#it happened just a few metres outside the police station

[radlymona]

My grandmother told me this morning and I’m just devastated

[ironychan]

A Little Human (as a Treat)

Part 1/? - Un Voluntario

Part 2/? - Un Escursione

Part 3/? - Una Complicazione

Part 4/? - Una Famiglia

Part 5/? - Una Aiutante

Part 6/? - Una Ricerca

Part 7/? - Un Confronto

Part 8/? - Un'Emergenza

Part 9/? - Una Speranza

Part 10/? - Una Sera

Flavia and Perla help plan a prison break. Silvio tells terrible jokes. Ercole eats a bug. @dysphoria-sweatshirt @writer652

Giglioli returned a few minutes later, red-faced in anger and escorted part of the way by a police officer. About twenty metres from the shop door, Signor Giglioli shrugged the man's hand forcibly off his shoulder and stomped the rest of the way alone.

“A bunch of fools!” he declared as he went back inside. “I don't know how grown adults get caught up in this nonsense, but we have to do something before somebody gets hurt. Have you two heard of mass hysteria?”

Perla and Flavia shook their heads.

“It's when a bunch of people all get in on the same delusion,” Giglioli explained, “and it can lead to terrible consequences. During the middle ages they burned a bunch of people for being witches when there really weren't any such things. I'm not going to watch the same thing happen to supposed 'sea monsters' in my town. Let's get your friends out.”

“Really?” Flavia asked.

“You'll pay their bail?” Perla chimed in.

“They're not going to accept bail,” said Giglioli. “We're going to have to break them out.”

“How?” Flavia wanted to know. “There's so many people.” When she glanced throught he window, the crowd outside the police station seemed bigger than ever. Signorina Mulino's friend Felicia was hanging around in the back of it, asking people questions and getting shaking heads in reply.

Giglioli turned the sign in the window to say chiuso and locked the door, then smiled and ruffled Flavia's hair. “Don't worry, kiddo,” he said. “I know about more things than candy. Before that was the police station, it was Canepa's Drogheria. The wall at the back, where the cell is, is one of the oldest walls in town. It's a good half-metre thick.”

That didn't sound encouraging, but the confectioner didn't seem worried. He led the girls into the back room, the kitchen where the candies were made. A teenage employee was in there cleaning up, but she was focused on scrubbing burnt matter off a cookie sheet, and barely acknowledged Giglioli as he began rummaging in a cupboard under the stairs.

“That whole row of buildings backs onto the old wall,” he continued, moving brooms and buckets out of the way. “The Canepa family used to own the whole thing, but when the place went out of business after the war, they divided into separate units to sell. The police took the one on the left there to make into their station. So while the west wall could keep out an army, the north one is just a single layer of bricks.” He found what he was looking for, and turned to face the girls again, a smile on his face – and a sledgehammer in his hands.

“Are we gonna break through the wall?” gasped Perla, both terrified and delighted.

“We certainly are,” Giglioli told her.

“Won't people hear?” Flavia asked. Surely that would be loud.

“Not as much as you'd think,” the man said. “Stone walls muffle a lot of sound, but we do need a distraction, something else for all those rubberneckers to pay attention to. I believe your grandmother is looking for you, Signorina Pepitone,” he said to Perla, mock-stern.

“You think people need to come hunting for us instead of looking for the sea monsters?” Perla guessed.

He nodded.

“So we need to hide somewhere, and have everybody come find us,” said Flavia.

“Yes, exactly. Where do you two think you can go where people will believe you're in trouble and they'll all go to look for you?”

Perla thought about it. “If we were up somewhere high, Flavia would have trouble getting down.”

“I'm not going up anywhere high!” Flavia protested. She did some thinking of her own, and got an idea. “What about out on the water? If we went out in a boat on our own to find more sea monsters, people would be worried about us, right?” Children never went on boats alone – Flavia was pretty sure of that.

“That's a good idea as long as you two know how to be safe about it,” said Signor Giglioli. “Do you?”

“Yes!” said Perla eagerly. “You have to wear a life jacket so if you fall in you won't sink!”

“And you can both swim?”

“I can!” said Perla, “and Flavia definitely can!”

Flavia herself wasn't so sure about that. She had no idea how humans swam without tails, and wondered if Ciccio had much trouble figuring it out. She did know what a life jacket was, though. She'd once found one floating on the surface of the Gulf, far from land, and Papa Giorgio had told her it was something humans wore to keep their heads above the water. After nearly choking when she'd first transformed, that was definitely a good idea.

“Then let's find you a boat,” said Giglioli. “We'll also need one more person, who can tell everyone where you are. Remember, I'm going to be the one knocking the wall down.”

Perla and Flavia exchanged a glance. Who could they use? Flavia didn't have any ideas – she didn't know anybody in this town except for Perla and her family.

But Perla smiled. “I know exactly who!” she declared.

-

By this time, Signora Pepitone and her son had finished telling their story to the police. Leonardo Scorfano suspected they'd embroidered it somewhat – if nothing else, sea monsters didn't have horns and none of the kids were anywhere near ten feet tall in either form – but there was very little he could do besides stand there and wince every time Dionisia brought the subject up. When somebody actually asked him a question, he had to reply that he hadn't arrived until all this was already underway, and hadn't seen any of it.

Worse, the police were failing to keep the curious public out of things. Several people had come right into the front office using one excuse or another, and it was hard to miss that they kept sidling closer to the door that led to the cell room. Leonardo took it upon himself to make sure they got no further, leaning against said door and glaring at people who came too close.

One boy of about fifteen or sixteen was particularly insistent, coming closer and closer and watching Leonardo like a hawk. Leonardo glared directly at him and folded his arms, letting the boy know he wasn't going to budge.

“Come on,” the boy whined finally. “I just want to see the sea monsters.”

“My daughter is missing and you're worried about sea monsters?” Leonardo said.

The boy at least had the grace to look ashamed of himself.

Signora Pepitone was still sitting at the desk across from the tall police officer, and she frowned at Leonardo. “They've got to be connected,” she insisted. “That's the only other odd thing that's happened today. Don't you see it?”

“Madame, please, try to calm down,” the police officer sighed. “To find them, we'll need full descriptions of both girls...”

The boy trying to get around Leonardo looked over his shoulder. “The sea monsters took your daughter?” he asked.

“No,” said Leonardo. “Not necessarily, anyway. Nobody saw what happened so we...”

“We do know, that's what I keep saying!” Signora Pepitone interrupted. “I'm getting the idea you think I'm mad, Signor Scorfano, but I'm telling you, I know what I saw at the zoo, and...”

“It can't have been the sea monsters, though,” said the boy.

“Nobody's asking you,” the police officer informed him. “In fact, I think you should leave.”

“But I saw them!” said the boy.

“The sea monsters?” Leonardo asked.

“No, the girls,” the boy said. “At least, I saw Signora Pepitone's granddaughter, and there was another girl with her...”

Leonardo stood up straight. “Where were they?” he asked, his heart suddenly thumping.

“They were in the Signorina Mulino's French pastry shop,” the boy said. “They were in there sitting with a woman in blue. Perla Pepitone in a polka-dot dress, and a friend with short dark hair, right?”

Leonardo looked at Dionisia, and saw the shock on her face – this was the first she'd heard of this, either. She jumped up to talk to the boy face to face. “What were they doing? Was there anyone else?” she asked.

“They were eating cookies and talking to this lady... I think some friend of Signorina Mulino's,” the boy said. “She was wearing a blue dress. But it can't have been the sea monsters who took them away,” he added, “because I went in there to tell my brother, he works there, that they'd been caught. The sea monsters were already locked up, and the girls weren't with them.”

Signora Pepitone just stared at him, until Leonardo came to put a hand on the boy's shoulder. “You're sure,” he said.

“Totally sure,” the boy insisted. “I know Perla, because I've seen her bothering Pietro for free treats. She said if the sea monsters were caught, then it's safe and they could go, and they ran off.”

Leonardo let out a quiet relieved sigh. That didn't tell them where the girls had gone, but at least it was proof that Alberto and his friends weren't involved – proof nobody could deny. “What did I tell you?” he asked Dionisia.

She sat down again, eyes wide with apparent shock. “Where could they have gone, then?”

“I don't know,” the boy said. “Maybe they told Signorina Mulino.”

“We'd better go find her, then,” said Leonardo. At last, here was something to go on. “Maybe she can tell us...”

That was when the door opened, and a new person entered the room, panting and indignant after having elbowed her way through the crowd outside. This was a tall, thin woman in blue, with her hair under a kerchief. “Excuse me!” she said. “I need to get to... who is Signora Pepitone?”

“I am!” Signora Pepitone turned around.

“That's her!” the boy who'd seen the girls exclaimed, pointing to the newcomer. “That's the lady who was with the girls at the Patisserie!”

The newcomer nodded. “Céline asked me to watch them,” she said. “I've been following them half the evening but they keep getting away, but I've found them at last. They said they wanted to find these sea monsters everybody's talking about, and they've gone out on a boat.”

“What?” asked Signora Pepitone.

“What?” Leonardo said at the same time. A dozen horrible images danced in front of his eyes. Flavia had probably never seen a human swim. She wouldn't know how to keep her head out of the water. Did she even know she couldn't breath it anymore? No... no, she must know that, she'd come up gasping and sputtering when she first transformed. But she knew nothing about boats. What if she fell overboard?

What was she even trying to do? Was she hoping there were local sea monsters who could help them somehow? How was she planning to contact them when she knew she couldn't get in the water?

Maybe Massimo would notice them, but it was also entirely possible he wouldn't. What was Massimo doing right now? Had he figured out the kids weren't down there or was he still looking?

Signora Pepitone was equally distressed, but for a very different reason. “They went out on the water?” she asked, pale. “When they know there's sea monsters? Or... good heavens, were they lured.” She turned to another man, a tall fellow with red hair. “There's a painting in that museum of yours, the sirens luring the sailors!”

“That there is, Ma'am,” the man replied with a nod. He swallowed.

The woman in the blue dress, gestured for everybody to follow her. “They haven't got far yet. I'd've gone to get them myself but I can't swim. Come and see! Oh, I hope the sea monsters haven't found them yet!”

She led the way outside, with the intrigued crowd surging after her. Leonardo should have gone with them, but he kind of wanted to stay by the door, in case somebody else tried to go in and harass the kids. With everybody else gone, maybe Leonardo could have a proper conversation with them and piece this all together. Maybe he could even find the key and let them out, although he'd want to be really sure nobody was watching...

“Hurry, Signor Scorfano!” Signora Pepitone called from the street outside.

“I'm coming, Dionisia!” he replied. But once the room was empty, he went and tried the door that led to the room with the cell.

Of course it was locked – that was hardly even surprising. He had to find the key. Leonardo looked around, and his eyes went to the desk where the younger of the two on-duty police officers had been sitting until he, too, had gotten up to follow the woman in blue. When he opened the top drawer, Leonardo found it full of papers and pens. He started rummaging around, looking for keys.

As he did so, he heard the first thump.

Leonardo looked up. He was a lone in the room, and nothing seemed to have moved. Maybe something had fallen in an upper storey, or off a roof. He shook his head, and closed the first drawer before opening a second.

There was another thump. Then a third. This time, when Leonardo raised his head, it was in time to see a photo of the town's police force (all four of them) fall from the wall. Another thump made dust drift down from the ceiling. There was a sound like ceramic breaking.

With a chill, he realized that whatever was going on, it was happening in the cell room. Leonardo shut the drawer and rattled the handle again, then threw himself shoulder-first against the door. If he had to break it down to get to those kids, he would.

-

In the cell, the kids and Signor Macarello also heard a series of thumps, but unlike Uncle Leonardo, they could tell exactly where it was coming from – the wall on their left, where the police station butted up against the old greengrocers. Somebody was hitting it repeatedly with something heavy, making the whole wall shake and buckle. They got up and crowded against the other wall, worried the building would fall down on them.

After a few more thumps, a brick fell out and broke on the floor. Then a second. Then the head of a giant hammer came through, and the person on the other side used it as a hook to pull more bricks back towards himself. Soon there was a hole big enough to wriggle through, and a face appeared in it.

Luca couldn't believe his eyes. “Signor Giglioli!” he exclaimed, then immediately regretted it as somebody began shaking the door to the rest of the station. A moment later he realized that was silly – it was much more likely the sound of bricks falling had alerted them, rather than Luca's cry. It didn't matter, though. Whoever was outside shook the door harder, and then began trying to break it down.

“Hurry!” Giglioli held out a hand.

Giulia was the first to take it and wriggle through the opening. Luca came after her, and then helped pull out another couple of bricks so Alberto would fit. They dragged him through, but then the door burst open, and there was nothing they could do for Antonio. Giglioli herded the kids through an open grate in the floor, and pulled it shut after him.

“Can't stay here!” he said, reaching between the bars to replace a padlock that had been holding the grate shut. “Follow me!”

“What about Signor Macarello?” Alberto protested. He'd been nothing but helpful, even when he was obviously terrified. They couldn't just leave him.

“We'll have to come back for him,” Giglioli said. He turned on an electric torch, and ushered them through a door into another part of the old Drogheria basement, stacked with old fruit and egg crates. This door, too, he contrived to lock behind himself. “Maybe in the morning, when they've all calmed down and realized you're not sea monsters.”

The kids had begun to follow him further through the dark maze of basements, but now they stopped short. Signor Giglioli kept going and reached the next door, then realized they weren't there anymore and looked back, puzzled.

There was a moment of awkward silence. Voices could be heard shouting overhead, muffled by the stone and earth in between.

“What's the matter?” asked Giglioli.

Luca swallowed. “Um, Sir?” he said.

“We... kind of are sea monsters,” Giulia said.

Giglioli blinked. “I beg your pardon?” he asked, in a voice half-confused, half-insulted. “Kids, I just broke you out of jail. This is hardly the time to...”

Luca's stomach sank right down to his toes as he remembered what he'd said to Flavia earlier in the day... he'd thought Signor Giglioli wouldn't mind if he found out they were sea monsters. Had he been mistaken? Should they just take it back and lie? If they did that, though, Signor Giglioli wouldn't realize just how much trouble they were in here. He looked at Alberto.

Alberto sighed and, feeling rather like one of the animals in the zoo, transformed.

For a moment Signor Giglioli didn't realize it had happened, but when he realized both Luca and Giulia were looking at their friend, he turned to see why, and the electric torch fell from his hand. It rolled a metre or so across the uneven stone floor, and came to rest at Alberto's flippered feet. Alberto picked it up and offered it back to him, and Giglioli took it without a word. For what seemed like a very long time, nobody spoke.

“Are you going to put us back in jail now, Sir?” Luca asked timidly.

That seemed to bring Giglioli back to his senses. “Of course not!” he said. “If I try I'll end up in there with you. Anyway, you haven't done anything to deserve being locked up.” He paused. “Have you?”

“No, Sir!” said Luca. The others shook their heads in agreement as Alberto let go of his transformation and resumed human form. “We just wanted to show Flavia around. She's never been on land before.”

“Really? Huh.” Giglioli thought about that. “Well, I'm honoured you brought her to my place, then. All right, let's get you back to the shop. You can hide out there until everybody goes to bed.”

“What about Flavia?” Alberto asked, as they fell into step behind him again. “Uncle Leonardo will kill me if we don't bring her back.”

“She and Perla are currently providing a distraction so fewer people would hear me breaking that wall down,” said Giglioli. “They've probably been 'rescued' by now. Dionisia Pepitone is a little odd, but when she's not wailing about sea monsters she...”

He stopped mid-sentence. Luca nearly walked right into his back.

“I guess Flavia is a sea monster, too,” said Giglioli.

“That's complicated,” said Giulia.

“Complicated?” Giglioli raised an eyebrow as he looked back over his shoulder at her. “How complicated can it possibly be?”

“You'd be amazed,” said Alberto.

“All right,” sighed Giglioli. “We'll figure something out.”

-

While all these dramatic events went on in San Giuseppe, off the coast of Portorosso Ciccio and Ercole were sweeping out construction debris that had found its way into the Donzella house earlier in the day. The physics of doing this underwater were somewhat complicated and did very much require both of them to make sure no bits got away. Worse, Signora Donzella hovered over them and watched, and Ciccio expected at any moment to be asked how he could have gotten to his age without learning how to sweep a floor.

But she didn't seem to have noticed at all. She offered a shell full of what first appeared to be gumballs, until Ciccio realized they were actually colourful, sowbug-like creatures.

“Would you like some isopods?” she asked.

“Grazie, Signora,” said Ciccio, and popped one into his mouth to see what it was like. It turned out to be much like a gumball after all, with a crunchy shell and a soft inside that was both salty and sweet.

Ercole must have figured if Ciccio ate one then it must be all right. He took a handful for himself and started to much on them, only to make a sudden muffled noise of pain and spit one back out again. Now uncurled, the little creature turned itself right side up and swam away, wiggling its many legs.

“Oh, dear,” said Signora Donzella. “You do have to bite them before they bite you.”

Ercole stared at her in utter horror for a few moments, before remembering that he had another isopod still in his mouth. He looked at Ciccio, who calmly looked him right in the eye while taking another isopod out of the dish, placing it between his teeth, and biting down. Ercole took the message, and swallowed what remained of his, whole.

Signora Donzella smiled as she surveyed their work. “That's so much better,” she said. “You know, you boys really didn't need to go to the trouble, especially after you worked so hard earlier today.”

“Yeah, we really didn't,” Ercole said pointedly to Ciccio.

“It's no trouble, Signora,” Ciccio said cheerfully. “We wouldn't want to be rude.”

“You know,” said Ercole, “when humans have guests they don't expect them to do anything. All the chores are the host's job.”

“Really? I didn't know that,” said Giorgia pleasantly, then looked a bit worried. “Arturo's aunts do have him and Silvio do some garden work in exchange for watching the football games. Is that all right?”

“Its' fine,” Ciccio assured her. “I'm pretty sure Concetta and Pinuccia work by sea monster rules.”

Silvio himself darted through the door then, and the first thing he saw was the shell full of snacks. “Ooh, isopods!” he said, and went to help himself.

“Where've you been off to?” his mother asked him.

Silvio put several of the tiny arthropods in his mouth at once and crunched on them, leading Ercole to make several horrified faces. “I went to give Signora Trota her shovel back,” he said.

“Oh, yes, I'd forgotten that,” said Giorgia. “Good job for remembering.” She moved the dish away as her son reached for more isopods. “These are for our guests.”

“It's fine, Signora,” Ciccio told her. “Like I said, we're not that hungry.”

“Then I'll put these away, or they'll all be gone by tomorrow.” Signora Donzella shooed at Silvio, and swam off into the kitchen.

Ciccio and Ercole both took advantage of her absence immediately: Ercole by theatrically coughing and gasping and spitting out isopod legs that had gotten caught between his teeth, and Ciccio by pulling Silvio closer to talk to him.

“Did you tell Giordana where we are?” Ciccio asked. He was pretty sure that returning the borrowed shovel had just been an excuse, and Silvio's actual purpose had been to let the Trota children know what was going on.

He was right. “I told Arturo to tell her,” Silvio confirmed. “He said she's worried about you.”

That made Ciccio feel a little better. “Are they gonna be allowed on land anymore?” If they weren't... Ciccio didn't know what he'd do.

“Arturo's Mom didn't say, and him and Giordana are both too scared to ask,” Silvio said. He turned his head suddenly towards the door. “Hey, did you see that?”

“See what?” asked Ciccio.

“The light in the kelp.” Silvio went to the doorway to look outside. “It flashed twice and now it's gone. Maybe it's the giant squid!” he whispered excitedly. “Did you hear people talking about it?”

Ercole scoffed. “It was the only thing the servants talked about at dinner. I think you're all making it up to frighten me.”

“We had one here once,” said Silvio. “Ages ago. I wasn't hatched yet.”

“Giordana told me about it once,” Ciccio agreed. He hadn't been consciously thinking about that when he'd chosen it was something to threaten Ercole with it, but it must've been in the back of his mind.

“Dad said he and Mom had to take my egg and hide in the forge,” Silvio went on. “Giant squid usually live in the cold water out base Gibilterra, so they don't like when it gets too warm.” He turned to Ercole. “And they're not very fast, so probably even you could outswim one. Probably.”

“Don't try to bully me, Squaletto,” said Ercole. “It doesn't suit you.”

With the cleanup done to Signora Donzella's satisfaction, she led them out to the newly roofed barn, bringing along a string of softly glowing jellyfish which she towed by the tentacles like a bundle of balloons. Inside, her husband had set out mats of sponges and seaweed, and filled an old honey jar with bioluminescent plankton so they'd have a lantern.

“Here you go, boys,” he said. “I hope you'll be comfortable. If you need anything, you can wake up Junior.”

Ercole had just opened his mouth, presumably to ask why there were three sleeping mats instead of two. With the question answered before it could be asked, he closed it again and watched Silvio settle down on the nearest mat and grin.

“It'll be like camping out!” Silvio said happily.

“Thank you,” said Ciccio firmly. “I hope you guys can come up and visit us at the bakery sometimes.”

“We should,” said Silvio. “The bread him and Giordana make is really yummy. My favourite is the kind with the olives, but the one with the sardines is also great!”

“We should try putting isopods in it,” said Ciccio, mostly to gross Ercole out. It worked.

“Nah,” Silvio said. “They go mushy when you cook them.”

Ercole covered his mouth with one had, as if afraid he would throw up.

Giorgia Donzella gave her son a kiss on the cheek and wished him a good night, and her husband reminded the boy that he was responsible for looking after their guests. Then the adults left the three boys alone to settle down and sleep. Ciccio considered the bedding he'd been given, and decided he'd better sleep on his stomach. He still had sponge pieces all over his spines, but if any of those came off he might rip the mat to shreds. That was no way to thank the Donzellas for their hospitality.

Silvio was also on his stomach, but in his case it was because his stiff, shark-like dorsal fin could not fold down out of the way. Ercole was having no trouble lying on his back, although it took a bit of squirming for him to find a comfortable position without pinning his fin under his shirt.

“I hope Papá manages to sleep all right,” said Ciccio. Ottonello had been very specific about not wanting Ciccio spending the night underwater, but here he was, doing exactly that. It sounded as if he spent a lot more time worrying about Ciccio in general than he normally admitted.

“I could go tell him you're here,” Silvio suggested. “He knows Dad and me.”

Ciccio propped himself up on his elbows to look at the younger boy. His first reaction was that might be a good idea. Just knowing where Ciccio was would probably help a lot – but there was a problem. “Is it safe to go out by yourself after dark?” he asked.

“Normally I'm not allowed,” Silvio admitted, “but Mom and Dad said you could ask me for anything you needed.” He grinned mischievously. “I could talk to your parents, too,” he suggested to Ercole, “if you tell me where to find them.”

“Don't you dare,” said Ercole immediately.

“He doesn't want anybody to know this happened to him,” Ciccio said.

“And my parents won't care anyway,” Ercole added. “I've been away overnight before. They figure I'll get home when I get home. Sometimes I think if I just disappeared they wouldn't even look for me.”

“Really?” asked Ciccio. He knew very little about Ercole's relationship with his parents, having only met them once or twice. They'd seemed very permissive, even indulgent. He would not have thought of them as neglectful. Had Ercole spent the whole day wondering whether his parents would care if he never came back?

Ercole glared at him, and his tone changed abruptly. “They trust me,” he huffed, “unlike some parents who yap at their children's heels everywhere they go and send their friends to spy on them. Anyway, don't you say a word to them or anyone else,” he told Silvio. “If anyone in the town finds out about this, I will never be taken seriously again.”

Ciccio snorted. As if anybody took Ercole seriously anymore.

“Your secret's safe with me,” said Silvio cheerfully. He wiggled a little, getting his toes into the end of the sponge mat to stretched it out a bit. “Hey, why is the ocean blue?” he asked.

“How should I know?” Ercole said. “I think it's something to do with reflecting the sky.”

Silvio rolled his eyes. “It's blue because the land never waves back!”

There was a moment of silence as Ciccio and Ercole both figured out what that meant. Then Ercole snorted, and Ciccio groaned at the pun.

“Why did the lobster turn red?” Silvio tried next.

“Because they dumped it into boiling water, still alive,” snarled Ercole.

“Why?” Ciccio asked.

Silvio giggled. “Because it saw the ocean's bottom!”

This time Ciccio could help a snicker, even as Ercole scoffed.

“What's the strongest creature in the sea?” Silvio tried next.

“What?” asked Ciccio.

“A mussel!”

Ercole let out a bark of laughter, then quickly silenced himself. “Not bad, Squaletto,” he admitted grudgingly. “Not bad.”

[dainluvr]

Cw: [implied] abuse, [implied] kidnapping, betrayal (sort of)-more like naïve and panicked Whumpee tho, failed escape attempt

Whumper tightened their grip on Whumpee’s shoulder, “You’re to stay within a 10 metre radius of me at all times, do you understand?” Their cold glare was enough to almost freeze Whumpee in place, however they still nodded, scared of what would happen if they didn’t respond.

They were finally allowed outside today, after weeks- months perhaps? Of begging Whumper to let them out, at least for a few minutes. Not on their own of course, no way, they’d have wait for at least another few decades to gain Whumper’s trust enough for that to happen.

Today they were at the gas station however, which was enough for Whumpee, who had a plan of escape. Well constructed enough (in their opinion) to work without fail. After all, they’d thought of every possible scenario.. right?

Their thoughts quickly evaporated as soon as Whumper let go of their arm, surprising them. Whumpee looked up, confused as to what was going on, all they got back was an even more confused look from Whumper, “What? I’m letting go of your arm to not raise any suspicion, try to act normal… if you can even do that anymore, and reminder: 10 metre rule,” And with that they left, venturing off into a nearby aisle, picking out some lighters and ropes from a selection. Whumpee shuddered, not even wanting to imagine what or rather who Whumper was planning to use those on. However, they quickly took their mind off of it by focusing on their plan. They were here for one thing and one thing only tonight. To escape.

As soon as Whumper turned at an angle where they could no longer see Whumpee, Whumpee sneaked away and ran to the cash register. Waiting for the cashier to show up, and few seconds later, they luckily did.

“Can I help you?” It was a man, similar age to Whumper, looking down at Whumpee he seemed so huge, and Whumpee almost had the urge to walk away, doubting themselves for a second. But they stood their ground in the end, even though their whole body was visibly shaking by now.

“Y-yeah… uhm… listen, you’ve g-got to help me,” Whumpee stated, their voice barely above a breath.

“Oh? What’s wrong kid?” The cashier questioned, inching their face closer to Whumpee. Whumpee was having real bad second thoughts now, and they couldn’t describe it but something about the whole situation seemed… off.

They audibly swallowed, deciding it was now or never, “Well… you… you know that person I’m with?” They asked, nodding in Whumper’s direction. The cashier nodded, taking a swig of their cigarette, “They…. They kidnapped me. please… help please… please do something please you’ve got to help me you’ve got to call the police or some- fuck just anything will help please I-“

“Oh? What do we have here?” Whumpee froze, their panic wearing off almost as quickly as it appeared, feeling Whumper’s sharp nails digging into their shoulder as their intense voice boomed in Whumpee’s ears. Whumpee was just about to speak up, trying to defend themselves in any way they could. However the cashier beat them to it, now backed away into their original position.

“Afternoon Whumper, this your new pet or something?… The stress gave it away,” As soon as those words left the cashiers mouth Whumpee had lost all hope. They knew they were absolutely fucked with no return. They would surely never ever see the light of day again after this shitshow. How could they not foresee this scenario? That the stupid cashier knew Whumper? It was a small town in the middle of nowhere after all, population 50 max, of course everyone knew each other. But Whumpee, being Whumpee, was obviously too focused on constructing how they were even going to speak to anyone, that they forgot to consider outside factors in their plan, like this one.

Whumpee was brought back to reality with a question from Whumper, not aimed at them, however, that made it all the more terrifying, “So, what were you two talking about just now? Must’ve been something exciting I mean you could see from a mile away Whumpee’s whole body trembling- with excitement I presume,” Whumper mocked, earning a chuckle from the other party.

“Oh actually, your Whumpee here was just telling me something very very interesting, I’m sure you want to hear no?” Whumpee felt like they were about to faint. If it wasn’t for Whumper’s claws digging into their skin they definitely would’ve been on the floor by now. Their legs felt like jelly.

“Oh~ I would love to hear it.”

[tiramisiyu]

【未定事件簿】 Tears of Themis: Main Story 7-30 Translation

Translation Masterlist | Video

Chapter 7 – Rains of Monte Cristo: 7-1 / 7-3 / 7-5 / 7-7 / 7-9 / 7-11 / 7-13 / 7-15 / 7-17 / 7-19  ♦️ ♦️  7-20 / 7-22 / 7-24 / 7-26 / 7-28 / 7-30 / 7-32 / 7-34 / 7-35

Content Warning: This section contains topics that may be uncomfortable to some readers (mentions of abuse). Please proceed with discretion.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

NXX Base

After deciding on what to do, Marius and I rushed to the base.

Marius: Just import the surveillance footage and Hang Jiahe’s photos into the system.

MC: Okay.

I followed Marius’ instructions, entering the necessary information into the computer and started the program. On the common screen, large amounts of data started to move again. Fluorescent blue lights flashed past, casting a mottled light. Ten minutes later, the data search and comparison stopped, and the final comparative results displayed itself.

MC: Based on the results, the “Qi Yu” who started to appear at 9pm was indeed Hang Jiahe. Plus, she appeared in the surveillance 6 times in total.

Marius: Three of those times were to enter the apartment – 12pm, 8pm, and 9:45pm individually.

Marius: The other three times were to exit the apartment – 7pm, 9pm, and 10:15pm individually.

I carefully looked over the brown silhouette that appeared in the screenshots and confirmed her identity.

MC: That’s got to be Hang Jiahe.

MC: The figure that appeared at 8pm and 10:15pm is wearing the same brown trench coat as the one I saw at Hang Jiahe’s house.

MC: She even rolled up that stack of dry-cleaned clothes she’d brought back, like she didn’t want us to see.

Marius: So we can figure out what Hang Jiahe’s trail of actions were on January 28th.

Marius grabbed a random sheet of paper and started to write as he spoke.

Marius: First, Hang Jiahe returned to the apartment at 12pm. After confirming that Hang Fei and Qi Yu were home…

Marius: She entered Room 1001 using the safety route near its door and murdered the two victims.

MC: At 7pm, Hang Jiahe left the apartment and headed to the suburban villa. After, she disguised herself…

MC: And secretly re-entered Room 1001 at 8pm.

Marius: At 9pm, she disguised herself as Qi Yu, and asked the security guard downstairs to help her move the two suitcases with the bodies in them.

Marius: At 9:45pm, she carried the empty suitcases back to the apartment. The bodies probably were placed elsewhere by then.

Marius: So she had completed the illusion that “Qi Yu was still alive at 10pm”, and her alibi with it.

MC: As for her leaving at 10:15 in disguise, she probably went to dispose of the corpses and then returned to the suburban villa.

Marius: Probably.

Marius: After disposing of them, Hang Jiahe also buried the swapped hammer that she’d long prepared with them.

MC: Then Hang Fei and Qi Yu last appeared at…

I looked at the surveillance footage.

MC: 12:30pm on the 28th. Hang Jiahe had not left the apartment yet.

At this point, we had completely figured out the process of Hang Fei and Qi Yu’s murder case.

Marius: But is the evidence we have now insufficient?

MC: Yes, though the logic’s sound…

MC: We lack objective core evidence to accuse Hang Jiahe with, especially her motive and murder weapon.

MC: The opposition will easily refute a few photos and some inferences.

Marius: …It won’t be easy to solve the murder weapon issue. Hang Jiahe always wears gloves, so she wouldn’t have left fingerprints.

Marius: But for the motive… let’s wait for Captain Morgan’s analysis results on that hard drive.

Marius: If it’s as the bar boss said…

Marius had just spoken when his phone rang.

Marius: Speak of the devil – see, Captain Morgan’s calling.

Marius: Captain Morgan, is anything the matter?

Darius Morgan: We’re finished analyzing the photos and hard drive you gave us.

Marius: What are the results?

Darius Morgan: They match with what the bar boss said.

Darius Morgan: There are many videos of Hang Fei’s child abuse, as well as domestic violence against Qi Yu, in the hard drive.

Darius Morgan: But based on the people featured in the photos, we are missing the videos that feature the child that appeared the most.

MC: (Hang Jiahe must have bought the videos of her abuse…)

Marius: Have the identities of the other children in the photos been confirmed?

Darius Morgan: Aside from Hang Jiahe, the children in the photos are not from Stellis.

Darius Morgan: Hang Fei and Qi Yu traveled overseas, so these children just might be from those countries.

MC: (It’s a transnational case now?)

Darius Morgan: How are things on your end?

MC: We’ve figured out how Hang Jiahe got the fingerprints on the murder weapon and how she created her alibi, but…

Marius: We lack direct evidence.

Darius Morgan: What about the video she took away? That evidence should be convincing enough.

Marius: But the question is, where is that video right now?

MC: The boss said before that he advised Hang Jiahe to not destroy those videos for now…

MC: Undestroyed… but can’t be found by the police…

MC: Can’t be found… so they should be hidden… hidden…

I had a flash of inspiration.

MC: “Liqing Bank”!

I thought of that useless-looking membership card in Hang Jiahe’s house.

Both Darius and us headed out at the same time towards the Liqing Bank in the suburbs, but due to distance, we arrived before Yan Wei. Marius used his own connections to find the manager to ask about Hang Jiahe. The manager admitted that Hang Jiahe had opened an account here and kept things here, but he refused to tell us which was her vault.

Vault Room

Manager: My apologies, but our rules state that unless if our client asks or the police issue a search warrant…

Manager: We cannot allow any others to open the safes.

MC: This…

Marius: We were just in contact with the police in front of you, and he said that he would be bringing a search warrant over immediately.

Marius: Even with that, you can’t let us see Hang Jiahe’s vault?

Manager: My apologies, but we must see the documents first, per our rules.

Marius: …

The male manager looked calmly at Marius.

MC: Then we…

I was about to speak when Marius tugged at me.

Marius: If so, we won’t trouble you anymore. When the police arrive, we’ll come again.

Marius then tugged me to leave, walking out without looking back once. However, we’d just turned past aa row of shelves when he suddenly tightened his grasp on my wrist and took me into the shadows of another row of cabinets.

MC: Marius, what are you doing?!

Marius: Shh, quieter. Don’t let the manager know that we haven’t left.

I took a deep breath and lowered my voice.

MC: What are you trying to do?

Marius: Of course, I’m trying to find Hang Jiahe’s vault.

Marius: Since he won’t show us openly, we can only wait for it in secret.

MC: Are you aiming to open the vault secretly?

Marius: Of course not. Opening vaults in banks like this is usually a complicated procedure.

Marius: Some need two keys, some need biological info… all in all, without the owner, they’re very hard to open.

MC: Then you want to…

Marius: I want to follow the vault.

MC: ???

Marius: Based on how this bank’s operating guidelines, that manager is sure to contact Hang Jiahe that people came for her box.

Marius: And with how cautious Hang Jiahe is, she’s sure to come get what’s in the vault herself.

Marius: I’ve calculated the timing – Hang Jiahe’s place is closer to here than the police station is. Even if she receives the alert and heads out only now…

Marius: She might get here earlier than Captain Morgan.

Marius: To prevent the evidence from getting taken, I decided…

Marius took out his phone and opened up the screen for Darius’ shared location.

Marius: Before Captain Morgan comes, we’ll follow the manager secretly and prevent him from taking Hang Jiahe’s box away.

MC: Can we really?

Marius: Of course, why not? Nothing will happen.

Marius: Jiejie, just trust me this once. If anything happens, I’ll just apologize to them.

MC: Then… alright. If anything does happen, I’ll go with you.

MC: What do you plan to do?

Marius: Look around first.

I looked around, per his instructions. Liqing Bank’s vault room was very large, and there were many vaults in it. Above the room, at set intervals, there was a full-scene camera rotating nonstop to monitor the whole room. Aside from that, there were also bodyguards on patrol in the vault room to prevent suspicious persons from moving about.

MC: There are a lot of bodyguards and surveillance cameras. How are we supposed to follow him?

Marius: Don’t worry, just listen to me.

Marius: I just observed that the patrolling bodyguards will pass by the same place around every 5 minutes.

Marius: As for the full-scene cameras above, I can’t tell if there are any blind spots for now.

Marius: But we’re luckily wearing dark clothes today, and it’s dark here.

Marius: We’ll just stick to the walls where the light doesn’t reach – maybe we’ll get by.

MC: Why do I feel like we’re acting in a spy movie…

MC: Then how should we move? We’re pretty far from the manager right now…

Marius: See that old table in front?

Marius pointed at a table that was around several tens of metres away from us and stacked with random items.

Marius: That table’s in a pretty subtle spot. People outside can’t see in, but we should be able to see out from inside.

Marius: When the nearby guards move away, we’ll head under that table.

Marius: On my count – when I say 1, we’ll move.

MC: Okay.

I took a deep breath, focusing my attention on the table.

Marius: The guard’s almost about to leave.

Marius: 3 – 2 – 1, go!

I held my breath and rushed to the corner.

MC: Huff – huff –

I supported myself against the table, suppressing my sounds as I gasped.

Marius: A-are you alright?

Marius’ breath was also somewhat short, probably thanks to our nervous moods.

MC: I’m alright. You?

I turned around to look at Marius, but the scene before me stole my breath away in the next second.

Marius was awkwardly crouching under the table, and the height that he was usually so proud of had become a sort of sweet “burden”. Maybe because the air circulation was bad, or maybe because the crouching pose was tiring him, but his face was somewhat red. Under his opened collar, there were small drops of sweat rolling down his fair neck. He breathed lightly, and each of his movements and breathing sounds became unusually heavy in this tiny space.

MC: …

Marius: Hm? What are you looking at me for? Is there something on my face?

MC: T-there isn’t…

Marius: Then… did you get fazed from staring at me?

Marius: Though I do like it when you stare at me, since we’re this close…

Marius: Even I’d get embarrassed.

MC: This close…

MC: !!!

My rationality returned, and I belatedly realized just close we were.  

MC: S-sorry, it wasn’t on purpose, I was just…

I apologized as I attempted to pull away from him, but I hadn’t moved much when Marius suddenly pulled me back.

Marius: Don’t move. If you keep pushing, you’ll bump into the table.

Marius: This space is tiny – best not to move at random.

MC: …

I could only stiffen my body and not move in the slightest. The tiny space sunk into silence again, and I could clearly feel Marius’ gaze on me, never shifting away. And my heartbeat became more and more intense, along with this gaze.

MC: W-why do you keep staring at me…

Marius: I’m just thinking that right now…

Marius: Your heartbeat and your breaths only belong to me.

Marius: It’s great…

MC: …

Marius: But this is too little. It’s not enough compared to what I want…

MC: !!!

MC: M-Marius, you…

Marius: Oh well, now isn’t the time.

Marius sighed quietly and shifted his gaze away.

I tried my best to calm my heartbeat and refocus my attention. Simultaneously, the manager, who’d been lingering in some shelf row for a while, finally moved.

Manager: Hello, Liqing Bank. Is this Miss Hang?

Marius and I exchanged a glance.

Manager: Two people just came to see the contents of your vault.

Manager: Yes, a man and a woman, and the woman was a lawyer.

Manager: Don’t worry, I did not allow them to open your vault.

Manager: You want me to take a video for your confirmation?

The male manager spoke as he strode to a shelf in the corner, then used his phone to take a photo.

Manager: Look, it’s been well taken care of – no one has opened it.

Manager: Alright, I will send it to the back door for you.

The manager hung up and pressed a button on the side of the safe. After a small electronic startup sound, Hang Jiahe’s vault suddenly disappeared. The manager walked to an elevator on the side.

MC: Where’s the vault?

When the manager had completely left on the elevator, Marius and I carefully got near the vault shelf.

Marius: Don’t worry, it’s been sent elsewhere – should be the back door.

Marius: Let’s follow.

MC: Sure.

Following behind the manager, we boarded the other elevator beside the vault shelf.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

MC: How did we end up in another warehouse?

Marius: …

Marius: Follow the manager first. If anything else unexpected happens, we withdraw immediately.

MC: Okay.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Marius: Where’s the manager?

MC: In front!

MC: We’ve already been following him for over half an hour…

Marius: Is the back door of Liqing Bank that far? We’ve got to get through a warehouse and then a basement…

MC: Marius, could he be leading us in circles?

Marius: …

Marius: … But Captain Morgan’s almost here, and Hang Jiahe’s been held back by him too.

Marius: We can’t just give up here.

MC: Then let’s keep following. If things don’t change, we’ll give up.  

Marius: Okay.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

The manager finally stopped at the back door of the bank warehouse.

MC: Why isn’t he walking anymore?

Marius: …

Marius: This is bad, let’s go back…

Manager: The two of you, stop hiding. Come out.

MC: …

Marius: …

We could only walk up to the manager.

Manager: CEO von Hagen, what are you trying to do here?

Marius: Didn’t I tell you my request before?

Manager: Then I’ll have to reject you once more. No…

Marius: Wait.

Marius looked behind the manager and suddenly laughed.

Marius: This time, you can’t refuse.

Manager: Wh…

Darius Morgan: City Criminal Investigation Police Brigade, Captain Darius Morgan. Please cooperate with our investigation.

Darius Morgan: This is the search warrant.

[august-bleeds-red]

Be A Good Boy, Brahms - Chapter Two

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four

~

You don’t know how for long you’ve been walking. You don’t even know where you are. The time was 02:47 when your phone died. What time was it when you left the station? You don’t remember. You only had time to grab a handful of things before the crowd started gathering around the body.

 The body you’d left there.

 The rain is starting to come down in earnest now. You’re soaked to the bone and tired to the point of exhaustion, the soles of your shoes feeling ready to peel away at any moment. Part of you wants to simply curl up at the side of the road and sleep, hardly caring if the cold or a passing car takes you once your eyes close. How long would it be until the police found you?

 You’d been as careful as you could on the journey to . . . wherever this was. You’d left your car at home, picked a train almost at random and bought a ticket to the end of the line. The sprawling metropolis of the city faded away to dark countryside, the lights of civilisation becoming more sporadic as you travelled deeper into rural England. You didn’t even recognise the name of the village as it flashed past the window. You pulled the hood of your jacket down further over your face as you left the carriage, but nobody stopped you or even glanced your way. It was nearing midnight – far too late to be paying attention to trainline stragglers. You could have hailed a taxi from the rank outside the station, asked the driver to drop you off as far as the cash in your pocket would allow, but that would be another person to remember your face, so you hitched your rucksack further up your shoulders and headed off into the misty night on foot.

 The distant sound of an approaching engine sets your heart racing and your eyes dart through the drizzly gloom for a place to hide. The road forks not ten metres ahead, a narrower path leading off towards the left. You start to run, rucksack bouncing against your back, shoes slapping against the tarmac. The new path slopes uphill, but you keep running, until the surrounding trees start to thicken, and you feel suitably distanced from anyone who might be passing via the main road. The slim trunks give way to broad pines, casting thick beams of moonlight across the ground ahead of you. Shielded by the overhanging branches, the rain eases from a ceaseless torrent to heavy droplets, splashing down around you. As you were leaving the flat, you had the sense to grab the sleeping-bag you once used to go camping with your dad, but don’t want to stop and set up base just yet. Another mile or so away from the road and you should be good for now. Then, come the light of morning, you can take stock and decide what you’re going to do.

 Maybe you shouldn’t have run. Guilty people always run, right? Maybe if you’d just stayed and explained what happened . . . but no, who would have listened? Who would have believed that an officer so upstanding and respected as your stepfather could be guilty of such a crime as attempted murder? It was what had kept your mother from reporting him for so long. He was clever – never bruising her in places it would easily show – but his rage towards you made him sloppy tonight. But even the bruises you’d seen around your little brother’s neck would not be evidence enough to condemn him, you knew that. The law would never act against one of their own, so you’d had to.

 Which moment had made you a murderer? When you’d crossed the balcony to where he stood, puffing on one of those disgusting cigars like he hadn’t just tried to kill your brother? When your hands had pushed against the broad space of his back, catching him off balance and sending him stumbling over the rail? Or when his flailing body had landed with a sickening crunch on the pavement seventeen stories below?

 Something large begins to loom out of the shadows ahead of you and you slow. It’s a set of huge, wrought-iron gates, supported by two intimidating brick pillars, open wide enough for a car to pass easily through. There’s no name or number, no indication as to what may lie beyond. Curiosity has always been your fatal flaw, so you approach, keeping an ear out for the sound of tires or footsteps. The house that awaits at the end of the long driveway is unlike any you’ve seen in the city or the surrounding boroughs; it’s tall and grand, the liquid light of dawn illuminating what seem to be turrets in the architecture. It’s beautiful, in an American gothic style of build. Certainly not the kind of English manor you’re used to in period dramas. The moment you stop before the front steps, your feet and calves begin screaming in protest, as though sensing the possibility of a place to rest. Even if you could just sit on the porch for a while, at least until the sun rose.

 The moment your butt hits the floor, the weight of the last twenty-four hours’ events settles on you like a heavy blanket. You’re hungry, thirsty, but all you can think of doing right now is getting an hour or two of sleep. You unravel your sleeping bag and crawl inside, resting your shoes atop your folded jacket beside you. Your sodden T-shirt and jeans don’t make for very comfortable sleepwear, but you’re certainly not about to strip to your skivvies on some stranger’s porch, especially if the milkman may be along within the next couple of hours.

 You sleep fitfully, the image of your stepfather’s face floating repeatedly to the surface of your mind like a photograph in water, and you’ll awake scared and sweating, despite the bone-chilling cold. The sun rises milky yellow just beyond the treeline, and you decide it must be late enough for you to risk knocking on the door. With any luck, they might be able to tell you how to reach the nearest village, where you can . . . you don’t know. Gathering your things, you shoulder your pack and approach the heavy wooden door, plucking the dampest patches of your T-shirt from your body.

 You notice the door is open just as you raise your fist to knock. Perhaps they forgot to lock up last night – a huge house like this in the middle of nowhere, probably not much foot traffic to run the risk of burglars. You give a few loud knocks, anyway, but no response comes.

 “Um, hello?” you call, pushing the door open just a little further.

 The inside of the house is as impressive as its exterior, all dark wood and teal blue rugs, and quiet as a graveyard. There is a blanket of stillness everywhere, giving the place an air of abandonment. You walk further into the entrance hall, staring up the grand staircase to where a semi-circular balcony overlooks the lower floor.

 “Hello?”

 Nothing – no movement, no sound; not the grumbling of pipes nor the hum of a heating system. You drop your rucksack on the floor beside a great stone fireplace and take a few tentative steps up the stairs. As you reach the top, you notice a large portrait hanging on the opposite wall of three people – a man, a woman and a small, angelic-looking boy. You wonder if this is the family of the house.

 “Hello?”

 Your third attempt also goes unanswered and, with no cars parked outside and the open door, you’re convinced the place truly is empty, at least for now. Your feet make no sound on the carpet stair-runner as you descend, picking up your pack by one strap and going in search of the kitchen. It’s quite small and surprisingly modern for such a grand mansion and, with only the smallest twinge of guilt, you conceal some packaged foods from the cupboards and fridge in your pack. You pick an apple from the fruit bowl on the table and take a bite, the crunching of your jaw loud in the silent room. You didn’t realise just how hungry you were and tuck a second apple into your coat pocket. Through the window, you can see a rambling garden stretching out across the grounds, the grass and leaves tinted blue in the dawn light.

 Leaving your pack by the front door, you decide to have a look around. A great house like this must have at least twenty rooms, and its unlikely you’ll get another chance to explore anywhere so richly furnished. You briefly wonder how far the behind you the police might be, but try to calm the panic that rises at that particularly thought. You’re no good half-dead on the run, and this might be your last safe space for a while.

 Heading back upstairs, you decide to investigate the nearest bedroom. It looks like it might belong – or at least once belonged – to a child, but there aren’t any toys you’d recognise from a modern child’s nursery. The clockwork figures and wooden mannequins look like objects from the 1950’s, as do the books on the shelves. Some of the toys are scattered over the floor by the bed, in contrast to the almost military neatness of the rest of the room, and one of the frames pictures is hanging askew on the wall. Almost automatically, you reach across and straighten it, and that’s when you see it – on the rug, a small, dark red stain, about the size of a side plate. A ripple of unease passes through you, though you know it could be something as innocuous as cranberry juice or ink.  

 As you’re about to exit the room, you notice something else – one of the doors on the opposite side of the landing has a large hole through it. The edges are rough, as though someone had forced their fist through in an attempt to reach whoever was on the other side. You wonder if there was some kind of a burglary, and you’re ten steps away from discovering the horribly mangled bodies of the man, woman and boy you saw in the portrait. Perhaps the assailant is still here, lurking behind one of these doors. Out of the corner of your eye, you see something a little unusual – on a large wooden trunk at the foot of the child’s bed is a long metal pipe with a curved end, kind of like the head of a harpoon. Picking this up, you venture out into the hall and move, as quietly as you can, towards the broken door. The room beyond is trashed – clothes scattered everywhere, and an old-fashioned telephone lying broken on the floor. The wardrobe door is standing open, and as you move closer, you see a strange panel standing open at the back. Glancing over your shoulder to make sure the room is still deserted, you push open the panel to reveal a passageway, just wide enough for a grown man to move through, built into the inside frame of the house. Part of you knows it would be an incredibly bad idea, but the other part of you that’s holding the makeshift weapon, allows your feet to lead you inside the secret passage.

 The tunnel is dark and dusty, dimly illuminated by the light of the rooms outside and the occasional electric light bracketed to the brick interior. A couple of times, you come across large gaps in the walls, where the wooden slats have been shattered by a great force. By peeping through the slats, you can see exactly whereabouts in the house you are. After ten or so minutes of sneaking, you spy a bright shaft of electric light coming from beneath a door ahead of you. Like Alice venturing further down the rabbit hole, you reach out and push against the wood.

[ateamoffour]

Two Beauts and One Brute || Closed RP with k-chxn

“FUCK.”

..Good evening to you as well.

Don’t mind her. She was just angry about the fact that her order got delayed. Again. And this was just one of the many things that has happened on this day. Things could’ve gone a lot better today. Like, a lot. Better. Let’s have a recap of what happened today.

The day actually started to somewhat decent. You wake up, you go to the bathroom to prepare yourself, and then head downstairs for some breakfast. the only thing is, Hennessey has never really been able to get something through her throat before she had some tea. Except for.. well.. you know..

The only thing is that.. her cup of tea didn’t go as planned. When she tried to take a sip, she spilled her drink all over herself. Literally just as she got out of the shower. This meant that she had to: One: get herself cleaned up again Two: pull on a clean shirt and pair of trousers and Three: clean up after her mess. This was not how she imagined on how her morning to go. But honestly, things could be worse. If she was not the kind of creature she happened to be, she would’ve severely burned herself. Oh well.. at least that was that.

Having cleaned up after most of her mess, she got into one of many o’ cars she had, and drove to the Police station she was employed at. The idea here was that she was to meet up with a new recruit they had, and they appointed her a the teacher, for some reason.. but upon arriving there, she had heard that they had to cancel due to illness. She drove about 50 miles all the way here, only to find out they cancelled. Great. Now she had just wasted her time on somebody that wasn’t even gonna show up. Oh well.. at least the route she chose to drive had some scenes that could calm her do-- eh? what’s this? . . . Oh. A few goons were racing again. And they wanted her to get after them. Again. She was halfway on the route back home, and now she had to go after some punks. They better make it worth her while.

~~~~~

A little while later, and she had finally caught the kids that were making a scene. though with her skills behind the wheel, it wasn’t much trouble. It was capturing them that was the difficult part. But she managed to do so.. eventually.

Finally, back home. Time for a relaxing bath in some.. ...what.. the actual...

“Oh for fuck-- SKITTLES. WHERE ARE YOU.”

Plants across the floor, toilet paper all over the bathroom, and a few broken decorative vases. Turns out her cat Skittles had the party of a lifetime. The only thing that cats don’t consider is usually the aftermath. Hennessey was not happy, at all. Now she had to spend the entire evening cleaning up after her cats’ mess. Order a few of the same plants, a couple of new pieces of art and head into town to buy some toilet paper. ..that last thing was not such a big problem actually. She had to do some groceries anyway.

Back home, with everything in place, the shattered vases, plant pots and all of the dirt cleand up, and Hennessey was completely knackered. Yes, there were days where she had to work quite hard, but not in a bad way. This, however... ..she could use some food to forget about all of this.. ...yeah.. Sushi sounds good..

Jumping back in the car she used for this day, she drove to the nearest town she could find, parked a few yards away from the designated Sushi bar, and went the last few metres on foot. After a quick glimpse of what was inside, and she noticed that only a few were there. Good. A full place and she probably would’ve flipped her sh- nah, she won’t do that..

Having taken her place at the table that was the farthest way from anyone, she was to glimpse out of th window to have a look at what was going on outside. That was.. until she got a text from the local Hypercar dealership, notifying her that her new Senna has been delayed.. for the third time. Which ultimately led to...

“FUCK.”

Yup, we’re back on track. And needless to say, Hennessey was pissed. Her shouting was loud enough for everybody to drop what they were doing and turn their attention to her. Normally, she would apologize for making a scene like that, but she was absolutely fuming right now. The Waitress was in a bit of a shock as well, but decided to take her order anyway.. After she ordered her usual drink.. which was a simple Sakura tea, she threw her phone on and crossed her arms, pinching the bridge between her eyes as she sunk all the way down to her chair.

...Although she wouldn’t admit it, but she could use some company right now..

@k-chxn

[prorevenge]

Steal our money and abuse your children? Good Luck with life.

I would just like to put this out there that while I still am a minor, this culminated only last year. Also, I am based outside the US, Canada and Europe, so perhaps some laws may differ. I also suck at languages. Sorry if it gets too long. NSFW tag is needed for details further on. This is a new account, so there will be people who call this fake, and I apologise if this comes off as so.

During the 2008 financial crisis, my father had (ironically) received a promotion based on a project that had rolled out worldwide a few months ago. While his salary only received an increment upgrade, he received a healthy stock bonus (I think that is what they called). As a form of celebration, he decided to buy the apartment we were (and still are living) in and give it a fresh coat of paint (i.e. renovate the house completely). He bought it at well below the market price and the previous owner was more than happy to get the home of his hands so that he could pay off the loan on it. All done and said, my father looked around for a renovator who would work at a reasonable price.

He eventually found one who was ready to do the work at a fraction of the cost the others were doing it at, and after settling on designs and material choices, we moved out of the house and into a service apartment while they began to do the work over 6 months. Now, my father is a very naive person. He believes in the good every being, and will give everything if it means it will help you. The renovator, who we shall name as James, seemed a pitiful character at first. He claimed to be severely overworked by the owners, and had been looking for a way to set up his own business. He non directly was insinuating that my father lend him some money, but, as it was the midst of the financial crisis, my father assured he will try his best to help James out.

Over the 6 months, my younger sister and I got very close to James' two children; twin sisters (Violet and Bella) who were of my age. We would meet often at the local playground, while my father and James would discuss how to help James out with his idea for a business. My father would always recommend a lender, but James would always refuse, stating some bullshit excuse about how he does not want to be tied up. Eventually, my father gave in, and scrubbed together $10,000 to help James bankroll his own renovation business (which in hindsight makes no sense because how do you set up a renovation business with only $10,000). James was very grateful for this and promised to return the money back, and my Father had a contract created with the help of a lawyer, and both James and him signed it.

After the 6 months was over, we moved in. The house was in a great condition, and us kids loved it. But strangely, right after we picked up the keys from James, we never heard a word from in. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and finally months into years, and yet we could never trace James or his kids (he had no wife), and my father did not get his money back, which was a severe strain on us for a year and a bit more. We lodged a police report, but found that this was only one amongst many cases that were against James, and the name and details we had received from him were fake. They were ghosts.

This really depressed my father, because it opened his eyes to the type of people that were around him, and the fact that even if he wanted to look for the good in people and help them, he would always be taken advantage of, regardless of whether it was in the office or in social life.

Fast forward a few years to around March of 2017, and I had just entered the final two years of my schooling education. At the time, I was 15, while my classmates were between 16-17 (I skipped a grade when I was younger, and thus, will still, legally, be a minor when I graduate this year). During the first day of orientation, I picked out two familiar faces in the crowd, that at first I could not put my finger on who they were, and this was strange because I had been in this school for many years and could easily recognise anybody. It took me a few days, and looking at them carefully during classes, to realise that the two new girls who had joined were Violet and Bella themselves, albeit with completely different names and in a bad shape. I approached them at first, thinking they would recognise me, but they never did (and had), and were kind of apprehensive the first few weeks. They did not make many friends at school.

But over time, I managed to get through their armour, and, while they were still not entirely comfortable with me, it was miles better than how the rest of the school treated them. And this was when I actually got a good look at how they had turned out. There were many scars on their hands, any time parents or family were mentioned in the conversation, they basically turned off and went ghost white, and if a boy came even within 2 metres of them, they would turn as white as a sheet or become very agitated. The school counsellor had also notice this, and asked their parents (James essentially) about this, but he played dumb when asked questions and claimed he did not know why these were occurring (just a note, I found this out later but added it here because it helps the flow of the events). I realised something was horribly wrong nearly the instant I saw them but this confirmed it.

Over the same time, my friends and I tried to include them in as many activities as possible, and we took as many pictures with them (and every time somebody took out a camera they would shudder) as possible under the guise of memories, but I mostly kept them as evidence because I had a feeling this was not a good story. It is also important to note I had not told my father that James' children were in my school as it would only trigger bad memories for him and I did not want him to go through the same phase again.

After collecting these pictures, my friends and I made a beeline for the counsellor. The pictures showed in greater details the type of scars that the two sisters had on their hands and feet, which aren't visible in school uniform as our uniform consists of long pants and a full sleeve shirt. I am pretty sure the counsellor and us had a good idea where these scars had come from, but the pictures only was not really great evidence to James arrested, but it was enough to have our country's CPS equivalent get involved. And let me tell you, these guys do not mess around. They have their own division of military trained "police" officers and are relatively well funded, will go to any lengths to thoroughly investigate a case, and will ruin your life if they even doubt you.

After submitting the pictures, and learning a case was opened, we were not involved in much else as we were still minors. That was, until a few months after (December of 2017), when my friends and I were pulled out of class by the principal, and were taken to the local police station were a representative of CPS was waiting for us. They were very polite, and wanted to know more information about the case. Apart from what were in the pictures, and what we gave, my friends could not provide much else. Neither could I, but I saw the representatives eyes light up for a second when I mentioned about who the father was and how he had cheated our family. But apart from that, we did not hear much after that, other than they might need us as witnesses (I am sorry if this comes off as wrong but this is what I recall) if the case proceeds onto court.

Some weeks later (January of 2018), my father received a call from the police to come down for the case on James (I don't think it was ever closed due to the sheer magnitude of number of cases against James). Apparently they had let him know that there was a new lead on where James might be and he might be needed later on. They also let him know that CPS was on the case too, so he should expect a call soon on them for their case on James (I think they now believed that James was behind the scars). My father had known by know that I had gone to the counsellor with pictures of Bella and Violet being potentially abused, as the principal had called him up on the day CPS had pulled me out of class for an interview, so he had fully expected this, and was seething with anger because a man he had thought to be good had stolen his money and abused his own daughters.

After that, I do not know what happened for a long time. Bella and Violet remained in school, more drawnback than ever, and my friends and I were not contacted any more. Until one day, around June of 2018, just before we broke for summer, when they were met outside of school by a representative of CPS. I was a close friend of them by now, so I was walking with them to the bus stop, when we were met by the representative. He asked me to continue on, as he had to ask them a few questions. I moved on, fully expecting what was to happen. It didn't take long.

Around end September of 2018, CPS contacted my father and I, as well as my friends, regarding the case, They needed some things (I could not go that day as I had been hospitalised for a compound fracture), so my father went for the both of us (he could sign for me as I was still a minor and he was a legal guardian). When he came back, he was truly shocked. It turns out the problem was far more than I expected. My father had signed an NDA, as had my friends, and even though I had been involved, I could not get much out of them except that my friends and I had started something huge.

Come December 2018, and finally I found out just what we had started. The entire article was printed in the papers (James, Bella, Violet, my friends and I, and my father were not named due to a gag order to protect the identity of the victim; other than us lot, nobody else in the school or society, to my knowledge, knew who the children in question were).

Bella and Violet had not only been physically abused by James with the use of pipes and belts, but they had been raped by James multiple times, and their reaction to the camera, which I mentioned earlier, was due to the fact that James had been recording his rapings of his Bella and Violet, and had been trying to sell them to snuff sites on the dark web. In addition to this, he had cheated nearly 15 victims (including my father) out of nearly $200,000.

The book was thrown at James, mainly due his treatment of Bella and Violet, as well as due to another incident which had happened when he was being arrested, but I will not mention it because it, on its own, will give away where I am from. He was given multiple life sentences, no chance of parole, and was also given another punishment that is not used in other countries, but I will not mention it because it identifies where I am, but I am guessing the smart people here will be able to find out just what it is anyway.

I am also pretty sure the people in prison will do not take kindly to child rapists, so he is in hell. Which is good. Because that is all he deserves.

I do not know where Bella and Violet are, they were pulled out as soon as court proceedings began.

(source) story by (/u/TakeRevengeAsALiving)

[lindoig4]

Vancouver

The train (that is apparently known for always running late) arrived in Vancouver at 4am instead of 8am. We got up at around 6:30 and had a leisurely breakfast because the station didn’t open until 8am for us to collect our baggage.  We caught a cab to the hotel, to be told that we couldn’t check in until 4pm!  Never heard that anywhere else - the latest we had heard anywhere before was 2pm.

Anyway, we left our luggage in the baggage room and bought tickets for the HOHO bus - at a 30% discount just for that one day!  Lucky us.

It was a bit drizzly, but they get rain on more than 250 days a year so perhaps it was not unexpected.  We rode the bus around the full circuit and stayed on for another half circuit until we got back to Gastown where we hopped off for a really nice lunch in a hole in the wall place along the main street close to the Steam Clock - a really fascinating piece of historical equipment.

The commentary on the bus was excellent: entertaining and informative and the sights were really great.  The huge Stanley Park and beach areas were particularly beautiful and the whole experience was miles ahead of the equivalent HOHO in Toronto - and so was the city!

By the time we had enjoyed a slow lunch, the rain had almost stopped so we strolled down to the waterfront where we watched a seal frolicking around, presumably for our entertainment.  Two huge cruise ships we berthed there so we wandered around the terminal area and reminded ourselves how much we would hate to be on such a big ship - and these were only about a third as big as the massive floating cities that have been put into service in the past few years.

We finished the second circuit on the HOHO bus and returned to our room and ate a very nice, albeit very expensive, meal in the restaurant.  I have been hanging out for something spicy so I thoroughly enjoyed a Vindaloo and we shared a bottle of really excellent local cab sav.  Perhaps surprisingly, the Canadian reds are really worth looking out for!

We reckon that Vancouver is a very attractive city, vibrant and progressive, with lots of life and proud of its identity and achievements.  It had a good feel about it and perhaps the moody drizzle set the scene for us in the morning before a bright and sunny afternoon.  All in all, a good day and we were delivered back to the hotel just as the reservations desk opened!

Monday was an adventure day!  We went on a harbour lunch cruise and although we might have been able to get to the starting point on our HOHO ticket (a lot of HOHO tours give you two days for the price of one), timing was a bit tight so we took a cab through some more lovely moody mist and boarded our boat.  I guess there were about 100 of us, but we were on the upper (enclosed) deck, right near the window and close to the door to the forward viewing deck outside - the best seats in the house I think. There was a bit of commentary, but not at all invasive, and the food was excellent too.  We chatted with people on either side of us and they introduced us to Caesars - a bit like spicy Bloody Marys on steroids.  I didn’t think they were that alcoholic, although they said they usually were, but they were certainly delicious and something we might try to make at home.

The scenery was spectacular.  The surrounding mountains were often lost in the clouds, but they were awesome and we passed several islands crowded with huge trees and nesting places for birds, mainly gulls and Canada Geese.  Parts of the shoreline were festooned with mansions, often owned by celebrities unknown to us uncivilised Aussies (I had heard of Steve McQueen though) but there were lots of exotic big hideaways set into the forest and only accessible by boat.  Great for people like Howard Hughes - another name even a pleb like me recognised.  The cruise went along the northern side of the main harbour for several kilometres and into Indian Arm, a delightfully remote stretch hemmed in by mountains and forests.  The rain came and went a few times, drizzles and serious showers, interspersed with short periods of bright sunshine.  The end of the cruise was at Silver Falls where the bow was edged in to within a metre of the shore and everyone crowded in to take photos of a great little waterfall - not quite Niagara, but pretty anyway.

We then returned to the dock where we had boarded by following the southern shore, again with a bit of interesting commentary.  It was a lovely 4 hours in wonderful surroundings - but then came the adventure segment.

We decided to walk along the Harbourside Gardens to the place we wanted to catch the HOHO bus home again and out in the middle of nowhere, it rained.  I am not talking about a huge flooding deluge, but REAL rain such as even the locals who are used to heavy downpours had not seen before.  It pelted down and despite hiding out in the trees in our raincoats, we were drenched in seconds.  We decided that we couldn’t get ant wetter so kept walking another 100 metres to where we could get into the basement of the Convention Centre and tried to reorganise our backpacks a bit.  Alas, too late!  Everything was already wet and there was a pool of water in the bottom of mine.

We ended up walking along a service road under the Convention Centre with cars and trucks whizzing by, water pouring out of broken drains above, below and beside us, and great gushing fountains metres high from flooded stormwater drains underneath the road.  There were big pools of water everywhere and our shoes were soon full.  A guy in a car eventually stopped and told us how to get into a mall from the back door and we finally made it out to the main road and caught the last HOHO for the day.  But wait, there’s more........

There were a few other drowned rats like us on the bus and everyone was talking about the amazing deluge, but off we went on the circuit back to our hotel.  The circuit included Stanley Park and we took a slightly different route at one point and I saw a cute sign at a roadway near a small bridge – ‘Load limit 13 tons, cyclists excepted!’  Not sure how many cyclists would need to divert, but the bus was certainly over 13 ton.  A kilometre or so up the road, a Police car was blocking the r oad because a huge tree had succumbed in the storm and fallen across the road making it impassable.  Quite a few cars were coming up behind us and they were all able to be diverted back along the side road to the 13 ton bridge, but ours and another bus were stuck with nobody guessing how many hours it would be before they could clear the road.

After quite some time, a couple of cops came on motorbikes and escorted the buses back down the one-way road we had come along. There were still cars coming up the hill and several times, they blocked the corners the buses had to negotiate and the cop had to turn them around or reroute them, to allow us to get through.  It was quite an adventure.  Some people were probably stranded at other stops our bus couldn’t reach and we had to take a different route so saw things that we hadn’t seen on the official route.  By now it was after 7.30 and the bus is supposed to finish at 6.30 so once the other passengers alighted where they needed to go, we just told the driver to skip the rest of the route and take us to our hotel by the easiest way she could.  We had started to dry out a little by then, but once we got to our room, we converted it into a Chinese laundry for a bit over 24 hours and got everything almost dry - although I still put damp socks on this morning 2 days later!

We were supposed to go on the seaplane Mail Run next day, a flight to a few islands dropping off and picking up mail and parcels, but I had lots of cramps during the night (too long wearing wet cold shoes and clothes the day before) and Heather had a bad night with a very raw throat (same reason no doubt) so we rang them before 7am and cancelled it.  They wanted to charge us a cancellation fee despite our documentation saying we could cancel up to 15 minutes before the flight with no penalty.  As it happens, we hadn’t paid anything and they didn’t know our credit card details, so they were whistling Dixie anyway so we spent the day in our room recuperating.

We both blogged and Facebooked, sorted and edited photos and I spent a few hours going through all by bird photos identifying some that I couldn’t ID before when I had no internet on the train  I only added about 6 or 7, but it was a fun little job.  We also had to do a complete repack once things were dry (and seal up those few items that weren’t) so we had a full day pottering in the room.

We had enjoyed our ‘to go’ meal the previous night after the storm so went out to the same area and bought a small selection of similar things for dinner and our 4am breakfast next day before catching the bus to Seattle and the train to San Francisco.

[xk-100]

[ O ] STAY INSIDE WITH THE REST OF THE TEAM

Kassandra watched as Connor pushed back the curtain and walked onto the balcony area.

Bang!

A splatter of thirium.

He would survive. While his body was perhaps not as ready to take damage as hers, he was still designed to be in dangerous situations nonetheless. If he really did shutdown from a minor injury like that, she would be brought to question why they'd sent a model like him.

The apartment seemed to go silent in hopes of hearing what was going on outside-- no more glass underfoot, no more voiced desires to just “shoot the damned thing”. Kassandra took this time to move back to her spot watching the live feed of the situation-- her arm placed on the desk, beside one of her team member's, to prop her body up.

Connor appeared to going for the 'slow approach' angle. Good. Though, even though his current look on the situation was diminishing the number of bad outcomes that swum through Kassandra's mind, without proper backup from here, the truly terrible end results still couldn't leave her.

Her fingernails tapped on the desk and her sight seemed to be flitting from location to location on the video feed. Every few seconds, her LED would flash yellow before circling blue again.

“You should've gone out there.” A voice came from behind her-- Captain Allen's. He sounded curious though his dictatorial overtone overrode that.

She swallowed-- a learned behaviour. Kassandra had taken on some of the habits of the humans around her to appear less unsettling and more real. She'd noticed the strange noises that people made with their throats in response to or before speaking. To her, it was pointless. Honestly, she was quite puzzled when she realised for the first time but, nevertheless, she logged some of them as her own new habits.

“I'm more useful to you indoors. Tracking what's happening in here is more... relaxed for me.” Her gaze never left the screen. One of her fingers moved over to the keyboard and tapped in a command, making one of their small drones rotate. The officer running the surveillance system cursed quietly and went to move it back but her own hand batted him away.

Allen's gaze flickered between Kassandra and the illuminated screen. He was silent for a few moments. She knew that he was deciding on what to say. He shuffled to the other side of the officer and leant on the desk in a similar way to her. “You're planning something. What is it?”

Finally, her pale sight looked to him. Kassandra had been in this task force for perhaps a few weeks now and moments in which the team listened to her were few, despite her determination to be seen in a good light by the people she had to work with. She didn't understand their response either; androids were generally well received in the precinct so why wasn't she? Maybe they were just busy. Kassandra wasn't made to do menial police work so her occasional questions as she meandered through the office could be seen as irritating. Her LED flickered yellow for a half-second. She'd make note of that hypothesis.

Perhaps she could've been described as somewhat shocked, though it simply meant that she had more things to calculate now. Besides, she showed no inclination of surprise on her features-- nor should she have.

“Buildings A, B, and C.” She pointed to the three rooftops that surrounded the apartment block they were currently stationed on. He hummed in response and she noticed him do the gentlest of nods from the corner of her vision. “We place two-- maybe three for certainty, though I'm 87% sure it's unneeded-- officers equipped with snipers. On building A--” The one to the left of their position. “-- make them angle themselves approximately forty-five degrees south-east. That'll get them direct hits on the deviants front-- perhaps even if the child is still in his grasp but I'd advise against it. Building C--” A slender finger pointed to the one on the right. “--should have the same set-up.  Mirrored essentially and--”

“--and building B should just face directly west for shots to his back. Exactly. They,” Allen stood straight, gesturing toward his earpiece, “Said that that would be an 'ill-advised move'.” He seemed to mimic a voice for a second yet sounded completely exasperated simultaneously. Kassandra's lips quirked upward at one corner-- recognising mockery as a form of humour.

        [  ALLEN ▲ ]

“Well, Captain, they should doubt you less. Tell them that the XK-100 approved of it; it might change their mind-- with all my adaptations considered. I mean no offence to you.” Her voice was surprisingly amiable-- perhaps even playful. A tone filled with so many layers of feeling was strange for an android but he was aware of how she was made-- what was put into her to make her like this. Sometimes he was uncertain on if it made him more or less comfortable around her.

With no other words, Allen left to give commands to the men on the rooftops and Kassandra resumed her watching of the deviant and Connor. Once again, she pressed something on the keyboard and the drone rotated again, moving a metre or so to the left.

Connor had gotten decently close now and the deviant's LED had finally died down from that blaring red to a calmer yellow. He seemed to be doing well. It was a shame that she couldn't make out what they were saying to one another.

Kassandra was watching the deviant. Its arm appeared to be looser around the child and the gun in its hands wasn't pushing directly into the side of her head. If it were human, she would've deduced feelings of remorse and regret. She was surprised that it hadn't yet made use of its ability to cry. If it was less overcome by what it deemed 'emotions', perhaps it would've been smart enough to realise that humans display sympathy when others weep.

If she was deviant, that's what she would've done.

The officer to her right muttered something and zoomed into Connor. Kassandra was about to scold him but, just as she opened her mouth, it shut again.

The RK-800 had a gun.

A new mission appeared in her vision.

          [ M I S S I O N:

                     APPREHEND RK-800 #313 248 317 – 51 ]

[ X ] COMPLETE THE MISSION

[ O ] DISMISS THE MISSION

[monkeyspawnskydiamond]

Don’t ask me to feel sorry for my rapist - Nina Funnell

Nine years ago I threatened to kill a man. I did not know his name or anything about him. And yet when I threatened to kill him, I meant it.

To this day I still wonder what would have happened if, by some fluke, the box-cutter had made its way into my own hand.

I wonder if I would have pressed the cold blade against his throat, as he had done to me just moments prior. I wonder if I would have found it in me to stab him as he lay there on top of me, strangling me, bashing me, indecently sexually assaulting me.

I still don’t know.

What I do know is that by threatening to end his life, I saved my own.

I know that if I hadn’t wrestled him for the box-cutter, if I hadn’t screamed and kicked and thrashed about like a wounded animal, I might not have survived the night.

I do not say this to imply that women who have acted any differently in sexual assault situations have done the wrong thing. On the contrary, a different perpetrator might have killed me on the spot for fighting.

So my story is neither cautionary nor instructive. It’s just my story and there is no way to tell it without including certain details.

I was 23-years-old and an honours student at the University of Sydney. I’d woken up that morning and showered like I would have on any other day. The only thing that was different about this particular morning was that it was the day of my honours presentation — a day I had been working towards for months. It should have ended in celebration and elation.

Instead it ended with me at a police station.

I’d gone out for some drinks after class had finished (yes, I was drinking, as women are permitted to do from time to time) and I was making the 20 minute walk home to my parent’s place in Sydney’s lower north shore.

I was a few hundred metres from my front door when I was suddenly attacked from behind.

A solid-built man I had never seen before had seized me. He held a box-cutter blade to my throat and began dragging me into an adjacent park.

I didn’t see or hear him coming as I was listening to music from earphones. (Later I would be told that this was just one of the many reasons why I was to blame for his decision to attack.)

He then said point blank: “I am going to kill you”.

He punched me in the face and the force of the blow was so powerful that it knocked me off my feet and onto my back.

I lay in the dirt, immobilised by fear, as he moved on top of me. They call this the “freeze response” and I have since learnt that most sexual assault victims experience this sort of shock and paralysis.

Then I felt the life being choked out of me. His hand was on my throat, my trachea was being crushed, and I could taste blood in my mouth. I was also vaguely aware of a deep pain beginning to grow in my shoulders and back.

Hours later at Gladesville police station I’d be photographed and swabbed. I’d be asked to go into a small room and remove my top. Once in there, I would examine my body in the mirror and find what would soon become dark bruising across my back — bruising that was apparently caused by large, protruding tree roots that had been grinding into my back while the weight of my attacker’s body pushed my flesh into them.

During the assault though, I didn’t process that sort of detail. All I could think was “How can this be happening to me? Is this for real?”

Then my mind went somewhere else altogether. I shut my eyes tight and an old, forgotten memory played like a video before my eyes. I remembered being a young girl, maybe six or seven years in age. I was standing in that same park and I was watching my older brother play soccer on the field. I remembered how at half time, I’d eaten quartered oranges with him and it had made me feel special that he’d included me and talked to me with his older friends around.

That was it. That was the simple memory that I shut my eyes and held on to. It seems odd, doesn’t it? That a man is trying to rape and kill you and you think about eating quartered oranges with your big brother.

I’ve since been told that my brain was valiantly trying to protect me from the trauma of what was occurring to me. In transporting me to another time and place — a safer time and place — it was trying to shield me from what was happening.

And yet, just as quickly as I’d slipped into that dissociative state, I slipped back out of it again. And when I did, I found myself looking directly into my attacker’s face which was only inches away from my own.

His grasp was still on my throat. I couldn’t breathe and couldn’t move. I felt a sharp pain across my body and I remember thinking: “I don’t want to die. Not like this”.

****

When it comes to sexual assault, women are forever being asked “why didn’t you say no?” or “why didn’t you fight back?”

As though a rapist would ever listen.

As though victims are the ones who should be responsible for preventing the violence we experience.

If you really want to know why most women don’t fight back, it’s because of one of two things: we are either immobilised by fear, or we assume that fighting back will make things worse. This is, after all, something that has been drummed in to us all from a very tender age.

But that night I did fight back, not at first, and not because I am courageous. The only reason I fought was because adrenaline took over and I had nothing to lose.

My mind had eventually caught up and computed that I was in a kill-or-be-killed situation. And if I was going to die anyway, why not fight the f***er? Get his DNA if nothing else.

I began thrashing and resisting, and then I exploded yelling “I’m going to kill you first”.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

I’ll never forget the look of shock and surprise on his face when I said that. What I don’t remember, is exactly what happened in the next few moments.

Again, this is not uncommon. The nature of trauma means that survivors often have memory gaps or recollections that don’t add up. One counsellor explained that if your memory is like a filing cabinet system, a traumatic event will effectively toss all the files onto the floor, mess them around, and then shove them back in.

Some files get lost. Others get out of order.

She also told me that she’s never once met a sexual assault survivor who had perfect, chronological recall.

Such is the nature of trauma.

And yet I’ve also been told that if I ever do go to court, defence lawyers will almost certainly try to use my memory gaps against me.

I can look forward to some smug lawyer arrogantly trying to discredit me by painting me as an “unreliable witness”. The fact that I’m even classified as a “witness” frustrates me to tears. I wasn’t sitting outside my body, eating popcorn watching this happen from the sidelines. It was painful. It hurt. I didn’t “witness” violence, I endured it.

I’ve also been advised that in addition to my memory gaps, the fact that I had been drinking that night will almost certainly be used against me.

I’ll be painted as licentious. As slutty. As stupid. As a liar.

But to be very clear, my memory gaps are not evidence that I am lying. To the contrary, they are evidence of the traumatic nature of the violence I have experienced.

So here is what I do remember from that point on. I remember a sudden feeling of lightness on my chest and an awareness that there wasn’t a heavy body on me anymore. I have no recollection of climbing to my feet but I do remember being in a standing position and noticing a small amount of blood on my hand. I remember wondering if it was my blood or his (this would later turn out to be a defensive wound.) Then I remember picking up my bag and reaching for my mobile and dialling triple 0.

****

I wasn’t technically raped that night. And boy do people love to remind me of that.

“I know what happened is bad and all, but he didn’t actually, you know, get it up you, did he?”

This was the question put to me by a male manager at my casual job, a week after the assault took place. My bruises hadn’t even disappeared but the implication was clear: if there’s no P-in-V, it’s not so bad, is it?

Sure, I’d been indecently sexually assaulted, physically assaulted, strangled, told I would be killed, and held at blade point. But in a phallocentric world, sexual violence isn’t measured by the trauma the victim experiences, but by the perpetrator’s assessment of the event: and if the penis didn’t get its way? Then what right should I have to expect the same supports and police resourcing that a “real rape victim” would get?

This wasn’t the only insensitive comment people made.

“You’re a pretty girl, you know. You could take it as a compliment that he selected you.” (This piece of unsolicited advice was kindly offered by a female journalist working for a women’s magazine).

“You have to admit Nina, you were pretty stupid for walking home alone”. (This gem was offered by an old friend I went to school with.)

One woman asked in all seriousness: “Do you ever think this might not have happened if you had a closer relationship with God?”

Another woman took the time and trouble to email me to inform me that she had real pity for me until, that was, she learnt that I had been “doing all the wrong things”.

Since then, I’ve been told it’s my fault for drinking. My fault for listening to music. My fault for travelling alone (as though women should only ever venture out in public if they are in the company of a chaperone).

People have called me a liar and an attention seeker.

I’ve had one stranger persistently request that I share the police photos taken that night with him.

I’ve had other strange men send me messages of sympathy, immediately followed up with a sunny little dick-pic. For condolence, I guess. (No, I do not want to commiserate with your boner).

I’ve had schools ask me if I will come speak to their female students about the “risky situations” that women put themselves in (no, I won’t, don’t ask me again).

I’ve been asked whether the problem lies in girls “not respecting themselves” (and here I was thinking that my assault happened because my attacker has no respect for women, for me, or for my right to live a life free of sexual violence.)

I’ve also had someone suggest that the poor guy probably “just had no money, otherwise he would have gone to a prostitute”. As though sexual violence isn’t about power and control at all, but a man’s simple desire to have certain sexual needs met.

Over and over I have been asked the questions that so many other survivors have also been asked: “What were you wearing? How much did you have to drink? Don’t you know how stupid you were being?”

And each and every one of these questions (and so many more) serve to silence women. They do this by deflecting attention away from the actions and choices of perpetrators, and by insinuating that women are responsible for the violence we have experienced.

And finally there was this remark made by some clever chap who wanted to discuss my attack online:

“What a conceited bitch for thinking she’s even worthy of rape. The guy just probably wanted to give her a good bashing in which case job well done.”

Charming stuff, isn’t it?

Of course, this is only a fraction of what women deal with when we speak out publicly about sexual violence. And in many ways my own assault was easier to speak out about than many others. That’s because I was assaulted by a stranger and there was physical violence involved. But most victims aren’t assaulted by strangers and rarely are there physical signs of violence, and this makes it even harder to be believed.

And this is why so women stay silent. Why so many choose not to report.

It’s also why perpetrators feel so entitled to keep on offending: because our society continually affirms for them that women are in the wrong. That women are untrustworthy. That stranger-danger rape is the only “legitimate rape”. That women make-up sexual abuse in order to assuage sexual regret. That the word of a man is worth far more than the word of woman.

Over the last week I, along with so many others, have read the extraordinary victim impact statement made by the young woman who was raped by Brock Turner behind a dumpster at Stanford University.

Her words resonate deeply.

In addition to exposing the systemic victim-blaming that occurs when survivors disclose, she has also elucidated all the ways that perpetrators attempt to minimise responsibility, shift blame and discredit victims.

Her analysis of how some media will humanise perpetrators (by including references to their skills, hobbies or interests) while reducing victims to nothing more than invisible, silent “others” is equally compelling.

And in her words so many survivors the world over have found recognition and comfort. They’ve also found the courage to speak out and own their status as survivor.

I suspect this is because she is radically rewriting ideas about victimhood.

In the cultural conscience, victims are often presented as broken, voiceless and downtrodden. At best, we are pitied. At worst, we are despised and devalued as “damaged goods”.

Yet though her victim impact statement she has debunked those stereotypes and advanced a new image of a survivor who is intelligent, articulate, analytical, insightful, bold, brave, reflective and persuasive.

Her words are resilient, strong, and hopeful. She reminds me that even though my assailant has never been caught, and even though I am yet to have my day in court, recovery and hope is possible, and above all, I am not alone.

https://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/rendezview/dont-ask-me-to-feel-sorry-for-my-rapist/news-story/36d4af5f0cc287ba53eeb163bbe28841

[lindoig1]

Adventures on the train - Day 7

Feeling old right now, but it has little to do with it being my birthday. We went for a very long walk after the usual big breakfast. It was about 9 kilometres and we made it there and back without getting run over by the traffic. We walked up to the University and through some somewhat strange gardens. They were called the Xingqinggong Gardens, but I hesitate to pronounce that. Not sure how to describe the area. Certainly, there were manicured lawns and beautiful colourful gardens, but there was also a lot of other things that meant it was by no means a tranquil setting. Music was blaring from numerous boom boxes, encompassing a range of ethnicities, and people were dancing, anything and everything from ballet to Bollywood, waltzing, linedancing and tai chi, much of it highly improvised. Then there was a large lake with literally hundreds of pedal boats for hire, mainly in multiple shapes of ducks - and don’t forget the ghost house - we could hear the screams. There were numerous other pavilions where you had to pay to enter, but I couldn’t figure out what was inside - I don’t read Chinese and the pictures outside were not helpful. All had loud PA systems touting for business and competing by decibels to outdo the next attraction 50 metres away. There was also a smelly zoo of sorts, presumably including an aviary from the pics, but we eschewed that on the grounds that it would probably be rather depressing.

We returned to our room via a different route and were quite buggered by the time we got back. The road back was all along larger roads, including under the East Gate where we had walked on the City Wall yesterday, but on the way to the gardens, we had walked quite a way through parkland at the edge of the moat. The older Chinese (at least) seem to spend a lot of time outdoors and we saw them playing checkers and other games we didn’t recognise. There was one area full of birdsong and I thought it might let me see some more birds, but alas, it was just a caged bird market. Nearly all the birds were some variety of small myna, but there were also a few pardalotes and silvereyes too. We did see one new species in the gardens though: some Chinese grosbeaks.

We had to check out of our room by 2pm and we did so with minutes to spare. We wandered down the street for a ‘light lunch’ that still defeated us, and we are now ensconced in the lobby for a few hours until our pickup arrives at 7pm to take us to the train. We are just too footsore to do anymore walking today! Reading and resting are much more enticing right now.

And now we are on the train to Urumqi, pronounced Urumchi, Ulurumchi, Ururumchi and presumably more variations on a theme so we are sticking with the former until we have proof to the contrary. It was a fraught experience to start with. Our driver was a little early, but obviously wanted to knock if early. He dropped us in a side street and pointed back the way we had come and shooed us out of the car. He helped unload our bags from the back of the car and was off like a shot, before we even got organised - and within a minute, I realised that our hiking sticks that have been so invaluable to us already were still in the car. I sprinted after him, but couldn’t catch him. Next problem was to find the station. With some help from a couple of locals and a friendly policeman, we eventually trudged the 500 metres or so to the station dragging our bags past the place we should have been dropped 10 metres from the station gate - and found our way through the procedure fairly quickly. Maybe 60 or 70 stairs to go up and down to get to the platform, along with a thousand or two Chinese people all pushing us along so they could board first. We had two VERY helpful middle-aged men who helped carry our bags. They are very heavy and the help these guys gave us saved the day for us!!! We found our carriage and were just starting to catch our breath when 3 police arrived. We had 4 tickets and in China, the law says you can only have one each. Worse, only two had our names on them and poor Marg and Roy Henderson are presumably on a different train somewhere trying to explain to the police why their tickets are in the names of a Wheat and Doig! It was a little disconcerting for an hour, but the police enlisted the help of a young English-speaking engineer who helped enormously to explain what had happened. He rang the emergency contact our tour company had given us and between us all, the police finally returned our passports and tickets and we locked ourselves securely into our cabin and breathed a huge sigh of relief. This is likely to be a problem again if other police question our sole use of the cabin, so we are just a little nervous about how things will pan out. (At least, by the time anyone reads this, if anyone does, we will either be safely in Kazakhstan or you will have read about our incarceration in the Press.) Once the door was locked, my birthday celebration commenced in earnest, with a half bottle of Chilean red, a couple of biscuits and cheddar, a loquat and some of the fruit left over from last night’s hotel-provided feast.

Sleep at last – very uncomfortable, but safely on our way.

[nataliesnews]

XDemonstrations 1.10.2020

I am so condisfabulated  and I know that is not the word but it is what I feel….. Sometimes I feel as if my days are only full of walking, collecting bottles, going to demonstrations, writing to all of you non-stop. I don’t have much patience for zoom and hope that when our joint Arabic classed start up as there are only 5 of us we will be able to do it frontally. However bad things have been I have never woken up in the morning not wanting to get out of the bed but now I feel more and more that I have to force myself to do things and not just sit in front of the tv. The only thing that I read is Georgette Heyer and she takes me to a different world where you can read a whole chapter into just the raising of the eyebrow of the heroine.

   BB wants to control people even more by not letting them move more than 200 metres from their home. If he could carry out a military coup he would do it without thinking twice. The role of dictator would suit him. He should remember what happened to another dictator and his wife in Italy. 

 Also if anyone is found during the holiday in a Succah which is not his he will be fined. How they think to implement this I do not know. I would like to see them doing this in the Haredi areas.

 And what would be funny if it were not so bitter is the photo of a with a mask under his nose being fined by a policewoman in the same position.

 Some titbits of democracy in Israel

 Two protesters were taken in for questioning by police Thursday morning for telling a soldier stationed at a police checkpoint near the Knesset that he should be ashamed of himself for helping to stop protests.

The two women, both Tel Aviv residents in their fifties, are suspected of insulting a civil servant and are expected to be questioned Thursday. They filmed themselves at a police checkpoint on Tuesday on the way to the protest against tightening coronavirus regulations to clamp down on protests, which the Knesset was then debating. They told the soldier, among other things, that he is participating in a military coup and told him to disobey his orders, and called police stationed at the checkpoint “prostitutes.”

Many in the crowd said that they were sorry for the soldiers (and also for the police) I am sure some of them did not want to be there. And I don’t think prostitute should be used as an insult as no one knows what drove them to the profession. At least they work for their money which is more than can be said for many of those in the parliament

The Rosh Ha’ayin municipality has threatened to fine a resident unless she removes protest signs against Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu that she has placed on a fence on the perimeter of her property

The signs hung up by Ruti Erez on a fence, the opposite side of which is public property, read: “We’re fed up with you, disconnected people.”

  . I was furious yesterday though when I was told that we are not allowed visitors even outside. I really screamed at them. And it is so stupid. You can go out wherever you want to. So why for example can’t Suha, my Arabic teacher, come and sit with me far from the others. No we have to go across the road to a park or somewhere else. Bibisteria. Trouble is that we don’t have enough people who complain here. Yes they complain but heaven forbid they should open their mouths.

 But we have started having small demonstrations outside Nofim. Anyhow this woman in pink started off by sitting all on her own. She says she noticed that those on the right have become more violence both in gestures and language and people in an adjacent building have been using a loudspeaker to insult us. So far we have not been attacked though another small demonstration including children were nearly knocked over by two louts on motorbikes. We get many people hooting in support but most are apathetic or show us the finger. I shouted at one of those that I hoped he wouldn’t get any that night. Sarah Sherman just wrote to me that in her neighborhood they are also demonstrating. I think all over the city.

  Then Miami who gives exercise lessons here joined and phoned me. I phoned a few friends and then Gershon Baskin put it on facebook. And yesterday we were about 20. There are small demonstrations evidently all over Jerusalem. I brought one black flag back from Balfour and then Varda Levi who has never taken part in anything made two more for me. She joined us once but it having trouble with her knee so  her flags will represent her. And quite a few of the people from Nofim have joined us and others say they wished they could but it is too difficult for them.

 “Bibi is guilty of betraying our trust, deceit and bribes

  A young family who joined us

   Sometimes even when things are bitter something happens which gives a different feeling. I was at the demonstration at the parliament when the bill was being discussed  and a policeman tried to grab a sign from a man who was standing quietly with is and on which was written something the policeman did not like. Everyone surged forward around me which was a bit nerve-wracking because of my balance and suddenly I found I was encircled by a man and a woman who kept their arms around me and insisted on taking me to a quieter area. I was very tired by then As I had been out since 9.00 and the day was hot. I said that I wanted to walk to one of the police barriers to ask how far I would have to walk to get to an area where I could get a taxi. A young man insisted on going for me and same back to say that he had made an agreement with the commander there that they should bring in a taxi for me. It was rather embarrassing and I kept saying to him that I was fine and would manage but they would not let me go. As it did not work out that way I found myself even more embarrassingly being escorted to a police car which then drove me out of the area of the barriers and to a place where I could order a taxi. I appreciate their concern but really I do not want to be treated as a shrinking violet. I think it is mainly the sticks which make the impression on people that I have to be looked after. They don't know how nasty I can get. And I thought how my friends would open their eyes if they saw me in a police car having a pleasant conversation

 Then last night I was at Balfour with Varda Cheled.  We heard in the evening that there was to be a last demonstration before the law came into affect. I felt I was just too tired to go and so did she but then she phoned at about  9 pm and said that there were many people there and I got dressed and we went. As I got into the car I said to here, “I don’t know who is crazier. Me or you.” I told her that when Ellen  and I used to go out together we would say that we should never be allowed out alone with a responsible adult.

  The demonstrators were not violent and well behaved. The police on the other hand were out for prey. Now that there are less cars on the road and less parking fines they evidently feel that they have to make their purse at the demos. They simply went into the crowd, about 200 people, and pulled people out to be arrested. They went around in groups of 4 or larger.

 The sign says “The people against the government.”

   Very happy with themselves. We stayed until the end and I was glad to hear Hatikva being played. As a friend said before it is a long time since I felt pride in holding  our flag and could sing Hatikva. We were there until about 11 and it ended quietly.

 But something that is worth noting. This man and woman, obviously BB supporters, wandered around in the crowd of demonstrators and though he had on a shirt which proclaimed who he was and at the end started ranting and raving no one tried to attack him or use violence in any way. Had this been the other way around he would have been beaten up by the extreme right an a few minutes of his appearance.

  The crowds of police protecting the entrance to the holy (holey!) (where the rats can crawl into when the ship sinks) home of Balfour.

[thepandemicinterviews]

Steven, August 11 2020, Sydney

After editing this interview with Steven (I struggled to edit anything out, so apologies in advance for the length), I put on Side C of Norman Fucking Rockwell and blasted “California” in my room.

Oh, I'll pick you up If you come back to America, just hit me up 'Cause this is crazy love, I'll catch you on the flip side If you come back to California, you should just hit me up We'll do whatever you want, travel wherever how far We'll hit up all the old places We'll have a party, we'll dance 'til dawn I'll pick up all of your Vogues and all of your Rolling Stones Your favorite liquor off the top shelf I'll throw a party all night long

Another great line: I've heard the war was over if you really choose.

I love to hate on America, yet I also understand its allure and fantasy. I can’t help but think about this “war” as Covid, and the insular, ignorant, optimistic American population choosing that it’s over. I can admire their raging belief in the unreal. This is what Hollywood was built on.

Searching America in my notes, I see that in June 2016 I wrote a list of movies I liked. Among them: Heathers, Mulholland Drive, American Beauty, Dazed and Confused, Doom Generation. What do these films have in common? They all, I think, capture a particular American delirium—the how far will you go to experience beauty, never mind how false it is. A note from May 2018 simply reads “America—land of delusion”. In July 2018, when I was in Paris, I jotted down a few things from American writer Jenny Zhang’s talk outside Shakespeare and Company. Notably: “The utter abusiveness of the American dream.”

It’s difficult these days to look at any news stories regarding American politics and coronavirus without wanting to laugh, cry, and vomit all at the same time. But then you think of the 300 or so million people who have to live there, under Trump. Some obviously blinded by misinformation and their sheer lack of critical thinking skills, but the others? I draw a blank—I feel like punching something on their behalf.

Steven moved to Los Angeles at the beginning of this year to pursue a life of excitement and wonder. It was all lined up—it was finally happening. He was meeting celebrities, getting jobs, doing everything that Lana del Rey would have wanted for him. Until Covid hit, and the red carpet was no longer. Fast forward (or slow forward) to the end of March, and he’s in hotel quarantine in Sydney, getting lambasted by Boomers who are complaining about him complaining. Steven is an example of someone whose life has been forcibly upended by this evil virus. Or, to put it more lyrically, his dream was shattered by something so devastatingly real that no amount of cheery American humour could repair it. His is a story of profound rearrangement, but there is a happy ending: safety.

C: Hi Steven. So this isn’t the first time you’ve been interviewed, right, about your experience?

S: No! You heard that I made my way on the news a couple of times?

C: I knew that you had interviewed for, was it Sydney Morning Herald?

S: Yeah, so I work for Channel Nine so I’ve got a few friends at Sydney Morning Herald and around in the Channel Nine world, I guess. I did one for that newspaper, I did one for 9Honey. I was on the news a couple of times. I mean, my whole experience coming home was documented through a few different news stories. And I did a few interviews on radio, 2GB, ABC Radio, Today FM and Kiis FM. So it was a lot. A lot of media. And the Today Show, but that’s my show, that’s what I usually work on, so it was more just like, Steven can you come and do a segment with us? And I was like, let’s do it!

C: Was that in person? Or while you were in quarantine?

S: Yeah, so coming home I was one of the first groups of people to be put in hotels. I got sent to the Ibis hotel, got put in a very small box for two weeks. Went a little crazy. But yeah, the morning after I got there is basically where I did all those interviews from. I’ve never really done remote interviews either, so it was a lot of getting used to for a lot of us.

C: Were you happy to do the interviews?

S: Totally. So, coming home was pretty shit to say the least. For at least those first few days when I was coming home I had something to do. On the plane back home, I had to document stuff for the newsroom.

C: Wow, so they were lined up before…

S: Yeah, yeah. I mean, I was in contact with the newsroom all the way, because it was a six hour bus ride from the airport to the hotel, because of just how slow the process had to be. So throughout that entire time, I was talking to the newsroom, and they go, Do you know which hotel you’re going to, we’re sending a reporter there. So as soon as I got off the bus, I found the lovely Tiffiny Genders from Channel Nine, she’s incredible. Ran up to her, and the police were trying to be like, Don’t leave! And I was like, I’m just going here! So we were trying to really make time to meet up for all of these moments in-person if we could, and eventually two weeks later when I got to leave the hotel, we did a follow-up with some more reporters that were there to see me hug my family as I left the hotel. So it was a lot, but it did give me something to do which is what I really needed because once it all calmed down after a few days, that was the beginning of the end for me [laughs]. I started to go a little crazy.

C: Right, so [what was it like] during quarantine?

S: When I didn’t have anything to do, your brain wanders, especially when you’re in a two-metre by two-metre box and your only view of the outside is the same unchanging view of Darling Harbour. Which is beautiful, but I never want to see it again, not for a long time. Eventually when the only thing you have to do are your Animal Crossing chores, you start to go a little crazy. And I did! There was one day where I locked myself in the bathroom of the hotel room I was in, took a bottle of wine from the morning, until like eight hours later. I was very water wasteful that day, unfortunately. But I had an eight hour shower, where I just sat in there, got drunk. I say that I was singing, but it was more that I was screaming the lyrics to “Take Me Home, Country Roads” over and over, and apparently the police who were stationed on every floor of the hotel were banging on the door for a few hours, wondering if I had died. That was probably my craziest day. That’s probably the craziest I’ve ever been in my life.

C: How far into quarantine were you at that point?

S: To be honest, time stopped making sense. It was very strange when it came to time. I believe it was about halfway through, though. But the days bled into each other a lot in that hotel room. Because at some point I just closed the blinds as well, so I was going off my own body clock for a long time. I didn’t have the sun to tell me what time it was, what day it was. That was probably not good either. No, time didn’t exist for a little while.

C: How did you feel when you finally left that room?

S: Oh my god, it was something else! When the date came where they could finally tell us when we were leaving, it felt like this weight had been lifted off me, because I think the reason why I went a little crazy as well was the uncertainty of when exactly are we going to leave. So as soon as they told us, my spirits were already lifting and I was ready to just go. It did take some physical readjusting, I’ll tell you that, because the size of the room – I didn’t have much room to walk around, or use my legs really. So I actually had to get used to walking down the hallway before I left. But to be honest, leaving the hotel was kind of the same as going in, because the media circus kind of happened again. I started doing quite a few more interviews, for Channel Nine and for Channel Ten, did a few more news stories, and as soon as I left, I had a camera in my face and photos being taken by a journo, and just so much was happening. I was like, OK, let’s turn the media face back on, let’s do this. So leaving felt the same way as coming in, but going back home felt like a nice warm hug that I hadn’t had for quite a while. Because the whole process of having to move back home only two months after leaving home on a plan of staying away for twelve months felt pretty shit. It felt like dreams were being crushed [laughs]. So readjusting and going home, actually getting a hug from my family, was wonderful. And that’s what going home felt like as well, for quite a while. Having a nice warm blanket wrapped around me.

C: Lovely. When did you decide that you had to come back to Australia from the US?

S: So it was a bit of a weeklong process, I think, for me to come to that decision. As you’re well aware, it was a long process from when things started to get serious to when borders were being announced to be closed, to when Scomo announced that we’d have to go to hotel quarantine, and all of that. And I was keeping up to date with it the entire time, because I wasn’t sure what was going on, and I wanted to keep an eye on it just in case I maybe did have to come home. But I remember the day I came to that decision, I was having a very depressed bath, with another bottle of wine in the apartment I had moved into in Burbank in Los Angeles. And I just randomly got a call from my mum, and as soon as I picked up, all she said was, I think you have to come home. This doesn’t look like it’ll get any better. And that’s just when the tears started and I was like, yup. So that was the moment that we decided, and it was about one week before I flew out, and it was a little risky as well, because the flight that we did book, one of the only ones that we could’ve booked, was the very last flight from Los Angeles to Sydney. On Virgin Airways as well, which means I think it’s the very last Virgin Airways flight from LA to Sydney in history. And it was a little bittersweet too, because it was probably the greatest flight of my life. It was the most comfortable flight I’ve ever had, because it was very socially distanced, and there was an overabundance of food, and the flight attendants wanted to give us a great experience, so I was very comfortable. But unfortunately the saddest flight, but also the most comfy. But yeah, I do physically just remember sitting in that bath, getting a call from my parents, and just coming to terms with, oh no.

C: It’s bigger than me.

S: Yes! I can’t just ride this out here. Originally, I did think that, you know, maybe I can go home for a couple of months, because my Visa will still be valid if I get to go back a couple of months later. I can stay until January, basically, so hopefully this all blows over in a couple of months and I can just come back to my apartment in Burbank and get those jobs again. Nope. It definitely doesn’t look like I’ll be back for a long time. But I think I’ve come to terms with that now. It sucked; coming to terms with it sucked. I do remember another day when I realised this was going to be a thing though. When I started paying attention –

C: Do you know what time it was? What month?

S: It was mid-March, it was right before – I was going to go to this premiere for Reese Witherspoon’s new Hulu show. I can’t even remember the name of it at this point, but I was super excited for it. I went out the night before to go buy some fancy clothes for the premiere, for red carpet. And as I was leaving the shopping centre that night, that’s when I saw the email that it’d been cancelled. Due to social distancing rules and everything, and that’s when I realised, oh, this is big. Oh no! That was the first moment for me. And then the next moment was Scomo saying forced quarantine.

C: It all happened so quick. Like mid-March to end of March I think were the longest two weeks of my life.

S: Literally! Tell me about it. Those two weeks felt like months! When I think about my time living in Los Angeles, it amounted to about two months in general. It felt so much longer because of that final fortnight. And then also the fortnight in the hotel, where I was kind of in this in between limbo world where I wasn’t away, but I wasn’t at home, and all of that. But those specific two weeks where things were still being decided? Everything was so uncertain? It made me age so much [laughs].

C: Yeah, I feel like everyone was coming to terms with the fact this that is a thing –

S: Yeah, collectively. I’ll be honest, being so in contact with everybody at home at the time, and also being in the Los Angeles community – Australians definitely came to terms with it a lot quicker than Americans did.

C: Because it wasn’t already happening, like we weren’t in the thick of it yet, so we had time to come to terms with it. But what was happening in Los Angeles at the time you were about to leave?

S: A lot of denial. I still remember, on one of the shows I was on, one of the crew members just saying, It’s a damn panic, not a pandemic. Over and over again. And that was very much a lot of the sentiment of a lot of people. There was still a lot of people that were like, yes, we should be wearing masks. Some people thought that wearing masks was a sign of hysteria, and we shouldn’t because of blah blah blah. I did push a lot of these memories away at the time because it was a little stressful. Just because I couldn’t believe that people weren’t taking it seriously. And I did get to the point where I really really did not feel safe. Not in the same way where, when I came home, if I wore a mask and gloves and sanitised and went out when I needed to – you know, there’s a level of not feeling safe with that. Even as much as I could prepare going out in LA, I could never feel safe. Just because of the sentiment I knew that was growing. And then there were a lot of fights over toilet paper right outside of my apartment where there was a small supermarket. And that’s when I was like, ah, Americans are crazy.

C: I think that was happening here as well [laughs].

S: That’s true! I did see the news eventually. That’s when I was like, people aren’t really taking this seriously in the right way. The sentiment was a lot of denial and then a lot of hysteria.

C: There was a lot of talk of people, like yourself, who were in the news about the hotel quarantine, complaining too much.

S: Oh, I could talk about this for ages! So I’ll just start off by saying that I got a couple of death threats.

C: Really?

S: Yeah, just a couple. A lot of very direct messages which were pretty much harassment. And oh, so many Facebook comments on the public posts that Channel Nine put up of the news stories. I felt like I kind of became ground zero for, you know, Zoomers and Millennials complaining about quarantine. Just to defend myself, I didn’t really complain myself, at all. I laughed at how small the hotel room was, and I did say I’d rather be with my family, but if this is what is the safest option then I’m happy to do that. But oh my goodness, do Boomers love to take young people that aren’t completely happy with a situation and blow it up out of proportion. The only people I actually saw complaining myself were older people, which is kind of ironic. I do think there were some elements that were worth, I guess, complaining about. Them being the way it was organised. I didn’t have anything against the forced quarantine itself. I thought that it was actually a very good measure to keep things under control, especially internationally, and I was happy to do it. Except that it wasn’t exactly experts running it or making decisions on a day-to-day – medical experts, I mean. It was whatever police officer was in charge at that hotel on that day. So it was different at every hotel. It was different every day for at least three-quarters of the two weeks I was there. I think by the time I was ending my time there, they had started to formalise rules or something. But you could tell it was extremely rushed, they hadn’t talked to me. And yeah, I wasn’t a big fan of the police officers that were running the joint either. It wasn’t a great time. But the idea of forced quarantine I have nothing against. Nothing against. Other things – I mean, I’m happy to complain about how small that hotel room was, because it’s not made for two-week stays. I mean, they had to use that hotel and I completely understand that, but it’s mainly made for – the Ibis hotel is made for one-night business stays and men cheating on their wives, usually. That’s what it’s built for. And it’s not made for, you know, some twenty-three year old person living in there for two weeks, with no human contact. But once the comments started, they got a little heavy. I laughed at all the ones – there were hundreds as well – on Facebook, on the actual news story itself, because it was all country bogans that were like, the kids don’t know how well they have it, they’re in five-star hotels and they still find time to complain, and blah blah blah. But then there were a few people who tracked down my Instagram and found my Facebook as well. And those messages I didn’t really appreciate. Especially the ones that were just straight up death threats. One of the death threats I was actually a little impressed with because it was very succinct. It was just a GIF of a noose. That was pretty straightforward. But I was told to report – tell the police officers at the hotel that people were sending me death threats. But of course they did not help at all.

C: They didn’t do anything?

S: Of course they didn’t. ACAB [laughs]. But I was told by the newsroom to report that. But I thought the comments were quite funny, in general, because Boomers do love to target young people. Though, my family took it as a personal attack, and started defending me in the comments! Old 2010 keyboard warrior style. It was fun to watch. Kept me entertained for a little while in that hotel room.

C: How were you mentally throughout that? Do you feel like you’ve bounced back from it now?

S: Yeah. At first, especially once I got to leave and start dealing with the emotions of what had happened – not being able to do this really huge thing that I’d planned to do. Moving overseas and starting a new life and pursuing a career overseas was a pretty big thing that I’d had to plan for quite a while. And having that cut short by something that isn’t your fault – it’s a very confusing feeling. For a long time, I was so fucking sad. I spent a long time just lying in my parents’ living room on the makeshift bedroom that they made for me. Just wallowing for a while before considering what the future would look like. Because at the time I wasn’t certain if I could go back in a couple of months, and slowly things looked like that wouldn’t be happening, and I’d be home for the foreseeable future. Coming to terms with that was extremely hard. I’m very lucky because I’ve had access to therapy for years, so once I was able to start seeing my psychologist again, things started getting better mentally for me. But also being home when a time is so quiet as well, when no one is really able to do anything – it can make things worse and better in some ways. The things that did make it better, when it came to coming to terms with what this year would now look like, was being able to see people that I really cared about. Like Nicola, for example. We ended up spending a lot of time together in those first few months of me being home, and that made me feel really grounded. Which she does just in general. And being able to see friends who I didn’t think I’d be able to see for an entire year, eventually when that was possible. It helped me feel really comfortable with being home again. Also the fact that America seems to not be dealing with this well in the slightest, does make me feel very confident in my decision to come home. And all those elements combined, I feel like now, just in the last month or so, I feel like I really have bounced back. Now that I can start thinking about my life and my future again, in not so much certain terms, but not wondering if I’m going to be bouncing between countries again. That was the hardest part. Not knowing if I was going to be back in America. But I’m happy to be in Australia forever at this point. And I’m not so much planning for the future, but I do feel comfortable with whatever that future’s going to be at this point.

C: Seeing America’s response to the pandemic – does that change how you feel about possibly moving there one day?

S: That’s a big question! My relationship with the United States is more about – I’ve loved the idea of it and I’ve always loved living there because of mainly the people. I’ve always meshed well with the locals of whatever city I’ve moved to. I loved living in the Midwest in Chicago, and I loved living in California, in Los Angeles, mainly because of the people and the friends that I met. America is such an eclectic mix of people. I don’t have so much faith in their government when it comes to helping their people, though. I still love the idea of moving there when it comes to a future career and developing that further. And I don’t ever want to strike that down just because of a terrible government’s terrible response to a terrible pandemic. But it definitely has made me feel better about being home right now and not living there at this moment. If I could go back in time a couple of months and tell myself anything, it would be, you’re going to be happier if you move back home. Because I can probably guarantee that to a different version of myself that’s still there, that I’d be extremely depressed and worried. I mean, financially as well, it kind of became a necessity for me to come home. Without being able to work, and with the Australia Dollar just nose-diving, eventually I’d have to come home anyway. I’m not a big fan of their response to this pandemic. It’s been atrocious and terrifying. I’m every day scared for my friends that are still there, and every day the people that I met in the city have slowly moved out of Los Angeles back to their original homes if they had that, or back to wherever their parents live in the suburbs, or to other states. It scares me.

C: There is a real danger just living under a government that doesn’t care about you. Compared to here, I feel like we haven’t reached the point where we feel unsafe because, you know, the lockdown in Melbourne shows that they do care about their people in a way that Trump doesn’t.

S: Yes, exactly. The American federal government especially, and a lot of state governments, are very translucent in how much they really don’t care how many people die. To the fact where getting the disease has become slightly normal? At least with the circles that I fell into and have kept in touch with. A lot of the people that are amongst that have normalised the fact that you just might get the disease. That’s just how it is now. And having that normalised, I think, is very much a reflection of the fact that the government does not give a shit if you die, or if you get this disease or not. They just need the wheels to keep turning. God, I wish people like Jacinda Ardern could just rule the world instead, but unfortunately not. It is extremely, just, terrifying because of how normal it is for the American people to understand that their government really doesn’t care about them.

C: Yeah. And it seems like a lot of people don’t understand how restrictions could have prevented the spread.

S: A hundred percent. No, I completely agree. And in all honesty, I never really had a chance to have that kind of discussion with Americans when I was there because I was in the process of leaving at the time. But I feel like something that’s very similar to that, is the fact that they’ve been taught that things that could be good for them are not good for them. Such as restrictions and social distancing, safe measures. And I actually did get into a discussion when I was there before things starting going into lockdown, during the primary elections. Someone at a bar was just saying, having a government subsidise for university, getting Medicare, no one can do that! And I just put my hand up and was like, yeah, I come from a country where we have those exact things! And it gobsmacked that person for a minute. They were like, wait, really? You’re kidding! And I feel like if I got the chance to have that discussion with Covid restrictions, it would be the same result. But to be fair, it is a country of over 300 million people, so there’s always going to be so many differing viewpoints there, but it is so worrying how many of them are adverse to things that are good for them in the long run.

C: And how political that becomes.

S: Exactly. The fact that it’s all politicised is so strange. Like I’m not a big fan of our governments either, but at the very least, restrictions and safe measures weren’t exactly politicised the way that they are in America, which also terrifies me. These were kind of the wild things in America though, having the discussions with people and realising that a lot of them really just don’t –

C: Understand the context outside their own little – huge country, but…

S: But if they don’t have it, then other people must not, right? I feel like that’s the kind of mindset a majority of the people there must be in. To think that Medicare is this extreme version of socialism, like, I don’t understand. Oh well. America was fun though.

C: Did you have fun there while you were there?

S: I did! I really did. I’ve lived in, and I’ve visited America, many many times. This was my first time living in California, though. And I only got to spend two months there, but my God, it was a wild ride. The LA you live in, as opposed to the LA you visit as a tourist, is extremely different. And especially Hollywood the actual place compared to Hollywood the idea, extremely different. I just had a really fun time. I met a bunch of people, and I didn’t think I would be making friends with so many celebrities too.

C: Really? Who did you meet?

S: So probably the closest friend I made there was Grant Imahara from Mythbusters. He recently passed away which was very very sad. But he was extremely nice to me and was kind of the one who introduced me to so many of the other regular people and celebrities around Hollywood. Got me very involved. He was a very nice man. We met while doing karaoke at a Star Wars themed bar. Hollywood’s wild [laughs].

C: How’s your life been since coming back? Have you enjoyed the quietness of it?

S: At first, the quietness drove me a little crazy. It was definitely what I needed for a while, but eventually I did enjoy it. Like I said before, I spent a lot of that time spending more quality time with people I cared about. I feel like a lot of my close friendships grew a lot closer as well. And I got to do some things that I couldn’t really do before. Like one day, Nicola and I went to Centennial Park while it was empty, and basically had the whole park to ourselves. And I don’t think that’s ever going to be replicated. The quietness definitely grew on me after a while. And I’ve definitely grown with being okay being home in the last few months.

C: And now you’re about to start full-time work?

S: Yeah, that’s true. I’ve never had a full-time job. My last job was a meet-and-greet producer on the Today Show. Super duper fun, but at the moment we can only have five people in the studio at one time. My job revolved around our guests that we had on the show. We don’t physically have any guests on the show, which means for the most part, my role is now defunct for the foreseeable future. However, I’m still on the payroll, so as soon as I can go back, the possibility’s there. But waiting around, on JobSeeker as well, which I’m grateful for, but waiting around for so long was very tiring. It did give me a lot of time to spend time with my friends like I said, but the idea of going into full-time work is kind of nice. Having something to do now. I’ve never had a full-time job before, it’s all been freelance and casual. So having basically 9-5 weekdays for a little while, I feel like is going to be some structure that I’ve needed since even before I left for the States. Because even when I was there, I didn’t exactly have a structure at the time. It was very go go go, let’s find a place to live, let’s find some jobs, let’s meet some people. And coming home was just, let’s do nothing! So now that I get to have a very regular routine, I feel like it’s going to ground me a little bit. Something I’ve needed.

C: I think that was the case for Nicki as well, getting her two jobs. And having a period away from the freelancing lifestyle.

S: Like I said before, being able to spend with people like Nicola helped a lot because we could talk through things like that, like how can we help ourselves feel a little better during this time. What do we need? Seeing Nicola stress over jobs and work and it all kind of paying off has been great too. Hopefully I get a taste of the payoff as well [laughs]. Speaking of, on that note as well, not just about Nicola, but also the way that this has felt kind of comes down to some lyrics from a song that she showed me by the Mountain Goats called “This Year”. The lyrics are, I’m going to make it through this year if it kills me. And those goes through my head all the time. Ever since coming home, and the only time I feel like it’s finally stopped has now been the idea of having this full-time job and having a routine. Because now I feel like I really am going to get through this year.

C: Yeah, just a distraction from what this year represents.

S: Honestly, I’ve never been a huge fan of personifying years and saying, this one was the worst ever! Like, I remember going through 2016 and everyone was like, this year’s the worst, everyone’s dying this year and blah blah blah. I was just never a big fan of the idea of like this year’s bad. Until this year. This year’s bad [laughs].

C: Globally. Historically 2020 will be known as one of the worst years.

S: Exactly. I will happily personify this year. Very bad no good.

C: At least you’re not in America.

S: At least I’m not in America. At the very least, I’m in a country where I feel safer and more comfortable in, around people that care about me. Not new friends, but close, old friends too.

[bigyack-com]

CAA Protests: Rumours, rage, and excess triggered outrage in AMU - india news

Nasir Chaman, 22, was in his house at 5.30pm on December 15 when his phone started buzzing with messages about violent protests in Delhi’s Jamia Millia Islamia.Over the next couple of hours, the messages kept coming in -- including videos and images of police excesses against students in Delhi.“We could see policemen barging into the college and a mosque. They used tear gases and lathis on students,” said Chaman, a second-year law student at Aligarh Muslim University (AMU).Soon after, AMU students started giving out calls to stage a protest march in the campus in support of Jamia, but Chaman joined them only after a phone call from a fellow student at 7.30pm. “I was told that two Jamia students were killed in police firing.”It turned out to be a rumour. But it seems to have been the trigger for what was to follow. Four days later -- the protests led to violence for which students and the Aligarh police blame each other -- Chaman was on a bed at the Jawaharlal Nehru Medical College Hospital (JNMC) in Aligarh, his right hand injured while trying to dunk a tear gas shell into a bucket of water to defuse it. His thumb may have to be amputated.In the bed next to him, was a 26-year-old chemistry research scholar whose right hand has been amputated at the wrist. He said he simply got caught in the melee.The injured students were visited repeatedly by the AMU vice chancellor and registrar, who came to check on them. “They came here thrice today. Each time, both of us closed our eyes and pretended to be unconscious,” said Chaman.“The VC and Registrar are our guardians, but they closed their eyes when it really mattered.”PERMISSION TO ENTERThe AMU authorities confirmed that as the protests spread on Sunday, they permitted the police to enter the university’s campus.“We were in a dilemma. We could have let the situation deteriorate or called the forces inside. We chose the best possible option for our students’ safety,” said the university’s registrar, Abdul Hamid, an IPS officer who is on deputation.What followed was a five-hour-long clash between the students and the police – a confrontation that involved stone-pelting and alleged firing by agitators, and a lathi-charge and the use of water cannons, tear gas, and rubber bullets by the police, which also barged into the campus’s hostels and guest houses in search of protesters.According to multiple accounts, between 95 and 125 students, some local residents, policemen, and teachers were injured. The students alleged that they were “hunted down” and “beaten with a vengeance”. They also alleged police brutality and torture after they were detained.Police, however, deny any excess.The internet and text services were suspended in the entire Aligarh district after the clash. The university was prematurely closed for “winter vacations”, and students asked to pack their bags and leave at short notice.Charges of attempt to murder, among others, were pressed against protesters and 26 people were arrested – only seven of them are from AMU.As an uneasy tension settled over the university in the aftermath of the violence, AMU authorities have been left trying to bridge the trust deficit with angry and dejected students. Meanwhile, the police are at pains to prove that their action was proportional and justified.IT BEGAN PEACEFULLYThe student protests in AMU over the Citizenship (Amendment) Act, or CAA, first started on December 11.On December 13, nearly 1,500 students protested against the law that fast-tracks citizenship for “persecuted minorities” from three Muslim-majority countries in India’s neighbourhood.The agitation coincided with the first stir in New Delhi’s Jamia Millia Islamia. “They were screaming and angry, but the situation was resolved without any violence. Everyone behaved responsibly that day,” said Aligarh’s Superintendent of Police (City), Abhishek, who goes by one name.Sporadic protests in the campus were staged on December 14 as well.By all accounts, no protests were scheduled for December 15. Then around 5.30pm, news of violence in Jamia began to trickle in.“I received phone calls about firing by the police in Jamia. The students there begged for the media to be sent, asked us to visit Delhi to support them,” said Salman Imtiaz, the outgoing president of the Aligarh Muslim University Students’ Union (AMUSU). Fresh student polls are yet to be carried out in the varsity.“I went to the AMU library canteen and called a general body meeting to condemn the police action in Jamia. We led a protest march from the library to Bab-e-Syed ,” said Imtiaz. Initially, the protest march comprised of only a few dozens inside the campus premises.A small police team was stationed outside the main gate. The two sides were separated by a large iron gate. “The students were being led by Imtiaz. They submitted a memorandum and things seemed fine,” said the SP, Abhishek.NUMBERS SWELLAt around 6pm, the SP said he got a call from AMU authorities. “The proctor’s tone was grave. He said more students were gathering and were threatening to bring down the gates. Soon, some protesters began pelting stones, but we didn’t have sufficient force there. It took us time to assemble and prepare with water cannons and tear gas shells,” the SP said.By then, the number of protesters had swelled to over 1,500. Registrar Hamid said that over two-thirds of the people were outsiders. “Even outsiders had gathered in large numbers,” the SP said, corroborating this.By around 8pm, half-an-hour after Chaman joined the protest, the gate was brought down and the two sides were face-to-face – with no barrier between them.Imtiaz said that there were about a dozen men in their 40s, who were certainly not students, who were pelting stones. “I tried to stop the protesters from turning violent, but something similar to a bullet hit my chest. I blanked out. Later, I found myself in a hospital,” said Imtiaz, who has been booked under a host of Indian Penal Code sections, including attempt to murder, and is in hiding.In no time, it became a free-for-all. “There was stone pelting from three sides and my men were at the receiving end. We couldn’t have let the crowd out of the campus. I spoke to the district magistrate and sought permission from AMU administration to enter the campus,” SP Abhishek said.The FIR registered after the violence alleged that some protesters were firing using country-made pistols, though no one was hit.Police say they first used water cannons, then resorted to tear gas, and finally to rubber bullets.The violence spread inside of the campus, right up to the residence of the VC and the registrar nearly 500 metres away from the main gate. Some protesters hid in the three guest houses on the campus premises, a few entered the hostels, and the rest fought a pitched battle on the streets.HUNTED DOWNTazeem Khan, a 20-year-old third-year undergraduate in the Urdu department, said that when the gate broke and the police charged in, he and some students ran to a guest house. Some hid in the toilets. Some others hid in the guest house rooms.“The police broke open the guest house door. They thrashed the students. They called them “traitors”. The police then tried to break open the toilet door , but 11 of us stood firm against it. The cries of the other students were so terrible that we didn’t dare open it,” said Khan.For about the next hour, the police did not try to break the toilet door but repeatedly asked the students to come out. In that period, Khan said he and other students made frantic calls for help.In an audio clip sent by Khan to a WhatsApp group around that time, he is heard saying in a quivering voice: “We are hiding in the toilet of the guest house. The police are beating the boys real bad. Someone please come and help us, or we will all die”.The police eventually broke the door, brought out the 11 students and allegedly thrashed them with the butts of their guns and lathis.Chaman was hiding in another guest house when a tear gas shell landed next to him. The students were carrying packets of salt (in the belief that it protects from tear gas shells) and buckets of water. “I picked up the gas shell with my bare hands and had just dipped it in a bucket when it burst,” said Chaman.Nadeem Akhtar, a 22-year-old student of modern history, said that he was way behind in the crowd of protesters when he was hit by a rubber bullet in his forehead around 10.30pm. He regained consciousness 12 hours later to know he had suffered a head injury and is among the few students still hospitalised. “I had come out to protest peacefully to show my sympathy for Jamia students beaten by the police,” said Akhtar, who belongs to Bihar.The chemistry research scholar whose hand is amputated did not want to be named because his mother still does not know about his injuries. He said he wasn’t even aware of the protest.“I had been to the city for shopping. I returned to the campus in the late afternoon, studied for a while, left my laptop in the laboratory and had dinner. As I emerged from the mess at 9.15pm, I heard loud noises and went to see (what was happening), but got caught up in a stampede. I turned around to run, but stumbled and fell. I don’t remember anything after that,” he said.Dr Mohd Kashif of JNMC said that a tear gas shell burst near the student’s hand. “When he was brought to the hospital, only one finger remained. He was awake and asked for a painkiller. He then requested me not to inform his parents. His hand has been amputated from his wrist,” said Dr Kashif.Another student, who did not want to be identified, said that when he and two others refused to come out of their hostel room, the police broke open a window and fired a tear gas shell inside. “My room went up in fire. My laptop burnt. We were left with no option but to run out,” he said.Meanwhile, as injured students began to be brought to JNMC (the hospital is affiliated to AMU), doctors there began sending private ambulances to the campus. A 28-year-old ambulance driver, who asked not to be named, said that he made two rounds to the campus and returned for the third when some policemen allegedly smashed the window of the van, pulled out his key, and thrashed him with lathis.He suffered a dislocated left shoulder, and is still wearing his arm in a sling.The SP said that the situation was brought under control hours a little after 1am. There were 30 injured policemen by then, but none of them in serious condition. The number of injured protesters ranged between 50 and 80. Another 15 teachers and staff members were hurt, said the registrar.AFTER THE ARRESTSTanzeem Khan, like many other students, was rounded up in a police gypsy and taken to Gandhi Park police station. His fingers were fractured, but he alleged that he was not treated immediately. “When I asked for water, the policemen called me a Pakistani and said they would urinate in my mouth,” alleged the student.He was taken to a district hospital around 11.30pm and given a painkiller and an injection. “Inside the hospital, a policeman began beating me with a stick. It was only when his colleague said that I would die, that he stopped,” alleged Khan.His injury was not treated at the hospital, and he was taken to another police station in the early hours. There he met another injured student, Ashutosh. “A policeman told Ashutosh that he too had turned into a traitor with the AMU students. Ashutosh responded by placing my head on his lap,” said Khan.Nine students were kept at that police station till December 16, allegedly without food and medical treatment. “When the family of another prisoner arrived with food for him, all nine of us pounced on that and ate what we could,” said Khan.SP Abhishek denied all allegations of police excesses, but did not respond to specific questions about the charges being aired by the students against the police.PROTESTS OUTSIDE, UNIVERSITY SHUTOn December 16, protests erupted in many other parts of Aligarh, forcing the police to release all the arrested 26 people on bail. On the morning of the 16th, the university announced the postponement of all semester exams and advanced the winter vacations that were actually scheduled from December 23.“Nearly 12,000 hostel students were asked to pack their bags and leave within hours of the violence. A student from Tripura could not afford flight tickets to return home. I arranged his accommodation at a friend’s home. Many women students found themselves out on the streets. This was unprecedented in the university,” said Dr Arshi Khan, professor in department of political science. “Things are much worse here than in Jamia, but not too many people know because of the Internet ban.”Internet and SMS services in the district continue to be suspended on Friday evening.AMU registrar Hamid said that when police are called to a varsity campus, there is always the danger of excess. “Our VC has sent a message to students that an inquiry has been requested. On the face of it, it seems there were excesses and a magisterial enquiry will clear up things,” he said.“Our children suffered due to outsiders and their anger against us is justified. But they need to realise that they shouldn’t have moved (around) with violent mobs,” said Hamid.He added that efforts are being made to bridge the gap between students and the administration. “We facilitated the travel of students. We are paying for all medical expenses of the hospitalised students,” said Hamid.AMU spokesperson, Omar Peerzada, said that nearly 100 buses with security guards were dispatched from Aligarh to different parts of the country to help students return home.“Every student living within a 350km radius was sent (home) by our buses. We also had five buses for Jammu. We requested the Railways to halt all long-distance trains passing through Aligrah. The students without train tickets were accommodated in them,” said Peerzada.While the registrar acknowledged that it will require much effort to bridge the trust deficit, he said it could have been worse.“Fortunately, no one died.” Read the full article

[the-tales-of-horror]

The Wych Elm Road Incident 

Original Link By OozyGoosey

I have lived in a small south-west village in England my entire life. It's an alright place, but like a lot of villages in England there is nothing to do at all. There is one play ground near the primary school and everyone under 13 goes there, while anyone over 13 would hang out at the petrol station near the entrance to the motorway. Depressing right? But that's all we had. Unless you had the money to get the train to London, you better enjoy the smell of diesel and the sound of mopey young adults. Back in the mid-nineties, I was one of these mopey young adults, and my cousin Kevin was one of the under 13 year olds. Kevin was a quiet and quirky kid. He loved collecting stuff and always had two or three of everything, such as wearing two watches on one wrist, or wear five different necklaces like Mr. T. As he was only 3 years younger than me we were quite close and my friends didn't mind him hanging out with us at the petrol station. It was a Friday when the incident happened.

After school, I returned home and put on a tracksuit to go to the petrol station. I was walking down the street when Kevin appeared on his bike. His face was bright pink, but he wasn't tired. He was crying, or at least sobbing over something. He came to a stop in front of me and held his breath to conceal the crying.

"What's up mate?" I asked. Kevin and myself are more stone-faced types when somethings wrong so I wasn't used to it.

"Nothing... We going to the shop?[what we called the petrol station]" Kevin snivelled. I knocked and started walking again, he peddled slowly to stay by my side. My friends were already at the petrol station and we continued on our conversation about Independence Day and how we should all go see it on the Saturday. Kevin calmed down a bit thanks to the mundane conversation. His sulking mood returned when a group of boys came into view of the petrol station. Kevin became anxious and hid himself behind my friend and I.

"Who're they?" I asked him. He didn't answer but I could tell they were the reason behind the crying. I'm not sure how, but I assume they saw his bike (a bright green frame, stands out a lot) and realised it was him and began shouting to him.

'Oi, cunt!' 'Keeeeeeviiiiiiin' 'You fat prick!'

My friends and I glared at the group of boys. A few friends were shouting back at them to fuck off but they persisted.

"What happened, why are they shouting?" I asked Kevin, who's face was returning to a shade of maroon.

"We were playing football during PE and I scored an own goal." He sniffled.

"... That's it?"

"They've been doing this for a few weeks now. It just gave em a reason." Kevin said quietly. He obviously hadn't told anyone else. It turned out, that one of those boys (I think his name was James) took a disliking of Kevin after he snitched on him for throwing something at a teacher. Before that, they hadn't so much as said a passing hello. Since then, for about 3 weeks James and his little crew of mates decided to make life miserable for Kevin, targeting literally everything about him and everything he did. Kevin enjoyed Dungeons and Dragons, and if he so much as mentioned anything relevant, the boys mocked him. They attempted to wreck Kevin's bike by bending the wheel while it was locked up outside school, but a teacher caught them, so they took it out on Kevin. The poor kid was terrorised just because he had a good conscience.

I got my friends to surround Kevin so the group of boys couldn't get too close but we couldn't stop the shouting. My friends were laughing at the boys; this riled up the young teens even more. James, or who I guess must have been James, came forward and said he wanted to speak to Kevin alone. My friends laughed in his face and told him to get stuffed. The boys behind James began to pick up rocks and aimed them in Kevin's general direction. This meant that a bunch of 13 year olds were throwing rocks at 16-18 year olds and they didn't like that too much. A brawl broke out between a few of my and James' friends. Kevin panicked as he watched one of the elders knock out a youngin and he hastily peddled away, away from the petrol station and headed towards Wych Elm road. I called out to him but he was far away by the time I got away from the mess he indirectly started. My friends were beginning to walk as the group of boys whined and started to leave themselves. I walked home with one friend and told my dad what happened. He just shook his head and told me not to worry about Kevin, he just needs time to cool off.

The next morning, I woke up to the worst possible news. Kevin didn't return home. This wasn't too worrying in the nineties, especially in a small village where it's impossible to go missing, kids stayed out until all hours and eventually came home. Kevin's mum, however, was a big worrier and went out to look for him around 11pm - this would have been at least 3 hours after he left us at the petrol station. She went to his best friends house first and he hadn't seen him since school. She then went to 2 other houses, no one had seen him. Driving home, hoping to see him along the way, she did just that when she went up Wych Elm road. He was sprawled out on the side of the road, partially hidden by the undergrowth of the woodland. His bike was beside him, glittering neon green and completely bent out of shape. His body was the same way. He had catastrophic injuries, including massive head trauma, a broken neck and spine and he had lost his right arm. He looked like he had been flung about like a ragdoll. Word around the village was that a drunk driver was speeding and hit him head on, as he came one way and the driver came the other. His mother was a total wreck after finding him. The police set up an investigation but there was no speed cameras or security cameras close by enough to get an idea of a suspect, so the case essentially went cold. It was just a horrific tragedy.

You may have already guessed, but this hit me hard. I had no siblings, and neither did Kevin. We only had each other and now one of us was dead. Our school held a mass in his honour. I saw James and his crew a few times after that and James always looked distraught. His friendgroup thinned over time and the last time I saw them the group of probably 15 was down to James and two other boys. It was never said aloud, but I think a lot of people blamed James for what happened. Everyone knew they weren't on good terms so rumours grew quick. At the time, I didn't blame him but I didn't feel sorry for James. It sort of was his fault - if he didn't bully Kevin, he wouldn't have cycled away to his death. Over time, I've moved past that thought but I'm sure it's still with James.

The village seemed silent after Kevin's death. It was probably due to my emotions, I didn't notice the world moving on without me. I visited my aunt a few times but she could barely look at me (Kevin and I looked quite similar) without breaking down. After one visit, my dad stayed to console his sister and I went for a walk. Without telling anyone, because I'm sure it would have either angered them or upset them, I went to visit where my cousin died on Wych Elm road. I felt like it would give me closure, and it did in a way I never expected or could have ever came up with in my worst nightmares.

The spot where he was found was still covered in flowers and Southampton FC shirts and a few small Dungeons and Dragons figurines from his d&d group. I had a little cry over all the cards for him but I just wanted to sit and breathe a little. The road was usually empty, but like the rest of the village it was in a state of silence. Even the chirps of birds was minimum. I was sat on the tarmac of the road, facing the memorial items and was thinking of nothing when I saw something move. The undergrowth hid whatever it was well, but it was there. My emotions instantly came to one conclusion - it was James, or one of the other bastards he called a mate. I jumped up and started yelling my head off. The figure rushed off into the woodlands. I grabbed a nearby stick and launched into the woods. I was overcome with anger and marched into the undergrowth, following the figure in a blind rage. It wasn't until I was a few metres into the undergrowth I realised something. The figure was on all fours.

I stopped dead in my tracks and stared at the figure as it slowed down. It was moving so awkwardly. The hind legs were long but bent out so it could stay low to the ground. It looked frail and gaunt, with a blueish tint to it's almost transparent skin. Patches of mattered fur were strewed around the body as if most of it had been torn out, like when a dog has fleas. It stopped moving and tension filled the air as it began to turn towards me. I thought it was a man in a costume when it started making the noise.

glick...glick...glick glick......... glick glick glick glick... glick

It turned it's gaunt body towards me and its hard to describe the feeling I felt. The purest form of fear. It's neck was long, enough for it's head to turn almost 270 degrees, as it stared at me with it's head almost completely upside down - it's jaw chattering from the noise it made. There was no fur on it's front or neck. The skin of it's face was especially thin and gaunt, and it's eyes were sunken into it's head. It didn't blink once when I was looking at it. It was something from a literal nightmare, but while standing there like a free meal I noticed something. It's right arm wasn't the same blueish shade as the rest of it's body. It was a pale colour and much shorter fingers than the other arm, which had stick like ones. I finally came to notice, at the bottom of the wrist, sat two watches.

Kevin... I thought. Those are Kevin's

It was Kevin's arm, somehow attached to this god-awful creature. By the time the shock faded and adrenaline kicked in, the creature was already fleeing. I turned and just sprinted. My heart was pounding and I began to cry. I just kept running, without looking back. As I came out the undergrowth I almost knocked over the memorial. I ran down the road and through the streets until I go to my aunts house. I burst through the front door and my dad and aunt were watching Eastenders. I was about to blurt out about what I saw but then I thought.

They won't believe me, and they'll think I'm trying to make a joke about Kevin's death

I just said I went to see all the memorial stuff and got upset. My aunt cooked me some dinner and my dad and I returned home. I never told my dad about that day, or anything for that matter. I feel awful because my aunt will never know the truth about her son, but I honestly don't think she'd want too.

[ibilenews]

Lagos sex workers slash rates to attract customers despite lockdown

The noisome ambience reeked of marijuana and cigarettes as our correspondent walked down Ipodo Street on Tuesday evening. Sitting on the outskirts of Allen, Ikeja, Lagos, the busy street is one of the few places with a semblance of bustling life characteristic of Nigeria’s economic capital since the state went into lockdown about three weeks ago.

Dotted with all kinds of small shops and few residential buildings, Ipodo Street is a melting pot for kerb-crawlers, miscreants and commercial sex workers once night falls.

As of 8pm that day, nothing significant has changed in the crowded hood despite appeals for social distancing to slow down the spread of the coronavirus pandemic.

“Hi, Hello,” three ladies walked up to our correspondent while sauntering around a storey building in the middle of the street.

“Let’s go to my room,” one of them in her early 20s, Blessing (not real name), muttered as she led our correspondent to a small, dingy room on the first floor of the brothel housing an expansive bar on the ground floor.

“I don’t lick am o,” she remarked leisurely while approaching the room.

“They say COVID-19 is everywhere but e no fit catch me by God’s grace,” she added dismissively, agreeing to treat our correspondent to a blowjob when he insisted.

“COVID-19 never reach Nigeria,” Blessing declared as she asked our reporter to sit on her medium-sized bed littered with clothes. “How many people have you seen contracting it in Nigeria?” she queried when told the virus had infected hundreds of people and killed about a dozen in the country.

Blessing strongly believes coronavirus is a ruse and a conduit for diverting public funds. “I hear e don dey many states. Na lie. Na money dem (government) they pack. They go steal tire. They go chop the money forever.

“If coronavirus dey, we wey dey here, why we never contact am. The thing no dey anywhere for Nigeria,” she said.

Fun goes on amid lockdown

On Tuesday, March 31, a day after the President, Major General Muhammadu Buhari’s (retd)lockdown of Abuja, Lagos and Ogun commenced, the National Coordinator, Nigeria Sex Workers Association, Amaka Enemo, said sex workers in the country had suspended activities.

Enemo told The PUNCH that although sex workers offered “essential services,” they would remain indoors because their services involved “substantial bodily contact,” adding that the association had sensitised its members to the dangers of COVID-19.

Enemo had said, “There is sensitisation across the country including within our network. Sex workers also offer essential services. However, there is no way sex workers can do their work without bodily contact. So, they are staying at home to watch what happens.

“The government has announced a lockdown and as law-abiding citizens, we will not flout the law. If the government says sit at home, we will all obey because nobody wants to die.”

“Abeg, forget that thing; (there is) nothing like coronavirus in Nigeria,” Blessing reiterated, dismissing the national coordinator’s statement. “I told you that government is just using it to steal our money.”

“Do you want short time?’ she asked in obvious desperation to get down to business.

“It is N2,000,” she concluded without waiting for a response.

After haggling back and forth, she agreed rather reluctantly to collect N1,000 offered by our correspondent.

“Hey! Na because of this COVID-19 you com dey price am like this, abi?” the light-complexioned, short lady marvelled. “Ok, let’s do it quickly so I can go outside to look for another customer,” she added, handing a small bottle of sanitiser to our correspondent preparatory to the ‘action.’

“I only use the hand sanitiser for customers like you who believe there is coronavirus in Nigeria,” she noted, indifferently.

Our correspondent at this point backed out to the disappointment of Blessing who lamented she hadn’t got any customer all day.

“I wouldn’t have wasted my time talking to you if I knew you were not a good customer. My manager would think I had a customer already,” she thundered.

Manager, sex workers cut down charges

About to exit the brothel, some sex workers loitering around the alleyway surged forward to engage our correspondent.

One of them, about five-foot tall, donning a pink skimpy skirt and see-through top exposing the better part of her cleavage, wanted to take our correspondent to her room.

Our correspondent, however, insisted to have a discussion with her over the transaction at a corner outside the premises where a tall, lanky man in police uniform was puffing away on a cigarette. She agreed.

“Give me N3,000 for 30 minutes,” the young woman, identified only as Ruth, demanded.

As part of the terms and conditions of the deal, Ruth assured our correspondent of as many rounds as possible while the duration lasts. “But if you ‘come’ early and you can’t regain your stamina, na your luck be that o,” she added amid wry smiles.

The price was eventually reduced to N2,000 and after a second thought, she accepted the offer citing low patronage for her decision.

When the transaction appeared to have been finalised and Ruth wanted it sealed in her room, our correspondent digressed into COVID-19.

“Coronavirus no dey anywhere,” she asserted confidently. “I wan carry am sef if hin dey. No virus fit infect me because God made it clear that my body is not for the devil; it is not for sickness. It is for Him.”

She continued, “Some of my friends who believe the virus is real had left. For those of us here now, we don’t believe it exists. Let’s go inside; I will give you hand sanitiser.”

Ruth later walked away to scout for another prospective customer when she realised our correspondent was non-committal.

On Toyin Street, about 300 metres away, a sex worker, popularly addressed as Slim, agreed to cut N3,000 out of the N8,000 she normally charges for an all-night romp.

Like Blessing and Ruth, Slim also attributed the discounted price to the effect of coronavirus on their business.

“No dey fear coronavirus. You no fit catch anything wey no dey,” she stated in presumption of this correspondent’s follow-up question.

Slim disclosed that the fear of contracting the virus had scared many customers away and disrupted influx of clients into the facility.

From four customers on average daily, the 22-year-old said she hardly got one offer these days.

“We used to pay N4,000 to our manager every day but now it has been reduced to N2,500 because of low patronage. On Sunday, I didn’t have any customer, so I was unable to pay the manager but he recorded it for me as a debt.

“I am praying to have good customers this week. Things are hard this time but we have to survive,” she stated winking a face filled with frustration.

Asked if they had been facing harassment from policemen patrolling the area to enforce lockdown, she said, “They don’t enter here even before the coronavirus issue started. Police have good relationship with the owner of this place.”

No kissing, blowjob please

For a first timer, it takes intelligence from ‘an initiate’ to unravel what goes on behind the red gate of the ‘coded’ brothel located on Obafalabi Street, Ojodu-Berger.

A warm smile from Showbaby (as she preferred to be identified) and soft music playing via her small mobile phone welcomed our correspondent into a small but tidy room inside the facility. A standing fan stationed at a corner of the room kept the place cool and comfy.

Asked why she and her friends were still operating at the brothel despite the fears of COVID-19, she said, “Wetin be coronavirus. No be wetin government wan use steal money. I no believe am o.”

“They have been using it to steal money and that was why they had to extend the lockdown for another two weeks. I don’t believe in it,” she added, bluntly.

No doubt the lockdown has affected their business in terms of patronage even though she didn’t admit expressly.

She later conceded that patronage had dropped, especially because the bar within the premises where they get most of their customers had been running skeletal operations.

In the past, one would hear music blaring from loud speakers from a distance, but now, only people familiar with the terrain would know that such a place exists and still catering to the needs of ardent customers.

“How you want am; short time or till day break?” Showbaby asked in a cheerful mood. She pegged the price of short time at N2,000 but after much haggling, she reduced it by half.

“As everything dey lockdown now, make I just manage am,” she said as she took her seat on the bed.

When our correspondent expressed preference for romance only, she said, “That one too dey, but na im dey take time pass, so you go add money.”

After few minutes of haggling, she agreed to do same for N1,000, stressing that she wouldn’t have gone below N1,500 but for drop in patronage. “But there will be no blowjob and kissing,” she added a caveat.

“We no dey do those ones for now but I go make sure say you cum’,” the chubby dark-complexioned lady noted on why those two options had been removed.

She however got angry when our correspondent offered N500 for a romance.

When told to manage it since patronage had dropped, she said, “Which yeye coronavirus? You for tell me since say na N500 dey your pocket. I for no allow make you waste my time,” she said as she opened the door and took her phone.

“If I insult you now people would think I’m not fair,” she ranted while reporting our correspondent to her neighbour, who was also waiting patiently to have her own customer.

Across the stretch, some of the workers still had customers trickling in though not as many as they would have been if there was no lockdown.

Sex workers’ coordinator, doctor, police react

Reacting to the failure of some sex workers to comply with the social distancing practice, Enemo told Saturday Punch on the phone that many Nigerians had also flouted the lockdown directive to contain the spread of coronavirus.

She said, “When government said there is lockdown, people are still moving. So they (sex workers) are human beings like every other person. We are trying to send palliatives to them.

“There is shutdown and you advise people to respect that but you cannot force them. It is their health and they are not doing it for me. I cannot be going out to enforce it because I will also be putting myself at risk.”

A public health physician and Head, Medical Centre of Federal College of Education, Akoka, Lagos, Dr Rotimi Adesanya, stated that commercial sex workers defying lockdown order were putting themselves at high risk, noting that using hand sanitiser wasn’t enough to protect them from contracting COVID-19.

He said, “As everybody is being advised on social distancing, commercial sex workers too need to observe it. They are putting themselves at high risk. All over the world, COVID-19 is a reality. The countries that have everything are suffering today how much more Nigeria that does not have everything to protect the citizenry.

“They should be on lockdown for their own safety. The nature of their job is such that they are meeting with strangers. They are more at risk than any other person and using hand sanitiser is not enough because it can’t stop sneezing which may arise during bodily contact with customers.”

The Police Public Relations Officer in Lagos State, DSP Bala Elkana, explained that sex workers were not exempted from lockdown, adding that police would raid any locations where they operate.

Elkana stated, “I just heard from you that they are still operating. I am not aware of any area where commercial sex workers are operating now because the lockdown order is applicable to everybody. If we have information about where they are operating in violation of the lockdown order, we will definitely enforce the order. They are not part of those exempted from lockdown by the President.”