#and a pile of garbage to fill space :)

[quimiri]

teamfortes :)

[luvevee]

Personal bitching but I'm unfollowing/blocking anyone in sight that posts about f/naf. Idc if you just got into it or it's a niche you've liked for a while, it's a literal dumpsterfire all the way to the core and I'm not tolerating it around me after 7 years of encouraged braindamage from the creator/fanspace surrounding it all ✨

[mako-island-moon-pool]

Why am I flipping tf out over my roommate going into my room when I wasn't home and leaving a package on my bed it's literally not a big deal and they were trying to be helpful but I am shaking right now I should be happy I got my new favorite shirt but I'm so angry

[keerysfreckles]

tasm! peter parker who takes pictures of you any chance he gets.. and reader finds those pics with cute lil captions of whatever she was doing in that moment

pictures - peter parker (tasm)

pairing: peter parker x f!reader

warnings: use of y/n and she/her pronouns, pure fluff :)

a/n: I LOVE THIS SM OMG andrews peter will always have a special place in my heart <33

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

in the middle of impulsively deep cleaning y/n and peter's shared apartment, y/n was standing in peter's closet. he had a pile of clothes inside it that he was meaning to donate. y/n was in the process of grabbing all of the clothes and tossing them into a garbage bag. peter was somewhere in the apartment, but y/n was focused on her own task.

she looked around the closet once before leaving, to see if she sees anything peter hasn't used in over a year.

y/n stands on her tip toes to grab a pair of shoes on the top shelf that were worn out, and she knew peter hasn't worn them since high school.

standing back up on her tip toes, her hand flails around the space on the shelf slightly, as she tries to feel for any other things she can donate. however, her eyebrows furrow once she feels an unfamiliar box.

she grabs it at an awkward angle, before knealing on the ground and taking the lid off.

firstly, y/n's confused, once she sees the box filled with polaroid pictures. she rakes her fingers through all the pictures in the box, and notices they're all of her.

she giggled at the realization that peter was always taking her picture.

she lifted one, and saw it was of her decorating the christmas tree. the bottom was labeled with peter's messy handwriting, 'christmas 2019'.

she picked another one out of the box. her back was facing the camera, and she guessed she was cooking something, seeing a plate full of food next to her on the counter, as she stood in front of the stove. after reading the caption peter had written, she was right, it was when she cooked pancakes for her and peter.

y/n continued looking through the pictures. her heart only warmed after looking at them.

"y/n?" peter's voice echoed in his room.

"in here!" she called back, making peter walk into his closet.

"oh, you found those," peter kneels down besides y/n, with a shy smile on his face.

y/n looks at one with peter looking over her shoulder. he took the picture in front of the mirror, well y/n was the one holding the camera, as peter had his face buried into her neck.

y/n remember that day very vividly. it was the day peter asked her to officially be his girlfriend. they had just gotten back from their first date, and peter thought y/n looked absolutely adorable wearing his pajama pants, so he insisted to take a picture.

"this doesn't really look like cleaning to me," peter chuckles, noticing how distracted y/n had gotten.

"oh shush," she giggles, "what have you been doing this whole time?"

"i was actually cleaning the kitchen. just like you said you were going to go through donations, which clearly is going so well," peter laughs while gesturing to what y/n was doing.

peter kisses the top of her head, before standing up, "since i love you, i'll let it slide just this once."

y/n only giggles again, and waves goodbye to peter before he walks out of his room.

even though she knew she had more cleaning to do, she went back to her previous task, her smile never leaving her face.

[ultimate-chickennougat]

| Your Salaryman Husband | (Vol 4)

Vol 1 Vol 2 Vol 3 (Not Required) Vol 5 Vol 6 Vol 7 Vol 8 Vol 9

Salaryman!Kento x Housewife!Reader

When you get sick...

Word Count: 1.1k CW: SFW, Domestic Fluff, fem!Reader, Y/n is sick, Nanami takes off his shirt (nondescriptive)

A/n: Maybe you should meet Gojo sometime soon... idk... thoughts.

You mostly stayed inside the confines of your home, so getting sick wasn’t a common occurrence. 

Food was always prepared well, with vegetables washed and meat cooked properly. The house was regularly dusted and vacuumed, sheets and pillowcases thrown in the washing machine at least once per week. 

Nanami’s routine had certain protections as well, sitting a comfortable distance away from clients and coworkers while at meetings, and being in a partitioned office space in a quiet corner of the building during the work day. 

Despite these things, the sudden cold front seemed to disagree with your immune system, as you were now snuggled up in bed with a box of tissues. 

“Kento, darling, I can sleep in the guest bedroom, it’s fine,” you argued through your sniffles and occasional cough. He walked over to the side of the bed and pushed a few more pillows under your head. “It’s fine, it would take too much work to move things. You’re tired, so go to sleep,” he muttered, a slight chuckle leaving his mouth at your willingness. “You know I’m perfectly alright with sleeping here with you, you know,” you lightly pushed him away as he sat on the bed. “You’ll get sick too, and you have work,” you grabbed another tissue.

“I could always take some time off, I have some sick days in my contract,” Nanami smiled, feeling your forehead. “I’m glad you can still take care of yourself, but I’m here too. Just rely on me a little, Y/n,” he stood up and left to grab you some water.

It was the evening after a long day at work, when Nanami found you in an unwell state. Dinner on the stove was half cooked, sitting there, as you had quit for his sake when the sneezing onset. His poor wife, already asleep and shivering on the couch by the time he got home.  

Nanami picked you up, your arms wrapped lazily around his neck as he carried you to your shared room and laid you down. You woke up shortly after the covers were pulled over your body, head peaking out from the growing mass of blankets and pillows surrounding you. Two more were still awaiting their place behind your head. 

Now he was in the kitchen, turning on the stove to medium high and clicking the start button on the timer, which was already set to the final 15 minutes it needed until done. You had already felt a bit off that morning, something that he kept in mind all day, especially as he rushed home. Hence, a simple chicken soup was on the menu. 

He filled up a big glass with water, and took out two bowls from the cabinet, moving back to stir the soup that was bubbling.

You closed your eyes, enjoying the smell of soup that floated through the air. Dinner would be ready soon, so there was no point in going back to sleep, not that you weren’t close to dozing off already. Nanami came back clearing the nightstand of clutter and setting the box of tissues on the bed next to you. A chair was pulled up next to the nightstand, and two bowls were placed on it. 

You sat up comfortably, still surrounded by cozy blankets as you met your husband’s gaze. “I hate to admit it, you seem so miserable, but you’re very cute when you’re sick,” he laughed as you blushed. “I am not, I’m quite disgusting actually, darling,” you pointed to the pile of used tissues sitting in the garbage can. “I don’t think it’s disgusting at all, my love,” He grabbed your hand softly, and guided it to your spoon. 

“The soup is delicious, you’ll feel better if you eat,” he watched as you brought a spoonful to your mouth, a soft hum left your lips in agreement, it was quite good and easy to finish.

“Thank you, Kento,” you smiled, pulling the blankets off as you stood up to get ready for bed. “No you don’t,” he grabbed your waist and pulled you back onto the mound of pillows. “If you need something, I can get it for you,” you frowned, letting out a few coughs. “Besides I won’t be here tomorrow during work, so you should rest up while I am.” He stacked up your dishes and left, returning shortly.

“Which nightgown?” he asked, rifling through the dresses in your closet. “The pink short one,” you replied softly, voice slightly rough from your sore throat. He grabbed it and brought it over to you. “Do you need help changing?” He asked plainly, as you laughed. “I can do it myself, Mr. Nanami,” He sighed in defeat, unbuttoning his shirt to get ready himself.

“Well I don’t want you getting off this bed.” You shook your head in disagreement. “I still have to brush my teeth,” you whined, as he left you to finish getting ready in the bathroom, on your own, as he wiped down the nightstand with a wet cloth and changed. 

You came back, dressed for bed with your hair tied up in hopes of keeping cool throughout the night. Tossing yourself onto the blankets, you crawled under the covers enjoying the comfortable mattress the two of you had bought together. 

Nanami leaned down from beside the bed, his hand under your chin lifting your face, as he gently kissed your forehead. “I’m glad you don’t have a fever,” He murmured, lips still close to your skin. “I probably just have a cold, I guess,” you responded, snaking your hand down to grip his free one. “You should still stay away from me,” Nanami backed off from you, sitting down. 

“I don’t mind getting sick, it causes no problems,” he offered with a smirk. “But if you do really care so much… I’ll offer a compromise,” a look of surprise overtook your face as you awaited his proposal. “At least I get to sit here until you fall asleep, hmm?” you nodded, still longing for his presence, even at a distance. 

He kissed your cheek as you drifted to sleep, a smile still on your face and your breath slow and heavy as he could hear the congestion. 

“Goodnight, my love,” he sat still, lounging back into the chair. Little did he know it would be two more hours of watching you before he himself fell asleep, still sitting in that chair by your side.

[determinate-negation]

The average American produces 1,704 pounds of garbage per year, roughly three times the global average, according to a new report by the research firm Verisk Maplecroft. Across 194 countries, the researchers found that the world produces 2.3 billion tons of municipal solid waste each year, which is enough to fill 822,000 Olympic-sized pools. Of this waste, just 16% is recycled, while 46% is disposed of unsustainably in ways that harm the environment.  [...] Countries like the US and Singapore are reaching their landfill capacity, while countries like China and Malaysia have refused to continue accepting trash exported from Western nations.  Although the United States accounts for 4% of the global population, it’s responsible for 12% of the municipal solid waste that’s created, and historically would ship a lot of trash to other countries.   China and India, meanwhile, account for 36% of the global population, but generate only 27% of all waste. 

also according to a lot of studies the majority of garbage in the US is food waste which can 100% be composted and is the most environmentally destructive when sent to a landfill because it creates methane

from this source

America has got a waste problem. An average American produces about 4.40 pounds of garbage per day and approximately three-quarters of a tonne per year. If you are thinking “this can’t possibly be right, there is no way I produce THAT MUCH”, get ready for another blow. The U.S.A holds the record of producing the highest amount of garbage in the world, more than Russia, India, and even China. All that trash has to end up somewhere and as a result, the 2,000 active landfills in the US are reaching their capacity. What will happen when we run out of the room? Well, let’s ask a better question. What can we do to manage our waste better and prevent a catastrophe? Overfilled landfills are a big problem. Some states decide to simply burn the landfills, as burning reduces the volume of the trash in the landfill significantly. This frees up a lot of space, but the problem of toxic gasses and fumes being released into the atmosphere persists. Not only do these gasses contribute to climate change, but they can also deteriorate human health and end up costing millions in medical expenses. On the other hand, simply leaving the landfills as they pose other issues. The chemical and biological reactions taking place in landfills can create a lot of issues as these chemicals leach into the ground and contaminate water that municipalities may extract for use in their water systems. The piles of organic garbage also release harmful methane, a greenhouse gas more 86 times more potent than carbon dioxide. So, what can be done to alleviate these issues?

[monstersinthecosmos]

Vamptember Day 17 - You Made a Mess

{deaf center - the clearing}

You made a mess.

Marius doesn’t say it out loud. 

He just stands there in the doorway, his eyes passing back and forth across the space, unsure where to even start. Pointing out the obvious won’t help, anyway. Criticizing isn’t productive and he’s not sure Daniel would even comprehend it in the first place.

The paints are all knocked over, though. Tools where they shouldn’t be and the chemical smell of the matte sealer permeating the air from where it’s spilled across the floor.

Daniel sits in the center of it all, balancing things into a sculpture of sorts. Holding all of it very still while the glue sets.

“What are you making?” Marius asks. Gently and uncritical, both curious and concerned, willing to nurture if it will bring him back to the surface.

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look up. Leans in to blow on the piece he’s building to dry it faster.  

How had he managed to ransack every last bit of Marius’s supplies and yet still filled in the gaps with garbage? Seems like he’s twisted together discarded bits of wrapper and strips of cardboard. A loose thread from the carpet. The spiked back leg of a cockroach. HIs hand hovers over his pile of debris, as if each found object is precious as he decides which to select next. 

The question doesn’t register in him. Marius listens for an answer, even if Daniel chooses silence. His brain instead throbs quietly with the instructions for himself. This angle and that angle and the glue here and structure there and pieces and parts and pieces and parts and pieces and parts. The thought doesn’t come together with language, but he settles into it, into to the reality of their nature. 

Lestat calls it the Savage Garden, but to Daniel it’s just pieces and parts. His hands hold so still, move so carefully, completely inhuman as he attempts to invent balance.

He wonders if Armand has seen this. If he knows it’s gotten this bad. Even with their minds locked from one another, it’s impossible not to see the way he’s deteriorating. 

Marius takes a step closer. Slowly, to gauge Daniel’s response, to make sure he’s not intruding. Daniel’s focus never wavers, though, as Marius edges around the perimeter of the room, towards the work table and open cabinet doors. He ties his hair back and rolls up his sleeves, unsure where he wants to begin.

But Daniel makes some sense, he thinks. Something about order and about balance. Pieces and parts. He looks again towards the sculpture, designed with such unique precision, and begins tidying the table from left to right. A piece at a time, in little parts. One by one, chiseling away until there’s balance again.

Daniel’s thoughts ripple in pleasure, wordless between them, connected for long enough that Marius thinks there’s hope. 

[cemeteryreviews]

Cemetery Reviews #7 – San Gil Old Cemetery

The old San Gil Cemetery is quite fascinating, but not for the reasons you might initially expect. It's a spacious cemetery with lots of greenery and a beautiful giant tree. The interesting thing is that, due to urbanization projects around it, the cemetery no longer has space to expand, and the terrain is somewhat hilly. People opened another cemetery on the way to the airport and this one has been left alone, somewhat.

Like the Zapatoca Cemetery, the graves in the back are somewhat forgotten, with many broken tombstones now covered in grass. What I found incredible was discovering the morgue right next to it, also forgotten and untouched, perfectly intact. There was even a changing room, and both spaces are filled with dust and wasp nests. I thought that was pretty cool. There was also a wall that covered a door, which now looks like a sealed entrance to the underworld. Some tombstones were repurposed for the surroundings of the chapel and the pathway, which I found hysterical! Neither the names nor the dates were erased, but the tombstones now have a new use. There are also two empty graves, already dug but without any caskets and with the dirt piled beside them. At the far end, there’s a mysterious room whose purpose I couldn’t figure out. The roof is already overgrown with plants, and everything else inside has been abandoned. I peeked in, and it looks like a garbage room. There are several seating areas where you can hear the cicadas when the sun comes out.

Although the old San Gil Cemetery shares the maintenance challenges of other cemeteries, like Bogotá's Central Cemetery, I found this one much more pleasant, genuine, and fascinating.

9/10

[applejuicebegood]

HELLO!!! It is I! I’ve been thinking… if you’d be able to do an Irish!fem!reader who has all these Irish dancing trophies and the little dresses and shoes from when she was small, cuz I still do 😭, and reader gets so embarrassed because she can’t do it anymore and the boys insist on doing the walls of limerick with her!!!! Thank you!!!!

Platonic!141 x Reader - Sweet Music

Fem!Reader

A/N: OK, I am actually so fucking sorry this took forever. I was caught up with mock exams but they are over! And I shall be writing more! I had alot of fun writing this even tho I didn't do ur ask justice. I really hope that you enjoy it tho Teddy! Thank you for being the actual best and being so patient and kind! Masterlist

Cw: Brief mentions of alcohol, Reader has a dog Word Count: 1624

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

‘You got the last box?’ 

‘Yea.. yes! Don’t worry’ You struggled to grip the dusty cardboard against your body, your foot catching your ankle on the last step of the attic later. Earlier that day, you had asked Kyle to help with the daunting task of breaking open your sealed off attic and clearing it for storage of your military gear. Getting rid of whatever your mother had decided what was best to collect and hoard before she left. You both were able to clear out the majority of the space that afternoon, choking on the kicked up dust and cobwebs. You had piled the boxes in your living room, circling your couch and chairs. You dog, Jax, strutted around the constructed towers, cautiously bending his head to sniff the stale cardboard. As you huffed the final box atop a stack that was starting to bleed into your kitchen, both you and Gaz admired your efforts with your hands resting on your hips. ‘You wanna crack em’ open?’ ‘Let me get the wine first’ You could hear Kyle snicker behind you as you made your way to the kitchen. Returning with two glasses and one of your more expensive bottles of chilled red in hand, you settled yourself on the carpeted floor. Your head resting against the seated cushion of the couch. You handed Gaz the bottles and glasses and in trade he handed you a box cutter. The echo of the wine filling the glasses was drowned by the blade of your knife ripping through the packaging tape lining the top of the box settled in front of you. Gaz did the same with a pair of kitchen scissors. You took a generous swig of your glass before diving your hands into the brown packing paper. Jax had settled his head on Kyle’s thighs, watching him unwrap a picture frame, starting a pile of garbage packing paper to be burned in your wood stove. ‘Oh-hoo.. What’s this?’ You lifted your head from the unwrapped shot-glasses to see that Gaz held a small rusted golden plaque in his hands. Your name scrawled in chipped cursive across the bottom of the frame. ‘Holy, haven’t seen that in forever. This must be my old dancing stuff’ ‘Wha- you did dance?’ ‘Surprised are you? Mom signed me up for it to get me outta the house.. I only continued with it cause’ Nan wanted me to get closer to my ��gaelic roots” as she put it’ 

You scooted over to sit next to him, your hand instinctively finding Jax’s ears to scratch behind. You reached into the box and pulled out a bound pile of plaid. Undoing the twine, you unfolded a deep green plaid skirt, the seam stitched golden by your grandmother's hand. You ran your fingers down the trailing glint, it was as if you could feel your grandmother's touch holding down the fabric as she delicately thred it through her sewing machine. You could hear her sighs and coo’s of approval as you stumbled out of your bedroom, wearing the skirt for the first time. ‘So! Keep or give away?’ Kyle said before taking a swig of his own wine. He pulled another box closer to him, a small cloud of dust kicking up from his scissors gilding across the cardboard. 

‘Keep for now, might get rid of the trophies but I can gives the dresses to Emi’ ‘She’d really like that’ Kyle said smiling back at you, his rich chocolate eyes highlighted in the early evening sun. You held the small dress close to your chest for a moment before setting it beside you, in the now ‘keep’ pile. 

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

You could feel the cold of the metal seat through the lining of your tactical pants. The weight of your combat vest held you down against the bench. It was cold, the air thick with the smell of gasoline and salt. The warm brush of your lieutenant's arm against the side of yours was the only thing reminding you that there would be a bed and a warm meal to hopefully return too after this mission. It was just you and Simon on the installed benches in the transport plane, the rest of the squad just offloading moments before. ‘Leave is com’in up.. plans?’  Simon's thick, graveled baritone cut through your coms, bringing you back into the familiar state of heightened awareness. 

‘Oh.. umm.. Just gunna head back home.. Emi has a dance recital ‘week before Christmas and Mari wants me to drive her north for a weekend with her girlfriend, I told her no but she’s been begging me over the phone so-’ ‘Friends?’ Simon asked, looking over at you. You glanced up at his eyes, darkened and blood-shot. The deep onset of the pale skull mask making them appear blended into the dirtied black fabric of the hood. ‘No.. my sisters, I thought I told you- hold on’ You smiled as you reached around and dug out from a small back pocket in your vest a chipped golden photo case. Excitement brewed within you at the chance to discuss your little family. Clicking it open and holding it up for Simon, he held it between his large gloved fingers. You focused back on his eyes, watching as they looked over the photos set into the sides of the case. The first being a blurred still of Mari holding your infant sister a few days after she was born. You were able to catch her mid laugh, her smile drawn tight, deepening her dimpled cheeks. Emi was swaddled in her lap, her soft chubby cheeks poking out from the quilted blanket she was wrapped in. The second photo was an old-black and white still of your grandmother when she was younger, her hair swooped elegantly over her forehead. It was the same photo that was kept in your grandfather's wallet, given to you after he passed. Behind it was a small swath of deep green plaid fabric. Simon ran his thumb over the black crossing lines, looking back to you with confusion. ‘Oh.. that umm.. Was a piece of one of my dancing dresses.. Nan made them for me and.. I don’t know, keeping it with me is a sort of reminder I guess’ You say taking the golden frame back from him, shutting it with a click. You rubbed your thumb over the scratches and dents in the metal, a testament to the many trips the case took with you throughout your multiple deployments and missions. ‘Dancing?’ ‘Ha… yea.. Mom umm.. She had me do it throughout primary’ ‘I.. wasn’t expecting that..’ Simon mumbles, shifting on the metal bench. ‘What? Do I not look like a child dance prodigy?’ You say, nudging his arm with your elbow. ‘No just… god.. cannot picture you.. I mean-’ You tried to hold back the ripple of amusement from your lips, watching the metaphorical gears turn in Simon's head. He quickly glanced back at you, confirming your clear enjoyment in his confusion. You leaned your head back against the metal wall, thumbing the photo case before tucking it back into the pocket of your vest. It was within these small moments of reprieve from tactical expectations that you wished you could put Simon, and the rest of your team's photo within the case alongside your sisters. 

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish 

‘Johnny! Food’s here!’ You call up from your living room, placing the hot paper bags on the low coffee table. You expected to hear his harsh footsteps down the creaking wooden stairs. Yet, only the sound of the dimmed slow piano crackling from your record player and the high-pitched thrum of late evening summer crickets filled the air. ‘Johnny!’ You shouted, unpacking the food. ‘Where..? God..’ You groaned, looking towards the hallway stairwell. You trudged up the stairs, two at a time. Your feet bouncing down the carpeted hallway, the dark glow of the evening sunset casting a dim glow from the hallway window. ‘John..?’ You said, poking your head into one of the spare bedrooms. ‘In here!’ Relief broke in your chest like the shell of an egg as you heard your sergeant's rough voice from your bedroom. You hadn’t been able to yet undo the familiar anxiety that comes with the lack of response from your teammates, an anxiety bred from being their stand-by medic. 

You pushed open your bedroom door, the hinges squeaking. You had stopped using this room as yours a long time ago. It was now more a storage shed for your sister's old clothes and your military gear. You found John standing by an old dresser, dusty plaques and trophies covering the top of the mahogany wood. You watched as John held one of the frames in his large scarred hand. ‘What did ya find?’ You ask, standing by his shoulder while stuffing your hands in your pockets. ‘You should've told me you did dance’ He said, placing the frame back down. The picture he was looking at was an old, sunbleached still of you as a child, standing in a plaid dress next to your grandmother who was holding your then infant sister. Your smile held a few dark spots as you had just started losing your baby teeth.

‘Why’s that?’ You say, picking up another photo, you used the sleeve of your sweater to rub the dust from the shiny metal frame. ‘Well because my gran’ forced me into it too’ ‘Shut up’ You say, placing the cleaned frame back down with a thump. ‘Im serious, once we fly up with Roach, me’ sister’ll show you the photos’ ‘That is.. I never would have guessed’ ‘Can say the same thing for you Bonnie’ 

[godesssiri]

I wanted to give some advice to people who are near enough to help areas affected by the recent hurricanes and haven't been affected themselves. I live in New Zealand and last year my home town was devastated by Cyclone Gabrielle, I live 4 hours away and was organizing to get things in to people who needed them.

Look on Facebook. Groups will be organizing and sharing information about what donations are needed and where to bring them to. A determined middle-aged woman will be helping hundreds of people out of her garage or whatever empty space she's been able to sweet-talk or brow-beat some business man into loaning her.

Donate material goods that are actually needed right now. It's tempting to go 'I've got no money but I can clean out my wardrobe and give stuff'. Please don't. I saw several charities turning stuff away because SO MUCH had been dumped on them.

Right now things that you can actually give from your own homes if you have them to give or if you can appeal to your community:

Big and tall men's clothing, they'll get loads of women's and kids stuff but there will be a shortage of larger men's clothes so if you are a larger man or know one you can hit up, they'll be grateful.

Sturdy footwear, particularly rubber boots - they've got a lot of mud to slog through and they need to protect their feet.

Protective clothing, work gloves, hard hats, high vis gear.

Camping lights, head-lights, solar-lights. If they're without power these are all much safer than candles.

Monitor local Facebook groups and see if they're appealing for anything in particular.

In a few months to a year or so they're going to need everything else so if you want to help but all you've got to give is your old fridge or a pile of blankets then just hold off until people are asking for those things. Once they have a safe place to live they'll need help filling it. Keep following any Facebook groups that form and be prepared to help later.

If you can buy things to take in or get local businesses to donate or however you go about providing new things, stuff that's gonna be really helpful right now:

Prepacked food that's easy to heat up on a barbeque or camp stove. Pouches, meals in a can, just add boiling water, anything you'd take camping. Ingredients aren't really helpful right now for people who are using all their energy to survive and don't have extra to make a meal.

Milk powder. You can make up just as much as you need and don't need to worry about refrigerating it.

Bottled water.

Baby formula.

Diapers

Toilet-paper

Baby wipes. The wastewater systems will be a mess so they're probably being advised to avoid showering even if they have running water. Baby wipes are a good way to keep reasonably clean.

Clorox wipes or similar products. Just as they're having trouble keeping themselves clean it's also a challenge to keep their environment clean.

Heavy duty garbage bags. There's a lot of spoiled food, soaked/rotting paper/fabric/building materials, that need to be contained until they can be gotten rid of. Landfill is likely affected so the best they'll be able to do is seal it up in heavy duty plastic until there's somewhere they can dump it.

Camp stove gas canisters

Batteries

Pet food

Tortillas. They keep longer than leavened bread, there's a million things you can do with them, and they're way more compact for transport. (When we had the car full to the roof with stuff we were taking in to our family, I was so proud when I realized we could transport 300 tortillas in the spaces under the driver's and passenger's seats.)

Over the counter meds - there'll be lots of people doing work that's making them very sore. Also basic first aid stuff, it'd be a bitch if you survived the hurricane uninjured only to end up with an infection that you got from a splinter while cleaning up.

If you're delivering things yourself then avoid staying in the area for too long unless you're actually taking part in the clean up. Take everything that you'll need while you're there. When you leave offer to take trash out with you.

People who've been through a disaster like this will need help long term so if you can't help right now don't feel bad, keep an eye on the situation and eventually something will come up that you can help with.

[owlespresso]

scarlet venom to keep in jam jars sometimes you feel like an ant beneath his gaze.

Vil makes a face at the red stains on your hands and upper arms. You laugh at the way his nose wrinkles. The tart scent of fresh cherry fills the humble Ramshackle kitchen, the oven thrummed to life behind you.

“You don’t pit a whole batch of cherries without making a little bit of a mess,” you tell him with a crooked smile. You don’t have a pitter, so you’ve opted to do it with your bare (and meticulously cleaned) hands. You gently hold each morsel by the stem to squeeze each pit out. A growing pile of them sits atop several layers of paper towel to the side of your cutting board. You’re almost done with this batch. Only two more to go. “What’re you making that face for? It’ll wash right off.”

“You could have put on some gloves,” he retorts. Reaching over, he pinches the space below your thumb between forefinger and thumb, one of the only unblemished parts of your hand. He lifts your hand to inspect it with a pitched brow, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “This will take days to wash out, and all to make something you could have bought from the school store.” He relinquishes you, still wearing a dour pout.

“It’s fresher when you make it yourself,” you tut. “And more satisfying.”

“That may be true, but I need you pristine for tomorrow’s luncheon. You agreed to attend as my plus one, remember?” Vil gives you a pointed look. 

Ah, right. Something about a fancy meal with his castmates on this upcoming project. You weren’t sure if it was actually a movie. In your defense, Vil always seems to have a dozen or more projects on his plate at any given time, and you tend to promise him whatever he wants as soon as he asks for it. How could you say “no” to that prying glare and air of innate superiority? 

“Y-Yeah, of course! Don’t worry. These hands’ll be clean as a whistle in time for tomorrow!” you assure him, hoping he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your chipper chirp. He definitely does not believe you, and he doesn’t do you the service of pretending to. Not even for a second. 

“Hm. I should hope so,” he says, looking down his nose at you, lips set in a stern expression that says “you had better”.

You figured he would leave, but he lingers in your kitchen, looking completely and utterly out of place. A peacock among a group of hens. A marble statue in the middle of a garbage dump. A somewhat peaceable silence lingers as you finish pitting the cherries, dropping each one into a pot above the stove. The recipe is simple. All it calls for is cherries, lemon juice and water over a burner. It’s a wonder, you think, how a simple three ingredients can make something so delicious.

Well, your kitchen isn’t a dump. You had worked hard to forge it into what it is now. You tore out those floorboards with your own hands, gutted the cabinets and sinks and slotted new ones in with trembling hands and assistance from a select few friends. Jack and Deuce, in particular, had been indispensable during the project. Your kitchen, you realize as you stir the pot, is a mark of pride and hard work. 

Hard work that will be rendered meaningless once you find a way home. What will become of Ramshackle once you are gone? Will they once again shutter the windows and let nature reclaim its aged wood and stone? 

Vil says your name, then, hardly an inch from your ear. You jolt, spatula clattering against the edge of the pot. He’s leaned up against the counter, closer than he’d been before.

“W-What is it?” you stammer. Your palm presses flat to your chest in an attempt to soothe the erratic thrumming of your heart, jumpstarted by the brief jolt of adrenaline. 

“I’ve been calling you for the past minute, dear,” Vil murmurs quietly. The dulcet tone of his voice soothes your animal panic. There is no threat here, the thalamus concludes, whispering the amygdala back to sweet sleep. 

“Sorry, I just…” What do you tell him? That you’re plagued by the knowledge that all you build will one day be rendered to ash? That the steady march of time has already always worried you, but your limited time here only makes the dread worse?

“I wonder where you go, sometimes,” Vil murmurs quietly. He grasps your chin delicately, cups it between forefinger and thumb–and the thoughts stop. “You get the most far away look in your eyes, and no matter how much I call out to you, you don’t seem to hear until I’m right in front of you.”

“I just get lost in thought,” you mumble, for lack of anything better to say. Your brain stalls out, thoughts jumbled as you desperately reach for a more eloquent reply. You find none, of course, made entirely stupid by the mere touch of his hand. The silken skin of his hand so perilously close to your throat. He could feel the rabbit wild thrum of your pulse if they slid barely a few inches lower. You swallow, and his eyes dart down to track the motion. Pinpoint reaction like a predator prepared to pounce. 

“And you also get lost in crowds,” Vil replies wryly, breaking the tension.

That was one time, you want to argue, even if that one time resulted in him fervently trying to locate you amongst a throng of festival goers for the better part of an hour. Afterwards, he mandated a strict hand-holding policy that remains in effect to this day. You worry for his career. What’ll happen if he’s seen so close to you? Surely, he has legions of adoring fans who thrive off of imagining themselves on his arm. Will it hurt his image? Or his standing in the industry?

He doesn’t seem to be much bothered.

He delicately taps you on the nose, and you’re snapped from your winding train of thought. Probably for the better.

“Your spacing out has its charms, but not when you’re watching over a boiling pot,” he says crisply, and your eyes go wide, snapping back to the pot. Thankfully, it has not exploded or boiled over or congealed into one, solid mass in your absence. You doubt such a thing is possible–but if there’s one thing you know, it’s to never look away from your cooking. 

“You’re the one distracting me,” you grouse. There is no bite behind it. Hardly even a bark. 

You give the brewing jam another stir, finding the consistency a little too watery. You stare into the crimson mixture with a hawkish, searching gaze.

[jello-bbq]

Near Death, Again

(Platonic! Tsu'tey x Avatar! Reader) (Platonic! Jake x Avatar! Reader)

Unwitting people find themselves sharing a fondness for the dreamwalker child. Mystery surrounds their injuries and the sleep from which they have not woken. (2.3k)

I am pulling this straight out of the garbage pile and making it all up. Does anyone actually like this. Also forget to mention that reader is like, 17-ish? To me at least, imagine them however you want. Blood and injury tw.

"I told you not to push too much, we could lose it! It could die!"

"What do you care!?"

"I spent millions of dollars on that little investment at least be fucking delicate!"

A small room, barely enough to sit in. The yelling reverberated over the concrete walls, unheard by the child who kept their hands over their ears. Even so, there could be no silence.

They felt as if every thought had a voice, and among the thousands that swarmed their head, each screamed at full volume. Suffocating. It felt suffocating.

The metal door creaked open, washing the small space with light and revealing the massacre. The source of the argument.

Blood spewed from the child's ears. From their mouth. From their eyes, unseeing as the red filled their vision.

"Look at it! It's bleeding everywhere, are you even sure it will survive the night?"

The child remained oblivious. Or maybe the thoughts just left no space for anything else to be recognized.

"Ma'am, I can assure you that it will survive. We've done a lot more brutal things-"

"Brutal! Do you think I swat a fly and call it brutality? I'm talking about it's survival, I have spent too much on this for it to fail. Don't push it."

"Well, fix it so it won't fail or don't push it? With all due respect, it's one or the other so just how much do you want this to succeed?"

The door shut again, enclosing the flood of crimson.

Barely a second is taken to consider the words. "Fine, fix it." Those final words rang through the air as the sound of footsteps fell away.

It would be hours before anyone would open the door again. Dragging the small, unconscious body, almost indiscernible with the blood wrapping it in different shades of red.

"How's it doing?"

"Still breathing, sir."

"Good, take it away."

After only a day of rest, they were taken again into the lab and ended up with the same fate. Bleeding onto the tiles with no space in their head to even feel hurt.

To that child, screams were not abnormal. In fact, more concern rose when there were no screams. How could there not be in a place so intent on practicing cruelty?

The sounds didn't bother them. That's all they were. Sounds. Ones they couldn't even connect to faces. The company took enough measures to ensure that but perhaps left the children in close enough quarters that the screams would serve to keep them in line. Who knows.

They certainly didn't. Why would they waste time thinking about such things when they could barely think for themselves?

Two sharp knocks on the door. The squeak of the metal flap. The slide of the tray against the tile. Those were the only sounds they cared for.

They stood from the cramped bed, which had barely been enough as a child. Even more so as they grew older. But that night, as they squeezed dry the plastic containing the same tasteless paste that had been served for years, the screaming suddenly sounded different.

It took a moment to realize why. These were not screams of children.

That night the sounds stopped. No knocks on the door. No tray of questionable food sliding in. No screams.

It didn't take long to realize what happened. They were abandoned. The screams that night had been of worry. And if they thought hard enough, they could remember some of the words.

'Found us', 'hide', 'leave those to die'.

Of course, 'those' pertained to them.

And to however many kids sat in locked cells in that long hallway.

Kids raised in the bunker alongside them. Bred in little tubes and nourished into willing war machines. Or they would have been, if the scientists could only get their experiments right.

They couldn't remember how long it took. How long they laid on that cold tile floor wishing that they were bleeding out instead of starving.

Then, the door creaked open.

They were pulled out of the cramped room that held their life. A gloved hand tugging at their arm harshly. Lights shining at their face. Blurred figures. The ever so present smell of blood. The ache of walking after being still for so long. The wish to be carried which couldn't be voiced.

Those were the things they could remember, nothing else. Not how they got to the RDA. Not how many children there were in the truck that brought them over. Not even how they ended up in a soft bed that didn't stink of blood.

The reason for it all?

The experiment program had been leaked. This resulted in the sudden abandonment. Someone in the bunker grew a conscience and spread it to the public, which caused outrage.

The rest ran before they could be caught. The whistleblower died for the crime of seeking justice. And the government had fucked up enough that they only found the bunker three days later.

Many of the younger children were dead by then.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

When they awoke, they didn't relish the soft bed. They instead felt the absence of blood, and it made theirs run cold.

The only explanation they could think of for the lack of the sharp smell was that it had yet to be introduced. And with them being the only one in the room, it could only be their blood that would end up spilt.

That thinking brought them to a situation. A knee on the back of a man's neck. His arms held tight in their shaking hands.

"Everything's okay, you're okay. You're fine." The man tried to be soothing, his voice sounding weird as half his face remained closely acquainted with the floor.

The tone only set off more alarms in their head, their knee coming down harsher. "Quiet."

The man didn't listen. "They're gone. Those scumbags that did all that to you and those kids, they're locked up. You're not in that bunker anymore."

"Quiet," they repeated.

The door slid open. They took advantage of the person's surprise and ran for it, not thinking of anything as they wove through the halls.

The experiments had come through, doing the work for them so they need not think for themselves.

But a failed test subject, barefoot and in a new environment, could only get so far.

They were back in the room in thirty minutes, proud at least of the injuries it took to get them back there.

The window wouldn't break. They tried it the moment the door shut. So they settled for hiding under the bed, a fallacy on their part as they couldn't run for the door fast enough when it opened.

"Kiddo?"

A man entered, the same one they pinned down the first time. They could only see the lower half of his legs, but they could tell he looked around the room before crouching.

They had half a mind to lunge at him then when he offered a smile. "Hey, no hard feelings about earlier. I get that you're scared and that's understandable." He only smiled brighter when they glared, furthering their confusion.

"I'll just-" he moved back, sitting against the wall opposite the bed. "I'll stay here if you don't mind."

They thought that was it, and went back to reviewing the building's blurry layout that they somehow pieced together from the brief stint outside.

"What's your name?"

No reply.

"How old are you?"

Silence.

The man sighed. He moved, they assumed to get up and get out but he instead lay down on his side, catching their eye. "Hi. My name's Tommy."

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

"They're gonna get through this," Jake told no one in particular, eating dinner alone in the empty cafeteria. He repeated that over and over in his head.

Sometimes it felt like the only thing he could think. Even though his lessons with Neytiri continued, he always found his way back to that one thought.

It felt bad enough not knowing anything. But not having anything to say felt worse.

He had to keep telling Neytiri that he didn't know why they weren't waking up.

Nobody knew why. Not the medical doctors. Or the science doctors. Or anyone.

He didn't understand. Especially when he wheeled himself over to their room. They looked fine. Like he could shake them awake.

"You're gonna wake up, right kid?"

They didn't answer him except with more of the same, uniform breathing.

Jake hated it at first. It reminded him of his days in the VA. Unable to do anything but listen to patients beside him who had it much worse. But now he realized that it at least meant they were alive. And he would take that over nothing.

He took the yogurt cup from his otherwise empty tray, placing it in the fridge, beside the others he'd saved up with every meal.

"You have to wake up."

He fell asleep in that room just like he did the three nights before, sitting by their bedside holding their hand.

°•°••°•°••°•°

Tsu'tey did much of the same. Though he himself needed to rest, he insisted on watching over their body. He knew that should they wake, it would be in their other body first but he snuck off to their tent anyway just in case.

So much so that the healers placed his bed in their tent, if only to no longer deal with coaxing him back to his tent whenever he went to theirs. Which was often.

He no longer joined the morning hunt. Or hunted at all. Spending all his time beside them instead.

"No changes?"

Someone pulled back the tent flap, allowing him a brief view of the outside. When did night fall?

"Nothing."

Zeyko nodded and began unwrapping the bandages as she did every night, changing them out for new ones.

She worked carefully.

As each layer slowly unraveled, her touch grew softer. Almost feather-like near their skin, as if one wrong move and they would break.

He never talked to Zeyko before the accident. Nothing that would count as a conversation anyway. Nods of acknowledgement, gestures of greeting, a grunt or two whenever she'd have to patch him up.

They were too different, and so they held a silent agreement. To not step over the line, to fulfill separate duties, to act with the barest friendliness only if needed but to not be friends.

An agreement that Tsu'tey had with many as he kept all at arm's length.

But now the two held a new agreement. Nothing that asked anything of either of them. Just an agreement. Unspoken, perhaps even unheard.

Both cared for the dreamwalker.

°•°••°•°••°•°••°•°

The dreamwalker in question could not have had a more fitting name. They were stuck in dreams. Walking amongst figments of imagination. Talking with memories. Walking. Walking. Walking.

Time didn't exist wherever they were, at least not in the binding way it did elsewhere.

They walked and walked. Never feeling tired. Never in the same place. Through memories that weren't theirs. And pasts that had occurred long before them.

"Why are you here, child?"

They didn't understand. It felt exactly like when their head couldn't keep up. A fuzzy feeling, like mold growing in their brain. The words began to make sense separately, slowly, understanding forming in the back of their mind as they continued walking.

Each step wakened them. Like their consciousness had spilled all over and now it had begun to creep back into the crevices of their being.

Again, they were asked. "What are you here for?"

They couldn't answer. But the question had them realizing they were running now, and all at once their thoughts came rushing back.

"What?"

Nothing.

For a second they feared they had imagined it.

"So you have awoken, you were in quite the deep sleep."

"Yes," they murmured, looking around. A forest. "Yes, I suppose I was."

They blinked, and they were in the mountains, floating over the trees.

"Where am I?"

"You are with me. You are safe."

Even without asking, a name tugged at their mind. They were in the forest again.

"Why am I here?"

"To learn, perhaps. You are an interesting one." They blinked again, opening their eyes to a river. "The path you have chosen, it will be hard."

"I haven't chosen any path." Another mountaintop.

The faceless voice smiled, they knew this in the way one knows things in dreams. A feeling, more than a thought or deduction. "You have chosen, stepping into danger for one of mine. He would have been welcomed home otherwise."

The world began to crumble, flickering like a light. The voice kept going, strangely calming, even as they began to fall. "You and Jake Sully, yes I think we can find a use for you. I will help you."

They fell continuously, knowing this even while hearing and feeling nothing. They were falling through the inky black.

It felt nice. Like laying in the sand and letting waves lap at your body.

The feeling was strange. They knew it didn't belong. Not with them.

This thought tugged at them. A rope tied around their waist, guiding their fall somewhere. As it did, they began to feel more things tugging at them. More and more. Until they were shooting through the ink.

The dark began to lift gradually.

Their eyes blinked open. All memory of what just happened began to fade. Like a word you know but cannot remember.

They blinked again, taking in their surroundings. A hospital room. Nighttime. Something beeping. They tried to stand, limbs moving in slow motion. They didn't realize their hand slipping from someone else's. Though they felt the warmth, brows furrowing as they wiggled their fingers.

It felt strange. Like they were in that moment between dreaming and awake. Everything felt strange.

Another movement caught their eye. A movement they couldn't control.

"Tommy?"

[dearmrsawyer]

my GARDEN is DONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It took 2 years but we made it 🎉🎉🎉 its life story under the cut

last year i dug up all the roses that the previous owners of this house had planted in this space. I HATE ROSE PLANTS. They're VERMIN. It took me a year (interrupted by la niña) to finally get them all out because i had to dig so far down to remove as much root system as i could. i learned that after the first attempt at removing them, where they all simply grew back because i left too many roots in tact 🙃 due to continued la niña last summer i wasn't able to get the space all the way ready so i spent autumn weeding everything that grew in the rain, digging about a foot into the ground to remove as much old dirt (and more roots) as i could, and tidying up everything we'd dumped there while the space was disused. I had pictures of that stage in the process but i can't find them, just know it looked like a garbage dump hahaha. i got all that done right as the temperature started to drop so i laid out a bunch of tarps to minimise the number of weeds that would grow back over winter and waited.

and then! SPRING. I ordered the soil back in September, 8 cubic metres of it which was definitely more than i needed sdkjlgfdkj but how am i supposed to know what a cubic metre is 😅 i was SO excited when it arrived (first photo), quickly followed by 'oh god i need to move all of this myself.' thankfully we had great weather in september so i could use every free moment i had for two weeks shoveling it into our wheelbarrow and then wheeling it down to tip into the garden area (the conclusion of my work in photo 2 lol). It was only at that point that i was like oh boy okay i REALLY have too much soil here. i filled up every single pot i could find and i added some more dirt to to our citrus tree garden in the courtyard since the existing soil had settled by that point and could use a top up. it still felt like way more than i had planned to buy BUT i thought you know what would be good, i could create tiers to organise the vegetables by how deep their roots grow! i laid down a couple of layers of newspaper to deter anything from the existing dirt growing up into my new soil and then started flattening it out. when we first moved in here there was a tonne of random building material around that the previous owners left behind, and we never got rid of it because we figured a purpose would eventually arise. and my garden was it. i collected all the cement blocks and bricks down the side/behind the house, plus the random lattices that had been piled up where our yard meets the neighbour's, and a scrap of fence leftover from the one we put alongside our driveway last year. There were also heaps of random planks of wood, and some logs from a tree that we trimmed earlier in the year. and i used ALL of it (picture three).

Then a couple of weeks ago i finally got to plant my seeds :D (final product, final photo) the tall section up the back is for the deep root veges, so i've planted pumpkin and cucumber there. in the middle i've planted zucchini, cabbage, cauliflower, silverbeet, radish and green beans. and the shallowest area down the bottom has beetroot, celery, lettuce, broccoli and snow peas. also a passionfruit plant in the corner :) i've also scattered flower seeds all over as i've read that it helps to attract pollinators/insects that will eat other insects that want to eat my vegetables. i've put a couple of flowering herbs into pots down there too, and i marked where i planted everything with sticks so i can remember dskfdklj also i drew myself a map.

i'm so thrilled with it :') its such a good space and now it will be useful! there's a good chance some of my seeds won't sprout as they're a couple of years old, but some of them are new and anyway i don't care, whatever grows will grow and whatever doesn't i'll try again in autumn. its just so exciting to have a garden to tend again, i know that i need to be able to just put my hands in dirt sometimes, it is a very helpful outlet, and also will maybe save us grocery money \o/

[sisterspooky1013]

How to Feel

Rated T | 1942 words | Read it here on AO3

CW for mention of suicidal ideation

Mulder sighs and rolls to his side, resting his cheek against the worn fabric of the couch cushion. It smells like sweat and mildew, and a little like his own unwashed ass. It smells like failure, which is fitting.

His eyes slowly drag around the remains of their home—the skeleton of a life they worked so hard to build. There are unnatural looking blank spaces all over the place, glaring at him like missing front teeth. Her favorite oversized armchair, that stupid little magazine rack she fell in love with at the flea market, a bucket whose sole purpose was to house umbrellas. Useless things. Unnecessary things. Things he never expected to miss.

Does he miss them? He notices their absence. They remind him that she is no longer here. That she won’t walk through the door at half-past six and drop her bag on the side table—which is also now gone—with a weary sigh. She won’t give him a disappointed glance as she goes to the kitchen to make herself dinner and then eats it in silence—alone—at the table. He hadn’t realized the way that her comings and goings marked the passing of time in his days until she was gone, and it all started to run together like the red T-shirt he put in with the whites.

He also notices that the laundry has begun to pile up.

“Do you even miss me?” she’d asked on the phone last week, her voice warbled with tears and hurt. Or it may have been yesterday, it’s hard to say. She’s not here to mark the passing of time for him anymore.

“Of course,” he’d said flatly, and the lurch of her wracking sob made him cringe.

He wishes he knew the right things to say, but it seems clear that in order to say the right things, he needs to feel the right things. He needs to feel guilty for the ways that he failed her. He needs to miss her so acutely that he finds the motivation to do the laundry and wash his ass. Once, he chartered a plane to Antarctica off nothing but a set of coordinates and the overwhelming desire to find out how her kiss tastes. More recently, she asked him to take the garbage out and he groaned as though she’d shot him (again). She took the garbage out herself.

He heaves himself up into a sitting position and feels the blood drain from his head. He stays like that for an indiscernible amount of time, staring at a perfectly circular clean spot on an otherwise dusty bookshelf. He tries to remember what was there before, what left the blank space. A vase, perhaps. Scully liked vases, especially when he filled them with flowers. It’s been a while since he did that. Years, probably.

It bothers him that he can’t remember. Every evening they’d sit here, watching TV or reading. Sometimes she’d slip her feet into his lap and nudge his balls with her heel, her own little subtle Scully come-on. More than a handful of times they made love right on the couch, too caught up to move to the bedroom. Hundreds of times he’s looked at that shelf, but he cannot for the life of him remember what used to live there.

“I’m not happy, Mulder.”

He’d turned his head slowly to look at her, his reaction lethargic. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, and he’d found himself surprised by her state. He wanted to ask her what happened, but then he realized that what happened was him.

“I’m sorry,” he’d uttered uselessly, feeling like an emotionally stunted tin man.

And he was. He is. He’s very, very sorry. But being sorry isn’t a feeling, it turns out. All you have to do in order to be sorry is to wish that things were different, which he does. He wishes he were different. He’s wished that for most of his life, save for one heavenly slice of time where someone who he loved beyond words or measure loved him back exactly as he is. Or was, anyway.

With a grunt, he launches himself up off the couch and plods over to the bookshelf. The blank circle is about five inches in diameter, flanked by his Star Trek DVDs and a framed picture of Samantha. It bothers him, makes him feel crazy, because there is an accompanying blank spot in his head where the information should be.

He feels annoyed. That’s something.

There was a space of time where he felt everything, to the point of overwhelm. He was despondent, agonized, miserable in a way that made him realize that every prior experience of “sad” was anodyne by comparison. He seriously considered whether continuing to be alive was the right choice for him. At that point, Scully was the only reason he had to keep going. It was the overpowering desire to avoid hurting her in a way she could never recover from that kept him waking up each day, kept him trying to make things better. And then one day, he didn’t feel so sad anymore. This would have been a good thing, except in addition to not feeling sad, he didn’t feel happy. He didn’t feel anything. He still doesn’t, not that he hasn’t tried.

It’s a bit like trying your hand at telekinesis, which he’s done an embarrassingly large number of times. You stare at the item, willing it with every fiber of your being to move. You realize that you’re not sure what you’re supposed to be engaging: what sense, or system, or muscle does one activate in order to move objects with their mind? You stare harder and harder, begging it to move, but it won’t. It can’t. You can’t make it, no matter how badly you want it to.

When she left, it was like a dream. He watched from the sidelines as she loaded the last of her things into her car and turned back to look at him one final time. He wanted to scream, to slap himself so he’d snap out of this trance and stop the only good thing that ever happened to him from walking out of his life. But his shoes were full of concrete and his hands made of lead, and he couldn’t bring himself to move.

“Drive carefully,” he’d offered, and then watched as the final spark of hope extinguished from her eyes.

He grabs the cordless phone off the cradle and returns to the couch, settling back into the well-worn indent his body has molded into the cushions. He dials her number and closes his eyes, pretending that she’s just out running errands and the house isn’t full of blank spots.

“Mulder?” she asks urgently upon answering, her voice full of concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he assures her casually. “I just wanted—are you busy?”

She heaves a sigh, the one that means she’s both relieved and irritated. It’s a special one born of necessity after they began working together.

“No,” she says, defeated. “What do you need?”

“What used to be on the bookshelf? Next to the picture of Samantha. I can’t remember and it’s driving me crazy.”

There’s a long silence filled with the crackle of her thoughts. It used to be his white noise, the sound he fell asleep to. He wonders if she’ll stay on the phone and let him listen to it if he asks nicely. He hasn’t slept well in a while.

“Are you eating, Mulder? Are you—” She clears her throat and takes a breath. “Are you taking care of yourself?”

He hasn’t eaten today. He can’t remember the last time he showered. Those things just don’t seem very important right now. Nothing does.

“Uh huh,” he says noncommittally.

Another crackling stretch. He yawns and burrows deeper into the cushions.

“I worry about you,” she whispers, like it’s a confession.

It hits his ear and slips down to the floor, disappearing between the drafty floorboards he never got around to fixing. He just can’t absorb it, can’t take it in. Her worry, her fear, her love. He’s impervious to it, which would be frustrating if that were an emotion he could access.

“I know,” he answers. “Do you remember what was on the bookshelf?”

He pictures her looking at her new bookshelf in her new place. He hasn’t been invited over and he has no idea what it’s like, so he just ends up picturing her in her apartment back in Georgetown. It makes him feel a little bit warm thinking of her there, curled up on her striped couch with a glass of wine.

“A coffee mug,” she says after a time. “Full of pebbles.”

“Oh,” he says, his eyebrows furrowing. “I forgot about that.”

“Yeah,” she says tightly. “I know.”

“Thanks,” he tells her. “It was gonna bug me all day.”

More crackles. He waits.

“It’s 11:00 pm, Mulder.”

She’s not here to mark the passing of time.

“I know. Sorry to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

He waits until she hangs up before he kills his end of the line. He does remember a little town with a winding river running through the middle of it. Maybe it was in Colorado, or Idaho. They sat on the bank of the river for hours, sipping from a drugstore bottle of whiskey and sorting the smooth, water-worn stones into little piles by color.

“I miss having a home,” she’d admitted as the sun began to slip behind the trees, slashing yellow stripes of light across the gently flowing water and her summer-freckled skin. She turned to look at him, seeking connection and comfort. Her vulnerability always felt like a secret that she trusted him to keep. He’d already met his daily quota for platitudes and empty expressions of optimism, so he just reached out and grabbed her hand. That seemed to be enough.

The next day, he was killing time in a gift shop that also served as the town’s laundromat, waiting for his jeans to dry, when he found a kitschy little mug that made him smile. He bought it for her and wrapped it in old newspapers, hiding it in the bottom of his bag until their final day in that particular town. She was always melancholy when it was time to go.

“Home is wherever I’m with you,” she read off the face of the mug, and by the time she lifted her head to look at him, tears were spilling out of her eyes.

She filled it with her favorite rocks from beside the river, the ones that reminded her of Missy and her mother. Some that she said reminded her of him. She hauled it around with her to countless other cities until she had a real home to display it in. It occupied the bookshelf until the day she realized that the home they’d found in each other had depreciated into a haunted house full of his ghosts.

Mulder thinks about the mug, about the blank spot on the shelf, and his chest becomes painfully tight. He thinks about how much she trusted him, right from the start, and how deeply he’s betrayed that trust. He thinks about the miracle of her love. The unlikely chance that he found her in the first place. And he feels so fucking awful, so guilty, so terrified that he’s ruined everything. His eyes burn and his throat closes up, and he sucks in a ragged breath. He feels so afraid that he’ll never get her back.

He feels.

It’s a start.

Tagging @today-in-fic

[wouldyoustilllovemeifiwasawyrm]

Cleaning Up

Linktober 2023 Day 26: Overgrown This room, this castle, all of Hyrule, was her responsibility. She would dig through her own trash and find any treasures that remained. As for everything else, she would have it removed.

He’d been in this place dozens of times in this life. He blushed to imagine how often he had been here, standing on this floor, in his previous one. He wanted to imagine this room as it once was. Scraps of fabric hung from a broken bedframe, caved in by roofstones that fell through the canopy, crushing the mattress and scattering the feathers inside. He’d found little of value in this room before, other than a respite from the guidance sights of enemy Guardians. The books had long since deteriorated, only a handful of pages salvageable among the rot and decay. Animals had snuck in during the short peace following the last battle with the Calamity. Rats left chewings of fabric and paper all over the floor.

Link ran his hand across the old duvet, dulled in color and damp from morning dew. The embroidery and silken fabrics must have cost a fortune, not to mention the thick stuffing inside, which stuck to his skin through the rips in the cover. He wondered if he had felt it when it was clean, when the blues and reds were vibrant, when it was whole and dry and not so gray. He had some difficulty reconciling it—the decay with the beauty. Zelda’s bedroom must have once been beautiful.

His princess knelt on the floor, sifting through scraps of paper that had fallen. A lantern sat beside her, the flickering light making her task a little easier. Some legible writing remained on the sheets, though not much. She sorted them into piles. Those in the worst state, the most chewed, stained, or ink-bled, piled the highest.

When Zelda suggested that she return to her childhood home, Purah cautioned her against it. The damage was severe. Likely, little of what remained in her room would be salvageable. She would have to face the things that she loved falling into decay, and that might trouble her greatly. ”Send someone else to dig through all that, Your Highness.” Purah urged. ”Robbie and I could do it. I know where you kept your research notes.”

But Zelda wouldn’t have it. This room, this castle, all of Hyrule, was her responsibility. She would dig through her own trash and find any treasures that remained. As for everything else, she would have it removed.

Vines and moss crept up the sides of her tower, nature growing over what Hyrule had once claimed as her own. A drizzle of rain crept in through the gaping hole in the roof, sprinkling Link’s hood. Zelda, for now, remained on the dry side of the room. She muttered something under her breath, setting another scrap into the garbage pile.

Link didn’t know what he was here for, if he was being honest. He knew nothing about Sheikah tech. He would be no help in determining what was worthwhile to keep and what could be tossed away. If nothing else, he could set to work on clearing the space, sorting through furniture, and compiling that which could be carried out and burned. He picked up an armchair, the once-pink fabric stained with mold. Zelda might get sick from being too close to it.

“That belonged to my grandmother.” Zelda stated, not looking up from her sorting.

Link set the chair back down. “I was going to toss it. There’s mold in the cushion.”

“Hm.” Zelda hummed. She glanced up at the chair, then dropped her gaze to the papers. “Toss it then.”

As instructed, Link chucked it onto the remains of the bed. It sank the soaked mattress even further into the floor. Link winced when he heard a slat crack.

Next was the vanity. The mirror had seen better days, spotted with oxidation and partially warped across the glass. A few glass bottles rested on the surface, in various shapes and sizes. Glass bottles of many colors, shaped to resemble birds, flowers, or abstract twists of a glassblower’s prowess, were filled with some sort of liquid. Link picked up a bottle out of curiosity and unstopped it. A wave of sour scent assaulted his nose. He coughed, stopping the bottle back before his stomach inverted itself at the stench.

“Those perfumes are over a hundred years old, Link.” Zelda chided. “I don’t know what you expected.”

Link coughed again, fighting back a wretch. “Not sour milk! I thought maybe they would have, I don’t know, stopped smelling at all.”

Zelda shrugged, setting a scrap of paper into the keep pile. “Some probably have. I don’t remember what that one was made with. My father gave it to me when I turned fifteen.”

The king commissioned this? Link turned the bottle over in his hands. Based on the swirling, braided design of the green glass, he thought it might have once been a floral. Certainly not now. Those flowers had long since rotted. “It’s a pretty bottle.”

Zelda heaved a sigh (easy enough on the non-stinky side of the room). “I suppose.”

It reminded him a bit of the way some women braided dried herbs together. He’d tried that once. Clavia told him that tied herb bundles made soup better. He must not have done a very good job of tying them as the leaves quickly scattered in his soup. He pulled out as many wet, limp leaves as he could, and even still, they ended up in his final bowl. “It’s in pretty good condition. We could dump it and reuse the bottle.”

Zelda glanced up, her emerald eyes resting on the glass in his hand for a moment. Some emotion he couldn’t identify flashed across her face. She went back to sorting. “If you’d like. I’m sure it will make someone else happy.”

With her permission, Link gathered up all the bottles. He’d give them to Purah later. She could repurpose them into something nice again, if she wanted. Or she could make a stink bomb horrid enough to level a village. All good options. He set the perfume bottles in a trunk that they’d emptied out earlier that day. The handles of this one hadn’t rotted off yet, so it would be good for transporting anything valuable.

He tugged at the first of the drawers on the vanity. It refused to budge. He tugged again. “It’s jammed.”

“It’s locked, Link.” Zelda corrected.

Sure enough, the drawer had a keyhole toward one side. He frowned. “Do you have a key?”

Zelda thought for a moment, looking around the room. “Check that end table.”

What Link was sure was once a lovely cherry wood end table beside Zelda’s bed now leaned against the wall, the drawer hanging lopsided and off its track. He wrenched that drawer free, pulling it out. Inside were folded pieces of paper, most in good condition, and a few silk handkerchiefs. Link brought the drawer over to Zelda, showing her the contents.

Zelda ceased her sorting for a moment, her eyes widening when she saw the folded papers within. She picked up the first, handling it gently, as if it might crumble away in her hands. As she unfolded it to read the contents, her face paled, her expression set like stone.

“Princess?” Link asked. He peeked over her shoulder at the paper but found the penmanship too close to read. “What is it?”

Zelda took a shaky breath, folding the paper back up. She set it in the keep pile. “A note. These are all notes, from various people. This one,” She tapped a finger on the small scrap. “Was written by my lady’s maid, Henrietta. It’s nothing of any importance, really. She wrote to inform me that her mother was ill and she had to go home for a week to tend to her.” Zelda shook her head. “It’s of no importance. I should probably toss it.”

“Wait.” Link sat down beside her, stopping her hand from moving the note to the trash pile. “Tell me about her.”

Zelda blinked, surprised. “About a servant?”

“About your friend.” He said. “I remember that you were friends with your maid.”

The rain drizzled on. Zelda fiddled with the note in her hands, tracing the folds with her fingertips. “She…she was very nice. She would sing a little song every morning as she helped me dress. I don’t remember all the words anymore. It’s been so long…” She trailed off. Link remained silent, sitting with her in the quiet. “Something about bluebirds, I believe. Bluebirds chirping sweetly in the trees.” She took a slow breath. “She poured my tea, too. She always set a lump of sugar in the cup and poured the tea over it. No one else did it that way. She said it dissolved faster. And she would brush my hair and braid it into a crown.” She pointed to the vanity. “There used to be a little stool that matched that. I haven’t seen it yet. I sat on that and took my tea while she brushed my hair.”

Link followed her gaze, imagining the scene. He could see it so clearly. She liked her tea first thing in the morning. He could see her setting a cup on a delicate saucer, a smiling maid combing through Zelda’s golden hair, them laughing together at a song about bluebirds. He could see it. It was beautiful.

Zelda let out a small, bitter laugh beside him. “You probably think I’m spoiled rotten, having someone else do everything for me.”

“No.” Link said quickly, directing his attention back to her. “You’re a princess. That’s just how you grew up.”

“Hm.” Zelda hummed, her lips pressed into a thin line. She let the note fall into her lap, digging into the drawer for the next. “Let’s see, this one…” She unfolded the next note. “Ah. This one is from the high priestess. It’s a letter summoning me to the temple to try some new style of prayer that she’d found in the annals.” She flipped the note over, showing Link a very unflattering drawing of a woman in a long dress with ears and fangs like a bokoblin. “This is what I thought of her after she made me pray on that hard stone floor for hours. Awful woman.”

The lines of the drawing were faded, the ink bleeding out just a little, making the priestess appear almost bloody. “How old were you?”

“The first time?” Zelda asked. She chewed her lower lip, thinking. “Eight, I think.”

”Eight?!” Link gasped. “You were eight years old, and this crabby lady made you pray for hours?!”

Zelda shrugged. This note, too, fell into her lap. “Lot of good it did, too. Hand me another.”

“Wait,” Link pushed her hand away. “Why did you keep that one?”

“Hm?” Zelda blushed, a hint of a smile on her lips. “Oh. Because Henrietta found it later, among a bunch of other stuff. She said, ‘When you do unlock your powers, you’re going to look back on this drawing and laugh. You’ll laugh at how they doubted you.’” Her smile wavered, the corners of her mouth twitching downward again. “I…I’m waiting to laugh.”

Link didn’t stop her from taking the next note. As she unfolded it, her previous downcast vanished, replaced with a laugh and a blush that reached the tips of her ears. “Oh, this one is from you!”

“What?” Link asked, taking the offered note. “From me?”

Sure enough, his own handwriting, though slightly neater, stared back at him. His writing strung together a poem, so clumsy, so raunchy, that he immediately folded it again and handed it back, his face burning. “You can trash that one.”

“Oh no, I’m keeping this one!” Zelda giggled. She stood up, unfolded the note, and, to his mortification, began to read aloud. “Princess of my waking dreams, your smile in my night does gleam.” She darted to the other side of the room as Link got up, trying to grab the paper back. “As we lay alone in bed, I wish that we may one day wed!” She squeaked as Link got closer, twirling away from him as she read on. “As pillows lay my head to rest, I dream of your soft and supple- eek!” Zelda yelped as Link grabbed her around the waist, finally catching up and pinning her against the wall between the broken bed frame and the bookshelf. She let him take the note, not trying to fight again. “You know, I recall something similar happening the first time I read that poem, too.”

Heat burned all the way up Link’s ears and down to his neck. And though he tried to keep his composure, Zelda’s body pinned against his made forming any coherent thoughts extremely difficult. He tried to glare at her, to feign annoyance and disdain, but found his resolve crumbling with every moment that Zelda stared up at him with those lovely emerald eyes. “Don’t you dare show it to anyone else.”

“I would never.” Zelda teased. She pecked a kiss to his nose, grinning broadly. “That my thighs are soft as Rito down will remain our secret.”

Just when he thought his mortification would never end, Zelda slipped under his arm, returning to the abandoned drawer. She riffled through the remainder of the notes. “All of these I’ll keep. They were all written by those who are long dead.” She nodded to Link. “Excepting you, of course.” She picked up one of the handkerchiefs and unwrapped it, revealing a brass key.

Click.

The drawer on the vanity slid open. Zelda’s hand hovered over the knob, her smile disappearing once again.

“What’s in there?” Link asked, joining her side. Inside the drawer laid a necklace, carefully set on red silk. The golden chain, thin as a spider’s silk, looped through a triangle pendant. Three golden triangles joined together formed a larger structure, each with a gem set in the center. At the top point of this triangle laid a small ruby, barely bigger than the nail on Zelda’s pinky, cut into a diamond. To the left, three sapphires. And to the right, an emerald, round as a pea. Link stared at the necklace, finer than anything he’d ever seen in this lifetime, and so well-preserved that he wondered whether the decay of malice had ever reached the walls of that box. “It’s beautiful.”

Zelda swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. “It was my mother’s.” She took a shaky breath, steeling herself as she reached into the drawer and took hold of the chain. As she lifted it up, the gleam of the gold and gems seemed to glow in the firelight. “Not that I remember her ever wearing it. Father said it was hers.”

The pendant spun as she held it aloft. It spun toward Zelda, then away, and back again, catching the glint of the lantern’s glow as it turned. To say that the stones and the pendant were beautiful would be the understatement of a lifetime. It almost looked…magical. Like it called to his spirit.

Zelda set it back in the silk, wrapping it up and tucking it into her pocket. “Whether she wore it or not, it’s too fine a piece to leave here in all this decay.” She picked up small keep pile, tapping the papers until they were straight and laying them into the trunk they’d designated for transport earlier. “We’d better get these back to Purah before sundown. I don’t want to know what sort of creatures have made their home here.” She shuddered, giving her room one final look-over before she picked up her end of the trunk. “They can have it.”

[ramenremm]

FREDYA- MY FIRST CREEPYPASTA!!! AND OC FROM CREEPYPASTA FANDOM

Info:

This is my first Creepypasta and Anything related to creepypastas like this.

I know it came out a little embarrassing and silly, but I really wanted to start somewhere!!!

I'll insert more information later and hope to get better with each work

Keep in mind that English is not my first language

Love also yes Nina and Jane Is here because i thought it will be funny

ONE SHOT

The sound of a vicious cough followed by a dozen more sounds filled with pain and discomfort was something that had been standard every day for a dozen months. A standard to which I should have been accustomed, and yet my face expressed nothing but worry. My body lay inert on a small bed with blue sheets. The sun slowly appearing in the sky reminded me that I should get up soon, as the alarm clock lying on the bedside table often failed to do so. My mind was foggy from little sleep and dark thoughts. Things should have started to improve, and it didn't look like it.                        Another sharp attack of coughing coming from the next room made me rise to sit down. With dark eyes of distaste, I ran a quick glance over the floor of the room, where piles of various clothes and garbage were piled up. I was supposed to clean it up last night, but I was so tired from school activities that I completely forgot about it. Again.       

The only place where there were no scattered clothes was the mirror standing near the bed.       

I marked in my head to do it today, or at least try to, because otherwise my mother would do it, and that's the last thing I'd want.              I had a guilty conscience when she had to get out of bed unnecessarily, let alone clean up my mess. Speaking of my mother, Harper, it was from her bedroom that the sounds indicating ill health were coming. It had persisted for far too long, and despite trying various things, nothing seemed to work. That's what was causing me to get up and go to the small bathroom connected to the bedroom, and I felt like I wasn't fully in the world with my mind. Constant visits to doctors, specialists, anyone who fit the general description in any way did not work one bit. No diagnosis, no cure. No one knew exactly what was wrong with my mother, and they referred people to other people in the hope that they would get lucky there. They didn't get lucky. 

Looking in the mirror hanging over the sink at first, I didn't pay attention to my reflection only to a small piece of paper attached to the top. Today we had an appointment with another doctor, supposedly the best in his profession.                             

I had to write things down and leave them that way, because with the ubiquitous clutter in the room it was hard to find a scrap of space where it would stand out. I could still use my phone if only it wasn't perpetually discharged or lost. I myself was beginning to be a wreck of a person through worry. Shifting my gaze, I finally met my reflection, the bags under my eyes were the first thing to be noticed on my pale face, right after the already rather large faded scar on my cheek. Maybe I should be thankful that something else was distracting me from it? I cringed at the mere mention of the appearance of this addition to my skin.                                         

Going forward, however, it was no better, my black hair from lack of sleep and poor attention to my own health looked as if it was going to fall out at the slightest pull. Deep in my heart I hoped that this was not a true comparison, but only my imagination, but I was afraid to check myself. The answer came on its own, as there were already a dozen black hairs on the sink.         

Thanks to brushing my teeth, the flowing water from the tap drowned out the sounds of coughing at least for a while, but it seemed to me that I had heard them so often that they had already etched themselves in my memory enough to be heard anywhere anyway. Regardless of the noise.  Personal hygiene is the only thing I haven't neglected in my life since the nightmare began, constantly visiting various hospitals, offices and clinics forced me to keep my person clean, this didn't apply, however, to the even larger pile of clothes lying on the white bathroom tiles. I forgot to do the laundry. I was supposed to put them in the washing machine three days ago, however, I forgot about it again. Now I was sure that all my clothes were in that place, as opposed to on the floor of the bedroom, where their condition was no better.                                      I sighed to myself and crouched down to start searching through everything that was there hoping to find something that didn't smell so bad. The different colored clothes had all sorts of stains or just an unpleasant smell to the point that I started to feel frustrated. I felt like throwing it all away and crying, but in the end a plain red short-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans that still seemed decent fell into my hands, it was better than nothing.

I changed my clothes quickly although a bit haphazardly, as I had to mend my pants a few times, but walking out of the bathroom back to my room I could say that I was ready for another day full of excitement.                                                             

Before I could even leave, I headed to my desk where lay scattered books and pages torn from notebooks. I could have sworn I was supposed to do something for school since there were so many pieces of paper, my memory, however, was not inclined to make my task any easier. I'll get another bad grade. If this keeps up, I'm going to have trouble passing this year, just what we needed.                       

I wiped my face trying to pull myself together somehow. We can always try to talk to the teachers! Not that my own mother's ill health was something I'd want to use for such things, but letting them know things weren't going well might at least give me a little more time. 

It's worth catching on to anything so much as to not upset her even more now. 

With this quickly concocted plan, I threw the books that seemed appropriate into my black backpack, which, by the way, also looked like it needed a decent wash, and later also included my phone charger and cosmetics. It was fortunate that here Sydney schools gave the option of using electricity. Water and toilet paper were hard to come by in the school bathrooms, so it was good that they gave us at least that much.                        Zipping up I looked this time at the cork board that hung in front of my desk, it was filled with unnecessary information. Along with the schedule of additional ceramics classes, I didn't need it at the moment, I mean, I didn't have time for it, someday I might come back to it. There's always time right?     

I put on my backpack and reached for my phone, which, as it turned out, still had a few percent in it, amazing.                                                                           

I might even be able to listen to some music before it goes out completely. With that thought in mind, I also reached for the white headphones on the cable and slipped both items into my pants pocket. Walking out of the room was sometimes a challenge along the lines of try not to trip, but I managed to do it without incident this time.                          I closed the dark wood door with a quiet clatter, giving myself some time before walking over to the other door. I knocked on it gently, and only after that did I open it and look inside.

- Did you sleep a bit?- I asked, looking deep into a room that was more dark than mine. My mother never liked to open the curtains from her window too much, it made the atmosphere even more unpleasant, but she could not be persuaded to do otherwise. My mother was already sitting on the edge of her bed and was visibly trying to stop herself from coughing by holding a cloth to her mouth, her hands shaking gently from the effort it was costing her. I felt my heart squeeze even more. Seeing her in such a state hurt.                                                         

For a while she couldn't even answer me, because every time she tried, she had to struggle again to catch her breath. With each such attack I was afraid that she would eventually break her ribs. 

-A little- she replied by waving her hand, thus dismissing the subject. If I had slept more than an hour myself, I might have believed her. Why else is she trying to deceive me after such a long time? 

-I'll be back around two in the afternoon. The last two lessons are substitutions at the library, I don't have to be at them. I'll come and we'll go to Dr. Wills.- I presented her with the plan for the day as we did every day. Sometimes I hated this school so much, it just took time away from me and us. 

- I can go alone, you don't have to always go with me- She muttered quietly, and I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes. We had gone over this a large number of times, too. She didn't want to worry me, but she also knew that I would be even more worried if I didn't hear what the doctors had to say. And she continued trying to convince me. To no avail.

-Remember not to eat breakfast, because you need to be fasting so they can do possible tests. And check if we are sure we have all the documents- I said firmly, and for the last few seconds I watched her face looking at me in pain. Not because of my words or behavior, but because this is not how this situation should be. We were supposed to choose my studies and dorms together, not doctors still fearing for the worst 

-Two o'clock in the afternoon.- I repeated and walked away from the door to start going down to the first floor of the house. 

The gray walls on which hung white frames with photos of the two of us seemed even more overwhelming, which is ironic, because despite such colors earlier it seemed more lively here. The wooden staircase was even darker and duller, which was rare before through the constant obsession to clean that my mother had. Everything was more matte in my eyes. The living room, with its black couch, seemed dark through the drawn curtains and the TV turned off. I looked at it with sadness, for a long time, but I couldn't spend grieving for the soul of this house that had been taken away, or more like forcibly snatched away, because the hands on the small clock hanging on the living room wall were approaching dangerously fast the time at which I would already be late, even though I was specifically leaving early so I could walk to school. I could have taken the bus and had more time, sure, I just didn't see myself sitting around kids of all ages most of whom had too much energy for such an early hour. It was too overwhelming and settling, especially when trying to sort out my thoughts, in which there was also the same chaos.                                       

Reaching for the red sneakers, I could see how worn out they already were. The old version of my mom would have already chastised me for this, after all, I have so many other shoes, I don't need to walk around in the same ones all the time. As for now, Mom, you are not here in this condition, forgive me, I will wear these shoes again. Until you recover.       

Shoelaces tangled in my fingers, which annoyed me terribly, but I finally managed to open the door and go outside after this struggle.                                 

I closed the door quietly behind me and looked around. It was still early, so there weren't so many people on the streets yet, although some were also already leaving for work. 

The sky was pleasantly bright colors, after all, it was May, soon to be summer vacation. You could feel it in the air, it was also one of the reasons why walking was better than riding the bus. The cobblestones I walked on still had traces of chalk drawings on them in places. Kids did it all the time and some of the artwork was even cute, so other, I don't know if drawing a big dick in the middle of the sidewalk has any deeper meaning, but whatever your soul tells you. This road was so familiar to me that I didn't even need to look where exactly I had to go, I stared into the space in front of me trying to dig as much hope as possible out of the depths of myself for today. With each failed visit there was less and less of it, but it was still there. If you looked hard enough. Through this reverie I remembered about my phone only after a few minutes of walking, so I reached for both the phone and the headphones, and the black case with various stickers immediately greeted me, making me feel embarrassed. Who else decorates their cases like this?                                               

Firing up the device, I didn't expect it to keep going from the moment I picked it up on stand up, but it worked. It looked like it was on its last breaths, but it worked. 

Not wanting to test its endurance any longer, I clicked the green icon of the music listening app and went to my liked songs. I selected the first better song, which, as it turned out, was a Ms by alt-J. I can't remember the last time I listened to them. After turning up the volume enough that I could barely hear my own footsteps, I put my phone back in my pocket. If the music suddenly stops, I'll know it's disconnected for amen.                                  The longer I thought about today the more I began to ponder one question. Would I rather it turn out to be some kind of dangerous disease, or that nothing would turn out and we would live like this forever. Both answers made the future seem terribly cold and sad. Ignorance kills, but what can you say about getting news with a death sentence? In my opinion, the scales were very even between the two options. 

If I could, I would have taken it, and so I can only worry. It was killing me more and more. 

I don't even know when the song switched to meet me in the woods from lord huron. 

As I walked past one of the houses I saw a young woman with a baby in a stroller just out for a walk, Riley, had recently moved in here, and we often passed each other on our morning walks. My mother liked her terribly and always offered to help with her daughter, because being a young mother was not easy.  But she was lucky because her daughter Tiffany was a adorable baby. She rarely cried, in fact I don't know if I ever saw her cry. She probably took after her mother, the woman was always smiling too.

I don't know if I envy them more or hate them for what they have. Not that I can hate an innocent child, but the very image of them that I see. I quickened my step with my head lowered so that I didn't have to greet her. The bitter feeling inside was enough for this morning. Funnily enough, despite my fear of being late, I was a moment ahead of schedule. Less than ten minutes, however, it's always ten minutes to myself.                                   

The black gate of the school was already wide open, and through the open door of the school you could see people walking down the hallway going about their lives. A large part of these people were from the student club, probably hanging holiday decorations on the walls.                                         

With a quick mental countdown to three, I pulled off my headphones and reached for my phone to turn off the music, but the device's screen was already completely black. At least I now had a purpose than just sitting in a corner and waiting for the bell to ring. 

Passing between people was relatively easy when they were busy hanging up tacky posters promoting the selection of any of the summer activities. I didn't believe anyone was coming to most of them on their own.                                                                               

The school itself was quite large, with several classrooms and a reception area downstairs in addition to a locker room and lockers for the students, and display cases lined up against one wall showing all sorts of awards and diplomas won for our school. Most were probably bought at a pawn shop when no one was looking, I'm not judging, do what you can to have students. The dark staircase leading up was the second floor and then the second floor. I currently stopped at the first, because that's where I was supposed to have my first class for today, and the classroom where everyone should gather soon was open. My bench was next to the windows more or less in the middle, but I sat completely at the back, there were outlets there. A few minutes is nothing if I want to charge my phone, but it is likely that Matt, the person sitting here just happened not to be coming to the first lesson, which would be a salvation in this case. Plugging in the cable, I stared at the screen for a while in anticipation until the familiar icon appeared and it began to turn back on. A few more people came into the classroom, only out of the corner of my eye did I see a familiar face approaching where I was sitting. 

- I told you to buy a powerbank- Jane Richardson said with a small smile on her face while pulling my backpack from the chair next to me. We weren't particularly close, but it was always good to have someone to talk to in this place. Her dark brown hair was up in a loose ponytail, and her blue eyes expressed too much excitement for so early in the day. 

- I didn't have time for this, I'm still busy- I muttered leaning my head against my hand, but still looked in her direction. She was wearing a black T-shirt with the print of some band and jeans, nothing out of the ordinary, although it wouldn't surprise me if she came in something strange. I don't mean that in a bad way, it's just her style of being. 

- That's why I offered to buy it for you recently, and you refused- she reminded me of our conversation that took place probably a week ago. I hoped she would forget about it.  

- I will do it soon, so far stealing electricity from the school is quite convenient for me- I said with feigned confidence in my own words. Sometimes I was a little surprised that these sockets still work, it's probably a matter of time. Where do they actually get electricity here if some classrooms are not even lit? Does the director choose for himself what he wants to light at any given time? That would make an interesting conspiracy theory... I thought to myself for a moment drifting away from her words.

- Ugh, probably Nina has again found something related to fairing or some other crap- I was snapped out of my reverie by Jane's exasperated words, and it took me a moment, through a small amount of sleep, to even grasp what she was talking about. Nina Hopkins, an even more energetic girl who read too much about paranormal things, crimes and murderers, I didn't have TOO MUCH negative feelings for her, but I had to admit that she could annoy with her chirping about, for example, how someone quartered someone and ate them. 

- Does she have to announce to everyone what she has read?- I asked rhetorically trying to avoid eye contact with the girl we were talking about. Every time she turned her head vigorously it was her black hair and red streak that flew all around. It was impossible to ignore her completely.

- A better question is why she has to practically shout while telling these silly things-  replied Jane with a sigh, which was a mistake, because she did it too loudly, thus attracting Nina's attention.  Not five seconds passed, and she started approaching our bench. Her mouth opened before she was even completely beside us. 

- Hi Jane, Hi Daphne!- She called out turning the chair in the bench in front of us so she could sit facing us. 

- Hi nina- We said together resignedly, which did not discourage the girl, because she immediately started waving her phone with a purple case in front of our faces. I was very impressed that the poor thing had not yet flown out of it and hit the floor. 

- Look what I read! I thought nothing would interest me anymore, but yet I found it- She threw it excitedly, shoving Jane's phone to read what was displayed on the screen herself. Willing or not, I leaned closer to her to read it too, since I would find out what all the fuss was about anyway. Jane exchanged a glance with me before she started reading aloud something that turned out to be some kind of blog post? I couldn't see exactly, but that's what it looked like.

- I didn't know exactly what I was addressing until the letters F R E D Y A were marked on the quia tab, my friend was delighted that we had finally gotten through to her, it was what she wanted. They then began to negotiate, She needed the help of her powers to become prettier. Fredya wanted to become a physical figure in return. We were young, we didn't know what exactly she wanted, so X agreed. The transaction came to a close, nothing happened then after the conversation ended. No things similar to those scary stories about demons. It was completely as if nothing had happened. I came to the conclusion that she was mocking me and moving the marker herself to add some fear to the whole situation. We dispersed to our homes and everything quieted down for a few days. Blah blah blah, the last time I saw her it didn't look like her. Her eyes were all white and blood was pouring from her mouth, she was choking on it. I don't know where she is now, she's missing and no one has ever seen her again.Jane read, cringing at how poorly the story was written. It was immediately obvious that it was some kind of Creepypasta or something like that. 

- How exactly is this different from the millions of other scary stories you've made us read?- I asked, watching Jane pull out a water bottle as reading it finished her off.         Nina looked even more delighted by it all. 

- The fact that people were actually able to contact her! There are articles and videos!- She responded by snatching the phone out of Jane's hand to show the said evidence. I forgot not to ask about such things.

- It's just a story, just because ghost hunters on the internet made up that they contacted that whole Fredya thing, it doesn't mean that it really happened- Jane spoke up looking at Nina like a child who believes in the Bloody Mary myth. I felt the same way, I had already heard so many stories from her mouth that it was getting boring. 

- It's not about ghost hunters, the girl really disappeared after trying to summon her- She defended her opinion fiercely by showing us the phone again, this time with a real article in which they wrote about the disappearance of a young girl after playing at contacting a demon named Fredya. The disappearance was real, the circumstances didn't have to be. 

- Nina. A real person went missing, the fact that she was playing with something like this has no connection to it, it's possible that some psychopath is holding her, and you're making proof of the existence of demons. Grow up.- Jane reprimanded her, annoyed by her behavior and how she approached it. 

- If you already want to walk and talk about all this, then ask everyone if they have not seen her. - She added looking at her with squinted eyes. Her words caused Nina to fall silent and get up to walk away from us. 

- You might not have been so sharp- I muttered as I watched her return to her seat. Jane was right, but she could have done things differently.Especially since Nina now looked like a kicked dog.

- Someone needs to talk some sense into her- She just replied and shrugged her shoulders. I didn't even know what to say anymore and fortunately the bell saved me from that. Now most of the class was already inside and sat down in their seats. No one rebuked the seats where Jane and I were sitting together.                                                      The teacher appeared as soon as the last person entered. You could see from her face a tiredness similar to the one we all felt, this meant another almost slow lesson. We only learned history in theory.                                    Teacher started the lesson by reading something from the textbook, and I rested my head against my hand starting to drive my eyes around the classroom to stay awake. Daily insufficient sleep got me just at such moments, but I couldn't afford to sleep in class, because after the last time, the teachers would start asking if I was okay, and I didn't need their worries, at least not yet. When I start failing seriously, I'll think about it then.

My gaze finally fell back on Nina, who was sitting quietly and writing something down in her notebook. I stared at her for a little longer than I should have. Something in my brain whispered again a few sentences from the article she had read to us.   There is no point in typing this and reading it, please give me something else to occupy my time.....

I barely held back a sigh when I turned my phone on again. Being careful not to disturb the teacher, I started searching for something more about "Fredya" maybe it was her funny name that made it so memorable. I felt surprised to see a lot more information containing this strange name.    Okay, reading it was much more interesting than the story. 

"Fredya is a demon who preys on people's greed. All who turn to her are those who have too little or want more. They ask for many favors and she grants them, while taking away even more. Every wish has consequences depending on what you wish for."

I read my mind while trying not to roll my eyes. Totally sounded like a creepypasta created by a bored teenager. 

"There are many ways to contact her, some more effective, some less. The most popular method is to use a quia board, but you have to be careful when doing so. Just because a demon introduces itself by some name or confirms its identity, it further does not mean that you are talking to it personally." 

What kind of idiots would be so desperate to use a quia board to help them in their lives. You are asking for more problems yourself.

"Fredya's summoning ritual was written down by an unknown person, several people confirmed its authenticity, however, this is left for everyone to judge for themselves. All you need to perform the summoning is something sharp, a mirror and a dark room.

Execution: We lock ourselves in a dark room together with the mirror, we need to make sure we are alone, otherwise the energy may be disturbed. We sit in front of the mirror, preferably as close as possible. We take a sharp tool that we will use for the most important point. We need our blood, the place where it is taken is an important element during what we want to ask for. The more help we need, the more serious the place of collection should be.                              For example, if you need help with your love, the wrist is enough. We then smear the blood on the mirror where our eyes are reflected. During this process, we say the words given below. 

Within a minute you should get an answer.

-

ሁሉን ቻይ ፍሬዲያ፣ ለእርዳታዎ በመለመን አነጋግርዎታለሁ። ያለኝን ሁሉ እሰጥሃለሁ። ኃይልህን አበድረኝ፤ በምላሹ ራሴን ሁሉ እሰጣችኋለሁ። ቃሎቼን አድምጡ -. 

I felt like my brain stopped working after reading this. It's been a long time since I read something so kitschy. It was so stupid that I turned off my phone and started listening to what the teacher was saying. Jane glared at me over hearing me put my phone back on the bench, but I just nodded so she wouldn't pay attention. It was so irrational that I had it in my head all day. In every lesson, whenever my mind started to get bored it went back to those words. That is, he did it at times when I happened to be awake. Even while eating a stupid sandwich bought with money scavenged from the bottom of my backpack, I couldn't focus on anything else. I read a few more articles, most of which were similar to the one in which there was a recipe for recall, that is stupid. 

I don't even know when the lessons passed so quickly, this is one of the few such days.

- Are you coming to my place? We could do this paper together- Jane said as we walked out of the school building along with many other people who randomly pushed us. 

- I would like to, but I have to go home, I'm going to a meeting with my mother- I replied sighing at the fact that I had to refuse. Working for literature lessons was always an ordeal, however, was one of the last points of my worries. The first was a doctor's appointment for which I was about to be late. 

- Again? Good luck, call me if you change your mind. See you- She called out to me before she disappeared with the others walking toward the parking lot where some of the parents were waiting. I didn't even have time to answer her, but I knew she wouldn't hold it against me. It was time to get back to listening to music. 

Without waiting long I immediately sped up my stride and quickly found myself on the road home holding my headphones in one hand and my phone in the other.                        Trying to avoid others walking in the same direction, I started texting my mother asking if she was ready to go out. I didn't get a reply right away like I usually do, but I wasn't worried about it somehow, she was surely getting ready or trying to catch her breath after a coughing attack, so I shifted my attention to finding some song.                         

The cold air hit my face making me shiver. I hated this kind of weather, the sun seemingly still shining, yet it was so terribly cold. At least it was some way to wash away any residual fatigue. 

I didn't have to try to keep my eyes open as hard as I would have expected, for my attention was caught by a rather large gathering of people on the street between the houses in my neighborhood. The fact that there was also an ambulance standing between them didn't help to curb the anxiety which immediately made me feel as if a stone had dropped in my stomach. 

I knew what was going on, even though I begged in my mind that it was a mistake.

A brisk walk turned into a run when I started running straight toward my house where there seemed to be the most heads turned. 

- Daphne!- called out Riley trying to stop me from running too close. She didn't make it. Before anyone could stop me I found myself standing in front of my house, the door of which was wide open, and an ambulance was standing not far away. I was in such shock that I didn't know until the end what I was looking at.                                                             

Through the open door it was possible to see the three paramedics leaning over my mother lying on the ground. Her eyes were closed and her lips were slightly parted. My eyes widened at this sight, I felt all the air escape from me. 

- Mom- I said expecting her to look in my direction or do anything. She didn't respond. 

- Daphne, don't look at it- Riley turned to me again, this time coming over to block my view of my mother's resuscitation. I was so blown away by what I saw that I couldn't even break free from her grasp. 

I was unable to put together a single thought in my head, and the words that came out of my mouth were unintelligible gibberish. 

- Please make way for us- Commanded one of the paramedics quickly exiting the house towards the ambulance, leaving my mother with the other men who exchanged glances with each other, thus ceasing their vigorous actions. 

- No- I choked out, realizing that they were no longer trying to save her, they were letting her lie with her eyes closed and such a calm face she had not had in a long time. 

- No, what happened- I repeated falling harder into the arms of the woman, who herself was shocked by what she was seeing. My headphones fell to the ground, now completely forgotten.

- Shh, don't look, don't look- she said pressing my head against her shoulder, but this did not help the feeling of grief filling my heart. It all happened so suddenly and fast, I was not able to process it.  

- I have to go with him- I said, watching as the rescuer who had gone to the card earlier was now returning with a stretcher to take the My mother's body. 

- You can't, your Aunt Margaret will arrive soon, she will take care of you. I called her- Riley answered me, but it did not reach me. I struggled with her to raise my head and look once again towards the house, ideally to see how they carried her on the gurney. Her body was so.... Strange. She was not shaken by any coughing attacks, she allowed herself to be touched. 

Why didn't she say anything, didn't even look in my direction? 

I don't even know when my knees gave in under me. If it weren't for the fact that Riley's arms were holding me, I would have definitely felt concrete. 

- please disperse, really- Repeated one of the rescuers walking ahead, I also felt then how I was pushed aside to make way for them. Her face was so pale when they moved her next to me, I wanted to reach out my hand towards her, but I couldn't move, I felt like I was frozen. 

- I have to go with her- I repeated in amok, but got the same reaction.

- Margaret will be here soon, let's go home.- She whispered raising her hand to stroke my head, then I finally broke out of her grasp. The people watched the ambulance door close and then turned their gaze toward me, as if anticipating some kind of reaction. I saw in their faces grief, sympathy, everything one could feel when looking at a child who had just lost his mother. 

- Daphne?- said Riley looking at me worriedly. I opened my mouth, but no words came out of it. 

I couldn't stand the feelings and their stares. With a shaky step I walked towards my empty house and without waiting for anyone else to react I slammed the door behind me locking it as I always did when I returned. My gaze immediately fell on the floor where just a moment ago my mother was lying. Nearby lay her phone. It was switched off. How had this happened? It was bad this morning, but it always was. She should be here, we should be leaving now to see a doctor. 

Why was it so quiet here? 

She had to be here somewhere, it didn't happen. 

Barely taking breaths, I started walking to the living room, my backpack fell from my shoulders and fell somewhere on the floor, I didn't pay attention to it, just like the fact that I was still holding my phone in the steel grip of my left hand. I had no control over my body. My eyes scanned the space of the room looking for signs that she would be here somewhere soon. Everything was just as I had left it that morning, no signs of this bad situation. 

- this can't be happening- I whispered and tears finally began to flow from my eyes. Only then did I feel what it meant to really suffocate. All the air from my lungs was taken away in such a brutal way that a piercing pain went through my chest. 

- Daphne? Please let me in, you shouldn't be alone- called out Riley knocking on the front door, but her voice was distant to me. I didn't even fully understand what she said. 

- That's not true- I said to myself staring at the floor before I started hitting my head with my hands. The sobs continued to shake my body barely allowing me to stand up straight. 

- That's not true!- I shouted this time and threw the phone somewhere further away from me, but soon my hands were filled with my hair, which I began to pull. 

- She is alive- I continued to scream unable to calm down.

- Daphne!- Riley continued to prefer knocking harder on the door. The loud sounds brought me back to reality a little, but they didn't help bring me under control. 

My gaze swept quickly across the room once more before stopping on the phone. With a quick step I found myself at the device which was lying on the ground next to a small table. The screen had a few cracks, but when I turned it on it was working flawlessly. 

Through my tears I could barely see what I was doing, that didn't stop me. All I had in my mind was this stupid empty name and the desire to be with my mother.

After making sure everything worked, I took a quick step toward the kitchen. I knew exactly what I was going there for, the top drawer in one of the cabinets. That's where the cutlery and all the knives were. By my vigorously pulling the drawer handle, the metal shook loudly in the room. I pulled out the largest blade we had in the house. 

- Daphne, please don't do anything stupid!- shouted Riley in the background below as I started walking toward my room. It was the only room in the house that had a large mirror. 

Running up the stairs with one hand, I started going back to the article I had read just a few hours ago. I didn't care how silly it looked, all I felt was pain in my heart. I knew that normally I wouldn't be able to do anything.

My room was crowded by everything I hadn't cleaned, in front of the mirror, however, there were only a few scattered clothes. 

Throwing my phone and knife on the ground, I walked over to the window to close the curtains, but leaving enough room for the room to still be lit. 

I felt like I wasn't myself, as if everything that was happening was in my head. 

As soon as the room was darker I sank to my knees in front of the mirror. I couldn't catch a single normal breath even though my sobbing had calmed down enough for me to utter words. 

Looking at myself in the mirror, I didn't even recognize myself. I looked like a wreck of a human being, as if I was no longer human myself. My face was all red and wet with tears. 

Reaching for the phone once again I read everything although it was hard because of the blurry words on the screen.  

- That's it, you'll be with me- I said to myself without waiting a moment longer just putting the phone down, and grabbing my shirt to pull it over my head. The white bra was reflected in the mirror along with my skin which was not yet scarred by any wounds.  The knife was back in my hand, this time held firmly and securely. I knew I had to do it, so taking a breath I raised the knife and pressed the blade against the skin just above my heart. It was not going to be a deep wound, just enough for blood to appear. Without thinking about it for long I made a quick movement that made me take a loud breath. The adrenaline overflowing through me relieved most of the pain, but not completely. I felt the burning rosiness all over my skin, followed by the sensation of blood flowing slowly down the wound. Only then did I let go of the knife to collect as much of the blood as possible on my fingers.               

With my other hand, I turned the phone back on and scrolled to the last moment. That is, the words. It took an eternity to copy the text into the translator and see how it was spoken, enough to make the blood flow even more from the wound.

Feeling so much grief and injustice, my mouth opened before my brain had time to encourage me to stop. 

- ሁሉን ቻይ ፍሬዲያ፣ ለእርዳታዎ በመለመን አነጋግርዎታለሁ። ያለኝን ሁሉ እሰጥሃለሁ። ኃይልህን አበድረኝ፤ በምላሹ ራሴን ሁሉ እሰጣችኋለሁ። ቃሎቼን አድምጡ - I said in a trembling voice sure I was reading something wrong, and my fingers began to smear on the mirror, blurring my eyes with blood.

- Please kill as many people as you need, but bring her back to life- I added mindlessly looking at my figure. The silence falling after the last word was deafening and frustrating. Almost as if I were not in my room, but in solitary confinement. My throat tightened by the renewed urge to cry. 

- I want her back, I just want to see her- I whispered rubbing my face, accidentally smearing the remaining blood on my cheeks. 

The throbbing wound forced me to look in the mirror again, I don't even know when the blood slowed down and I didn't look at the wound after lifting my gaze. I couldn't when instead of my reflection I saw a black figure. Only then did it occur to me what I had actually done. 

- oh my god- I screamed, taking a step back, but still looking at something that should have been my reflection. My heart did not have a moment's peace, it was again beating as fast as before. 

- this is not possible- I muttered watching as something looking like a black mist disappeared more and more, showing my figure, as if nothing had happened. After a second, my reflection seemed completely normal, until I looked into my own eyes. I thought I was hallucinating because of everything that was happening when I looked at my face. My eyebrows furrowed and my head tilted slightly, checking to see if the reflection was really mine. 

It seemed that everything was ok, everything except my eyes. In the reflection, they were completely white. There were no irises in them. It must have been my imagination. 

Still filled with anxiety, I moved back to the front, slowly returning to the same spot as just before, perfectly in front of the mirror. 

The empty eyes that were supposed to be mine seemed to invade my soul, creating a pressure in me that I had never felt.

- What the fuck- I muttered moving even closer against everything my brain was telling me. The closer I got to my reflection the more it seemed to me that it wasn't me. 

Only when I was only a few inches from the glass did I realize how much of a mistake my grief had driven me into. 

My reflection tilted its head to the side with a mocking smile on its face and everything that happened next was too fast for me to react. 

My reflection's hands came out of the mirror and grabbed my hair, pulling my head hard against the mirror, hitting it and shattering it. 

The shattering glass being so close wounded my face and almost robbed me of my sight. 

Despite the blood now flowing in waves, I pushed myself away with my residual strength from the shards of glass and the now empty frame of the mirror. 

- no, no, no- I repeated trying to get up despite my shaking legs to run out of that room, but as soon as I rose to my feet, I felt my stomach clench so hard that I threw up the second breakfast I had eaten at school. In addition to the disgusting mixture, blood also flowed from my mouth. It was so sudden and powerful that it shook my whole body. I looked at it in horror and the sobbing now resembled a lament. 

- please don't- I screamed trying to reach the door, through my hand then such a tremendous pain passed as if someone had just broken it. I screamed falling to my knees and pressed it to my chest. 

- this can't be happening! What the fuck!- I shouted into the emptiness of my room. I did not get an answer. 

I only felt the pain from my hand being replaced by a headache that was like drilling a hole in my skull. I couldn't do anything but scream and try to free myself from this state while still curled up on the floor. 

- STOP IT- I screamed writhing from the ever-present pain I felt as if fire was burning my muscles, my head was filled with pressure and my mouth was filled with blood that I had to spit out to keep from choking. 

I don't know when my vision began to blur until the ability to see disappeared. I couldn't get rid of the feeling of losing connection with my body, as if I was being ripped away, all combined with endless suffering. 

The whole thing lasted maybe a few minutes until it quieted down completely. Everything. All the pain. All the blood flowing, the nausea. All that was left was nothingness. 

Through the fact that there were no longer any distractions, I could feel the fact that I could not move my own body. At all. 

Despite the desire to move my hands, or at least my head, I couldn't do it. It was as if I was in a conscious dream, paralyzed. 

I tried to say something, to call out to someone again in the silence of the house, my mouth remained closed. What was different was my eyes. I felt them open, without my control. 

My fingers began to move, I no longer felt the pain that previously radiated in my right hand. 

My whole body acted as if it didn't feel pain. It seemed as if my head was looking around before my body began to slowly rise. I couldn't do anything about it, I couldn't interfere. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

I was just an observer.

- Thank you for letting me in. I will fulfill your words.- I heard a voice that once belonged to me, now sounding much more hollow. 

Immediately after that, I felt another strange sensation, and an image of what was happening to my body was revealed before my eyes. 

This thing... It really turned me into just an observer. 

- Let me out!- I screamed, watching in horror as someone controlling my body reached for one of my shirts lying on the floor. In the shards of glass I could see "my" reflection. My skin had lost its natural appearance, it looked almost gray, and my eyes were empty. Zero irises. White space alone. 

Blood was still everywhere, running down my face and chest. 

- You wanted this. You made it happen. I'll bring your mother.- replied the figure pretending to be me acting as if it owned my body. These words crushed me. 

- I take it back! It was a mistake!- I shouted trying unsuccessfully to regain control. "I" reached another time towards the floor, this time for a knife lying under other shards of glass. My mother would not want this, would not want me to bring her back by force. Why did I do that? 

- Too late.- That's all that came out of "my" mouth before my body started heading toward the stairs. I tried to fight with all my might, but it was no use. My figure easily passed through the living room without even looking at anything other than the exit door from behind which I could hear someone's conversation. If I had control of my heart it would have stopped at that moment. 

My neighbor Riley and Aunt Margaret. 

- Don't hurt them!-I shouted into the darkness I was after. "I" reached for the lock and opened it, then doing the same with the door. 

They immediately turned their gaze in our direction with worry. 

The other neighbors had already returned to their homes, but they were definitely watching. I wanted to warn them, tell them to run away, my voice was nothing. 

- Daphne! Honey I'm so sorry- Said Margaret coming up to "me" to pull me into a hug, when she came closer, however, she looked into my eyes, saw them, along with blood.

It was a moment when she suddenly leaned over feeling a piercing pain in her abdomen. 

- I'm fine- replied the figure claiming to be me and grabbed Margaret's arm to hold her down. 

- STOP! - I shouted wanting to close my eyes and not look at it, but SHE, forced me to watch the scene. 

- Daphne- Muttered Margaret at which THAT shook its head. 

- no, I don't think it's her- replied her icy voice, and then grabbed the knife dragging it up her abdomen, creating an extensive wound from which blood flowed. Margaret was unable to get out any words through the pain and blood flowing out of her mouth. 

Riley looking on stood as if frozen in place. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

I wanted her to run away, to tell someone about it, to go back to her daughter, she was unable to. 

Before she could force herself to move it was the figure already at her side. 

- You can't tell the police about the wrong person- muttered the monster, and plunged the knife into the side of Riley's neck, piercing her arteries. 

- Why-is the only thing I could repeat after seeing this. I couldn't even cry, because I had no way to cry.

The monster in charge of my body only smiled 

- I return your mother to you.- she said dropping the knife on the ground next to the bodies of the women. 

All I could do was watch as my body began to walk away from the place that was my home, toward the next house. 

All I could do was watch. 

Pay for my greed.