#because midland is supposed to be young and innocent

[warren-keplers-funk-band]

quick little timeline thing for my daniel jacobi is mark midland au

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Promises Not Kept Part 24

Summary: Tommy Shelby made a promise to Jonah Ward while in the war. A promise he didn't keep. But it comes to haunt him when he tries to drown out his sorrows with a young woman.

Part 24: The stock market crashes and Tommy has to hold his family together in the aftermath.

           “Daddy!”

           Tommy smiled and crouched down with his arms open wide. “C’mere, c’mere, c’mere.” He scooped Johanna in his arms and kissed her cheek. He passed by the large grave being dug for Dangerous. A grimace quickly settled on his face. “Get ‘er done, Johnny.” He muttered to the man.

           Leah stood up from the vardo steps when Tommy came near. “Everything alright back home?”

           “Fine, everything’s fine. Where’s Charles?”

           She sighed and nodded her head to the door behind her. “Won’t come out.” She lowered her voice. “Heard Johnny talking in Rocka about you shooting Dangerous. I guess he knows more words than we thought. Certainly knows more words than I do.”

           Tommy groaned and set Johanna down. “Charlie, come out.” He called. There was a pause before the little blond-haired boy emerged from the wagon. “Have a seat.”

           The little boy crossed his arms over his chest and refused to listen. It seemed with every passing day he was becoming more and more like his father. Of course, there were ups and downs to that.

            “Look at me.”

           Charlie pointedly looked the opposite direction and pulled his I’m-Not-Listening face.

           Tommy exhaled sharply. “There was nothing we could do, your horse was very sick, he was in pain. Even Curly couldn’t help him.” He tried to explain in a steady voice. “Sometimes, sometimes.” He reached out to grab Charlie’s hand. “Sometimes death is a kindness.”

           Charlie wrenched his hand away from his father and retreated back into the vardo.

           “Doesn’t fucking listen,” Tommy muttered and roughly passed a hand over his eyes. “Never fucking listen.l” He snarled and stood up. pointing at the door of the vardo.  

           His wife sighed and touched Johanna’s shoulder. “Tommy, please…”

           “No one ever fucking listens.” He stalked over to the edge of the grave. The sight of the dark horse lying lifeless in the ground made his chest tighten painfully. There was a shuffle of small footsteps beside him. Johanna reached for his hand, wrapping her tiny fingers around his.

           Tommy forced a smile and squeezed her hand. “Dangerous, my beautiful horse, too wild to race wouldn’t take the reins or the whip. Should have been a warhorse. Got tired of the pasture. Now free.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “In the bleak-” His voice gave out and he swallowed back a sob.

           Johanna glanced up at him. “You crying?” She asked gently. Being so young, she didn’t understand what was going on. Didn’t understand that the horse in the ground wasn’t just sleeping like her mother had said. Didn’t understand that fathers could cry too. She’d never seen Tommy cry before.

           “No, love.” He cleared his throat and started again. “In the bleak midwinter.”

           “What’s that mean?”

           He scooped his daughter up and held her close. “Nothing, Jo. Nothing.”

           Leah walked over and ran her fingers through Johanna’s hair, the same color as her father’s. The little girl smiled but it faded. “Why’s Charlie sad?” She asked.

               “He’ll be alright, Joey-bear.” Tommy avoided her question. He didn’t want her to know about death yet. Best to keep her innocent for as long as he could.

~~~~~~~

           A little while later, Tommy was lounging in the grass with Johanna. Leah was inside the vardo with Charlie trying to console him best she could.

           Johanna wandered a few feet away to pick wildflowers and returned to place them on her father’s stomach.

           “What color’s that, love?” Tommy held up the newly picked Jacob’s Ladder, twirling the stem in his fingers.

           “Murple.”

           He chuckled. “Purple.” He corrected softly and tucked the purple flower behind her ear.

           “Purple.” She mimicked and smiled sweetly.

           “Good lass.”

           “Daddy, look!” Johanna pointed towards the car that was rumbling towards them.

           Tommy scooped up the flowers and set them to the side as he stood up. Seeing his brother behind the steering wheel, he lowered his defenses. But there was certainly something wrong if Arthur was coming to talk to him in person.

           Arthur parked and got out with the newspaper in his hand. “Tom, I had to tell you in person.”

           Tommy frowned and took the paper, scanning the headlines. “I told Michael about this on Friday. I warned him this would happen.”

           “Yeah, well he held on.”

           It was like a kick to the gut. Tommy stood there stunned for a moment. “He held on.” He whispered. “Michael fucking held on. Michael...carried on dancing and playing and fucking through the snow.” Rage settled in his eyes. “Charlie!” He shouted.

           Leah picked Johanna up, the little girl starting to cower away from her father. “Tommy.”

           “Charlie come out here!” When there was no response, Tommy turned, wild-eyed, to his wife. “Kid never fucking listens, Leah. Never listens! What do I have to do to get people to fucking listen to me?” He roared.

           Johanna whimpered and buried her face in her mother’s curls. “Tommy, that’s enough.” Leah scolded sharply. “We can all hear you. Now stop shouting.”

           Tommy paced back and forth a few steps, his hand dragging over his face and tugging at his hair. “What do we do now, Tom?” Arthur asked.

           “Take Leah and the children back to Birmingham. To the Midland. Call a meeting of the board tomorrow at noon. A full meeting.” Tommy commanded like a sergeant.

           Leah bristled at the way he was writing her off. “What’s wrong with today? Where are you going?” She set Johanna down and followed her husband as he started towards his horse.

           “I need to think.” He muttered.

           “For God’s sake, Thomas, stop!” She grabbed him by the arm. “Look at me. Look at your fucking wife for once!” It was only a matter of time until the magic of Arrow House wore off. When they settled into the routine of having a family, as well as Tommy, being an MP, cracks began to form. It started off with Charlie’s attitude. He was a young boy so it was understandable that he would talk back from time to time, especially regarding who his father was. But it grated on Tommy’s nerves especially if he was exhausted from traveling back and forth from London. Johanna was a fairly quiet child albeit full of energy. And when Tommy denied her time to play, she usually had a fit.

He did all he could. But it never felt like enough. He was never enough. Being in such a hot-cold mood all the time, his relationship with Leah was strained.

           He begrudgingly turned away from the horse to look at her. His beautiful wife. Mother of his daughter, adopted mother of his son.

           There were tears in her hazel eyes. “You can’t even spare me the second to explain what’s going to happen to our family?” She whispered

           “I learned the news at the same time you did.” He replied, trying to soften his voice but ultimately failing.

           She scoffed. “You’re supposed to be the smart one.”

           “Go with Arthur.” He repeated. There was no use in arguing right then and there.

           Without warning, Leah pulled open his coat and dug through the inside pocket. It was the spot where his hand had been obsessively twitching towards the entire day. She wanted to know what it was. Pulling out the small glass vial, she held it up. “What is this?” She demanded.

           Tommy’s defenses went up and he jerked back. “Give it here.”

           “Tell me what it is.”

           “Leah!” He snapped and grabbed her wrist. “Drop it now.”

           “What’s so goddamn important that it’s pulling you away from your family?” She tried to pull away from him but he held her firm.

           His fingers dug into her skin, threatening to bruise. “Leah…”

           “I’m not going to drop it.” She replied. “Is it the morphine that you refused to take when I was taking care of you?” She demanded. “What are you taking it for, Tom?”

           “It’s none of your fucking business what I’m taking!” He tightened his grip on her wrist enough to make her yelp in pain and drop the vial. The dark glass falling into the tall grass. Tommy instinctively reached down to pick it up, but he paused when he heard Leah crying quietly. He looked up to see her holding her aching wrist, tears falling from her eyelashes.

           “Is that your way to tell me where I stand?” She accused. “That I mean less to you than fucking dope?”

           Tommy’s shoulders slumped and he stepped towards her. “Lee, I’m sorry.”

           She withdrew from him and shook her head adamantly. “We’ve been here, Tom. So many times. You think you can just fix it with two words. Two words and I’ll be fine with the way you’ve been treating me. The way you’ve been treating the children. What do you think it does to them when you yell like that?”

           “What else am I supposed to say, aye? You want me to be apologetic, that’s what I’m doing. I’m telling you I’m sorry.”

           “Apologetic?” She dropped her wrist. “Apologetic means you’re going to change your behavior, not just go back to doing what you were doing before.”

           “I’m the man you married. That’s never changed.” He challenged. His character was not something to be questioned in such a trying time.

           “Good.” She threw her hands up. “So it’s my fault that I married you. Again, you blame me.” She turned away from him and pinched the bridge of her nose trying not to cry too much.

           The vial of morphine was taunting him from the grass. Every inch of him wanted to pick it up and finish it off. But instead, he stepped over it and wrapped his arms around his wife. “Listen to me.” He said steadily.

           Leah sniffled and shook her head. “No, Tommy, I’m sick of it.”

           “Listen.” He hushed her gently. “Send the children back with Arthur and come back to me.”

           “Why?”

           “Because I miss you and I can’t think clearly.”

           Leah sighed and closed her eyes. “So you’ll have me tonight and just pretend I don’t exist tomorrow?”

           “I need you to keep me together.” He kissed right behind her ear. “You’re the only one who has ever been able to.”

           Leah shook his arms off and headed back to the camp. “Give me five minutes.” She called behind her.

           Tommy smiled slightly but it didn’t last long. He frowned and stooped down to pick up the vial, uncorking it and taking a quick swig of the clear liquid.

           “Better not let her see what you’ve done, Tommy.” The familiar Irish accent ghosted over his shoulder.

           He didn’t need to turn around. He knew she was there.

~~~~~~~~~~~

         “What does it mean?”

           The sun had begun to set by the time they reached a suitable spot for a fire. Tommy let his horse out to graze and began the fire. Leah was quiet for a bit before she thought it was a good enough time to start asking questions.

           “What does what mean?” Tommy heaved a sigh as he sat down beside his wife. He slipped off his coat to place around her shoulders as the night temperature began to set in.

           “Michael held on. So, he didn’t sell the stocks and the market crashed. What does that mean for us?”

           “It means that he lost me a lot of fucking money,” Tommy muttered and pocketed his lighter once he got a good enough flame going. “And he’s going to have to answer to me once he comes back.”

           Leah’s forehead creased. “Tom, what does it mean for our family?” She reiterated.

           He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t know exactly yet. We’ve still got some money, just not the kind of money we were depending on before.”

           “So…”

           “So, it puts me in a tough position.” He wrapped an arm around her to pull her closer.

           Leah touched her forehead to his cheek. “I trust that you’ll see us through whatever we have to face.” She murmured softly. “But I can’t have you shut me out again.”

           “You always liked to take things on yourself, didn’t you?” Grace appeared across the fire from them. She smiled serenely. “But you still like to talk to your dead wife, aye, Tommy?”

           He swallowed and kissed Leah’s hair. “I’ll try, love.” He whispered. “And if I do, I’ll need you there to remind me.”

           She lifted her head to look at him with softness. “I can do that.”

           “You were never satisfied. Never.” Grace continued.

           He tried to block out her voice but knew it was him who conjured her. He’d taken the drugs for a reason. He wanted to hear her.

           Leah noticed her husband’s eyes kept flicking over to the dark expanse of the forest beyond the fire. “What is it?” She touched his cheek.

           “Gonna check on the horse.” He muttered and stood up. “Stay here and keep warm.”

           “Alright,” Leah replied but felt a little letdown but trying her best not to show it.

           Tommy wandered through the darkness with a dim lantern. Zeus was grazing nearby and he lifted his head, ears tipped forward curiously.

           “Just me, boy,” Tommy said quietly and held out a comforting hand. The horse snorted contently and went back to eating.

           “Why have you taken her here?” Grace appeared behind him. “Don’t you like being alone?” She walked towards him and touched his shoulder.

           The phantom touch made Tommy shudder. “I can’t abandon her, not anymore.”

           “Then why do you still use that bottle of dope to see me?” His late wife wondered.

           “S’for the pain.”

           “You need the warmth.” Grace embraced him, although the touch was hollow and his senses were so addled that he couldn’t distinguish whether it was real or not.

~~~~~~~~~

           After a bit, Tommy stumbled back to the fire. Leah was curled up in his coat and half asleep.

           “Tom?” She blinked a few times to bring herself to. “Everything alright?”

           Instead of answering, he knelt down and captured her lips with his. She didn’t push him away, only opening herself up to him. With care, he brushed the coat off her shoulders and laid it down beneath her, cushioning the forest ground for her.

           Leah reclined back and dragged her fingernails over the nape of his neck knowing it made him shiver. When he drew away, she whispered in his ear, “I can’t take it if you pull away from me again. I have everything you need, Tommy, please just stay with me.”

           Her breathless pleads overwhelmed him with guilt and possessiveness. Nevertheless, he carried on as he always did.

~~~~~~~~

           At the very least, Leah appeared happy. She got enough confirmation that her husband wouldn’t drift away from her again. If she’d been thorough, she would’ve checked his coat to find he’d finished the vial that was full earlier that afternoon. But she still had enough trust left in him to leave the matter alone.

           After Tommy held the meeting with his family, he, Leah and the children returned to Warwickshire.

           Early morning, Leah was getting Charlie ready for his morning lessons. He’d started with a private tutor who would come to teach him at the house. Sometimes she forgot how big he was getting. Getting taller and outgrowing everything within a month it seemed.

           “There you go, why don’t you head downstairs for breakfast. I’ll be down in the minute.” She smiled and let him run off. After tidying his bedroom, she checked on Johanna who was still soundly asleep. Next, she went back to her bedroom where Tommy was getting ready for work.

           Standing by the mirror, he was quite the sight in his expensive suit with all the trappings of a wealthy MP.

           She smiled coyly and went to fix his collar. “I bet you’re the most handsome man in the Commons.” She purred softly.

           He chuckled. “I don’t think they’re going for looks, Lee. It's about how well you can talk.”

           “Hm, well, I still think I’m right.” She tugged his collar to kiss him. "I think all their wives would be jealous of me because I've got you." Her words danced over his lips.

           He smiled and pressed his lips to hers. They indulged in the early morning kiss until they both heard Charlie calling from downstairs.

           “Mum, dad! There’s someone in the field!”

           Startled, Tommy pulled away from his wife and went to the window. Indeed, there was a strange silhouette of someone outside in the barren field. Instantly, he switched into defensive mode and went to grab his gun. There was no way his family was being attacked at their own home. A man had to protect his castle and that's what he would damn well do.

           “Tommy?” Leah followed him downstairs. Charlie was peering out the window trying to get a good look at the figure. “Tommy, who is it?” She ran outside, trying to keep up with her husband’s long strides. On top of the hill, she observed the crucifix posted in the field. “What on Earth is that?” She whispered. “Is that a real body?” It certainly looked hauntingly real from a distance.

           Tommy’s jaw was tight. “Go inside, gather the kids.” He commanded firmly. “Don’t come out until I come get you.”

           Scared out of her mind, Leah listened and hurried Charlie upstairs. “What’s going on?” The little boy asked. “Who was it?”

           “No one, poppet. Only a scarecrow.” God she hoped it was a scarecrow.

~~~~~~~~~~

           Johanna was starting to stir and was glad to see Leah and Charlie come into her bedroom. “Mummy!” She exclaimed joyfully.

           “Hi, love.” Leah scooped up her daughter and went to the window. Bouncing Johanna on her hip, she found Tommy making his way into the field. Her heart was in her throat. What if it was a trap? What if it was actually someone dead? She shook away the bad thoughts. It was just a prank. A hoax, nothing more. Trying to stay calm so the children wouldn’t pick up on her nerves, she smiled at Johanna. “Let’s play a game in mummy and daddy’s room, okay? How does that sound, Charlie?” Her heart froze when she turned and there was no sight of the boy. “Charlie?” The sound of the back-door slamming shut made her stomach drop.

           Putting Johanna back in her cot, Leah dashed downstairs and ran out the door. “Charlie!” She shouted after the boy.

           Tommy had just realized he was standing on a mine. Whether or not it was live or not, he wouldn’t know until he lifted his foot. Then he heard his wife’s shouts. He turned and saw his son running towards the field that was littered with potentially active mines. Throwing caution to the wind, Tommy began sprinting towards his son.

           He caught him right at the entrance of the field, picking him up and getting a safe enough distance away from the field. Leah caught up to them, gasping with panic.

           “Sh, sh, sh.” Tommy wrapped an arm around her, holding them both close. “It’s nothing.” He whispered not wanting to alarm her. It was best he kept the note and the mines a secret at least until the kids were taken care of. “Just go upstairs.”

           “Tom…”

           Instead of answering anything else, he handed Charlie over to her. “Go, it’s okay.” He urged and waited until they were both safely inside.

           Leah heard the explosions from upstairs. They were too close to possibly ignore. Huddled close to her daughter, with Charlie peering out the window, she assured them both it was okay. “Daddy’s just doing some target practice.” She forced a smile. “So, he can get better at hunting.” She rocked Johanna back and forth, praying that this wasn’t an omen. Things would be okay. They had to be okay.

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Lore Episode 31: Lost and Found (Transcript) - 4th April 2016

tw: murder, gore, blood, human remains, cannibalism

Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

Teenagers have a tendency to get up to mischief when they’re bored, that’s as true today as it ever has been. So, when four teenage boys found themselves with a spring afternoon on their hands, they did what any English lad might have done in 1943 – they went poaching. They were only hunting birds’ nests, really. It was April and spring meant nests full of eggs, so they went exploring in their area of Stourbridge, there in the midlands of England. Over the course of that afternoon, their search brought them to a private park known as Hegley Woods, and that’s where they saw the tree. It was a massive elm with an overgrown trunk that looked more like a hedgehog than a plant, with thin, whispy branches that stuck out toward the sky. Locals called it the “Wych Elm”. It was strong, it was climbable, and most importantly it was perfect for nesting, so one of the boys scaled up the side. When he reached the top and began to look for nests, he found something entirely different – a skull was staring up at him from the hollow centre of the tree. The boy assumed it was from an animal and plucked it free from the branches. That’s when he noticed how large it was, and the patches of hair that were still attached to it – human hair. The grisly discovery kicked off one of the biggest unsolved mysteries in modern England. Beneath the skull, lodged in the hollow centre of the tree, was a complete skeleton. It belonged to a young woman of unknown origin and unknown identity. No one stepped forward to claim the body, no killer was ever found, but the public fell in love, and named her, and to this day people still wonder: who put Bella in the wych tree? Humans, you see, are fascinated by dead bodies. They’re the centrepiece of countless mystery stories and a vivid reminder of our own mortality. We can see that fascination in both the innocent wonder of films like Stand by Me and the gruesome realism of CSI. Real life, though, is more complex, it’s more dark than we’d care to admit, and while the odds are good that most people won’t ever stumble upon a dead body, it’s a lot more common than you’d expect. Corpses should be hard to come by, but unfortunately that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m Aaron Mahnke and this is Lore.

In February of 2013, a number of guests at the Cecil Hotel in Los Angeles called down to the front desk to complain about the water in their rooms. Some described how their shower would run black before clearing up, others complained of the odd taste and odour, and that age-old compaint that we all know and love, poor water pressure, popped up time and time again. So, the maintenance crew was sent up to the roof where the hotel kept water tanks used to supply the rooms, and it’s one of the tanks that they discovered a body. A human body, no less, and it had been there for weeks. It turned out to be a missing woman named Elisa Lam. Her parents had reported her missing in early February, but she had been seen last there in the hotel on the 31st of January, and it had been her decomposing body that had been altering the hotel’s water supply. Finding bodies in unusual places isn’t a new thing, though, and it’s not uncommon, either. In January of 1984, three students from Columbia University were walking home to their dorm when they passed an old carpet, rolled up and discarded on the side of the street. Now, like a lot of you, I’ve been to college, so I think we can all agree that curbside discoveries are frequently wonderful. A random desk, or that ugly couch that’s way too comfortable to be ignored. So, it’s hard to blame these three students for bringing the rug home. When they unrolled it, though, they found a body inside. The man, roughly 20 years old, had been shot to death, as was evident from the bullet holes in his forehead. Needless to say, they didn’t keep the rug and the police were brought in to do a full investigation. In December of 1982, staff were called to a room in a hotel in New Burgen, New Jersey. Occupants complained of a powerful odour in the room, and they weren’t the first. For a number of days leading up to the call, each guest had complained of the same thing, and it seemed to be getting worse. The motel staff finally discovered why: it was the body of Gary Smith, who had been killed by his autotheft partners and stuffed beneath the bed in the room. They had poisoned his hamburger then strangled him when waiting got too hard, and finally hid the evidence beneath the mattress.

In 2011, Abbeville National Bank in Louisiana began renovations to their second floor, an area they had used for storage for decades. Running between the storage area and the active bank facilities was a chimney, and it was just inside the first floor fireplace where workers discovered a few small bones. Climbing inside the fireplace and looking up, they found the source. A body, now little more than a skeleton, had been lodged in the flue. Dental records connected the skeleton to a man reported missing 27 years earlier, in 1984. The man had a criminal record and had been in trouble with the law shortly before his disappearance. Police can’t prove why he was in the chimney, but given the proximity to the bank I feel its safe to guess that he’d been trying to rob it, Santa Claus style. In November of 2011, Russian police raided the home of a historian named Anatoly Moskvin. Inside, they found 29 life-sized dolls, all women, all dressed in fancy clothing. But they weren’t dolls at all. Moskvin, it turns out, was a graverobber with a fetish. For years, the historian had been visiting cemeteries all over western Russia, as many as 750 by some counts, and occasionally brought home corpses that “interested” him. All were females between the ages of 15 and 30, and all had been dead for a very long time. It seems, if we’re to believe the newspapers and media outlets, that stumbling upon a corpse isn’t as rare a thing as we might expect. Maybe it’s a product of the times – with more and more people on the planet, I suppose the odds keep going up that we’ll eventually open a wall or dig a garden bed and find a body. But some bodies are intentionally harder to find. Some killers go to great lengths to hide the evidence of their dirty deeds, and that’s really the core of these stories, isn’t it? Because hiding a body is about more than just making an object disappear. It’s about concealing a crime and escaping the consequences. The trouble is, when those hidden bodies are found, their stories often reveal the greatest horrors of all.

She wasn’t always known as Kate Webster. Sure, when she gave birth to her son in 1874, that was the surname she passed on to him. She claimed to have married a sailor named Webster, but he had died. A decade earlier, though, she had been someone else entirely. Kate Webster had been born Katherine Lawler to a poor family in a small, Irish village in 1849. While most children might have helped out at home or perhaps played with toys, Katherine grew up fast. She spent her childhood learning to pickpocket, and judging by the way the rest of her life played out, it’s a skill she’d been born with. At the age of 15 she was caught and imprisoned for a short time, but by 17, she managed to steal enough money to secure herself passage on a boat to England. But she didn’t use her journey as a chance to make a fresh start. No, Katherine Lawler just kept upping her game. Within a year of arriving in Liverpool, she was caught stealing and sentenced to four years in prison. Once released, she found work cleaning houses in London, as well as working as a prostitute – and then she became pregnant. The father, according to Kate, was a man she called “Mr. Strong”. He’d been her friend, her lover, and her partner in crime for many months, but when he learnt of the pregnancy he abandoned her. Her son, John Webster, was born in April of 1874, and those who knew her couldn’t help but wonder: would this help Kate change her ways? The answer, it turns out, was a clear and obvious no.

Rather than seek reform, Kate simply evolved. She would rent a room in a boarding house and once there, she would begin to sell off the furnishings in her room. When everything was gone, she’d move on and repeat the crime elsewhere. Another thing she repeated, sadly, was prison time. In 1875, while her son John was only a year old, Kate began serving an 18 month term in Wandsworth Prison there in London. It was one of the many stints in police custody, even though she moved around a lot and used various aliases to disguise herself. And all the while, her friend, Sarah Crease, helped by watching and caring for young John. Some think Sarah was an enabler, that she gave Kate the freedom to live her life of crime without the burden of parenthood, but others view Sarah as a hopeful friend. She saw a young boy who needed looking after and she did her best to help out. She also tried to get Kate a real, honest job, something that had the potential to turn the woman’s life around.

In 1879, Sarah’s employer asked if there was someone who could do some house cleaning for a friend of hers, a woman named Julia Martha Thomas. Mrs. Thomas lived in the Richmond area of London, she was a widow in her mid-50s, and had a reputation for being a little strict and prone to anger. But it was a job, and Sarah immidiately suggested Kate Webster. The relationship between Webster and Mrs. Thomas began cordially enough, but quickly devolved into daily arguments. Webster claimed that Mrs. Thomas would follow her around and criticise her work, while Mrs. Thomas claimed Webster came to work drunk most of the time. Needless to say, it wasn’t a match made in heaven, but the two women tried hard to make it work. After a little over a month, Julia Thomas decided it was time to cut Webster loose. Kate, to her credit, tried to change. She begged for just a few more days of employment and, for some unknown reason, Thomas agreed to the terms, but the relationship was eating at her like an ulser, and she couldn’t stop thinking about it. She thought that Kate was stealing from her, but she didn’t have proof yet, and she feared for her life. On March 2nd of 1879, Mrs. Thomas showed up at church clearly upset. She’d just had another argument with Webster, and it had shaken her deeply. Her friends claimed that Thomas seemed distracted and agitated, and she left early to go attend to matters at home. But Kate was waiting for her there, and this time, they would trade more than angry words.

Julia Thomas thought the house was empty, but went searching for Kate Webster anyway. They had unfinished business, and it was time Kate found some place else to work. It was settled – as far as she was concerned, at least. While Thomas was upstairs in the hallway, Webster stepped out of a dark room and attacked her employer. The two women struggled for a moment, and then Kate gave the older woman a shove. Thomas stumbled down the staircase where she slammed into the floor below. Her skull now fractured and bloody, she began to scream where she lay. Kate was immidiately concerned that the neighbours might hear. There was a busy pub right next door, and if someone happened to hear the shouting, Kate was sure to be discovered and arrested. Launching herself down the stairs, she sat upon the injured woman’s chest and began to squeeze her throat with both hands. She wanted the screaming to stop. She needed it to stop, and after a few tense moments, it did. Julia Thomas lay dead on the floor of her own home, and Kate Webster had graduated from theft to murder in the course of just a few heartbeats. But Kate was stronger than her fears, and she knew she had to act fast. She grabbed a razor, a meat saw and a carving knife and set about cutting Thomas’ body into pieces. Later  Webster would admit that, while she believed she had always had a strong stomach, this work in particular tested her limits. There had just been so much blood, she later told the police. Webster put the pieces into a large copper kettle and then boiled them in an attempt to reduce them to a more managable state. It was essentially rendering, a process where meat is cooked until the fat and protein separate. Witnesses would later come forward and talk of the stench coming from the home, but no one complained at the time. This was London in the late 19th century, perhaps people were just a little more forgiving of odd odours back then.

When the boiling was complete, Webster fished out each part from the remaining lard and placed them all into a box she found in the home – most of it, that is. She couldn’t seem to fit the head and one of the feet, so she had to get creative. She tossed the foot into a local trash heap, but the head was more problematic. In the end, she found a Gladstone bag, something like an old physician’s handbag, and stashed the head inside there. And then she cleaned the house, removing as much of the evidence as she could that something horrible had taken place there. It took her two full days to do it, but when she was finished, she put on a dress from her employer’s wardrobe and went to the pub next door to meet a friend for drinks. This friend, a Mrs. Porter, later told police that Webster arrived at the pub carrying a large, black bag. She kept it with her almost the entire evening, as if it contained something very valuable to her. Oddly, though, Webster excused herself from the table at one point, and when she returned a short while later, the bag was gone. Webster’s next order of business was to get rid of the box that contained what remained of Mrs. Thomas, so she enlisted the help of Mrs. Porter’s son to carry it out of the house and to nearby Barns Bridge. He carried the heavy box all the way to the bridge, and then she sent him home, claiming that a friend was on the way to meet her there. This boy would later tell police that, as he was walking away, he heard a large splash. It was as if something heavy had been tossed into the river. Webster had disposed of the body, and I can’t help but wonder if she perhaps sighed with relief when the box finally dipped beneath the surface of the Thames and vanished from sight. The following day, though, things got more complicated. Unware that the box containing Mrs. Thomas had actually floated to the surface and drifted to shore over night, Kate Webster dug in deeper. She took on the identity of her former employer while beginning to sell off all the items in the house. Old habits die hard, apparently. And it was about this time, according to a later witness, that Webster stepped outside and spoke to a pair of neighbourhood boys. She had two bowls in her hand, and they were steaming hot. She told them it was lard – from a pig, she added – and they were welcome to have it for free, if they wanted it. The boys ate two bowls each.

While the police were investigating the discovery of the box full of body parts, they had no clues that might point them to the killer responsible. It even took them a bit of time to figure out that the parts were actually human rather than butcher cast-offs, but even then, all they could be sure of was that the victim had been a middle-aged woman. Kate Webster, meanwhile, was making money hand over fist. She sold off the smaller items first – the jewellery, the knick-knacks, even her victim’s gold teeth – and then began to spread word that the furniture was for sale as well. And that lead to an agreement with a local man, who arrived on March 9th with a small group of men to help him carry the items out of the house. A neighbour woman saw the activity and approached one of the remaining men. “Who ordered the removal of these items?” she asked him. The man simply turned and pointed to Kate Webster, who stood on the front steps of the house. “She did,” he replied, “Mrs. Thomas.” When the police finally arrived, they entered the house and immidiately found signs of something tragic: a charred finger bone in the fireplace, bloodstains on the floor, splatters of grease – or lard – around the copper kettle. But the one thing they wanted to find, a killer, was nowhere to be seen. Kate Webster had skipped town. In the end, the authorities tracked her down in Ireland. She’d taken her son and made her way back to her hometown as fast as she could. When she arrived, she did so while still wearing clothing and jewellery taken from Mrs. Thomas. But her stay there was short-lived – the local police chief, the man who 15 years earlier had put her in jail for the first time, recognised her in the bulletin from Scotland Yard and quickly took her into custody. Everything after that moved quickly. Webster was transported back to England, and at every train stop between Liverpool and London, crowds gathered to jeer and shout at her. By March 30th, she had been formally charged with murder.

Of course, she tried to lie her way out of it. This was the woman who had changed her name dozens of times to outsmart the police, who had moved into room after room and sold off the possessions inside. She was a thief and a liar, so it was only natural for her to try and talk her away out of this too. First, she blamed the murder on Henry Porter, the husband of her friend from the pub, but when his alibi held up she shifted the blame to the man who had come to buy the furniture from the Thomas house. He too was easily dismissed. When it appeared that she wouldn’t be able to squirm out from under the charge of murder, she took credit for the crime, but claimed that she only did it because others told her to. In the end, none of it worked. The formal trial began on July 2nd of 1879, and just six days later, the jury declared her guilty. The judge, a man named Justice Denman, sentenced her to be executed. Yes, Judge Justice – I can’t make these things up. When asked if there was any reason why she should not be executed, Webster told the judge yes, insisting that she was in fact pregnant. A new jury of women were gathered together along with a physician, and after examining Webster they declared that the pregnancy, like everything else the woman had said, was also a lie. She returned to Wandsworth Prison, where she had served time before working for Mrs. Thomas, and it was there that she wrote her formal confession. She described all of the details of the murder, right down to how she burned the internal organs to get rid of them, how she chose her tools, and even how she removed the head. On July 29th, Kate Webster stepped onto the platform inside the prison’s execution chamber, a building that was ironically nicknamed “The Cold Meatshed”. A governer announced the time, a priest administered last rights, and then she was guided onto the trapdoors with a sack over her head. Afterward, she was buried in an unmarked grave, right there at the prison. The records of Wandsworth Prison contain the names of 134 people who were executed over the span of 110 years. Kate Webster was the only woman on that list.

It’s hard to nail down the real reason behind our fascination with death, but it’s safe to at least make a guess. Death puts our mortality on display. No matter how hard we try to avoid it as a topic, to ignore its slow, steady approach from the distance, we can’t seem to get away from it. Whether we want it or not, death will come for us all one day, and the dead body stands as that singular, visceral reminder of our death. In the horror movies, it’s the clue that’s dropped into our laps early on in the film. It highlights the danger our heroes find themselves in, it represents what’s at stake, what could happen if they fail and the true power of the killer. When the London police pulled the box containing the remains of a women from the cold waters of the Thames, they didn’t know a lot, but they did know one thing. There was a killer in London, and whoever it was needed to be stopped. Thankfully, they managed to do just that, but in a wild twist of irony, the body of Julia Thomas has been lost. It might have been a result of the way evidence was handled in the late 19th century, or the state of decay when the remains were found. Whatever the reason, there’s no grave for Julia Thomas, no tombstone with her name etched into the surface. Her body was lost, and then found, and then finally lost again. Well, most of it. As luck would have it, the neighbourhood where her house once stood has gone through some renevation. In October of 2010, a wealthy London homeowner was having an addition built in his backyard, when the work crew unearthed something small and white. It was a skull. The teeth were missing, but there was a fracture at the back of the head, and after doing a bit more research, investigators determined that the structure that once stood in the homeowner’s backyard was a stable – a stable behind the pub that stood next door to Julia Thomas. Her body might be lost forever into the pages of history, but the head that Kate Webster had tried so hard to get rid of has finally been recovered. Oh, and the wealthy homeowner who stumbled upon the skull? None other than English naturalist, Sir David Attenborough.

[Closing statements]

[thegildenheart]

ARR: First Impressions

In which Thancred is robbed by, and stumbles upon, the unknown Warrior of Light completely by accident.

(My headcanon on Warrior of Light Alley’s first meeting with Thancred Waters.)

The Warrior of Light had many names, and was many things to many people. Hydaelyn's Chosen. The Hero of Eorzea. The Slayer of Gods. The Liberator.

Before all that, however, she was the Alley Rat.

Thancred Waters knew this better than most.

Better than anybody, perhaps; though he was not keen in claiming such, he was the reason she was introduced to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn at all. Indeed, the group he called home – the selfsame that had now become so earnestly affiliated with the various government bodies of Eorzea – would not be where it was today had it not been for the discovery of one certain homeless Midlander.

It was a fact he was certain of, despite the knowledge and trust he had in his fellow Scions.

Thancred himself was born a street urchin in Limsa Lominsa, just as the Warrior of Light was in Ul'dah. He was typically reluctant to recall his time amongst petty thieves, and even further still to relive his pickpocketing attempt on a certain elderly Elezen, but the parallels amused him all the same. Louisoix's boots were large ones to fill, but in the same way the Elezen had discovered Thancred, and given him a life of purpose, so too had Thancred to the Warrior of Light.

She, in turn, looked up to him as not only a close friend, but a mentor, and a saviour. To be looked upon so highly by the girl who had since slain god-like entities called Primals time and time again only ever prove to ground him in a humility he had long since accepted as inevitable.

The Warrior of Light's name was Allie Lindlum, the Alley Rat, and he remembered the meeting as if it were yesterday.

This damnable heat.

Thancred would call it insufferable were it not for the dancers on every street, clad in little but that to ensure their barest modesty. Minfilia had spent several evenings scolding him for his insistence on working to his utmost, so he felt little shame paying such sights a few moments of attention. Still, he was here with a mission, and the heat – welcome sights of dancers or not – was doing him no favours.

Silently, he envied Y'shtola's mission in Limsa Lominsa, amongst the ocean breeze and like-minded individuals (welcome or otherwise).

The Midlander weaved his way through the crowds of people, pricking his ears. The sounds of commerce were thick, filling the streets with cries of contesting customers and honest merchants alike. Aether disturbances were peculiar occurrences, but more likely than not, somebody in a city as large and populated as Ul'dah would let slip whispers of something untoward in the area.

That was his hope, at least; the Sharlayan goggles resting on his right shoulder would guide him if nothing else –

Wait.

With a sudden, growing sense of unease, Thancred patted his shoulder to find it bare, save for the linen of his dark tunic. He groaned. Y'shtola was going to kill him! The device – lenses set tightly against a gold frame – was designed to analyse aetherial energy in the area... which was, naturally, of great import to his mission of finding disruptions in the first place! With a grimace, Thancred ran fingers over his belt, confirming his suspicion: his coin purse was missing as well.

He'd be robbed.

Allie couldn't believe her luck!

Well, it wasn't all luck. She was very skilled, after all. And magical, too! Or so she told her friends. The young girl had always felt gifted in her craft, able to steal from even the wariest of marks, be they tall and burly or small and crafty. Or, in this particular case, sketchy but very handsome. She tried to teach her like-minded urchins, but none had the knack she had, and when she claimed to be able to sense what people were about to do when she really focused, all she received was a scoff and and eye roll for her troubles.

But it was true!

Easing through the crowd, she spied a particularly expensive looking doodad on an especially charming looking Midlander. He wasn't dressed particularly well – a black linen shirt on a white underlayer, really? - but the strange thing on his shoulder caught the waif's interest nonetheless. It was gold and had strange parts in it. That was definitely worth something!

Following along at a casual pace, Allie shifted all of her focus to the man with white hair. It typically took several moments, but her gift did always eventually kick in, and as with everybody else, the girl could begin to feel the ebb and flow of his movements. His intentions became clear to her, fleeting glimpses of changes in his direction seconds before they happened. It was when she felt him stop and turn his gaze towards several Miqo'te dancers that she found her moment.

Lifting the device off his shoulder was surprisingly easy, all told, certainly with the man's gaze so firmly... elsewhere. It was haphazardly held by simple leather straps, loose enough for nimble fingers to pry looser still. In a deft movement, the strange device slid free of the Midlander's shoulder and into Allie's possession just as the man gave a small whistle to a certain dancer.

She also lifted his coin purse for her troubles, but only because he was asking for it, wearing it so brazenly on his belt as he did, and more importantly besides, for his rather obvious ogling.

Eager to make herself scarce, Allie disappeared into the crowd going the opposite direction to admire her new royalty. She turned it over in her hands, marvelling at the strange design of the contraption as she carefully stepped over a drunken, stumbling Lalafell merchant underfoot. The frame was gold – or at least painted so, she couldn't tell – and it had curious round glass bits, too. Was it supposed to be a mask, she wondered?

Allie was drawn from her thoughts by a shrill cry.

Thancred's search was fruitful, if not entirely happenstance. Drawn by the sudden yell of a woman – a damsel in distress, perhaps! - the Scion spied a young, blonde dreadlocked girl crowding around the scene, with a rather familiar device in her grubby little hands, at that...

“Shut your mouth, you thieving little swine! You stole from me – don't even think to deny it!”

Thancred grimaced. His own thoughts – albeit a touch less mannered than his own – rang loudly, sourced from a particularly obnoxious looking Midlander merchant. Two thugs sat at his wings – a burly Roegadyn with a gaudy bandana and even gaudier leather armour – and a robed gentleman he could not see the features of. Easing his way closer to the thief of his dear aetherial analyser until he was directly behind her, Thancred found another woman, sprawled across the floor, hand clutched to her chest. No doubt the owner of the shrill cry just seconds prior.

“P-please, sir, I didn't steal nothin'! I b-bought this – paid for it with me own coin!”

Thancred's lips curled in distaste. It was a scene that grew in occurrence since the refugees began to pour in to Ul'dah, but they were no easier to see despite it. His focus was on reclaiming the device the onlooking blonde had taken, but at the same time... he curled his fingers around the dagger at his side and waited. He could not stand by idly while a woman – guilty or innocent – was endangered by thugs.

“What rot! You refugees are all the same – couldn't afford maggoty mole meat, much less a choice cut of dodo! I'm going to say it one more time: give back what you stole, or I'll make you wish you'd never set foot in this town!”

The crowd that had formed looked on in dismay, though slowly began to thin and disperse. Thancred settled on the idea that the offended merchant had strings to pull rather quickly, given the populace's haste to leave him berate the poor woman in peace. The thief that had stolen his device, however, remained stood, a grimace upon her youthful features.

“By rights, I should turn you over to the Brass Blades, you know – help keep the streets safe for law-abiding citizens,” the merchant continued, a coy smirk settling into his weasle-like features. It made Thancred's stomach turn. “But I'm a reasonable man. If you agree to serve me in... whatever capacity I require, the authorities needn't hear of your crime.”

“B-But I ain't done nothin' wrong! Twelve as me witness!”

Thancred had seen enough. He stepped forward, only to pause at the groan on his left. The blonde thief practically doubled forward, clutching her forehead. A pained expression wriggled across her freckled cheeks – an expression Thancred had seen before.

Staying his hand, his focus shifted, now, to the girl miming an action he'd see Minfilia do several times before...

The girl rushed forward, placing herself between the woman and the detestable merchant.

“S-she didn't do it! I saw it! I saw her buyin' the dodo cuts, I did! Paid for it with her own coin!”

Thancred's eyes narrowed, and for the first time, he took proper stock of his thief. She was young – late teens, by his guess – and definitely the fitting image of an unfortunate soul. Malnourished, underweight, impoverished – her frame was gaunt and empty, lacking in any real shape or substance. Her clothes were threadbare, tattered and frayed at their ends. What hope did she have against armed thugs?

But something in his gut kept him rooted. If she truly were like Minfilia... then...

“What are you on about, girl? I've had enough of this mummer's farce. You lot, teach them a lesson!”

What ensued next even Thancred could not explain. The rush of violence was expected on the part of the merchant's thugs, but the girl – the pickpocket – was something else. She was not trained, nor had she any weapons – but every fist that came her way found naught but air. Thancred could see the equal amounts of surprise and concentration in the girl's face, warring with each other in a sea of inexperience. She ducked, and weaved, and sometimes stumbled, but the fact remained... nothing that the brutish thugs swung her way found any purchase... nor did she, in turn, swing anything back.

“What the hells is this girl!?”

“I can't hit 'er! She won't sit still! Bleedin' rat!”

“Let's get outta here! She's some kinda monster!”

Could it be? This pickpocket, this young girl, through sheer, blind luck...

Did she have the Echo?

Thancred stepped forward.

If only he knew.

[davina-wolfthorne]

Ghosts & Ruins - Part 1

Reader Warning - This story contains sensitive material such as guns, mention of rape, and some violence. Reader discretion is advised.

      There is something beautifully enigmatic about how old memories can make one haunt a place of their past. Maybe it is because such places that once held great importance retain their power over us even after falling to ash and ruins. Little reveries of their ghosts drawing you back. Davina is no stranger to this unexplained longing that lingers in the recesses of her heart. No matter the distance she has traveled in the last twenty years there is always that nagging feeling. These urges to go back wake the phantoms of her past and replay horrible memories of a childhood long lost in the form of nightmares and day terrors. 

      Underneath the pregnant autumn moon and shimmering stars the bow mage ventures down a twisting pathway. The walkway is hardly noticeable underneath all of the overgrown bushes and waist high weeds, but despite being able to hardly see it her feet know where to go.  Tiny stones and pebbles crunch underneath the outer soles of black boots, and the tall grass rustles in soft whispers as she pushes through the sea of overgrowth. To the right of the pathway is a steep drop off leading down to rushing waters, and to the left large rock walls loom over the hidden road. She listens to the melody of crickets that sing in the dimly lit night and the roar of the water below. Just a stone’s throw away her sapphire gaze can vaguely make out the shape of a two story home in the light of the full moon.        It is nothing impressive now but one can tell just by the fading paint and rotting elaborate wooden beams that this was once a proud home. Whomever owned it used to take pride in up keeping the land and property. Large hallow spaces are all that remains of once beautiful bay windows. Falling into disrepair the roof has long sagged into the two story house allowing both mother nature and the elements to have free reign. Flower beds that used to hold a huge array of herbs and spices now overtake the property’s grounds with dense vines and shrubbery. Against the back of the house an old waterwheel sags, moss creeping over the rotted wood in thick layers. A large creek flows behind the homestead and cascades in little waterfalls over the jagged rocks that jut out along the steep hill. There is an unsettling feeling that one might experience as they roam the grounds.        Davina approaches the thicket of vines and brushes her right hand over the twisting branches. Heat radiates from her hand and as the temperature rises it singes away the vines in a controlled burn. Warming the plant enough to degrade it but not quite hot enough to spark a flame. Without pause she strolls through the garden and up to the stone steps that lead onto the wrap around porch. Climbing them effortlessly before venturing into the dilapidated home. Broken furniture and fragments of glass litter the cobblestone floor. Vines of ivy creep and crawl over the water stained walls. As she walks through the first floor she can recall the laughter that once filled these rooms. Images of three young girls chasing each other as their mother worked on brews playing through her mind to accompany the distant laughs.       Wooden boards creek and splinters of glass crunch under her weight with each step she takes. Making her way over to a stone fireplace, in what used to be a dining room, she kneels by the hearth. Reaching over to a dry log she touches it and under her caress flames blossom and consume the wood. Rocking back on her heels she takes some twigs and little pieces of branches and tosses them into the glowing fire. Heat wafts from the hearth, the warmth rippling through the room to chase away the chill.           Davina is already aware of the presence before a firm feminine voice calls out to her,  “Why do you visit ruins that are haunted by yesterday’s ghosts?” The aether radiating from the intruder behind her is strange yet familiar. There is a small click of a gun’s hammer being cocked.         “Even in death ghosts deserve someone, I suppose.” Davina’s replies in a smooth tone. “How often do you come here?” Standing slowly she’s cautious not to make any sudden movements that may be taken as a threat or form of hostility.            "Never.” Comes a one word reply. “What purpose does reliving the past serve? It’s not like anything will change. You’re just drudging up pain.”            Shifting her weight upon the heels of her boots Davina quarter turns herself. Radiant sapphire eyes settle on the frame of a tall woman with beautiful bronze colored skin, whose blonde hair is pulled up and tucked into a neat bun. Piercing emerald irises stare coldly at the bow mage from across the dining room. All that stands between them is the skeletal frame of a wooden table and the remains of broken chairs. Dark, expensive, fabric shrouds the woman’s body. Clasped to the collar of the elegant jacket are metal pins that signify this Midlander is a weapon’s engineer, her rank in the Garlean army, and boasts of her marksmanship skills. “How have you been, sister?”            The woman’s face contorts from annoyance for a moment before that neutral expression takes control. “We haven’t been sisters for twenty years, the day that we became wards of the Garlean Empire.” Her words frigidly quip.          “Was it easy for you to abandon your family like that?” Davina inquires, genuinely curious if it was that simple for Danica to disregard their family. To write them off as if they never even happened. Falling into silence she studies her eldest sister’s posture. How tense the weapon’s engineer is as she aims the black barrel of a revolver at the bow mage.            “Not when I about how selfish your mother and father were.” Danica bluntly states. There isn’t any emotion in her green eyes nor in her tone.          “What do you mean selfish?”         “Vandrad Mercer and Karoline Wolfthorne were criminals, Davina, and by choice. They aided radicals in their conflicts with the Empire. Their poisons and bombs helped kill hundreds, if not thousands, of Garleans over the years. They could have kept to themselves, but instead they fueled the fires of rebellion. Vandrad and Karoline picked a war over their own children-”         “They were trying to free our home city so we could have a better future. How can you not see that is an act of selflessness?” Davina interrupts. “Is your love for the Empire that strong now that you’ve forgotten everything they’ve done? From murdering innocents, tearing our family apart, what they did to you....” Words trail off as a small shudder ripples through the doctor’s body. Davina remembers their first night away from home. That day they had been ripped from their parents, their home, and forced to temporarily live with a small branch of the Garlean military. Later that night when the sun set a group of men that reeked of alcohol came to the tent the three Wolfthorne sisters were sharing. Danica was seventeen name days at the time and a prime target for their devious desires. Those men dragged her outside of the tent and that whole time she kicked, she screamed, and she fought with them. All her attempts to get away were futile. She was dragged behind the shared tent and they forced themselves on her. Davina will never forget the horrid gut wrenching screams her sister cried out and the pleaded sobs for them to stop.         “Had it not been for their selfishness none of that would have happened!” Danica snaps viciously. “They could have raised us peacefully under the Empire’s rule. We could have co-existed with the Garleans, but they couldn’t leave things alone.” Slender fingers tighten around the revolver at the mention of the soldiers raping her. “Over the years I have come to accept that every nationality, every race, has their own fair share of good and bad people. Those men were monstrous and vile but they don’t make up the whole. Garleans are people exactly like you. They have families and loved ones they go home to at night. They smile and laugh. They enjoy similar things. They just want a better world for everyone. One government to rule all. Is that such a bad idea?”            Laying her index finger over the gun’s trigger she sighs. “I just wish you would have accepted Lord Blacke’s offer. Maybe if you had things would be different right now. We would still be family and could enjoy our lives together.���            Sapphire eyes follow the index finger to the trigger and she silently prepares herself for what is about to come. “Perhaps.” Davina murmurs softly. “In a different world, yes, but I could never see myself siding with a murderer who only wanted to use me as a weapon against innocents in this wor-.”            Gunfire disrupts the chirping of the crickets and the crackling of dancing flames. [TO BE CONTINUED]

[ingridgovaninsights]

Drink Up- A Short Story

Here I am, alone, stark naked in my one-bedroom apartment in the middle of the downtown core. I always preferred to be naked, for many reasons. The first reason was simply because I just got too hot all the time wearing so many layers. Another reason is that I just don’t understand why people get so embarrassed about showing their “bits”- everyone has ‘em, albeit some a little stranger looking than others, but at the end of the day they’re just body parts. Maybe I can’t really understand the concept of being embarrassed about my body, because I’ve always been relatively confident in the way I looked. It’s not like I was smoking hot by any means; I just never had an issue with accepting myself the way I was.

Well, physically, that is. I guess I should be more precise. Maybe if I had always been confident in myself emotionally and spiritually too, I wouldn’t be here now. But I suppose there’s nothing I can do about it now- it happened. All of it happened, whether I like it or not. Mostly not. All I can do is make the most of what I’ve got going for me, and I’ve got an okay body so I’m going to rock it.

I stood up from my rickety wooden kitchen chair and started making some coffee. It wasn’t the best tasting shit, but the off-brand was all I could afford. I used to put a splash of Bailey’s in my coffee every morning, but then it just turned into a bad habit. I didn’t see it then, but looking back now I was definitely going down a really slippery slope. Like, winter roads in Canada slippery. But hindsight’s twenty-twenty, isn’t it?

Pouring myself a tall mug of black coffee, I realized I was replacing alcohol with caffeine, which was definitely a hell of a lot better but it just seemed to be one addiction after the other. I thought back fondly to my high school days where I was absolutely addicted to World of Warcraft- my parents yelled at me constantly to go do something else, to get my homework done, to go outside into the real world for Christ’s sake, but I remained strapped to my office chair, eyes bloodshot, knocking back energy drinks and staying up well past four in the morning every night. It went on this way until my mom unplugged my desktop in the middle of a gaming session- I lost my mind, screaming and knocking shit off of my desk... until I had a moment of clarity in the middle of that outburst. I was going insane. All of this over a game?

I never played World of Warcraft again.

I took my mug of hot coffee back to my chair and looked out the window at the city. I was strategically placed where I could see people passing by, but they couldn’t see naked ol’ me. As I enjoyed my people-watching session, a song by the country band Midland came on the radio, loud and proud:

People say I got a drinkin’ problem

That ain’t no reason to stop

People saying that I hit rock bottom

Just cause I’m living on the rocks

It’s a broken hearted thinkin’ problem

So pull another bottle off the wall

People say I got a drinkin’ problem

But I got no problem drinkin’ at all

Three years ago, I’d like to think I was drastically different than I am now. I don’t identify with that man, the man that struggled for money but still scrounged up enough cash to buy cheap beer and get hammered night after night. I was the man that denied any sort of relationship I had with another man, because I was raised to think that was some kind of sin- I know, it’s as ridiculous as thinking lefties are the devil, or whatever the hell those crazy people went on about back in the day. These notions are so retro, so nonsensical, with no evidence to back them up. Homosexuals are committing a sin- ha, that’s as ridiculous as saying smoking is good for your health. Why did I give others’ opinions so much weight? I believed them, or at least I pretended to believe them, while deep down I was saddened that I had to live a lie and so I drank to gobble up that sadness.

It started off innocently enough- I was twenty-three and I had just graduated college, and what young college student didn’t have too much to drink from time to time? I told myself that every time I got drunk- I was just acting like the young demographic, and if other people did it, I would surely be fine. But as it turns out, I wasn’t drinking just for fun on the weekends like most of the college students were doing, which was considered a lot more reasonable than what I was doing, but I justified it to myself because I needed a reason to continue. I think the biggest thing was, there became a point where I wasn’t drinking for fun anymore, it was simply to numb myself from the fact that I was living in a homophobic neighborhood as an in-the-closet homosexual man.

My drinking spiraled out of control for a couple of years. My family tried to reach out to me, but I wasn’t listening. Drinking was far too important at the time. My moment of clarity happened when I was at a friend’s twenty-fifth birthday party, and all I really wanted to do was drink myself to sleep. Everyone around me was having a good time- the music was blasting, everyone was laughing, reminiscing about old times. I was somewhere else, mentally. Somewhere far, far away. Everyone else could so seamlessly be themselves- a man wrapping his arms around a woman; nobody saw anything strange about that. But even in the year 2018, you see two men or two women embracing one another and you do a double take.

At least, a lot of you do. Like “the homosexual”  is some rare, endangered species. Well, maybe they wouldn’t be so endangered if the environment wasn’t so hostile.

Anyways. A couple of hours into the birthday party, I was already quite drunk. By that time my tolerance had gone up substantially, and so I needed to drink a hell of a lot to get to the point of being noticeably drunk. Looking back, it makes me quite sad. It was like a cry for help, really. I didn’t realize how much I was drinking until it was too late- one moment I was staggering around, chatting with old friends, and the next I was on the floor. Someone had to call for an ambulance. That was the last of the night I remembered.

I woke up in a hospital bed with my mom on one side and my dad on the other. My dad informed me that I had alcohol poisoning last night, and I had needed my stomach pumped. They said it had been quite bad; my blood alcohol level was dangerously high. I could’ve died.

It was time to stop.

I broke down and cried in front of my parents, and my mom wrapped me up in a hug and my dad awkwardly rested a hand on my shoulder. I told them I was gay, and I told them I desperately needed to move to a different neighbourhood. They said nothing for the longest time; I think they were confused.

For the first time in several years, I asked explicitly for their help. They helped me get into a treatment centre, where I vowed to get better. And I did, slowly but surely. That’s how I ended up drinking like six cups of coffee a day- sure, it was better than copious amounts of alcohol, but I’d eventually have to cut down on that, too. Soon enough.

After my treatment program was finished, I got my new apartment downtown. I warmed up to the neighbours, and I made friends. Hell, I even met a couple of cute guys, and as time went on I got more and more confident about being myself around them. Things would get better; they had to.

So I sat around my apartment naked, because why the hell not? Why not flaunt what you’ve got?

I smiled like an idiot, and gave a toast to my imaginary friends. To new beginnings. And so I drank up, that black coffee tasting like victory. 

I’d be all right.

[talesofwight]

The Last Resort

((As I’ve had a week away from the computer and all things gaming-related really, I’ve had a lot of time to think about stories and stuff. And so I was really set on writing a little something out when I got back, and here it is! Took me a few hours. Sadly Tumblr doesn’t maintain the formatting I was trying to uphold. 

Also I guess a mild trigger warning for people that don’t wanna read violence and stuffs.

Still, it came out okay I think. Below the cut because I don’t wanna clog no dashes!))

'Hold 'er down!' Commanded a the highlander figure, garbed as a Captain of the Brass Blades in a voice almost as rough as the desert sands around them. 'Bloody bitch bites!' His nearby subordinate replied as he and another, both seemingly midlanders, struggled to hold a thrashing form down against the sun-baked dirt of Thanalan.

Brass Blades. The supposed peace keepers of the desertous region's city-state, Ul'dah. Corrupt and a mere shadow of what one who upholds the law should be. Here they were holding a squirming girl to the ground - couldn't have been a day past her sixteenth summer. Her clothes were shredded and her face was beaten and bloody, yet she railed against, and cursed at, the two men restraining her regardless.

The girl's resilience would've been impressive to the stranger in any other circumstance. He had a good view from the back of his chocobo - August. Typical. He thought bitterly to himself. As sad as it was to think, such things were not uncommon. She looked to be a refugee, likely had nothing to her name. Made her an easy target for a sick mind. Or three. He slowly drew the chocobo to a halt, the gesture prompted a curious 'kweh' from his steed. 'I'll be a moment.' He dismounted from the chocobo with a metallic clunk, his ash-grey plate armour glinting in the sun's rays, a long greatsword of wicked design hanging from his back, adding extra weight to the ensemble. He was slow to approach, fighting to keep the contempt from his face and voice as he called out. 'Surely this young one has committed a truly terrible deed to be handled so by you, three upstanding men of the Brass Blades, Ul'dah's protectors.' His words hung in the air as all three men suddenly ceased what they were doing and turned to look at the stranger, their expressions hidden behind the masked turbans they wore. Eventually, the captain strode forward a few steps, sizing up the sudden interrupter, spitting and placing a hand on the hilt of the scimitar which hung at his hip. 'Oh aye, that she has. Stole our good men's attention what they should've been giving to the patrol, ain't that right fellas?' The smugness practically dripped from him. 'Bloody whore, stop yer strugglin' if ye wanna leave here with yer life!' His subordinates had returned to holding the girl in place, the second mirroring the ugly words of the first. 'Away an' plough each other's arses, bastards!' The girl spat back. She had a fire in her. 'Right, well. As you can see, we've got the situation well in hand.' The captain picked up. 'Now why don't you get back on yer 'bo and be on yer way? Be a shame for a lone traveller to get killed by bandits, eh?' He grinned through his spindly moustache and soul patch, exposing crooked and rotten teeth. The stranger was still some few paces away, but he imagined they probably gave off quite the smell. 'That would be a shame. Though probably not quite so much as the three Blades that went out on patrol and were never seen from again.' He smiled dangerously back. 'Yer lookin' to start a fight, that it? Against the three o' us? Pah!' 'No.' 'So yer gonna leave?' 'No.' The captain stared on at him for several moments, only then freeing his sword from its sheath with a metallic hiss. 'Ah'm warnin' you, boy. Be off, or its yer head.' He sounded scared. Fear was just what he wanted. He raised a hand over his right shoulder, drawing his greatsword from his back with a far more menacing hiss, the blade tracing an arc in the air as it was brought into a readied position. 'Last chance!' The captain shouted. One of his two goons - the fatter of the two, he noted - stepped away from the girl and formed rank with his superior, drawing his own scimitar. Silence descended on the path once more, and off in the distance a wild bird soaring overhead let out a screeching cry. It all happened in a moment after that. The pair charged, bearing down upon the lone traveller. It was a decent strategy, but their movements were sluggish and slow. Probably already drunk. In that moment of their attack, the stranger remembed the age-old rule for fighting multiple opponents.

How do you kill a man on a battlefield? Cut through the man next to him.

And that is exactly what he did. Summoning to mind the anger at the sight he witnessed, he felt the surge of power flowing through his veins. It manifested as a black-blue flame that flowed from his chest to his sword arm, and into his weapon, causing the razor-sharp edge to take on a crespicule glow. He readied himself, and swung. The extended reach of his sword proved fiendishly effective as, it met the outer hip of the charging grunt. His steel flashed and cut through the chainmail armour as though it were paper. It tore through the man's chest in a diagonal direction, coming free at the shoulder, where it continued to travel. The look of shock and fear on the captain's face just barely had time to form before his head found itself hurtling through the air and landing with a wet thud, even before the two bodies had dropped, wetting the dry earth with two mixing pools of crimson. He exhaled a long breath, easing his stance though still bringing his sword back to the ready. Within a moment his cold, grey eyes had turned to look at the remaining Blade, struggling all the more to hold the kicking girl by his lonesome. Seeing that his comrades were soundly butchered, he exhibited the typical reaction. He reached for his belt and drew a knife, suddenly holding it to the girl's throat. 'D-don't come any closer, or else...!' He stammered. His hand was shaking. The girl stopped fighting suddenly, the look of anger fading to be replaced with fear. She looked helpless, and stared imploringly at the man who just killed two members of the law enforcement - their blood still dripping from the end of his sword. 'You're all alike. Always your last resort. Well I'm sorry to tell you this, but I'm not here for her. I'm here for you. Even if she dies, you'll still be feeling the sting of my six fulm-long blade stabbing through your entire body. Do whatever you feel will ease your passing into Thal's realm. You have ten seconds. Ten...' 'W-wait... wait, please!' 'Nine.' 'Don't-- don't do this!' 'Eight.' 'I've a wife at home!' 'Seven.' 'You're a bloody monster--' 'Six.' 'No better than you think of me!' 'Five.' 'I don't want to die!' 'Four.' There would never be another plead from the Blade's lips. Fear washed over him like a wave. His hands shook uncontrollably, his teeth chattered and sweat poured from behind his mask. He abruptly dropped the knife, let go of the girl and turned to run. He made it three steps before the stranger raised his hand, summoning to mind the fear he inspired in the Blade, the threw his right hand forward. A surge of spiked, chaotic red energy flowed down his arm to his palm, whereupon it expanded into a series of circular runes floating around the wrist. A flash emitted from the center of his palm as a ball of churning red spikes flew at the retreating guardsman. An ilm before contact could be made the ball detonated, sending a hail of jagged spikes into the back of the now-stopped figure, slumping forward onto the ground and showcasing the extensive needlework that the dark spell had wrought. All was silent again.

'...Th... thanks fer savin' me...' The girl spoke quietly. 'I did say I didn't do it for you. He looked down at her, slicing at the air with his sword in one hand, spraying what remained of two Blades' blood onto the ground. 'That said, I might've told a lie. Gets them every time, though. He grinned, and for all the wickedness in that grin, it did little to hide his fair looks, even despite the large scar marring his brow. 'At any rate, you should get out of here as soon as possible. I can give you a lift if need be. August is good to carry two.' He strode up to the still midly shocked child and offered a gauntleted hand. She regarded him with trace amounts of fear - such was normal. He had grown accustomed to being looked at like that. Though as the moments passed the fear gave way to a smile. A wide, toothy grin that fit her freckled face perfectly. 'Yer 'bo is named 'August'? You some kinda prissy bugger?' She laughed. 'Would you think any less of me if I said I was?' He responded, a trace of humour in his own voice. 'Well... I suppose I'd let ye off the hook for it, just this once. Circumstances bein' what they are and all.' She reached out and took the offered hand, easily being pulled to her feet. She was light. Probably malnourished. The rags she wore were loose-fitting, so it was difficult to say for certain. 'My thanks for that. I'm Rufus. And you are?' 'Krysta! Ye know ye just murdered three Blades, right Ser Rufus?' 'I suppose that's how it seems. Though those men forsook their right to be called protectors of the people the very instant they tried it on. Azeyma only knows whether you were the first victim...' 'So what're ye supposed to be? Some big, true protector o' the innocent?' 'Something along those lines. I just don't have a lot of love for people that abuse their station to commit crimes, thinking they are untouchable.' 'Yer the weirdest knight I ever thought I'd meet, Ser Rufus. Still... I'm glad you came.' He gave her a smile as he guided her around the still-warm corpses on the roadside and along to his loyally waiting chocobo. Met with a 'wark' of joy to be reunited, Rufus first helped Krysta climb into the saddle, then taking up August's reins and walking out before the feathery steed, leading him. 'Where is home for you, Krysta?' 'Well...' 'Nowhere to go?' She slowly shook her head. 'Ma and Da're both gone. Can't really do much by meself. I'll prolly have to end up a strumpet just so I can get a good meal...' He frowned to himself, glancing over his shoulder at the saddlebag, hanging at the chocobo's flank. They kept walking.

They soon found themselves on the outskirts of Ul'dah, stood before the Gates of Nald, just a short way from Stonesthrow - so aptly named. Krysta looked uneasily at the settlement from the saddle. '...I don't wanna live in squalor like that...' She mumbled. 'You won't have to.' He led the chocobo inside the gates, guiding it and the rider off to the left of the busy avenue to the chocobo stables. With a gesture and some light assistance, he brought Kysta down from the saddle. 'So... what'm I supposed  to do?' The child asked, looking nervously at the huge walls now encasing them. 'You'll see'. 'That... doesn't give me confidence...' He reached within the saddlebag before August was led off to be fed, brushed and watered, producing a handful of long, razor-sharp fangs from it. He bundled them into his arms and turned, beginning to walk the opposite way across the avenue with many an adventurer and citizen alike. 'Keep up! Don't want you getting lost!' He called, and Krysta came running up to his side. The image must've looked odd to others, but he paid them little mind and kept walking. Across the avenue, he bounded up the steps that led to the Quicksand - Ul'dah's branch of the Adventurer's Guild. Also a den of sin and other unsavoury sorts. Not the type he was interested in dealing with. The room was abuzz with many drinking, talking loudly, and others seemingly locked in eternal silence. It always puzzled him. A few steps more brought him to the counter where leves were given. The attendant behind the desk sized him up quizzically, and then let out a light gasp as load of fangs were dropped onto the tabletop, the clatter drawing some attention from nearby patrons ever so briefly. 'From those basilisks that were pushing in from Northern Thanalan.' Rufus spoke confidently. The attendant looked overwhelmed for a moment, scrambling to find the leveplate to confirm the reward. 'Ah! Yes, right here. 2000 gil. Who knows what havoc those monsters could've wrought if not for you?' 'We'll never know, I suppose.' He smiled and reached out to take the offered pouch. He then stepped away from the counter and turned to Krysta, curiously surveying the pouch in his hand. 'Well, 2000 gil is decent. A good start. Ul'dah has cheap accomodation, and plenty of places that you can work and pick up skills. Take this, and make good on it.' Krysta's eyes suddenly shone. They were large, and as the realisation sunk in, increasingly wet with tears. She let out a rough sob, one that belied a greater pain beneath, and reached out to take the bag in both hands, which trembled. 'Y-yer really... gonna help a nobody like me...?' She croaked, taking a breath to steady herself. 'No one is a nobody. We're not all born equal in this world and sometimes... well, it doesn't hurt to give someone a hand. So I'm helping you. Find a start for yourself. Make your parents proud. I know the feeling.' Krysta gingerly nodded, staring in silence at Rufus for a good few moments. 'I wanna help folk, just like ye helped me. An' I will! Just ye wait and see!' 'I look forward to it, Kysta. Take care.' 'And ye... Ser Rufus.' They both chuckled and parted ways then, he to retrieve his chocobo and set out wherever his fancy took him, and her, off to start a new life for herself. Whether he would ever meet Krysta again or not, he wasn't sure. Life has many devious twists and turns waiting for us all. But she seemed to be made of strong stuff. He was just glad that his gamble on the knife-wielding Blade's last resort was right.

[xottzot]

2017-3(MAR)-28-Tuesday.

2017-3(MAR)-28-Tuesday.

Around 11am, there was an exodus from the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD. Adults and school-aged children that did not go to school and NEVER go to school. (the school is only across the road from them)

They came out and spread about the area (but not the school of course).

Sometime later, I saw them again in the streets. Some were coming back from the shops area, some wandering back from elsewhere.

A Watcher was walking about and saw some themselves. The Watcher paused, for there was very loud shoutings by school-age aboriginals in the smashed fence property of the corner house. They were yelling and carrying on. The Watcher heard all that and of course simply walked on.

It's clearly apparent that aboriginals around here do NOT have to go to school. They are allowed to wander all about at will and maraud. And when they get older and into adulthood, they do the same wanderings and sniffing about to cause crime as adults no matter how severe. (unless it makes it into the public news which only then is something seen to be done to counter the bad news itself, not reality itself.)

Of all those wandering about was of course was one last one of them from the house next to the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD.

But you can never tell because nobody actually lives where they are supposed to live. They just go wandering in and out of each others houses that they rent, and the tradition applies into anyones prorerty they feel like going into.

About 11:17am, a school-aged aboriginal literally ran down the road and ran off away from the local school-direction.

Maybe the sight of the Watcher walking about spooked the shit and he's off to get as far away from the local school direction as possible. (when he gets a litle older, he will do the same with Police for the rest fo his life.)

And the plagues of not ever going to school has now infected the corner house kids who do not go to school. Instead they do the same thing their 'friends' do.....and that also includes hiding out in the house with it's trees and bushes covering the visible yard whilst they are carrying on. Nirvana to them.

A massive amount of public money was spent 'modernising' the local school to cater to all students. There's been efforts to have that acknowldgement made public by the school itself and a politician who had also in addition arranged/financed the work. But it's a toxic topic because of all the aboriginals all about this area who have kids who never ever go to school and are a hidden population that roam around and do as they wish during the day. They're seen in public, but they can also be brazen and evermore so, but nothing happens. Do NOT believe anything you read or hear about how 'good' this area is. The aboriginals and criminals of them them all bring it all down.

If you have children here, then around here you just don't take them to school or let them go to school. School is for the weak who are preyed upon by these others.

I wonder how long before they bring in segregated schools by them for them? - Oh, they already have in other parts of Australia, and the aboriginals loudly say its the way of the future and they love it. - Pity that they are criminal and have a further life of criminality ahead of them and they live with criminals all about them in their 'own' homes.

There was some junk mail in the letterboxes today.......

Here is what it had for this area:---

number of homes sold in the past 12 months= 12 (that was the LOWEST figure of around 15 suburbs and surrounding ones all about.)

Median Price (year to December 2016) = $318,000 (thats houses andor lands sold)

Percent Change (December Quarter) = -0.6% (that's minus zero point six percent)

Percent Change 1 Year = -10.4 (that's minus ten point four percent)

Media House Rental = $300

So there you have that little snapshot of this hellhole. It has the lowest rental price simply because nobody wants to live in this hellhole with wandering criminals all about, who are untouchable and which you can't complain to the Police about because then the Police will try to blame YOU somehow for being a victim of crime and saying anything about it. - And it's also because owners of houses have been forced out by all the crime and are desperately trying to keep house playments up by renting places to anyone, including renting to the criminals who drove them out of living in their homes in the first place. (the amount of 4-sale signs you can see when travelling about this hellhole area is indeed very numerous and tragic. Nobody wants to live here anymore. It is a place where it is dying and being killed. Real Estate shits see that as an opportunity......

In Midland the 'median' price for rental is 308, (just $8 more than here), and I know for a fact that aboriginal crime has really exploded all over there as well.

The number of places sold in this hellhole area is also the lowest of the list of the 15 suburbs. (the highest was in nearby Midland itself 3kms away)

This hellhole area itself is the lowest of them all in the list for the amount dollarwise they are asking for properties. That's because nobody wants to buy-into an area that is known for crime, despite it having everything a normal (law abiding) population would want, ie. a local primamry school for kids......and of course the criminals (only to satisfy departmental) are likely to send a tiny proportion of the ones they have to go there. The rest wander the streets.....on foot, on bicycles, on childs toys, then progress onto motorbikes, then progress into cars.....being evermore criminal all the way as they go......

For the past few hours I've been hearing a lot of smashing sounds coming out of the corner household that has become wholly aboriginal in living (eg. kids dont't go to school and abos wander in and out of that place even yesterday) and at will sometimes in numbers. - I know for a fact that the young woman owner of the place would be absolutely horrified at how they are destroying her place that she herself lived in before and kept so lovely to live in and look at before she had to quickly move away and take up residence at her mothers property elsewhere after her death. - So in effect, she was able to get out of this hellhole area and she is just as intelligent, polite and open-minded as before, but if she had been constrained to living here......she too would have been suffering all the aboriginals.....and crime......she must be truly shocked at how her property has been so smashed and destroyed by aboriginals. I dare not even consider what other parts they have destroyed andor defiled within the inside of the dwellings.)

There has been a neighbors dog intruder-barking a lot, and what was happening was there were aboriginals about on the streets. One male kid was riding a pushbike that has NO TYRE on the rear wheel. It was being ridden on a metal rim instead and making a lot of noise doing so as it crunched and made noise along the road. Do NOT worry about it being dangerous or anything, they simply do NOT care. IN any event, they will steal or have bought for them a replacement because outside money and resources are never ever a problem for them. What they don't have given to them, they steal. -- All this was going on the same time last year. The SAME things and more.

That is something else that people think....that the so-called aboriginal underprivileged around here have no money. Wrong. They have plenty of money to get cigarettes, and get endless bottles of alcohol, and have endless cars, and vehicles (that are soon smashed), they don't even have to worry about paying any rent because that got paid for them by 'anonymous'......and once rent was out of the way that meant more available money for their necessities of life such as drugs and alcohol and cigarettes and petrol. Their criminal offspring are purely an annoying nuisance to them to have about and in any case, others such as departments and so on take care of them so they don't have to bother, not even to make sure they go to school, or eat, or wash...they figure that it can be done by by going to the uncountable associated aboriginal houses....and failing that they can just break in to any innocent citizens household and do whatever the hell they want. --- It is real here. It is reality.

And the aboriginals just love jumping onto any civic band wagons to loot whatever they can out of it and bring it financially down to crashing, whilst simultaneously proclaiming being so needy as they drive and tear around in big new vehicles whilst honest people try to get by with what they can.

Western Australia has the highest aboriginal crime rate in Australia. And guess where all the well-off people live who make all the laws.....they live on the other side of Australia and they are in a wealthy closeted world of their own and don't have to put up with what happens here on a daily and nightly basis. And if it IS brought up, they then blame all the departments and so on here in a never-ending blame of crap and self-infulgence. -- Amazing how they shuffle data about to make things look good for them, whilst at the same time denigrating others, or not even bothering to state that anything even exists that needs adressing.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

P@15:06---In truly great pain. - Last night I had to get up out of bed and was literally SCREAMING in pain and falling about in great pain. Poor dear Sam & Max didn't know what was going on. They didn't bark and were very scared, especially Max. Today Sam keeps scuttling off like a poodle because he thinks I'm about to crash down and fall upon him like last night when I was in so much pain.

[glennmalcolm]

Believe Me, This is Clickbait: Should Students know the difference between the effects of Mandela and Meme?

"You are young yet, my friend," replied my host, "but the time will arrive when you will learn to judge for yourself of what is going on in the world, without trusting to the gossip of others. Believe nothing you hear, and only one-half that you see. Now about our Maisons de Sante, it is clear that some ignoramus has misled you."  -- The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether Short story by Edgar Allan Poe 1845

History repeats itself in a way that the meaning behind the latest educational buzzwords seem to as well. One week its paradigm shift the next it’s collaborative learning. A teacher friend of mine told me that collaboration and the term ‘collaborative learning’ is a misnomer because we’ve been collaboratively learning for millennia. And, I suppose we have - cavemen, while they weren’t exactly pack animals, wouldn’t have tracked and killed larger, tastier and more agile animals alone without the inherent fear of being a raw and bloody garnish themselves. Much like the traps they would have set wouldn’t have improved over time without discussions on how to improve the efficiency of the kill or the depth of the hole to entrap the beast. However, what he really means is the term ‘collaborative’ is misplaced in today’s digital context because of the use of ‘real time collaboration’ as compared to synchronous and asynchronous protocols of, say, Docs Vs Email. Or, on the network drives we’re still using in 2017: editing files one. person. at. a. time.

Much like this little history snippet addressing technological conventions old and new, current affairs (the news - fake or otherwise), has, ever since moveable type became popular in the 18th century, changed over time ( in the Chinese timeline even more so). Not so much of course, in its purpose more so in its delivery. In some way or another posters, articles, flyers both on parchment and now direct to your feed in the palm of your hand, have tried to persuade us in as many ways as possible in some form or another. All the time mislaying fiction as facts much like Dr. Billy Bob’s Snake Tonic of 1912: “Gives you a boost to see the day through!” In 1912 it was probably the cocaine in Vin Mariani that gave you the boost.

Its modern equivalent has a very sharp blade in the hands of creatives who’ve honed their skills at the school of Ogilvy and Mather et al ready to carve the easier, if not the easiest, meat in existence. If you teach primary school children as your profession, one of the merits of good poster work is to persuade you to understand something to almost believe it regardless of your original stance. One thing to remember here is that no matter how much you call yourself a ‘free thinker’ you’re not. None of us are. Take a general understanding of global warming melting the ice caps to the point where individual pieces of ice are floating about with a sole polar bear atop this ever decreasing island. You know this imagery. We all do. Thank you Al Gore. How inconvenient is this if you’re trying to get your students to critically question headlines when the imagery is so much stronger? Is it deliberate trickery to induce a Mandela effect?

Should Students know the difference between the effects of Mandela and Meme?

Schools should teach children how to spot fake news. How very modern. One of my earliest memories of making persuasive imagery at school was one about not smoking and the other was on the effects of acid rain across european forests. Now, there are merits in both of these posters that, while they both are there to do good and teach the evils of the world to eight year old children, the sentiment behind both can persuade people to adopt the opposite of the message in hand. With selective imagery, careful copy and a poignant, catchy tagline the semi-believable becomes fact as if Groundhog Day shifted to April 1st.  You, too, will have made something very similar when you were at school while still innocent and malleable enough to get fully behind the not smoking lark and thinking acid rain was about to decimate that apple tree at the end of your garden. It never did. Clever marketing and that human urge to be attracted to knowingly dangerous activities still led me to take up smoking at fourteen; I still touch wet paint. Mind you, I still ride my bicycle to work because, you know, fossil fuels and my love of apples. And, should you have had the gall or the wherewithal to question such ideals, then you would be quickly put on the right track by your teacher. Today you would be lambasted online as a denier much like you would have if you were a Christian in Rome 2000 years ago.

You see, both posters, while there to represent my understanding of the persuasive genre in the English language as a year four student, have this strange synchronicity that only now as I reflect as an adult can trace the routes back to their origin: advertising campaigns from the tobacco industry to make a few million bucks; the other a governmental campaign from lobbyists aiming to make a few million/billion bucks. And there we were blindly emulating the ‘facts’ in a similar medium to an already believing crowd from a very select source - our school library. The books of which were sourced by people who in turn were there to get us to emulate the ‘facts’ ad infinitum. Sound familiar? It’s a modern set of social networks in microcosm. At our school today we have 50m x 2.5m wall hand painted by street artists in a similar vein to those posters I made when I was eight years old except this time it’s not acid rain it’s drilling for oil in the Antarctic in 2041. However, is this just raising awareness for kids? How much will they take in? Will any of them, come 2035 think “wait a second. There’s 6 years until the Antarctic is about to be handed sole sovereignty to the oligarchy, I should do something about it!” It’s more likely they will be a cog in the machine and the organisers of the 2041 project would have disbanded ten years previous; their pensions paid for by the numerous speeches and school visits dried up in 2025. Our students can question this type of preaching however compliance is so much easier. Sometimes school less thinking and more thought.

All this sounds like the 2030 agenda for sustainable development set out by the UN which in turn sounds like Agenda 21. In the classroom it doesn’t take that much effort to guide students to search a little deeper and more precisely. Search techniques are becoming more and more important in the EdTech curriculum and beyond. Please, if you get you and your students collate your news from theGuardian.com or the BBC, cross reference the articles with Russia Today, Reuters, AP, Al Jazeera, Deutsche Welle, NY Times, the Washington Post or NHK to see how the stories differ from sources with different advertisers. Each one has a different narrative to protect based on who are are the main sources of income. This is especially important where search is involved for any students Key Stage 2 and above.

The modern equivalents of this process are prevalent in ever sneakier ways. And, while this post may get a little political in places, it has a very distinct reason because quite often the article you’re reading is, unbeknownst to you, sponsored by a very large company who’s name is synonymous with spreading broader memes and, sometimes, have very dark methods of operating (Compare Hollywood and the recent spate of terrorist's videos for example: make believe is the core model - have you seen Wag the Dog?). One of these companies for example is The Clinton Foundation (here at the bottom via Adage). And this brings me to the first modern mode of duping our everyday student (and teacher) reader or viewer: Native Advertising.

Do Our Students Know What Native Advertising Is?

Native Advertising is, for a teenager (that 13-18 bracket) and slightly beyond (18-30 too) where advertised products mean something to them as they hold social status. Take for example one of my first jobs in a school in Sandwell (the Black Country), UK. At this school I was a P.E. teacher in a relatively rough area of the Midlands. On day one the kids eyed me up and down trying to size me up to the point I was told ‘at this school we beat teachers up’. Delightful. Another lad, who had the same ‘close talker’ syndrome as Judge Reinhold’s character in Seinfeld, was several inches from my face and about to tell me (while at the same time I thought it pertinent to explain the virtues of dental hygiene) what he thought of me when he spotted my Nike Air Max 360s, stepped back to admire them and smiled. Then it was the turn of all students in the class to regale how they owned blue ones, the red LE versions and every kind of Nike Air variant for the last eighteen months. I was set. And this is the point: We’re easy prey. All of us. We believe every story that we read and hear of the artist wearing the Air 360 Limited Editions and how he or she made it to the top of the charts and then the associated links are made that  the two are one of the same ideal.

The groundwork for this process of advertising and public thinking begins over a hundred years ago with famous versions such as the one for Guinness by Ogilvy. Copy cats drilled down into what worked and what didn’t and here we are - links to pages that describe experiences with carefully entwined text containing the product’s name that reaches many more eyeballs than TV and radio ever did. And that’s the crux of the matter - the methods have pretty much stayed the same but the medium has changed. The snag is, nowadays the medium is ever present in our lives because it’s constantly in our hands from inside our phones. And, it’s the same for every child who has one too. More importantly, as our example above illustrates, this is the most impressionable market to educate and understand how advertising works in the modern age.

Is there a solution to this? Yes. As any top bracket football team knows: Catch 'em early. And I mean really early, like Nursery age early. Children of this age know boundaries of what affects them directly. They know if they are getting a raw deal - just watch them react if you tried to tell them that a piece of artwork on the wall is named with someone else’s name in the class. Now, you try selling the idea that it should be Arlo’s name on that artwork over Sophia’s or marketing anyone’s name on any piece and you’d have a mutiny on your hands. If you took this further and had an ‘Editorial’ from the the headteacher selling the virtues of a new policy of ‘free naming’ all work on the wall and see what would happen. I bet you’d get some very precise language from children who are usually typecast as finger painters explaining exactly why the product have transparent ownership.

"It’s no great mystery. It ain’t like Bigfoot or the Loch Ness monster. (Although BuzzFeed is kinda like the Bermuda Triangle of the internet.) Clickbait works because it (a) appeals to your lizard brain and (b) tickles your innate desire for curiosity."  -- adespresso.com/

Do Our Students Know What Clickbait Is?

In a similar vein, clickbait is as instinctive (persuasive) but a way more impulsive process. The heading, title or thumbnail of a link is such that its sole purpose it to generate clicks or advertising revenue by misleading you to believe that there is something else to be gained. The way to think about this in an educational setting is with the persuasive language of not just posters but product packaging and understanding the age-old trick of product placement. Kids understand this only too well. Remember kids TV? Remember the targeted adverts around holiday season with those catchy tunes. What a way to learn about why this is made in such a way and why it’s on the TV at this time of day. The music, the colours, the taglines even. They’re all crafted to close in on what children of a young age are naturally and psycologically geared towards. A carefully planned couple of lessons would take, what? An hour each? Scale this over a few year groups and you could be onto a winning formula to combat the deliberate enticement of advertisers and, in some respects, steering them away from Buzzfeed’s nonsense and their kin. The whole project could be making games out of those list links and ‘Why Kardashians use coal to brush their teeth.’

The added problem is, of course is that I think our attention span has shortened. I mean, I have no proof of this except a little search here and there and I find that that I am searching for my own answers that suit me. I am merely watching my own habits over time, applying them to my habits now and comparing (amplifying) them to a teenage student. I think that if students do something similar then they might fall into the same trap. However, I look at my own trajectory in this digital age and find that my reading, my viewing and listening habits have all changed dramatically in the last 10 years. No, this isn’t age, creeping up on me, this is where my job and hobbies cross over. I am in front of (probably the main cause) at least two screens from morning till evening. I bet you are in a similar situation if not for work then without knowing it at some point in your daily/weekly routine. Do you have a phone? A smartwatch? A TV? Games console? Etc, etc… The screen list is extensive. We are all bombarded with content from our screens all the time and our students are no different. The list of items that digitally capture my attention in the last ten years are this in a roundabout list of time taken to use them:

SMS (in the early days this took a while if you all had beepers)

SMS between 2 to 30 mins

Email - it took an age to sit down and compose an email.

Facebook (the introduction of streams)- it used to take all my time up - 15mins +

Instant messaging - 3 seconds to 5 mins if in group chat.

Youtube (Russian Dashcams and Lastweek Tonight notwithstanding)

Reddit - swipe to clear function renders posts be gleaned from 2 seconds to 5 mins. 

Twitter - 140 characters.

Instagram - can consume 30 mins if you’re dawdling about. But to post, 2 mins.

Snapchat - for the 8 second generation aimed at kids.

And I think we’re there. Eight seconds seems about the average time it really takes to skim a post, the related hashtags and gauge the viewership. Has it had the right number of reposts? Likes? Eyeballs? Did it have the right appeal? Was the camera set at 45° to hide the imperfections? Hell, even as I post this I’ll be sure to look over (and lament) over what I could have written better. Then I’ll put the pomposity aside and write something equally annoying probably about Apple and their mom-friendly ‘Clips’ for iOS because, you know, the older generation needs to be saturated with eight second sound bites of flannel too.

This is all part and parcel of the clickbait posterboy lifestyle and it’s one giant plug hole that honestly, our students need to be directed away from at a very early age. The tech for building and creating imagery is in their hands - it just needs a curriculum to demonstrate how the two worlds are inextricably linked and how one emulates the other. How is this proved? The changes in attitudes to recognition and their status online is a huge factor. The fear of missing out is a somewhat real thing because nobody advertises their life as an out of control downward spiralling mess on the public loudhailer that is social media. If you’re 13-24 years old (and younger of course) then there is no way that you are going to be doing this. If you’re in this age bracket then you want to have some kind of popularity in your circle of friends and, online, beyond into some kind of Instagram/ YouTube navel gazer. This recognition of ‘being there’ (basically saying, you’re not so try to one up me/us) is evident in recent purchasing trends. Younger people are apparently eschewing products over experiences. And there we have it, we’ve gone full circle on the customer being the advert themselves - Katharine Hamnett will be proud.

Students know the game, they know how it’s played therefore it’s high time to put this into a format to learn and teach from. The problem of course is that teachers have no idea how this works and this is the new frontier of tech in school. Tech in school is no longer about the device or the app it’s about the quality of the content and the psychology behind it.

As Poe once wrote “you can only believe half of this [post], unless someone speaks it to you, then you can’t believe it at all.”

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Promises Not Kept Part 18

Summary: Tommy Shelby made a promise to Jonah Ward while in the war. A promise he didn't keep. But it comes to haunt him when he tries to drown out his sorrows with a young woman.

Part 18: Tommy and Leah tie the knot before the boxing match night. 

          Thomas Michael Shelby.

           Leah Mary Robinson.

           She picked up the license with shock and wonder. Mrs. Shelby. She was now a Shelby.

           It was nothing more than signing a few documents and citing their legal vows. But Tommy held Leah’s hand the entire time. His blue eyes with a softness that was reserved for her. When he kissed her, it sealed the promise that they made to each other. Tommy would always be there for her and protect her. And if need be, Leah would care for Charlie.

           But she was optimistic and the license held a possibility for them. The possibility of being a family. A family that Leah had lost hope for a very long time ago. A family that Tommy was desperately trying to hold together.

           Once everything was said and done, Leah had to sit down. The lobby of the council was quiet, only a few people sifting in and out. She found a bench to sit down on as she was trembling.

           Tommy followed her, not letting go of her hand. “Alright?” He asked quietly and knelt down in front of her.

           She smiled and nodded even though there were tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t ever expect myself to find love again.” Her hands shook as she reached forward to touch his cheek. “Never expected to make those vows again. After everything, I’ve done…I thought I never deserved love.”

           He gently brushed a thumb over her cheek to wipe away her tears. “Lee,” His voice was low and soft with affection.

           “When you came for me at Midland-never gave up on me. Tommy, I’ve never gotten over that.” She admitted sheepishly, her lower lip quivering. “I fell for you then and there. I was afraid that you’d never feel the same way because of who I was.”

           Tommy touched his forehead to hers and brought her in close. “Doesn’t matter where either of us come from. Matters where we are now. You’re my wife and I’ll never stop loving you. We’ll be alright, aye?”

           With a nod, Leah pulled back and sniffled. “Didn’t mean to get all emotional.” She laughed weakly and wiped her cheeks. “All weepy.”

           He smiled and brushed his thumb over her cheek once more before standing up. “No need to apologize.” He held out a hand to help her up off the bench. “C’mon, I’ve got a few things to straighten out ‘fore tonight.”

~~~~~~~~~

           “Mummalee!” Charlie chirped from upstairs.      

           Tommy smiled when he heard his son’s mixed up adaptation of Leah’s name. “You ought to just let him call you mum, might be easier in the long run.” He slipped off her coat for her to hang it up.

           “Oh I dunno. I don’t want him to…” She sighed. It was the same excuse she’d used so many times. It was a fine line that she walked every single day with the little boy. Every day, Charlie forgot about Grace just a bit more. Soon, he wouldn’t remember anything about her. He was far too young when they lost her. But Leah didn’t want to take the title away from the woman who had given him life. The woman that gave Tommy a son. A male heir to the Shelby throne. 

           But at the same time, Leah didn’t want to continue to correct Charlie. She didn’t want to alienate him, make him feel like she didn’t want to have a family with him. If they were to have another child, Leah wanted Charlie to feel like he mattered just as much as his half-sibling. How awful it would be if Charlie felt like he was a black sheep just because he wasn’t Leah’s son by blood.

           “I suppose if you’re okay with it, then it would be alright. But I still want him to know about Grace.” She relented.

           “He’ll learn about what happened when he’s old enough to understand the truth.” Tommy agreed.

           “Mummalee!” Charlie called again. “Daddy! Where’s mummalee?”

           “Come on down, Charlie, mumma’s right here,” Tommy responded.

           The sounds of little feet came pattering down the hall and down the stairs. Charlie scampered down to the front room and leapt into Tommy’s arms. He giggled and looked at Leah. “M’hungry.”

           “Yeah?” Leah stroked his hair back and kissed his cheek. “What would you like for lunch, love? Let me make you something.”

           “Actually, Auntie Ada’s coming to pick you up, Charlie,” Tommy said gently. “She’ll make you something.”

           The little boy pouted. “Why?” He whined, dragging out the word.

           “’Cause you’re going to stay with Karl and Mary for the night.”

           Leah gasped, trying to make Charlie excited. “Won’t that be so fun? You get to play with your cousin all day!”

           Charlie didn’t seem too convinced but didn’t argue. “Alright.”

           “And you’ll be good for mumma and daddy?” She murmured and nuzzled his cherub cheeks.

           It drew a small laugh from him and he grabbed a handful of her hair. “Yeah!”

           “Good lad.” Tommy went to open the door when he heard Ada knock.

           Leah kissed Charlie’s forehead. “I love you.” She said and placed him on the floor. “We’ll see you later, poppet.”

           He beamed and ran to greet his aunt. After chatting briefly with Ada, she left hand-in-hand with Charlie. Tommy shut the door and turned to his wife.

           She smiled and tilted her head to the side. “Alright, then, what have you got planned?”

           “Planned?” He asked innocently. After locking the door, he began to head upstairs. “Got nothing planned.”

           “Yes you do, why’d you have Ada get Charlie early?” Curious, Leah followed him.

           “It’s our wedding night, isn’t it?”

           A coy smile spread over her face and she picked up the pace. “And we’ll be spending our wedding night watching a boxing match?”

           “Well, this is only our first wedding night.” He reminded her. “We’ll have to make do.”

           Leah could hear the click of his cufflinks as he began to remove them. Once inside the small bedroom, he turned and began to kiss her in the doorway. It only took a brief second and he took her breath away. With just barely enough sense to tug at the buttons on his shirt. His fingers replaced hers and he swiftly discarded his shirt behind them.

           Tommy could feel her hands trembling against his chest. “Easy, love.” He murmured against her lips. “Easy.”

           “I just need you.” She whispered breathlessly. “Stay this close.” Her fingers traced over his tattoos.

           “How’d you need me, love?” His voice lowered deeper with desire. “Tell me how you need me.” He began to undo the ties of her dress.

           The desperation in his voice drew a whimper from her. “Tom…” Her voice shuddered helplessly.

           “Tell me, Leah.” Blue eyes firm on hers, his pupils blown with lust.

           “I’m yours now. Mark me, I want to feel you. I want to know you’re mine.” The words fell from her lips, dripping with need and endearment.

           It was the perfect response for Tommy. With no one else in the house or the betting shop, there was no reason to hold back.

           It was only a few hours until the fight. But Tommy was still in bed with Leah. He knew he had to get ready and brief his men, but it was too tempting to stay under the guilt with her.

           His wife had dozed off beside him, curled up against him. She wore nothing but her engagement ring and the love bites that Tommy had scattered over her skin. Bruising marks, the pressure applied making her gasp loudly and beg for more.

           Leah left a few of her own on her husband. Denting his pale skin, sucking and kissing at his tattoos. The final one was a strong nip at his shoulder, just a few inches from the bullet wound marring him. He closed his fingers around her hair and came so hard he saw stars.

           After the intense climax, he petted her hair and kissed her all over. Murmuring words of adoration against the marks he made. Calling her his love, his wife, his one and only. His wife. Mrs. Shelby.

           It was a moment of bliss before the chaos they faced. The fight was bound to bring danger. But all of them would be there. And if things came to an end for him, Tommy would have that last moment with his wife.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

            “Can’t say I’ve ever been to a boxing match.” Leah walked arm in arm with Ada to the venue.

           “It’s only entertaining towards the end.” The Shelby woman shrugged. “I brought something to make it a little more exciting.” She coyly showed Leah the bottle tucked away in her purse.

           Her sister-in-law giggled and shook her head. “You Shelby girls just love getting in trouble.”

           “Well, you’re one of us now,” Ada replied pointedly. “Although I hope Tommy doesn’t make you wait too long for a nicer ceremony.”

           “He said he and Grace were married in the church down the road from Arrow House.”

           Ada nodded. “I can remember the looks on her family’s faces. They were horrified at the idea of Grace marrying him.”

           Leah smiled softly and followed her to the front of the building where a line of men was waiting to enter. “But they loved each other.”

           “It’s difficult to measure love.” Ada shrugged and pushed past the men, not even waiting for the bouncers at the door to greet them. “But you can see it in people’s eyes.” The two women had to squeeze close together to get through the narrow hallway packed with loud shouts.

           “No weapons! Empty out your pockets, lads! No admittance with weapons!”

           Past the hallway, they finally entered the seating area. The rows were already starting to fill up with onlookers.

           “Do you wonder if you’ll ever find anyone else?” Having never known Ada when she was married, Leah wasn’t sure if she was overstepping her boundaries. The woman spoke about Freddie every so often, especially when saying how much Karl looked like him.

           Ada found their seats at the front row where Linda and Lizzie were already sat. Polly appeared to be speaking to her nephews a little bit away. “Sometimes I wonder.” She admitted. “But I suppose I won’t know until it’s clearly obvious.”

           Leah smiled warmly. “I suppose you never know.”

           Polly walked over and sat beside her. “Ada, I hope you brought what I asked you to.”

           Ada pulled the bottle from her purse and began handing it down the line of women. She also exchanged a cigarette with Leah and her aunt. “How’s Bonnie look?”

           “Like he’s going to rip someone to shreds,” Polly answered and lounged back in her chair. “The Lord put too much power in such a small little thing.”

           “Do you think he actually has a chance?” Leah wondered. She’d only seen Bonnie in passing and he looked hardly big enough to throw a punch. Meanwhile, Tommy said that Alfie Solomons’s nephew was built like a tank. Leah thought her husband was kidding when he called the boy Goliath. But apparently God did have a sense of humor.

           “Gypsy boys never stay down. They always keep getting up.” Polly gazed out over the ring. “I once broke up a fight between the boys and some Irish kids who they argued with constantly on the streets. Tommy was on the ground and I thought he’d had his entire face kicked in.” She grimaced at the memory of her bloodied nephew, no more than twelve or thirteen at the time. “Could hardly make him out, didn’t think it was him for a moment. I got them separated and out of nowhere Tommy springs up like a fucking animal. Leaped at one of the boys from behind me and brought him to the ground, fucking broke the poor lad's arm like it was a twig.”

           Ada only chuckled even though the event sounded harrowing. “Doesn’t fight like that anymore does he?”

           “Fights behind a desk.” Lizzie agreed. “Wouldn’t want to get those suits of his dirty.”

           Leah smiled weakly but couldn’t get the image of her head. A young Tommy who never stopped fighting. Had he ever stopped? As long as she’d known him, he continued fighting. It was anyone’s guess what he would take on next.

           When the fight began, Leah hadn’t seen Tommy at all in the venue. The rest of the front row seats were all taken except for one that was across the way from her. “Ada, where’s Tom gone off to?” She leaned over, talking in her sister-in-law’s ear so she could hear her over the crowd. The men around them were beginning to get amped up as the fighters made their entrance. The odds looked clearly in their favor.  

           “Polly says he’s been wandering in the back, somewhere in the locker rooms.” She replied.

           Leah stood, an uneasy feeling suddenly coming over her. “I’ll be right back.” She called.

           Ada grabbed her arm. “No, stay! We’ve got plenty more to drink!” She shook the bottle at her, the clear liquid sloshing around.

           She smiled weakly and shook her off. “Well then save some for me.” She made her way through the crowds, finding a hallway that led to a quieter area. Before she reached a doorway, a broad figure came turning a corner and nearly running into her. Leah gasped quietly and stepped back in shock.

           “Sorry, love, didn’t mean to clip ya.” Alfie tipped his hat and glanced up at her from under the wide brim. An amused glint of recognition crossed his blue eyes. “Fucking hell, Rosetta’s girl. Well, ‘scuse me, Mrs. Shelby now, innit?” He placed palm over his heart.

           Leah’s spine locked and she made sure to keep her distance. “Mr. Solomons.” She nodded a curt greeting.

           He smiled. “Be honest, right, I were surprised to hear you were still sticking ‘round Tommy. Then, fuck, I’ve heard you both snuck down to the council to seal the deal, didn’t ya? But he’s gotta knack for keeping women ‘round, don’t he? Reckon it’s them blue eyes, yeah. Makes you forget ‘bout all the things he’s done, aye?” His eyes narrowed as if he were examining right through her and into her soul. “Wonder why he rushed the wedding. Yeah, sorta insurance. Someone to watch after his boy after they’ve gutted him like a pig. Clever lad, ain’t he?”

           Leah didn’t think she could breathe anymore. Panic had overtaken her and risen up to her throat.

           “Yeah, hm, well.” He grunted and tipped his hat again. “I’ve got a train to catch. Have a good fight, Mrs. Shelby.” And with that, Alfie passed by her in the hallway and walked into the light of the venue.

           Leah mindlessly clutched at the necklace she was wearing, trying to get herself to breathe properly again. Worried, she rushed into the room to find Tommy.

           Her husband was sat on a bench, slightly hunched over his knees. He looked to be in pain, most likely a migraine. When he heard her heels on the smooth floor, he glanced up.

           “Tommy,”

           “Yeah, yes…love, what is it?” He didn’t seem to really hear or see her.

           Leah approached him and crouched down to meet his eye-line. “Tommy, look at me please.” She begged.

           He did. But he was looking straight through her. “I see you.”

           Her gloved hand touched his cheek, beckoning him away from the pain. Trying to pull him towards her. Pull him out of the daze that he was stuck in. “What’s going to happen, Tom?” That was the source of her uneasiness. This wasn’t just a night of sport. It was all planned. Tommy held the puppet strings but it was only a matter of time until his grip slipped and everything came tumbling down.

           He didn’t reply. Didn’t say anything that would ease her worry. He simply rested a hand on the nape of her neck, his eyes dancing around her but never truly met her face.

           “If something is going to happen then you need to tell me.” She pressed. “If we’re in danger…”

           “You’re not in danger. Everyone was searched.” His answer was automatic. Rehearsed even. “No weapons are in the building except for the ones we have. Told you I’d protect you.”

           Leah’s pulse quickened and she fought the urge to scream at him. To demand he tell her what his plan was. Instead, she grabbed his hand and moved it to her bare collarbone. To a mark that he had left on her only hours earlier. The bruising bite covered partially by makeup, but not enough that he couldn’t see it.

           “I’m yours, Tommy.” She reminded him. “Every bit of me is yours. Everything.”

           Tommy swallowed and for a hint of a second, his eyes flashed vulnerability. His head tipped forward and kissed the mark he’d left. His lips lingered there for a moment and his eyes closed.

           “See us through this.” She whispered.

           “God’s not listening to any of us anymore.” He mumbled against her skin.

           “I’m not asking God. I’m asking you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Leah returned to her seat with no reassurance. But she attempted to join the women in the fun. Drinking and drunkenly cheering on Bonnie. Still, a dark presence hovered over her shoulder. Everything felt wrong and upside down. A strange nightmare that was completely out of her hands. All she could do was sit, strapped down to reality, and accept the world in front of her.

           Towards the end of the fight, Tommy and Arthur’s seats went up missing again. Polly noticed first and stood up. But Leah didn’t notice as she was turned to Lizzie.

           She didn’t notice anything amiss until the fight was over and the entire building was losing their mind over Bonnie’s win. That’s when Polly returned and whispered something to Linda. The blonde woman’s eyes widened and she crumpled like a leaf in the wind.

           Out of the corner of her eye, Leah noticed Tommy coming in like a wild-eyed horse. He haphazardly ducked under the ropes of the ring and stood in the spotlights. Without warning, he fired shots into the air. The excitement quickly turned to fear and all the onlookers ducked.

           “Close the doors!” Tommy shouted. “No one fucking leaves!”

           Leah’s heart pounded against her chest and she slowly lifted herself up a little to inch towards the ring.

           “My brother is dead!”

           A hushed shock waved over the room. Hardly anyone moved a muscle, terrified they’d fall victim to a Shelby with a gun.

           “Do you hear me?!” Tommy’s voice raised even louder. “My brother is dead!”

           Leah slipped under the ring ropes and tried for the gun. Grabbing a hold of it and trying to wrestle it away from him before he did anything rash.

           Tommy reacted, trying to shake her off. But instead, she grabbed onto him and refused to let go. She let him fight for a moment before he went limp in her arms.

           The venue erupting into chaos around them. Accusations and grief suddenly filling the large space. Leah clung to Tommy, feeling him breathe heavily and unevenly against her. Drops of sweat pressing into her bare shoulders. His knees buckled and Leah couldn’t hold him upright. So they fell to the ground together.

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[xottzot]

2018-04(APR)-21ST--SATURDAY--(before NOON & leading up to it AND afterwards)---the always aboriginal ones have been tearing around Koongamia School and ON the roads...AGAIN....

2018-04(APR)-21ST--SATURDAY--(before NOON & leading up to it)---the always aboriginal ones have been tearing around Koongamia School and ON the roads...AGAIN....

One of THOSE offroad motorcycles that were brought along on the back of that ute vehicle into the aboriginal criminal househeold the other day, it has been tearing around the Koongamia School area and oval all morning AND the roads and up to midday noon......and it went along and pulled up ON the road outside the aboriginal criminals household. There the small aboriginal kid on it (wearing no helmet of coure) struggled to hold it upright. That's how young and short he was. He had turned the engine off as he rode along ON THE ROAD past the Koongamia shops area, then turned the engine off and was on it coasting it on the road until he stopped outside on the road and then he stopped it beside the kerb. He did that beside the kerb because he is too small and short and young to reach down with his leg to be on the thing and to put his foot down to the ground.

Was THAT was the reason for the Police siren this morning?

He got off it and a horde of aboriginals including adults who had been on the Koongamia School oval area with him, they swarmed across from the Koongamia School oval carpark area and crossed onto the road of Kalara Way.

An innocent car came along from the Koongamia Shops direction and one of the woman LOUDLY screamed and yelled at an aboriginal toddler who was walking on the road with them all and was apart from them, and it scuttled off the road and stood by on the kerb further apart for them as the others just stayed on the road and moved to one side which somewhat allowed the car to slowly drive past, turn onto Clayton Street and drive away.

This is a very rare instance of 'being responsible'....as they perceive it. - Worse than this has been going on for so many years including toddlers wandering ON the roads in diapers in traffic.....

The car was gone and the group began to disperse, some going ito fatguts aboriginal household and the others going into the aboriginal household across the road from there which has risen up to be the dominant bad one in the streets and has remained that way for so many years....though often it seems they are the SAME and actually ARE very much the same and one.......the same shit just in two different house places spread across the road from each other........

(That rise up has occured AFTER dear Fliss left here but when she was here it was Fatguts aboriginal place that was the very worst you can imagine in criminal incidents and truly countless Police incidents including drug dealing and violence......).

That motorbike stayed there on the street as the aboriginal kid tried in vain to hold it up and manipulate any footstand for it. Nor could he get up on it now that he was off of it because nobody was around to hold the offroad motorcyle up or else it would have crashed to the ground/road. - Do you get an idea how small and 'young' he was?

The others walked up and then the aboriginal youth, (the one who hides up in trees to escape searching Police finding him), he came along wearing a red shirt and took the motorcyle from the small kid and very quickly wheeled it into the driveway and yard of the aboriginal criminal household where it was concealed from sight of any wandering/cruising Police vehicle driving along the streets marked or unmarked Police vehicles.

This day is now overcast as I type this but has been largely clear sky and warm to hot. - It's supposed to rain.

Almost EVERYTIME the weather is like this sees a rise in shit. Today has been no exception.

It is 'supposed' to rain says the forecast and the area forecast for this hellhole. It may very well rain. The roads and dirt tracks will get wet and so diguise anything that has ben going on, also all over the Koongamia School area...And on the Koongamia school oval. - There are no fences there except around the school buildings themselves because of all the constant rampant crime and breaking and enterings there. They had to install high barbed-wire fencing. I doubt whether it stems all the crime. - AND the entire barbed wire fencing is coloured black to make it seem unless you look closer that there is NO FENCING LIKE THAT THERE.....but there is.

The Koongamia oval is completely unfenced. And it has always been that way. Hence the shitheads tearing all about on it on motorbikes now. Even the youngest of them, far too young and children to even have a drivers license learners permit they tear all about on unlicensed motorbikes of all kinds all over ON the roads and the oval and anywhere they damn well feel like it with perceived impunity....and into Bellevue and Greenmount and Helena Valley, and outer reaches of Guildford, and even further, even into Midland itself though the authorities have tried to tamp down everything because it's too embaressing for them all. Any innocent people just have to 'put up' with all the extra attention by Police and authorities if they get accidently ensnared by all of it. But for the most part, those shitheads in this hellhole do whatever the hell they want......and they damn the poor innocents here......

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After all of that above.........

From out of the same household that the motrobike was 'stashed at'....and aboriginal man walks out drinking and carrying a bottle of booze....... - He walks across the road and is called to Fatguts aboriginal household by somebody there and so he walks into their unfenced yard for a few moments then comes out minus the bottle of booze he was carrying and drinking from..........he walks out and away from the street corner to wherever........

As all this is going on and has been going on, a group of kids has been congregating at the front of the unfenced brick fenced house in Kalara Way, opposite the now emptied unfenced corner house of Kalara Way.....those 'residents' have left and have scattered to who-knows-where.........

At the unfenced brick house in Kalara Way there has been a group of kids and older all congregating outside on the front verge under the tree and front letterbox area there........that was where the aboriginal man drinking the bottle of booze had walked out from it seems. Theere is a pile of junk and rubbish heaped out on the front yard of that place including a canopy that covers a utility vehicle rear (a ute). It looks like it has been 'salvaged' from a rubbish tip and it is propped up on it's side against the tree there along with other junk. Some of the kids fossick all about the area but they stay all tight knit and close around the front door of the house there. - Free alcohol for the kids they are getting? - Stuff like that goes on all the time around this hellhole area.....and worse......

The small kid who was riding ON the motorbike on the school grounds and oval and all over the roads has run off and joined them all. He completely disregards what has gone on before. He acts and appears as if he is just an innocent kid there with them all. And THAT'S how it looks whenever at that moment to any roaming vehicle drives around this hellhole.

It is still supposedly the 'school holidays'. - I wonder if the Koongamia school will be tried to be burned down by them so they don't have to go back to school in a few days time? - Stuff like that abounds around this hellhole area now. - And weekends like today are very ripe.

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At about 1:30pm.........

A lot of things happen all-at-once and yet all part of this hellhole......

A 4WD? ute vehicle comes along Kalara Road driven by the almost bald? (or VERY close-cropped dark hair) aboriginal woman of the unfenced household Kalara Way (where the pile of junk/rubbish/refuse is outside and the rear canopy section of a utility vehicle is now propped up on it's side against the tree there, its rear window swung wide open and just hanging open.

The ute is towing an open trailer and an orange plastic garbage bin is inside it. It is probably just more rubbish collected and brought to there.

She parks it all on the street verge there, then busily starts unhooking the open trailer.......

Over from fatguts place, the aboriginal youth (the one who for years would hide up in trees from searching Police), he comes out wearing his orange/red shirt and saunters up to the vehicles drivers side and begins to talk to the close-cropped haired woman who has just got back into it again after unhitching and pushing/pulling the open trailer aside into the unfenced front yard there under tree cover. Of course he never helped at all. That's not the way they do things around this hellhole.

He causally starts talking to her, it's usually the start of badgering somebody for something. But he seems to get nowhere and he turns around and goes to step out onto the road.......

Straight ito the path of a slow moving oncoming light truck towing it's own open trailer behind it.

The youth pauses and couldn't care less but stands on the flat street kerb and watches it slowly go past and almost accuses the vehicle of getting in HIS way. It goes down to the Clayton street intersection, turns and drives away towards Midland direction. Then he walks on the road and goes back to Fatguts place once again.

1:32pm Robert comes out of his bedroom and is loudly whispering-to-himself and goes into the kitchen and puts on the multi-litre hot water jug.......then stuffs around making himself a single cup of tea........he returns out of there whispering to himself and carries it into his bedroom and he moves as always as if he he is about to angrily lash out and hit anyone or anything........he already is priming himself by his whisperings to himself........

He is in his open-door bedroom now and whispering and muttering to himself louder and louder and now he is actually exclaiming LOUDLY to himself in gutteral tones and in sudden outbursts.......poor Sam and poor Max are in the living room and staying out of the way but they can't always remain that way........he noisily unwraps biscuits or something.....a thing which will entice the poor dogs into him there.......

He continues on with his mutterings, and because of his mutterings he clears his throat over and over again.......because he is talking so much to himself you see.....

Outside around at 2:03pm that usual half-insane neighbours dog is very loudly barking at something such as intruders it perceives or who are walking around.......

The dog keeps barking loudly and then stops......a loud car starts up somewhere....and it begins roaring its engine......

Now.......a motorbike engine is heard.......is it THAT motorbike AGAIN.......all to come out and do what has already been doing all morning...or another one from the exact same aboriginal household.......

The dog restarts barking loudly........

Then it all stops.

False calm.

Robert clears his throat loudly....and begins talking to himself loudly again but not loudly enough to be understood......he is playing on his games machine wearing headphones but that's what he has been doing all day and every day that he strives to always do whenever he is not at work........

All this upset dear Fliss all the time and what Robert has dengenerated down into....and it upset me and upsets me.

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At Ms New Age's rented corner house there has been hammer-banging-on-wood for MANY hour all after noon and before midday.

It seems as though the innocent man there is putting up an INSIDE latice wooden fence inside the property there.....

Earlier I saw the house & property owner gentle Ms New Age (Marina?) herself drive to there and visit, so it's all going on with her approval. It's alright in that respect.

The very outside corner of the front fence has had a section of new latticework installed there today by the man, and THAT is to stop criminals from climbing over it and entering into the property AS HAS HAPPENED countless times before and by the roaming criminals and the criminal aboriginals AND which has seen the Police there so many times dealing with all that.

EVERYBODY knows who the criminals doing it, but nobody is allowed to do anything about it, and the law itself stops anyone from doing anything....and so the Police and authorities are almost constant 'visitors' to the aborigial criminal households about this hellhole....and that STILL is not enough....and their toddlers and in diapers and kids roam the streets day and night on ANY day or night......

At 2:30pm there was noise from the streets....3 aboriginal toddlers were bawling and almost screaming again.....and the following is why........an aboriginal woman was standing there after having been to the Koongamia shops with another woman. The aboriginal woman was holding a frozen icecream in her hands. The toddlers were bawling and screaming and demanding to have it. Literally.

Bang, bang bang goes the knocking of nails into timber...........waaaaaahhhhh! and screaming from the aboriginal toddlers.......overhead flies a light plane......traffic goes past to/from the Koongamia shops....waaaaaahhhhh! waaaaaahhhhh!! waaaaaahhhhh!!!! goes the screaming.......

And out into the backyard is poor Sam and poor Max wondering what the fucking hell is going on.......I'd just let them outside and was with them and making sure feral cats weren't roaming all over this backyard upsetting everything and fouling everything.....which I have to clean up ALL the damn time......

waaaaaahhhhh! waaaaaahhhhh!! waaaaaahhhhh!!!! goes the screaming louder.......

Then it suddenly stops because the aboriginal woman has eaten her share of the red? icecream and has decided to hand it over to one of the toddlers. They all start slowly walking to fatguts place, the young boy who USED to live at Ms New Age's place when they rented it there is with them again....

The innocent man renting that place is currently is busy hammering onto wood.......A LOT and has been for hours.

ANOTHER INCIDENT----------At 2:56pm there was some sort of loud yelling outside AGAIN in the Kalara Road street..........observed was an innocent neighbour coming outside onto her front property to try to see what the hell was going on too. She was accompanied for her safety by a companion.

A woman came walking along (striding along fast carrying plastic bags of ?) from the Koongamia shops direction. - The innocent neighbour looked to the huge noise commotion going on at the Koongamia shops area.....the walking woman on the street stopped and words were exchanged by the neighbour and the neighbur waved her hand to just go away, the young woman on the street looked very agitated. The innocent neighbour has been physcially assaulted in the past (in these very streets?) so a male companion was justifiable safety for her standing nearby in her yard property.

The old guy of the tall green corrugated fenced place was standing where he usually stands in his property, on the inside of it all, at his metal gate, and this time he was wielding a tall broomstick handle or something and was busy banging it on the outside of his gate. He USED to have all sorts of rough hand painted (by him) slogans and warnings all over his fence and gate warning every bastard to keep the hell away and out of his home property.

He was banging his gate with the stick, the innocent neighbour was yelling at him to shut the fuck up, and the woman on the street might have been yelling at the innocent neighbour AND the old man with the stick all at the same time....and the old man was probably yelling at a huge VERY loud yelling that was ALSO going on at the Koongamia shops area, as was the innocent neighbour woman who had come out to see what all the hell was going on.........it sounded like a mini-riot at the Koongamia shops area.

The woman walked down and loitred for several seconds on the front verge of the aboriginal criminal household, then suddenly turned and crossed the road and went straight into fatguts aboriginal criminal household........

STOP PRESS:-----at 3:06pm....from out of the criminal aboriginals household has AGAIN come THAT loud offroad motorcyle and it was being followed by other runnning-on-foot aboriginal and youths from there and it came out on the Kalara Way street, started up there by a youth with no helmet on, and it tore off down Kalara Way street and across Clayton Street and onto the Koongamia School oval and property AGAIN. An innocent car went past on Clayton Street just after it shot across there and to the school property.

Bang, bang, bang, bang...goes the wood knocking again by an innocent neighbour.......again goes the barking of the crazed dog who hears it all......

At 3:24pm.......THAT offroad motorcyle comes along AGAIN....this time ON THE ROAD from the Koongamia shops direction....it has a diffent aboriginal on it controlling it AND an aboriginal youth ALSO on its pillion rear........(the original rider that took off on wearing a distinctive red patterend shirt has been replaced by another one)......

The engine is turned off and it coasts along the road for a distance through the Kalara intersection and rolls straight into the driveway and yard of the aboriginal criminal household in Kalara Way street........ several aboriginals roam up from the Koongamia oval and cross Clayton Street to rush up to to all. One of them is an adult and the adult male? walks off and goes into fatguts aboriginal household whilst the others take their time walking up Kalara Way street.

BTW, one thing I saw was that a small white sedan had rushed from the Koongamia shops area just AFTER the woman and the neighbours had all had words.........it was NOT a Police car, or at least not a marked Police car in any way, but the person in it looked to be wearing a uniform? - It went to the end of Kalar Road street, turned around and speedily went back the way it had arrived.

ONCE AGAIN....all a mish-mash of things all going on all around the same time or all following quickly one after the other.......and related.........

And you wonder why I am never ever allowed to rest?!? - Even when I just lay down and quietly do nothing at all.......

At 4pm......false calm.......

Bang, bang, bang, bang...still goes the wood knocking by the innocent neighbour.

The day is getting dark and overcast but inside here is still too hot.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

I love you dear Fliss and want to be with YOU. - Poor Sam & poor Max and myself are again upset by all this stuff going on....and it's not even dark yet.

Everytime I dare to lay down and try to relax....something goes on......something shitty.......

It may not sound like anything of consequence to YOU dear reader whomever you are, but this shit goes on and has been going on for many YEARS. It didn't used to be like this. It was a lovely quiet place to live and full of hope and caring and friendliness and consideration. That was why dear Fliss and I lived here and why were intending to marry when she decided our finances could withstand it all because she was under severe monetary problems of her own, even before I ever met or knew dear Fliss. Please do NOT blame dear Fliss for any of this hellhole. It all happened AFTER she arrived here and dear Fliss had nothing bad to do with it all and neither did I and neither have I and neither has inncocent neighbours. -- And yet surely YOU dear reader can see for yourself and has seen for years the hell it all is. - I wish for a peaceful death and final escape from all the hell but I also wish very most of all to be reunited with dear innocent Fliss and be allowed to live the proper lives we have been denied for so very long, no matter how much we were truthful and honest and kind and caring and sharing and considerate and self-sacrificing to each other and all others even the ones who never deserved it. --- And you wonder why I have such terrible nightmares all the damned time and utter despair?

Now there is the sounds of sirens out and about on Great Eastern Highway....Police? - Now they have stopped as quickly as they started.

I MUST stop writing all this now. You can see how it all just keeps going on and on and on and on......Robert is loudly whispering to himself still.......poor dear Sam and dear Max need to go outside before it might rain as it is forecast to rain......Roberts whisperings are louder.......I have had something meagre to eat....it was just greasy smears of flavour wrapped within fat.......but it is nothing nourishing or worthwhile at all....I gave poor Sam and poor Max some of it because they eagerly savour for it whenever I have any of it......

But NOT like those kids begging for an icecream in the street and rolling around in the dirt to get their way or else......

I love YOU dear Fliss I always have done so, you know that, I always said that to you and meant it no matter how awful your conditions became and I took care of you and us, and I want to be with YOU.

and I am being destroyed to my soul by not being with you and all this never ending hell

And you wonder why I have such terrible nightmares.......

[xottzot]

2017-10(OCT)-01st-Sunday

2017-10(OCT)-01st-Sunday.

Firstly, my apolgies for accidently putting down the wrongly typed date as the 20th when it should have been the 30th of September 2017. It was just a slip of the finger in typing. Both posts hve been edited by me to correctly show the correct date...not that anybody cares or bothers.

Things are almost at their shitty criminal 'normal' for around this hellhole today on Sunday....

A lone car parked for many hours in an open totally empty carpark next to the Koongamia school oval (to keep an eye looking up into the Kalara Way street)....so they can gather intelligence to formulate new ways to cover things up.....

I saw a duo walked up the foopath during the day, one young man and one African? or aboriginal woman, aimlessly walking along the foopath past the scene of last nights riot with the aboriginals.

The duo were aimlessly walking about, first to the shops area, then returning but then going through the criminals pedestrian walkway......

Around 3:35pm....criminal aboriginals, an adult female wheeling a pram with an aboriginal brat in it for an alias and a younger aboriginal criminal openly invaded the 2 Kalara Way property AGAIN and went around the back, through a gate that is normally closed SHUT, and they eventually exited through the driveway. They casually walked on down and went into the 6 Kalara Way, Koongamia, Western Australia, aboriginal criminal household that was the scene of all teh shit last night, the assaults, the screams, the smashing, and everything else.

Later they're doing it ALL again they're roming all around over and over endlessly, teaching the younger abo girls to be just like the adults, and AGAIN they invaded that porperty. They actually go out of their way to to invade it. It's not an 'accident' or any other lame arse excuse that POLICE and authorities are forced to accept (but they do). - And all this is winding up and along. And nothing will happen.

Maybe there's going to be another riot in the streets? - Maybe there's going to be MORE smashing and invading of that property? - They've been entering it so much now that they've taken 'possession' of it wnd will smash it all up just like they did with 'Ms New Ages' place. - And STILL nobody ever believed anything I said, and WHO was doing it all.

All that is just 'normal' for them all because they are all criminals. You should have no pity whatsoever at all for those fuckers. They exploit others 'pity' to their own ends and leave destroyed lives in their wakes. THAT is the way they wantonly live and DEMAND to live. And in any 'NEWS' you only ever read one side of it all...the criminals side. - Get rid of them ALL.

Another vehicle parked strangely about....dunno what that was about.

Earlier a vehicle (4WD or SUV type) full of aboriginals drive into the aboriginla house next door to the main aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD, which has today seemd to be VERY VERY quiet and subdued. - Funny that eh?

It seems the criminal 'poor innocent darlings' were taken away becaus eof last nigts violent shit in the streets JUST OUTSIDE OF THEM and across the road from them that they all had a hand in.

Daytrips and 'holidays' for the crimanal kiddies.....THAT happens almost everytime. And it's all bullshit they do. - CRAZY shit. - Nobody believes how 'rewarded' the criminal aboriginals are even when they perform criminal shit upon themselves and their 'friends' they get 'rewared'.....whilst everyone who is innocent suffers....

If anyoen tries to dig a little deeer they soon run up against the OTHER reason for aboriginla-upon-aboriginal violence..........'yeah, they're aboriginals...so what? - They're not 'our mob'......'

Internecine violence based on mafia-like lines.

Sunday darkness of night is still to eventuate. That is very likely to mean MORE invading of houses and properties, and possibly MORE violent shit in the streets.

No good counting on the West Australian POLICE for anything. They're too busy bitching about wanting to be paid more for 'all their troubles as part of their jobs'. - And so trying to get them to so anything at this hellhole that has a lasting impact for innocents is totally useless. - They are the servants of aboriginals and the vested interests who are using aboriginals. Politicians and rich bastards.

Like a certain rich millionaire in Western Australia who never can do enough to supopsedly 'help' aboriginals whilst decrying all the woe and shit. But in the background he's still making a LOT of money and I daresay has a new lifelong profitable 'career' in being involved in it all for his own selfish life. -- He's just announced in the NEWS a new attack upon companies for their supposed part in the aboriginals exploitation and yet anyone who has been 'exploited', more than willingly entered into it all fully knowing beforehand everything because it's part of open Australian culture and has been for many many decades. -- It' amazing that a rich fucker says something and everyone never bothers to ask questions about anything about it all. But then again, he's making millions on what he does, what he sems to do, what he has planned...and everything else that's conveniently forgotten about in all the media hype and propaganda.

But that's okay because he's a 'man of the people'......(trademark probably pending).

---------------------------------

I've stated it countless times that aboriginal men are VERY violent and criminal, just about everyone in Australia knows that, but the females are JUST as and quite often MORE violent than the males. People only find that out after they have been robbed, or assaulted or worse by them.

And of coure there's a new round of engineered bullshit 'woe is us' shit in the NEWS......and it features women (woman are used all the time to try to gain pathos) from the Australian population to try to get them to back them.

http://www.abc.net.au/news/2017-10-01/dont-ask-us-to-get-over-the-stolen-generations,-member-says/9003010

Translation:--- We are the ones who will carry on the fight and violence forevermore even when you least expect it. Maybe not us....but your neighbours.....

---------------------------------

4:20pm....a scooter (registered, but that's never a cretainty), just came tearing through the criminals pedestrian walkway and rode away tearing away. - Sam old, same old bullshit. The fuckers can do ANYTHING they like. And they have routines that must adhere to.- All this has been going on for YEARS.

Still not dark yet. Which is the race-start flag to be wave for crime and criminals. all this shit is just leading up to it. -- ALL this shit has been going on for YEARS.

Before it was all happening upon Ms New Age's place. It escalted. It was investigated. NOBODY DID ANYTHING AND NOTHING WAS DONE. - Then it all was repeated...and repeated....and repeated....and repeated....and repeated endlessly. It was investigated. NOBODY DID ANYTHING AND NOTHING WAS DONE. - Then it all was repeated...and repeated....

The it was set upon and smashed up. It was investigated. NOBODY DID ANYTHING AND NOTHING WAS DONE.

The place was resumed by gentle Ms New Age, and the massive repairs are forever ongoing.

And because they place has agents of Ms New Age there, the criminal aboriginals have simply switched across the road to the unfence corner house to smash and invade it and have long since instaged it all to keep going ON and ON and ON and ON and ON and ON and ON and ON and ON...until they get 'rewarded'.

That's how these criminal fuckers operate. Keep doing shit. Nobody can handle them or deal with them. - Then the rampant quiet 'placating' of the criminal aboriginals moves in.....I've seen ALL of this shit going on for YEARS at this hellhole.

By the way, I saw a little article in one of the latest community NEW papers for a person in Midland who was organising adults to get back into bicyling for their health and so on. All that is commendable and normal. -- But NO aboriginals AT ALL EVER WEARS BICYCLE HELMETS EVER. NOT EVEN IN FRONT OF POLICE WHO JUST LET THEM DO THAT, WHILST AT THE SAME TIME COMING DOWN HARD UPON ANYONE ELSE FOR NOT WEARING A BICYCLE HELMET WHICH IS THE LAW. ---- So...riding bicycles is a protected 'traditional' aboriginal thing is it and they are exempt from any and all laws? - That goes for EVERYTHING they aboriglas do to around this hellhole.

Once again.....NONE of that you will ever see in the NEWS, least of all in any community NEW papers.

If a vehicel ever strikes an aboriginal on any road, it's automatically assumed its the drivers faults and they come down so VERY hard uopn them. And exactly the same happens to aboriginals and shitheads of all ages on motorbikes (licensed or not or ANY type), and motorised motorbikes, and skateboards, and roller skates, and even just deliberately running out in into the path of oncoming cars......it's always hammered to everyone that it's the fault of the innocent cars and drivers.

And the other thing the media is utterly rampant guilty of is NEVER mentioning that a shithead was guilty of doing something illegal. Instead they just take a totally bizarre stance of totally NEVER mentioning it AT ALL. - Absolutely fucking crazy.

Online NEWS is worse because they just re-edit the already published NEWS article, and continually 'massage' all NEWS stories to be devoid of truthfulness and so NEWS has long since become worthless through omission. (GUILTY THROUGH OMISSION)

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I love you dear Fliss and want to be with you. -- Sam has once again had VERY loud terrible nightmares, crying and whining and howling in his sleep. Max was the same but to a lesser extent. - There is no volcano for us all to throw ourselves into and die and escape.

[xottzot]

2017-5(MAY)-07-Sunday.

Firstly, I apologise for this late entry for Sunday. It was completed on Monday becaue events lead into Monday.....and then things went on and on and on Monday too.....

2017-5(MAY)-07-Sunday.

Please forgive my typing errors. Still in pain and with injury.

I innocently tried to speak to a person today and educate them of this hellhole.

They were aghast. And they were incredulous. And they no doubt thought that surely there coulnd't be anywhere this bad as I had stated to them.

And they were aghast at hearing about toddlers in diapers running about the roads.

But I was very hesitant to tell them further because I am never believed.

That person now knows just the tiniest slivers of truth about this hellhole area, and they will try to wash it all from their mind and memory. It will all be forgotten. And I will be considered somebody 'crazy' for even to have said anything, or for even to have attempted to say anything. Nobody is supposed to know anyting about any of it apparently.

Until they hear other innocent peple ALSO telling the same pieces of informtion to them.......only THEN will they suddenly realise the hellhole here.

Early this morning a somewhat mature woman walking with a mature aboriginal man, neither lives about here (and neither was respectable looking), they began slowly walking out of the criminal pedstrian walkway at the west end of Kalara Road that joins straight into another road of a completely different suburb, (which belongs and is goverened by a totally different government shire called Mundaring Shire). The place these two walked from, these are the criminal walkways that are used by them all every night and day to 'vanish' and hide from Police and authorities, and to wander about causing crime in all areas.

Mundaring Shire is a backward shire that does not even provide footpaths in the location that was built in their shire. Hence everyone there just walking about on roads. A trait that it taught in children who also do the same.

The place was once called "Clayton Estate" in its devolpmental and sale selling days, and the place was actually sheep holding paddocks beforehand which I grew up nearby and freely was able to associate with allthose poor creature who were destined for death at the nearby Midland Abbatoirs (since gone). -- And so that's why I still to this day refer to it as "Clayton Estate" but nobody knows what I'm talking about now. It's a long-neglected parcel of area land that's goverened by the backward Mundaring Shire council.

The pedestraina walkways were innovative in their days, and well used by evryone innocent. But now it's the criminals and shitheads that frequent them so much, and they're use to evade and escape from Police and to hide from others their true destinations of their travelling or even where they themselves truly live.

I hate having to always keep repeating and telling people things which are solid FACT of this hellhole, but otherwise their meinds leap to convincing themselves that everything is 'normal'....when in fact it is so far from normal they don't want to know anything except what they only consider is their little piece of knowledge.

The mature-aged man & woman came slowly walking out of there, and began walking on the roads of Koongamia. And the woman paused, turned and LOUDLY yelled out a name, I've forgotten what it was, as a placeholder name just accept "Raylene" as a name that she was yelling out.

"Raylene!"

It was a 'calling' kind of LOUD yell. This person did NOT want to go into the land of the picketted rental corner house, and so she stood there on the road and loudly yelled out.

Of course I have no idea who she is calling out to, and nor would I want to ever know. The mother? The daugter? Somebody else staying there? Or some drug addict abo hiding out in the yards somewhere?

She yelled AGAIN, just as loudly. Again no respsonse at all.

She yelled AGAIN for a third time, just as loudly. And again no respsonse at all.

And so the aboriginal man and this woman, they slowly walked along on the road and towards the Koongamia shops area.

The above event is just a whisper of the shit that goes on around this hellhole area. The two people of course do NOT live at the place she was yelling into, and indeed I have no idea who (if anyonoe) at all she was even yelling to.

Quite often aboriginals are roaming about and they dive into the rented corner house and property, and they hide. They hide from Police. They hide from people looking for them, they especially hide from other aborignals, and when they go into there they just carry on in there WORSE than if they owned the place.

Later on in the morning, there, at the same rented prpertty, there was movement about in the yard. It was a young aboriginal? woman lurking silently about in the shadows.

A different small kid, an aboriginal girl, she came out of the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD, trepassed straight across and through the innocent resident front property which is between the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD, and the re-fenced corner rented household which had this young aboriginal woman skulking about in the property.

The kid was vocally called-over by the skulking young woman. The kid fearlesly boldy strode straight through the other dividing middle innocent neighbours front property, their very front yard, and the small aboriginal girl went to the section of 'dividing' property fence which has a massive hole it it done by criminal aboriginals to give them complete acceess to trespass and not be overtly seen doing so bodily just walking into there.

Whatever they simply talked of, or if they passed somthing to each other is uknown. (a more harsher person might think it was a drug delivery, or was payment for a previous drugs delivery)

Please do NOT think that just because the picket fence had had the MANY and HUGE holes repaired to make it look like a fence again, please do not think that the fence keeps ANYONE out of invading the property at will at any time night or day. -- The driveway gates are left wide open, the dividing fence still has holes in it big anough to admit an adult man to just easily pass through it (as exact event of which occurred later on today), and the criminal aboriginals don't care about anyone or anything.

The young woman who was in the yard property of the picketted corner houshold, went to, met, and talked quietly with the girl, and then they both parted. The young woman in the rented corner yard skulked off into the deep shadows and foliage whilst the aborigial girl turned around, and went straight back the way she had come...across the next door innocent neighbours entire front yard, and then the small girl walked straight into the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD where she had first came out of. -- All the above only took a couple of minutes.

Children also have long been used as 'couriers' in this hellhole area. They also are conduits to exchange communications so as to appear that 'nothing' is going on. -- The aboriginal drug dealer 'Fatguts' used that system and children and other aboriginals a lot.

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Other minor things in the morning......

A woman walked out of the criminal walkway, walked along the road, then crossed to go onto the footpath where she very slowly dawdled walking along as if just being a normal person out for a walk and going somewhere else. -- But she kept looking over to the aborginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD.

She slowly left the footpath, crossed the road, and sat on the low brick fence of the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD.

A litle afterwards, two criminal aboriginal children came out of there, joined her, and the trio walked slowly to the Koongamia shops area......

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Sunday mornings used to be a quiet time for residents to regain respite and strength to face the oncoming week of work, as well as the rise of the criminals.

Sunday morning.....is now just a re-organsing of criminal shit that was going on Saturday and in the darkness of Saturday night....and all the other days of criminality

There is no longer any respite any more. There has not been for an immensely great deal of time.

If you let your guard down then the criminals just dive in and will prey upon you, your property, your loved ones, yout dear cherished pets, or upon you yourself.

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Garden waste Swan Council pickup is not until 22-May. It's whereby the council picks up your tree branches and stuff.

But the aboriginals aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD doesn't ever care about any of that. They do whatever they want to and then expect 'somebody' to just come along and clean it up for them.

This is their normal attitude to everything. And it extends to the criminal children they harbour and never take care of.

There has been a huge pile of branches thrown out there upon their rented verge overflowing onto the road (occasionally thrown back onto the pile to 'pretend they are 'respectable'), or those actions might merely be the result of some roaming 'departmentals' acting like they are trying to instill normality to the place.

If it was ANYONE elses place, they would have had authorities down upon them like a ton of bricks, epecially with all the fires all around being lit and out of control by unknonwn others which has made the local news.

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A innocent jaded real-estate woman has driven along the streets and picked up the 'home open' advertising sign she had earlier propped upon road corner(s) whilst she was manning a house that is 4-SALE. -- On previous weekend I have seen her also doing this.

This is ordinary

It's for Westells ol' ghouse.

The house for sale I know well. It is situated directly ACROSS from the Koonganmia general store and shops area.

As I child I knew the family and the boy who loved there, Tim Westell (spelling?) was his name. But of course like everyoe else, nobody who grew up here with me is here anywhere now.

The small house itself I would like to have, but the location....it is truly in a TERRIBLE PLACE.

Since crime and criminality has skyrockketed and exploded in the past year or two, criminals and criminal aboriginals like to hang around the shops area A LOT. And the carpark slopes DOWN backwards onto the road so cars back down, drive over the flat kerb, and smash it the wooden picket fence of the house 4-Sale. (I've seen that fence repaired many, many time) And not only that, but shitheads walking along on the fotpath outside that fence, espcecially aboriginals, they love destroying shit and so they kick and smash fence pickets there. - Then there are the cars with the screaming tyres issuing acrid smoke from their almost-blowing-up-engines..............So is this a place you want to live in? No wonder the residents are so desperete to get away. - EVERYONE WANTS TO GET THE HELL OUT OF KOONGAMIA. A hellhole in a place where you think life would be so nice......

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Felicity, and Rachel, please be aware that the criminal aboriginal FATGUTS the drug dealer has won. -- Apparently he was forcibly evicted from the drug house and moved away. But now the exact same house and land has been given over to MORE aborginals, and those aboriginals are VERY closely doing (whatever) activity with the two other aboriginal households (number 3 and number 5) Kalara Way streets. Really, truly.....

Already he's had rough looking vehicles pulling up and staying there out te front. -- JUST LIKE IN FATGUTS TIME.......

Fatguts....despite him and some of his cohorts being evicted from the 6 Kalara Way rental brick house in early 2016........the house is now back in service again as an aboriginal house. and THAT house is not existing in isolation but is entwined to a great degree with number 3 & 6 just over the small road across from them.

It's a dream Fatguts always wanted....to have all the aboriginal houses linked together, and under his reign of criminality. He would have been their 'king'.

I think I need to create a new graphc to explain all of this and its scope......

At the moment there are now 3 aboriginal household all within a literal stonesthrow from each other. And it might be 4 or 5.......

That's how Fatguts started his drug delaer house empire. He had THAT house, and he an an ancillary house across the road from there at 3 Kalara Way. That houses aboriginal whackos and criminal and aboriginal children who are also whacko and criminal.

And let me repeat the history of the rental 3 Kalara Way house........it once was the home of kind and gentle woman with two young sons. But she was finding life VERY hard because of all the rampant drug dealer activity and all the other shit that was going on there at 6 Kalara Way across the road from her by 'Fatguts'. One night he went beserk on the streets, and he stormed into her yard and tried to get her to come out of her house so he could get at her. She refused. Both dear Fliss and myself constacted West Australian Police and we were told MANY people had contacted them for the same reason. The West Australian Police (eventually) came and arrested him near the Koongamia shops but that arrest only lasted a short time. -- So she subsequently left, and took her children with her. -- But 'Fatguts' won. And that VERY same house, has now become the current aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD, that house was used by the aboriginal drug dealer 'Fatguts' to deflect any attention of him and his criminal drug dealing. - Indeed I do wonder if some of 'Fatguts' own 'lieutenants' took it over and housed it with abo kids to further cheat any and all systems. All their criminal lesons have been well-learned.

NOBODY is allowed to say ANYTHING now about aborigines unless it's 'good news' stories or some bullshit propaganda piece fit for media use.

P.16:15---for Sunday 7-May-2017 and posted on Monday 8-May-2017 instead--- I could not post this days entry on the day because of illness, rampant crime, and terrible pain. --- I love you Fliss and want to be with you. - Max has become VERY growley once again. Both poor dogs are having terrible nightmares every time they sleep. I am the same. I will not even speak about the ones I have of my own. So much of our non-sleep is because of those which wander the streets night and day whenever I try to sleep.

[xottzot]

2017-2(FEB)-01-Wednesday-2017--high strangeness here in this hellhole along with the same.

2017-2(FEB)-01-Wednesday-2017--high strangeness here in this hellhole along with the same.

It's like the year has reset even though this is a new year in this hellhole.

I thought I yesterday spotted a 'Watcher' walking the streets here. They seem to be some sort of government or departmental 'watchers' & staff of and for the criminal aboriginals. (look back in my blog to find countless examples of them, especially in the early parts of the hellhole the aboriginals have made this area.

In the past I have seen bizarre things...Watchers vehicles very quietly drive up to the aborginals rented house before any dawn, and disgorge utterly drunken, staggering aborigines who then wander into the aboriginal criminal household, only to wander out again a short time later and be all over the streets.

And that included the aborginal mad drunk/drugged-up screaming woman (literally who screamed and shrieked and swore at the top of her voice day and night) whilst travelling about wheeling a 2 wheeled trolley, or most often a stolen supermarket food cart full of blankets and bedding and pillows and stuff she's steal from peoples yards she passed, and then she'd give some of those things to the criminal children of the criminals household to play with or who knows what the hell she did with the junk....pawn it?

She'd doss-out at the evicted aboriginal drug dealer house across the road from there until she too was thrown out of there COUNTLESS times, by workmen who had come day afer day to rennovate that place, repair the countless smashed (and re-re-smashed) inner walls and exterior windows etc, that she and other aboriginals across the road from the aborginal criminal household would do on a daily/nightly basis. -- All that went on and on and on....she would go to the aboriginal criminal house, stay a night or so, be thrown out of there, she would go off down the creek or into Midland for a short while, then return and 'camp out' again and wheedle her way back into the aborginal criminal household...until she'd be tossed out again......and the whole proces repeated week after week after month after months.....

Well she's long gone now for several months. The last episode with her was that mad woman verses a huge front-end loader and driver that was preparing groundworks for a new building next the evicted drug dealers house.

Afer then, she finally (but only after many more incidents), she was no longer about. - I overheard her boasting to another aboriginal woman that 'they' had found her a new place to live. (in as suburb far far from here) - I pity that suburb wherever it was.

Throughout all that period, the 'Watchers' were all about the streets, almost daily, but NEVER on weekends, and they travelled by either travelling about very slowly in cars, or walking very slowly about on foot whilst accessing handheld electronic devices and reporting in, doing reports on the activities of the criminal aboriginals and so on. But they NEVER just jumped in and attended to anything they saw WHEN they saw it actually happening, despite them sometimes coming back later and having to attend to them.

But truly countless times the Watchers witnessed directly in front of them, aboriginal criminals (and I include all the aborginal children who truly are criminal), who wanderd all about on the the streets (LITERALLY ON THE STREETS), almost being run over truly countless times in countless incidents, and yet the Watchers did nothing.

They would bring-in countless numbers of additional aboriginals to the aboriginal criminal house (because it was and still is) like a aboriginal motel for transient criminals run by the same. -- That's all throughut my blog.

I thought I spotted a Watcher yesterday, just walking about, doing the same things they always do, just walking about, standing there and looking at their handheld devices and nothing else. Then slowly walking on and about the areas. - Was that a start to their 2017 season?

Same old, same old.

TODAY...Wendnesday, 1-FEBruary, 2017.......I heard children outside on the footpaths in the morning. - When I looked, it was innocent mothers taking their innocent children responsibly to the primary school nearby which is a couple of streets away. (obviously too far away for the criminal household of course)

And you can tell they are normal people, and NOT like the aborginal scum about here, because for instance they stop at road edges and the adults reponsibly teach the children how to look out for vehicles, and cross the road whilst carrying their brand new bright schoolbags that matched their bright brand new clothing.

You dear reader may think they are just normal and why should I should bother to mention them. Well I DO because they are truly such a stark constrast to the scum that carries on about here in this hellhole.

The aboriginals instead play ON THE ROADS, and actually consider them THEIR OWN PROPERTY and they berate vehicles that come on their supposed roads. - They wear dark and black clothing (even on hot days and even in darkness), and they also wear dark raggedy stuff, and for the most part don't even wear any shoes or any footwear. They progressed to ranging all over the roads on bicycles simply because there were STEALING bicycles from everywhere then mixing and matching and putting together bicycles that they swapped all about within their little aboriginal 'gangs', literally dropping/smashing them onto the ground or road by leaving them on the road whenever it suited them. -- All that is my blog. - Authorities and Police cerainly knew all that which was going on but never made it public much for whatever reasons.

But today....it seems as though it's the start of a new school term at the local school.

The streets are strangely empty of aboriginals. There's strangely no wandering bands of aboriginal gangs. There's strangely been no sudden high-speed pursuits on the streets or sirens,...or illegal unlicensed motorbikes tearing all about......

It's all strangely seemingly quiet.

More than one family of school children came past. All were talkataive but under control and weren't out-of-control. All kept to the footpaths and didn't trespass into anyones yards.-- They were normal people. And it's such a shock to see normal people because there has been months of criminal aboriginals who have dominated these areas and made life hell for everyone.

School will finish around 3pm.

In the past, the criminal aboriginal children would fake things by going out just before then and mingle with the kids and prey upon them and try to turn them into criminals too. That worked to some degree. And so a new generation of criminals came into being.

But all that is shortly to happen because it's only around 14:00 (2pm) now as I write this.

Other things have happened today too.

One of those little white deparmental cars has visited the aboriginal criminal household. Then it left there and drove straight away to a corner house which has been the target for aboriginals smashing the fence and gate and house for months, and beating up of the children. The driver got out with paperwork and loudly thumped on their front door. - Who knows what that was all about. The car then drove away, job done whatever it was.

Things are NOT back to 'normal' and alright. - Out in the street right now at 14:00 (2pm) in the intersection (YES STANDING IN THE INTERSECTION ON THE ROAD) has been two young women (older girls), one of whom definitely lives at that place, and with them has been two other aboriginals, both females. And the smallest is the toddler in diapers who just walks ON THE ROADS and is allowed to.

The young girl SHOULD be in the local school BUT IS NOT despite it being just across the road. THEY NEVER GO TO SCHOOL.

The others are stupid teenage girls who really ARE stupid. One of them is the one who runs around with the gangs of aboriginal male and think its 'great fun' when they cause crime (even to where she lives). She's mindless, and often hauls in aborignal adults (and other aboriginals) during the day of which they often which they then leave drunk or drugged up, and she herself constantly visits the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD.

Today they were listelessly standing ON THE ROAD INTERSECTION and wandering in and out of the tree shade near there. A vehicle came along up the road. Most of them slowly drifted out of the intersection onto the sand road verge (the aboriginals made it into sand) but the stupid teenager female stayed there until she was forced to move to allow the vehicle (a large UV) past. And immediately the UV passed, they all walked back onto the road and stood upon it in defiance. The toddler-in-diapers was carried during this, and so carried and let back down to stand upon the road again. It fossicked about the road debris and broken glass there.)

And people ask ME, "Why would anyone just stand ON THE ROAD!?". - FFS! - Don't ask me, ask these fools. And watch how they 'train' even the youngest in diapers to consider the roads just as something else like an extension to their yards to play upon. -- So far we haven't yet had them laying on the road and being run over (which was a fashionable 'trend' in this state for some years in the past, literally people going to sleep on the roads at night...and then getting run over by innocent drivers who then were BLAMED for not being 'careful enough of a driver' to be able watch out for them.....FFS! ROADS ARE FOR VEHICLES NOT A SLEEPING BED SURFACE! -- Thankfully that petered-out soon enough as a trend, but it still goes on a bit.

I should like to point out at this point typing this entry in that I had to stop typing because I had to attend to a 'lost' driver outside who had come to this hovels driveway whilst trying to go to an entirely DIFFERENT address.

I had to gather in washing so I'd walked out to the driver and cordially talked with them. The driver announced who she was and what she was here for, (a medical related service, "Silver Chain" but even before she had spoken I had said, "I don't know what you're here for but you're at the wrong address. So......what were you doing?" -- I cordially and politely directed her to the correct address. (all she had to do was look at as street sign over her shoulder but that was obviously far too hard to do), and so I explained it's just one the countless THOUSANDS of events I've had to repair. - She took it well. -- I also warned her to ensure her vehicle was well-locked to keep it safe from aboriginals. She nodded knowingly and said she's just witnessed some of them roaming about the streets. -- I was in a hurry to get my washing inside and we happily parted. -- Multiply that single event (from over years) into thousands and you will start to understand why it is so tiring and exhausting and infuriating.

The local school will now soon be out. I wonder how many of the aboriginal criminals will be mixing in amongst them all to make it appear as they they went to school too? (and yes, there was many many months of that happenng last year before the aboriginals just gave up the pretence entirely and just turned to roaming all day and night and causing crime).

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The workers now seem to be working upon 'renovating' the aboriginal drug dealer house. -- Let's see how long that lasts before it's broken into now they've pulled down the tall security fencing there.........

Because the criminals literally live across the road from there......

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I'm incredibly tired.

I'm in pain.

Thankfully I've gained a little more than the 1.5 hours sleep that I had beforehand for over a day and half. I've had 4 more hours to add to that. But that's all. - I'm exhausted.

None of it is my fault.

And each day is getting hotter and more humid.

P.--14:54---1-Feb-2017---I love YOU Fliss and want to be with you. Don't believe the lies people are telling you saying that everything is oh so perfect without you....it's NOT. -- Sam and Max are very distressed today, especially Max.