carpenter trade. I remember the old Shebeshekong Church that my mother and dad were married in was located on the right hand side of Hwy 559 just before the hill that Hare’s road is on. The church was built in 1911. I believe it was during the Easter holiday of 1949 John Tristram and Slim Colberg had taken a contract to tear down the church. They hired me to remove the nails to salvage the boards. I was paid 59 cents and hour. I also was given the old organ which I tore for the wood.

     The last building I remember on what was then called the side road and now Hammel Ave, was the United Church where I went to Sunday school. It did not have the added room on then. The Nobel Consolidated School was there with the old annex beside that I attended grade four in. Then on past the present circle that now ends Hammel Ave was the old brown school. It was situated just about where Avro Arrow road now exists. My mother attended that school in grade eight and said she was taught by Ruby Cook. My brother also attended there and I believe his teacher was a Mr Mendelson. In the 1940’s the side road continued out past the school to Hwy 69 then also called the Nobel Rd.

      If you wish to view my previous submissions under this title, please go to the following URL: https://nobelmemories.tumblr.com

                                                   Garry Crawford

[wellmeaningshutin]

Short Story #43: Road Trip.

Written: 2/14/2017

The idea was simple: if she drove for a long time, she would either have some fun and quickly arrive at the next day, or she would die. So, having no better idea, she decided to hit the long stretch of desert road, in the middle of the night, swerving from lane to lane, bare right foot pressing the petal to the floor of the car, sometimes closing her eyes for a couple moments, radio blaring, flicking her headlights on and off, laughing for the first half hour, but then eventually getting bored after there was nothing but the long, empty road. The boredom didn’t cause her to drive safely, and it actually made her a little more reckless.

Right, left, right, left, no other cars to be seen on this empty stretch of road, no animals that dared to cross, just a lot of dark and empty desert. Closing her eyes for a couple of seconds, she thought about her life back home, but she could only recall memories of lying around, watching crappy movies, counting down the time until she would be pummeled and would have to restart the timer all over again. When she tried to explain this to people it always sounded like she was in an abusive relationship, and they’d usually look her right in the eyes-something most people rarely did when they talked to her-and they would say, “Elizabeth, do you need any help? Should I call the police?” And she would try to explain that it was all fine, but then they would just press on with, “Are you sure? Don’t feel afraid to speak up, there are plenty of shelters and services that help women in your position?” By that point, she would just give up on trying to outline the whole situation, explain that it was all under control, but it was a struggle to not make it sound like she had Stockholm Syndrome.

For a moment it seemed like a jackrabbit was running across the road, and she swerved to hit it, but a thud and plenty of effort to regain control of the car proved that the rabbit was actually a rock. Since the tires seemed fine, she kept going, there was moonlight to burn.

She really never could think of a good way to explain her living situation, and as she was driving her mouth outlined the best attempt she could muster to make it seem alright, and put people at ease. ‘No, no, its fine. I’m in complete control of the situation and I can leave at any time. The only reason I put up with the beating is so I don’t have to pay any rent, and I have a high tolerance to pain anyways. Look, if he was actually strong enough to do serious harm to anybody, then he wouldn’t have to pay some woman to let him beat her daily. Think of me like a prostitute-’ she shook her head wildly, that word needed to be avoided since it rarely had a positive connotation to it. ‘Think of it like rent. Most people pay money, and all I have to pay is comfort, while my money is left untouched and I have more to spend on whatever I need. Its basically like living for free, who wouldn’t want to do that, why does it seem to you like it was such a bad thing?’ This seemed convincing, and she could imagine the fictional person she was talking to, nodding and saying how reasonable that all seemed, but she was aware that this was just her fantasies talking, and she could probably do better to explain, thus a second argument was thought of. ‘Look, the guy is a literal sadist and is going to want to hurt somebody, but isn’t strong enough to pick fights at bars or attack people on the streets. However, that doesn’t make him harmless, it just means that without me he would eventually go out and target somebody who he could effectively inflict pain on, like-”

Headlights? Were those headlights in the opposite lane? Just making sure, she swerved into the same lane and tried to speed up, but her car couldn’t go any faster, so her foot-already sore from holding down the pedal for such a long time-pressed harder against the stationary pedal, causing a slight amount of pain and no other result. It turned out that she was right about them being head lights, and they swerved onto the dirt in the last minute, which gave her cause to cackle over the radio, which  was fading in and out, and would help give her a little more energy to stay awake for the drive. Time went on, the radio eventually died out enough to leave a low sound of static, and she started to get bored again. What was it that she thought of earlier that kept her entertained? Was she thinking about a movie she saw a while back? After a couple minutes, she remembered, and began trying to convince an imaginary person again, but this time she spoke out loud.

“Sadists are fucked up, right? There’s no denying that, well, I guess unless you’re a sadist, but to a normal person they’re fucked up. Nobody should get pleasure from hurting other people, but some do, and that’s just a truth that we have to deal with. Now, Randy might be a weak little guy, unable to do any real damage against a normal person, and could probably get his ass kicked by teenagers, but that doesn’t de-fang him, that doesn’t take away all of the bile that’s in his heart. He’s still a predator, just pretty low on the food chain, so he has to go after things that are even lower than him, which leaves children and animals. That’s fucked up, right? So, all I have to do is let him hit me for a little while every day, maybe give some fake screams or act like I’m very afraid of him, and that way I get free housing and he doesn’t go out there and commit evil acts against those who can’t defend themselves, the innocents.” Feeling really confident in her speech, she looked around her car to see if she had a pen or paper anywhere, so she could start writing it down, but by the time she looked back at the road a coyote was staring down into her headlights. With no time to move out of the way, the creature eventually stared at the underside of her car, directly at and under the tires, and was left as a mangy, bloody pulp far down the road.

This was only funny to Elizabeth at first, since after a couple minutes the right side of her car started to vibrate hard, and she realized she had a flat. It was only 2AM, and she already had to quit, but not because she was dead. It was a frustrating situation. Not knowing what to do, as she sat there in her dark car, on the side of the road, she tried to connect to a radio station but they all seemed like the same kind of dim static. She had no phone to call for help, and nothing to kill herself with. She was too antsy to go to sleep, and hope for sunlight, because now that she was just sitting there, at the side of the road, they could catch up to her in less than an hour.

Finally, she thought of a new plan, which was to wander out into the desert in the hopes that she would be mauled by a wild animal, bitten by some deadly snake, or find a ravine or cliff that she could use to plummet to her death. Before she did that, she would have to take care of other business, so she rummaged around in her car, looking for a flashlight, but there wasn’t one in the car. Turning on the interior lights, hoping that it would shed enough on the outside since the moon was hardly in the sky, having the same appearance as a discarded fingernail clipping, she got out of the car and walked around to the trunk, unlocked it, and looked at the pathetic sight inside.

Although Randy was a shaking and crying mess, with snot running over the duct tape over his mouth and dandruff mixed in with the sweat that caused his shirt to cling to that skeleton of a body, she had to admire that he was still alive, even with all of the blood that poured out of that wrist he had gnawed open. She didn’t even know how he was still alive, half of his body was covered in dark brown crust, and he smelt of copper, so she gave respect where respect was deserved. She also punched him directly in the nose, then again for a second time when the first failed to break anything, and told him “I’m leaving you here so they’ll take care of you. There’s no hope that you’ll either die an easy death, or be able to be taken into the authorities, but honestly you deserve everything that’s going to happen to you and I’m sick of dealing with your bullshit. I’d say I would see you in hell, but I figure I’ll at least get into purgatory, so I’ll leave you with this: Fuck you.”He tried to mumble something, it seemed desperate, but she didn’t bother to try and take the tape off, it was easy enough to figure out what he would probably say: kill me now, please kill me now, you know you want to kill me more than anything, so why don’t you, don’t leave me with them, you’re evil if you leave me with them, I was good to you so please fucking kill me, etc. Annoyed what she perceived to be as pleading, she slammed the trunk on him, then turned to run into the desert to save her own ass.

Then she realized that he wasn’t begging for her to kill him, he was trying to tell her about the car that was quietly pulling up behind them, headlights off, and she wished that she had decided to run earlier. What did she gain from seeing him before she left? Wasn’t it a good enough thought to know that his life was about to become a living hell? Considering running anyways, she took a couple steps towards the empty desert ahead of her, but a voice, belonging to some silhouette that had moved outside of the car, told her, “Now girl, you can’t out run a car so you might as well just stay there.” They had a point, but maybe if she did run they would run her over, which would probably be a better fate than what was probably going to happen to her. “Why don’t you reopen that trunk, show us what you have inside there.” Complying, she opened up the trunk and once again saw Randy, pathetic and frantic, but before she could turn around again, she woke up in a different trunk right next to that awful, awful man.

“I can’t believe I’m getting roped into this. You deserve this, not me!” Some muffles were given in response, and although she was sick of seeing his sweaty, snotty, bloody, tear drenched face, there wasn’t enough room for her to turn around, so she had to settle with just closing her eyes. The car they were in bumped, vibrated, and was generally uncomfortable, but what she couldn’t stand was feeling that asshole’s cold, wet body. “I should’ve been smart about this, I should’ve either killed you a long time ago, turned you into these fuckers so that I wouldn’t be a part of this, or at least should have brought a razor or something to, to-” She almost couldn’t believe what she was starting to feel pool up against her thigh, “ARE YOU PISSING ON ME?! God damn it! Fuck you, asshole!” She yelled at him in this manner for quite some time, partially for the urine, partially to vent all of the pent up frustration she had towards him, but mostly towards herself.

Eventually a compartment opened up behind her, one that was opened by pulling down a section in the back seat, and somebody told her, “Be quiet, or we’re going to pull over. Do you want that?” She didn’t want that, remained quiet for some time, and they didn’t pull over.

Lying there was dull and miserable, so eventually she began whispering to the guy. “You couldn’t go one fucking day? What’s wrong with you, do you have no sense of self control, do you even feel bad about what you’ve done or do you only feel bad now because you know that you’ll be punished for it? What was even going through your fucking head when you decided to do it, why not pick up a stray dog or some shit? I can’t believe I agreed to our deal in the first place, I can’t believe that I even tried to defend you!” This eventually proved to be dissatisfying, it was like talking to a wall, so she decided to rip the tape off of his mouth and demanded, “Well?”

It took him a little bit to adjust to the pain on his mouth, then to catch his breath. “Don’t take the moral high ground here, you’re the one who decided to keep me out of harms way so that you could take me into the police.”

“Well, I was also hoping that I’d get killed during the drive-”

“Who gives a shit if you were hoping that you’d die? You wouldn’t even want death if you didn’t decide to help me in the first place, you could’ve left me there for them, or you could’ve even just let me bleed out in the first place, but no, you needed to fulfill your own misguided sense of justice. Don’t act like you’re in the right here.”

“Don’t fucking act like you’re in the right here! Look whose talking? You think I’m wrong for wanting to see you fucking punished for what you did, because I thought dying was too easy for you? It doesn’t matter if my plan fell apart int he end, my intentions were good, unlike yours! Its not like-”

“So a suicidal drive across the state is somehow better than-”

“Its not like I killed a kid!”

Silence on his end, but not from guilt. She knew that he was just trying to think of a good enough argument, or a way to spin things around onto her.

“What, no comment? Is it too hard to act superior when you’re the one who couldn’t hold it in for one day, just one fucking day, and instead had to drive to some cheap ass family pizza parlor, wait among the games and-”

“I never went near the game section, you’re getting it all wrong. You don’t even know the facts, you have no idea what you’re talking about, and displaying ignorance-”

“At the end of the day, that kid is still-”

“Displaying ignorance-”

“The fucking kid-”

“DISPLAYING IGNORANCE DOES NOT MAKE YOU SEEM INTELLIGENT!”

After this outburst they both shut up, and quietly waited to see if the car would pull over. Several minutes passed, and they figured that they were in the clear, and Randy was the first to whisper and break the silence. “If you’re going to make me seem like the bad guy here, at least get the facts straight.”

In the darkness she couldn’t see his face, but she wanted to hit it again. “Okay, so because I don’t perfectly know the events that lead up to it, I can’t call you a bad guy? The kid is still dead, asshole. I don’t care how that happened, you still-”

“Oh, so you’re complacent with your ignorance? You don’t need to know the facts, you’re just complacent with your opinion and are willing to ignore any semblance of a discussion to pat yourself on the back and feel-”

“What discussion? Why do we need to have a discussion about this? Its pretty black and white, killing kids is fucked up and wrong no matter how you look at it. Its like being a nazi.”

“Oh, so you’re going to bring in the nazi comparisons, real original.”

“Shut up.”

“How long did I take you to think of that one, huh? You should get a Pulitzer for that comment.”

“Fuck you, killing kids is still fucked up, no matter what the circumstances.”

“Oh, so what about in wartime when children carry IED’s and soldiers have to kill them to save the lives of civilians or their-”

“So you’re saying that the poor kid that you decided to beat, break their arms and legs, and suffocated with a plastic bag, was carrying and IED and you had to kill them to protect the lives of the people in that shit hole of a restaurant?”

“No, that would be ridiculous to claim that, I’m just pointing out the flaws in you’re stupid argument.”

“Who cares if my argument is flawed, my argument isn’t the focus, we’re talking about whether or not it was evil of you to do what you fucking did, and it was. You have yet to do the impossible and prove that you are not a bad person for what you’ve done.”

“Well, it seems like you already have made up your mind about the whole subject, and there’s no use in trying to talk to you. All I wanted was to discuss the facts, but it seems like you just want to put your head in the sand.”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“See, you’re only proving my point.”

The car stopped, and after a little while she could hear car doors slammed. There were footsteps on gravel outside, and somebody began fumbling with the door of the trunk. When it finally swung open, and light had almost blinded her, she could start to see that not only was Randy dead, but he had probably been that way for quite some time.