#literally just called the police cause i got so fed up with the noise from my neighbors

[hyunpic]

5-star hyunjin scans

[letters-from-eros]

She did what?!? | Todoroki Shouto|

❄️Requested by @otaku-explosion

🔥 @otaku-explosion said - “Would you be willing to make a soulmate au scenario about how Todoroki Shouto told his friends how he met his soulmate? She fell out of a trash shoot while covering her baby ferret friend when he came across a burning building . Why a trash shoot? “it was the only thing that hasn’t caught fire around her and if she died from the landing on something below at least her furry friend would have a cushion to land safely on” she said. Please and thank you”

❄️Format? - Scenario | Soulmate AU - Your soulmate and yourself share a matching mark in the same spot, and it burns after first touching your soulmate!

🔥Writer? Mod CJ!

❄️ A/N: Oh. My. God. I am so sorry!!!!! I swear this wonderful request has been in here ever since I opened the ask box!! Maybe even before! I’ve been so scared to write this cause I’m not the best at scenarios! My deepest, deepest apologies! 

🔥 P.S: pretty much all in the 3rd person with female pronouns!

              -The accident-

Just another day for Todoroki. Early in the morning, he was heading to school. The only new thing happening today is the sound of sirens and the distant yet visible cloud smoke in the general direction of a burning apartment building in the exact opposite way to get to UA from his home. There was an inkling od him that wanted to go, but he knew that it was just a fire, albeit a big one since he can see it from where he is. Firefighters can still handle it. If he went to check it out, even though he’s going to class relatively early, he would be late. He took the left, while the apartment was to the right... He only made it 5 steps before turning around going to the fire. He just knew he could help in any sort of way. An ice quirk could prove useful in a situation like this, right?

He made it there in the heat of everything. The top half of the building was engulfed with flames, heroes with water Quirks tried their best along with the firefighters. Maybe he could freeze the building? No. They wouldn’t allow that. Help people out? No, he wished he was a pro hero already, instead of just a minor that couldn’t help out with anything. He covered his mouth and released a small cough, the smoke was getting worst. No one had noticed him yet to tell him to scram or at least give him a mask to cope with the breath stealing fumes that the apartment released. God he hoped he could accomplish something before he had to leave

Though the deafening sirens were blaring off he did manage to hear shuffling, thumping, a small crash and a... Squeak? Well, the noises were coming from the alley beside the building.. It could have very well just have been a mouse. Regardless of such, Todoroki still races into the alleyway to figure out what exactly made those noises. It could have been a person trying to fall to safety, and they could be hurt or burned. No matter how improbable he knew that was.

As he runs into the alley, he almost, just almost misses the girl. The girl was panting, almost hyperventilating. She was small, or at least was appearing a lot smaller from shrinking herself down to fit in between heaps of garbage bags. Or at least that was the excuse Shoto was gonna keep in his mind to almost not noticing her.

“Help-” The girl who’s lying in a small garbage pile squeaks out in a high pitch, hoarse voice. Somehow, someway, the voice calmed down Todoroki, who is in super high alert mode. When he spins around so be presented with just the most beautiful girl who has the warmest, softest glare. The girl has a ferret who’s hanging around her neck that looks like is on high alert as well.

“All you alright, ma’am?” Todoroki says, in a surprisingly calm voice. I mean, it literally shocked him too. This girl has and affect on him.

“Y- Yes, I’m not hurt too badly. I just-” The girl attempts to get up but just falls back into the trash.

Todoroki hurries to help her up but then suddenly he feels a burn on his shoulder blade, it was almost like a sharp pain. Todoroki, being so well acquainted with burning sensations brushes it off before he sees the young girl he’s trying to save grip her shoulder in pain too. She doesn’t look like it was excruciating, so Todoroki gives her a worried look with she just responded with a nod. Todoroki wasn’t these best with facial expression, but he was genuine worried for this girl’s safety. The little ferret makes a small clicking noice and repositions themselves into a better spot being wrapped around her neck.

It looked like they realized the obvious at the exact same time. Almost out of the alley, both of there eyes grew wide, hoping for the other to not realize, they both shyly look at each other as the girl whispers,

“Did you get the pain on your right shoulder as well?”

Shouto Todoroki wasn’t fed with the most information with soulmates, with all things considered on who his dad was and his dimener. But luckily for him he had his mother, who looked up to the ordeal of soulmates, since she wasn’t blessed enough to have one herself.

“That means... You’re my soulmate?” Shoto says, with a semi-shocked face. Again, he’s not the best with facial expressions.

The girl was dazed, smiling to herself the rest of the walk towards the ambulance. Right before Todoroki and the police got her into the ambulance to head straight to the hospital he used the new-found knowledge to his advantage,

“Sir, I’m her soulmate.” He says with a overconfident tone. The man lets him straight into the vehicle. He hops in while she’s having and argument with one of the EMT for letting her keep the ferret in the ambulance. She ultimately won when she said it was her comfort animal.

The EMT saw that the girl did not have any bad, immediate injuries that he could take care of. She was rarely coughing which means the amount of smoke inhalation was low. When they got to the hospital, the doctors could do more.

“Miss-“ Todoroki started, halfway in the ride to hospital

“Y/N.” The girl corrected Todoroki.

“Y/N... I hope you don’t mind me asking but, why did you go through a trash shoot?”

“Well,” She started “it was the only thing that hasn’t caught fire around me and if I died from the landing on something below at least my furry friend would have a cushion to land safely on” she said with a small smirk.

Telling his friends

Shoto was just in the locker room. Almost all his peers were already worried in why he called in sick yesterday. By the time he left the hospital with Y/N He already missed a good fraction of the day, plus Y/N insisted on hanging out more.

The crescent on his right shoulder had color now. It was a piercing white with one or two grey spots. Shoto was always curious what color it was going to be.

One of the boys must of picked up on it having color now. I hear a small quick gasp from who I think was Izuku. I let out a small sigh. I know I’m in for a long one...

“Y- You met your soulmate Todoroki?!” Izuku questioned. If any of the guys wasn’t already intrigued with the gasp, they are probably now.

They all walked out of the locker rooms, thankfully before the girls. A lot of was boys who was in the locker room are swarming Todoroki with questions about Y/N. Shoto was new to this type of attention.

It dimmed down a lot as we made it to the bleachers, but the other guys still haven’t let it go yet. The girls are taking an odd amount of time to get ready, though they usually do take a longer time than us.

“So, is she hot?” Kaminari asks and Mineta turns around awaiting some sort of answer. Todoroki shrugs this question off because I shouldn’t materialize Y/N, let alone any woman.

“Well, how’d you meet her?” Izuku asks in a light voice, trying not to overstep any boundaries. Izuku has yet to find his soulmate and didn’t know which questions were acceptable or not. In fact, Shoto was the first boy in 1A to find his soulmate, though a few of the girls have.

 “That fire yesterday,” he started answering his question, all the boys listening, even Bakugo who was trying to play it off. “I came to check it out and she was in the apartment building,” with every sentence trapped the boys even more with wonder. “She fell out the trash shoot with her pet ferret, and I helped her. We have a date later on today.” That wonder of his fellow classmates turned into confusion, playing off the date part there was a small uproar, of light whispers and theories of why she fell out of a trash shoot. But two voices stranded out from the rest.

“Why a trash shoot?” Says Bakugo with aggression like always, and Kirshima, with general confusion, it had to be asked, so he just got it through.

They glared at each other as Bakugo mumbles a low, but completely audible “shitty hair...” small laughs from the exchange but soon the attention falls back on Todoroki, awaiting an answer.

“She said the reason for the trash shoot is because ‘it was the only thing that wasn’t burning in the fire. And if she died from the fall at least her Ferret would have a safe landing’”

The hard and tough boys tried their hardest to not let out a ‘awwww’. It sounded like something straight out of a heartwarming movie. There’s no denying that they didn’t find that to be some form of cute.

The girls finally walk out of the locker rooms and a small look of realization and disappointment waves over Todoroki as he registers that he’s gonna have to repeat the story for the girls.

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

That was way longer than it needed it to be. I can’t believe I actually got this done. I really hope you like it.

[sending-the-message]

I don't regret not saving her... by AllieC3PO

I live in New Orleans where we have flooding basically anytime is rains.

We had extreme flooding recently due to pumping failures. It is a serious and scary problem.

This story isn't about our cities issues though...I wish it were. I rather talk about just about anything over this.

So our major flooding happened a few weeks ago. I was lucky enough that my upstairs apartment was untouched. The floor below me was not so lucky.

A little back story....

My husband and I have lived in this apartment for 3 years now. When we first moved in we really enjoyed it. Our neighbor below us is this little old lady.

We have always been nice to her but honestly find her a little annoying. She has even kind of made us come into her apartment before while we were trying to get our mail.

She gave us the tour and talked about her family. She was never married and never had children. She does have a sister who had children. Her walls were old family photos mostly of the nieces and nephews.

Of course I feel bad for the old lady. She is very obviously lonely. I still don't want to be best friends with her however.

We never really minded so much when she would stop us and talk for awhile. That is until recently...

She claims there is this loud noise and vibrating that is keeping her up every night. I know what you're probably thinking lol. No it isn't us we both work early and are not up at the hour she claims it happens.

We listened to her complain the first few times but it has gotten a bit much. She made us come in and listen to the "noise." There was nothing...no sound at all.

We figure she just sits in her apartment with no tv no noise at all and just picks up any noise she hears. My guess is it is someone doing laundry or something.

It got so bad she made management look in our apartment and all the surrounding units.

What do you know they found nothing!

After this she still kept stopping us and going on forever about the noise. The old lady would describe it as tug boats...wtf? She would complain about management and say they were lying.

We were finally fed up and have been avoiding her ever since. Oh this started probably 3 months ago now btw.

So we have successfully avoided her for at least a solid month. I am happy we have been because I overheard her making the same compaints to another neighbor.

Alrightly we have the back story out of the way let's get on with the worst of it...

So we happened to just be at home when the flooding happened. We didn't really prepare or anything we just got lucky for the most part.

It really happened so fast everything was going under water.

We watched outside the window worrying and thankful we were safe in our apartment.

Then we saw the water rise higher and higher.

We knew it had to be flooding the downstairs apartments.

That's when it happened....

Someone started banging on our door. We checked the peep hole and it was her. The old lady.

My husband and I whispered to each other frantically what we should do. We decided we were not going to open the doors. This lady is very much a stranger to us and living in New Orleans my whole life has made me very untrusting.

I know most people would let her in but what were we honestly supposed to do when we let her in?? We have no room for anyone else and for all we know she could be a clepto or murderer!

She kept banging on the door for awhile and it finally stopped. We checked out the peephole and no one was there.

Maybe she tried another neighbor. We literally have 5 neighbors before us that she passed up to get to our place! We also do not know her and have never invited in our home before.

In our area most of the water did not stay long after the flooding, again we were very lucky. Our cars were okay and so were our neighbors. They unfortunately have damage to their things but they are at least okay.

Well all except one...

The old lady was gone. Her apartment was wide open. We did decide to attempt to peek in and check on her. She was no where to be found. All her things still there but water damaged a bit of it.

My husband and I notified the manager that we think she is missing. We never received an email back but at least we informed them.

Now this past weekend is when the real nightmare started.

It was Saturday morning when we were disturbed by someone banging on our front door. We were annoyed as fuck and went to go check.

No one through the peep hole. We opened the door and checked around to see no one.

Everything else seemed to go normally throughout the day. We did manage to get some groceries and such.

When we went to sleep that night we started to feel vibrating and heard a shrieking noise.

We got up and turned the lamp on to see wtf was happening.

The fucking old lady was in our fucking bedroom shaking the bed and yelling! We yelled at her get the fuck out and promptly called the police. She ran out and I assumed when back to her apartment.

When the police got there they could not see anyway the old lady broke in and assured we must have left the door unlocked. They went to check on the old lady but her door was wide open and no one home.

They were honestly rude to us for getting upset over this old lady. Man fuck off just because she is old does not mean she can break into my fucking apartment.

We know we fucking locked everything for fucks sake.

The next morning we emailed the property manager and informed her of the situation. She replied to please not call the police unless it is an emergency. That we caused a major disturbance last night.

Fuck this shit bro...as soon as our lease is up we getting out.

We got really pissed over the entire thing and decided to take matters into our own hands. We ran to Lowe's and got a new lock for our front door. We went to Best Buy and bought some cameras and a little alarm. It's an alarm that you hang from a door and it will go off if disturbed.

We were ready for this bitch!

We were up fairly late this time but did finally get to bed.

At about 3am we were disturbed the same way again.

We both got up and looked at the old lady. She was screaming so loudly and shaking our bed again.

She looked disgusting....her skin was yellowish with a green tinge, her hair was wild, her eyes were black.

This time I was going to call the police before she could run away and we had cameras to record her!

But she started to attack me. Brutally attack me..she was ripping at my face with her teeth and nails. She was holding me down with a strength I could not have expected.

Then it happened...

My husband tried to pull her off of me but she just kept at it. Then my husband shot her...

I screamed as her body fell limp and he helped me up promptly.

We both knew we couldn't call the police. The police and the management would never take our side even with the footage.

I am sure someone heard the gun shot!

We wrapped her disgusting body up in bags and blankets. Waiting amd listening for sirens.

None ever appeared.

So we lugged her body downs stairs and into our car.

We drove down to a gross spot by the river. A spot you would see addicts shooting up and prostitutes sucking dicks. Not a place we wanted to be.

We parked the car behind some old building and proceeded to dispose of her body. We removed all of her finger tips, hair, teeth, anything we could think of. We then burned her face until it was unrecognizable.

After that we tied some cinder blocks we found to her and dumped the body.

We then drove an hour out of town to some woods and burried the rest of her.

We went home and were horrified and disgusted. I took a shower and tried to tend to my wounds.

The following morning it all seemed like a bad dream until I looked in the mirror and saw my wounds.

We were justified...

She was trying to kill me!

A couple days later we saw her apartment was getting cleaned out by the maintenance staff.

Oh God do they know??

I kept checking news outlets online to see if her body was found.

I decided to go to the store and buy a paper to see as well. So far so good!

I searched her name online as well. No reports missing, of course.

Then I saw it...

Her obituary....dated the week before the flooding.

I hurried and called my husband to tell him.

Why would the manager not say something?? What the fuck is going on??

I emailed the manager with the obituary and my email got sent back to me. I called the office and an unfamiliar lady answered.

I asked about the manager and she said she was fairly new but not familiar with that person.

My husband and I sat that evening figuring out what to do. We decided to pack our shit and our pet cat and get the fuck out. We just packed it mostly up and went to a hotel.

I can't even wrap my head around any of this. Are we murderers?? Was she a different lady we never met? Who was banging on our door the day of the flood?? It looked just like her.

We went to sleep that night probably well into the early am. Just happy to have each other and feel a sense of calm.

Then we heard a banging on our hotel room door....

[nasira-alanwar]

Lucky

The tones drop: “Remington Fire Department to the intersection of 5th and Archer for the car crashed into a pole.”

It’s three in the morning. Tones for a car accident at three in the morning mean only a handful of things: drunk drivers, stolen cars, terrible traumas. Fuckin’ losers.

Tonight, I’m partnered with someone who doesn’t drive. That’s why I’m awake when the tones go out. Our ambulance is one minute away from the intersection. I click my tongue as I close tonight’s tactic for mindfulness and therapy: a coloring book of flowers. A case of colored pencils is stuffed back into my backpack, and then I reach for the traffic vest behind my seat and buckle up before I push the gas.

Surely, as I pull around the corner, there is the pole with a black sedan rammed into the base of it, the hood crumpled and scrunched down the middle. The windshield is a glittering mess of broken glass. Both front doors are thrown wide open and I can see the airbags deployed in the driver’s and passenger’s seats, but there’s no one in the car. I’m relieved.

When I key up to dispatch, I tell them the situation is mild.

“We’re on a scene Fire and PD. One sedan versus a pole. Moderate damage, airbags deployed. Everyone is out.”

Hi, police department… I think as I step out of the ambulance and start walking towards the half-dozen officers on scene. My head shifts around looking for the patients. One of the firefighters points towards a cop standing with two boys. Literal boys. When I see their hands in cuffs, my brow furrows with confusion.

“Officer,” I start to ask. “Where are the passengers of that vehicle?”

He hooks a thumb to the pair of teenagers, and chuckles.

I turn my head back to look, again, at the car. It’s still wrapped around the pole.

No fuckin’ way. I’m incredulous at the though that these kids caused that car crash and got out unscathed.

Memories of another night stampede through my head: a teenage girl, the same age as my sister, holding the hand of her abusive, upset boyfriend as he runs into the street and directly into the path of innocent driver who couldn’t have seen it coming until her hood is dented and broken windshield covering the asphalt at 3am, just like the couple– his scalp split open and two broken legs which will probably never be able to run again, arterial blood spraying out of her open humeral fracture and onto the boots of a well-prepared police officer as he cranks his aid kit’s tourniquet.

My preceptor tells me I looked like a deer in headlights when I confusingly fumbled out of the ambulance they forgot me inside and into the hoard of paramedics and police that night. I wonder what I look like reliving that scene over and over again in my sleep or the quiet moments of my day, like washing the dishes or trying to remember what it feels like to breathe without focusing on the feeling of my breath through my nostrils and into heaving lungs set on fire with panic. I figure I look like a mess when my knees buckle and my legs give out under me, letting my small figure fall onto the floor, sobbing alone, water falling over the soapy plates as I’m assaulted by my memories, forced to relive the worst I’ve ever seen and felt.

As quick as the flashback comes, it goes, and the high pitch whine of terror in my head changes into the low drone of my pulse in my eardrums until the sound of a young police officer’s voice comes to my attention.

“They went on a joyride,” he explains, “ and they’re both minors.”

Great, I think before annoyance over the whole scene creeps up my back.

Minors can’t sign a refusal for transport to the hospital, and that they went on a joy ride and are wearing cuffs means they are in police custody, which means that tonight the ambulance is the taxi to the emergency department. That’s all the explanation I can will myself to understand because, when I get the boys into the ambulance, I’m becoming increasingly overwhelmed with anger I can’t condense.

I gesture towards the bench seat for the pair to park themselves as my partner takes their information. Tonight, he is on paper work and I am taking vitals, doing interventions and driving, each useless call making me feel more and more like a taxi.

For each boy, I lay a hand on their wrist to check his pulses, strong with youth and adrenaline, their blood pressures in normal limits. Neither complains of anything when asked, and they don’t have any visible injuries on exam besides a scrapped palm and knee. When I ask about the abrasions, the more rowdy, or stupid– I can’t tell, of the two points his nose at the officer outside the ambulance, and says, “That motha’fucka did it when he tackled me.”

My anger at the boys crackles under my skin.

“You watch your mouth!” I snap into his face, one foot away from mine as he sits on the bench and I on the stretcher.

With that phrase, one more straw goes on the back of the camel that is going to break with how old I feel.

I’m twenty, I remind myself. Twenty years under my petite belt, three months under my medic license. I’m still so young, so why do these kids look like little boys? Why do I feel so old?

I sigh, and continue to look over the boys for anything that might make this call not feel like such a test of my patience but more a challenge for my skills as a paramedic. No IVs for these guys. No backboards. No splints. Just stupidity, scraped palms, and rashes from where the airbags hit the boys in their young faces. They don’t even have acne.

Tonight, it’s just my anger multiplying.

“You have glass in your hair,” I note, monotone and dull, with matching blinks of boredom to stifle my anger.

You know… from where the windshield broke as you crashed the car you stole.

Each boy bends forward and tries to dislodge large grains of glass out of his think, short, tightly coiled hair with the one free hand that isn’t cuffed to the railing of the stretcher mounted on the floor. With a soft hand, I help them, and when it is over and I look into their eyes and share with them one of my calmer thoughts, as opposed to the others which are to yell into the vast nothingness of a sky with no stars because of light pollution, or to kick the tires and double over with screams of rage.

The extent to which I’m angry is starting to confuse me. Where did all this come from. Surely, these two kids couldn’t have caused me to be this mad.

“You guys were lucky tonight,” I say.

The one I told to watch his mouth hasn’t taken my advice and continues to answer me as if I was talking with him instead of to him. He huffs with arrogance earned from living in one of the shittier suburbs of the large city bordering the town we are in. Us and the busted car stolen for a joy ride and into a stationary pole at 3 am. Stupid idiot.

“It ain’t shit, man,” he says.

I lunge my torso from the hips at the back-talker, and snap “I am not your fucking ‘man’!” through clenched and bared teeth into his face.

He clamps his mouth shut and I hear his teeth click before I decide I’m fed up.

Fuck this.

I toss the band-aids into his face, get up and hop out of the back doors of the ambulance. Then, I slam them shut. The thud the doors make matches the knocking I feel inside my chest from my heart beating like a feral, taunted animal.

A huff of breath out of my hot lungs doesn’t make me feel better. Neither does pulling long sighs and shaking my head. Definitely, walking over to the busted sedan and pulling on the seat belts doesn’t help. Having them come with me as I tug downwards on them throws kerosine on an already flaming anger.

When a car gets into an accident and the airbags deploy, mechanisms in the seat belts snap to tension and lock the seat belts in place. They dangle, limp and lifeless, when unclipped or sometimes cut, to get to their passenger, unless they weren’t being used.

They didn’t even wear their seat belts.

I huff and grumble as I walk towards the driver’s seat of the ambulance and grip the steering wheel with white knuckles.

The drive to the hospital is slow. I take no rush since neither of the boys are hurt except for their pride. I don’t want to lose the police car following us either.

The ambulance bay shelters me from the wind but not the cold as I open the back doors to the ambulance. The officer briefly unhandcuffs the boys from the railing of the stretcher mounted to the floor only to then handcuff the boys to each other.

“You serious, man?” the loudmouth of the pair asks with disappointment. Here, another wound to his fragile masculinity.

For a moment, I’m relieved of the hot anger that throbs behind my sternum, and a bright laugh bubbles out of me.

“That’s cute,” I comment.

“Friendship bracelets,” says the officer.

A nurse guides the pair, my partner behind them and then the officer and I, still chuckling, to the room at the end of the ED reserved for either psychiatric evaluations, violent patients, or those in police custody. My partner gives the nurse a report outside of the room, and inside there is nothing but a gurney, dumb-and-dumber, the officer, and myself. Myself and my exponentially growing rage.

I’ve stopped laughing now, and the tension in my neck reminds me why I’m so angry.

My mother has a pressure cooker with a metal top that hisses and rocks back and forth when the inside is hot enough. Bursts of steam would shoot out of it with every oscillation. I was absolutely amazed by it as a child but never understood the danger of the pressure trying to explode behind it or the burning heat contained inside. One time I tried to play with the top, which looked like a toy shuttling back and forth. My mother yelled at me, and I never tried to lay my hands on that pot again.

Tonight, I feel like that pot. My hands would shake if they weren’t balled into my front pockets to prevent me from battering the next person to slight me in the smallest way.

No one in the room speaks, and yet there is the shrillest noise in my ears. I look at the officer and then to the kids. My mouth feels dry, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it before I start letting go on the grip pining the anger inside me to the back of my ribs. With a calmness mustered by the strength of God, I ask the officer how old he thinks the boys are.

He’s going to be here for the night, probably after his shift is over because he will have to wait for his relief, and the annoyance works its way into a wrinkle on his forehead.

“Fourteen and fifteen,” he answers. I’m sure he took their birthdays for the police report.

These boys are fourteen and fifteen years old. My pulse throbs between my ears.

Because he is clearly socially deviant and stupid, the one who keeps talking back dares to include himself in the conversation I’ve begun with the officer. Clearly, he doesn’t see the rage I feel lighting up my body.

“Nah man. We fourteen.”

I snap my face towards him as if to say ,“You shut the fuck up! Right now!” His recoil shows me he understands.

“They’re both fourteen,” I say. I know how old they are. I heard their birthdays, but hearing someone else state the fact of their ages makes me feel disconnected.

“So you lied to me?” the officer spits back at the kids. It’s well into 4 am, and I feel the weariness of the hour behind the fizz of my anger. The kids are now shouting over each other at the officer. “We ain’t lied to no one!“ and, “You didn’t listen to us!”

Shut the fuck up, you handcuffed little shits.

“They’re fourteen,” I shout to no one in particular inside these barren walls. “They told me. Look at them.”

I wave my hand at the pair and wonder if they’ve ever been yelled at before, or if their stupid actions of the night are the result of a lack of authority figures in their life. Either way, the hold on my anger has become so weak that my voice is heavy, as opposed to its usual shrill when I get charged about something.

I snap back to the kids, sitting on each side of the end of the gurney. Their feet dangle, and I continue.

“Anyway, I don’t give a shit. You guys are 14! I have brothers and sisters your age!”

“They don’t care!” the officer tries to tell me. In this moment, my frustration is obvious to the officer, and he fades away into the background as I start to pour out my rage.

“You guys are fourteen?” I ask in a quiet anger now, which is a dangerous level of mad, and I’m scared at how calm I sound. I look to the corner of the room, click my tongue, and continue.

“You guys are fourteen, and you guys are lucky.” The hardened walls I built around myself are coming down now. My nostrils are flared, and I’m pointing with the gesticulation of anger and firm conviction I was raised with.

“You know who else is lucky? Me. I’m lucky.” My finger point to my chest, and it feels sharp enough to ground me to this room instead of flying off at the handle.

I see the kids look at me, confused. The “how is this about you, lady?” remains unspoken.

Fuck these kids.

“I got lucky today. You know why? I got lucky today because I didn’t have to pick up bits of your bodies off the road tonight.”

Here it is. You’re gonna learn today, assholes.

“Little bits… of your face, of your brain, of your skin from that road. That much blood, that smell, it stays in your nose for the rest of the day.”

The loudmouth stays quiet, and his friend’s eyes go big with the shock of my words. If only you knew, kid, how fucking lucky you are.

“I don’t care what you wanna do with your lives. I don’t care what you do in the middle of the night. You wanna go steal cars? Go steal cars! I couldn’t give a single shit about you guys!”

I see the officer shift in the corner of my vision and can feel his disbelief that I have the balls to talk about these poorly kept secret thoughts of public servers.

This is the shit we "don’t take home.” I take it home, and fuck you if you honestly think you don’t. We all take it home, either with the bottle, ruined relationships, or broken sleep, wracked with nightmares or imaginary tones going off. Maybe we just hate ourselves instead of the world. Maybe it’s the anger that doubles every minute, like a structure fire, inside our veins– inside me right now.

“But don’t think for a single moment you guys are sitting here because you’re not lucky! Lucky that you stole a car in the middle of the night. Lucky that you guys were driving when no one else was driving either! Lucky that you crashed where no one was standing because it’s night time and people went home! You could have killed someone else! You could have killed each other! You wanna kill yourselves? Fine! Go ahead! But how dare you put yourselves someplace where other people choose to exist!”

I feel so old.

“I am twenty-one.”

I don’t feel twenty-one.

“I’m a kid! You guys are fourteen, so you’re babies! I’m young, and I want to live a happy life!” That thought echoes in my head: I’m young, and I want to live a happy life!

I could be crying right now. I’m already shattering, and there’s nothing I feel like holding back.

“I don’t need to have nightmares about picking you guys up off the road! I don’t need to see your face when I go to sleep! I don’t want to be forced to remember your face because of the horrible things that happen to your bodies when they go flying through a windshield! And, God forbid it doesn’t look like these faces I’m yelling at right now!”

Everyone in the room is still, but me. I feel like I could shoot through the roof of this hospital.

“I don’t need to look at my brothers and sisters and be reminded of you!” I’m so fucking done with everything right now. Fuck these kids. Fuck this call. Fuck this shift, this job. Fuck all of this!

I spit out the next sentences and hope to them they feels like nails from a gun, into their coffins for their stupidity, or into their hearts.

“You guys got lucky tonight, and the thing about luck– it runs out.”

My head is roaring by the end of my tirade. If the room had a door, I would have slammed it shut and stomped away, but as I turn away from the boys and storm out of the room, my eyes, probably bloodshot with fury catch a glimpse of the police officer. I hear him say something in approval of my rant, my lecture– the absolute unburdening myself. “Good for you!” or “That’s how it’s done!”

You can shut the fuck up, too, I scoff.

The place where I was dense with exasperation feels hollow now. I’m tiered, both emotionally for this call and for the hours dragging through dregs of this shift.

I wash my hands at the nurse’s station and refuse to look at myself in the mirror that is the aluminum of the napkin dispenser. Rage burns, and it is ugly, and I don’t need to deal with the image of my own anger right now. I can’t. Tonight, I am barely keeping myself glued together.

I grab a glass of ice water and down it in breathless gulps. I refill my, chomping on ice cubes, and fill another cup with water for the police officer in some form of bribery for him to both stay quiet about my unraveling, and to thank him for being there despite it all. Going back to that room feels like taking paces through thick mud.

When I show through the doorway, the loudmouth refuses to look at me, and the other only makes brief eye contact as I enter the room. I’m sure if either had tested me, I would have lunged at them and absolutely lost my resolution against physical violence, probably my job and clean record on top of that.

I give the officer the water with a shaking hand, a residue of my emotions. He seems thankful. I think we both understand how I felt tonight. Maybe, we both are in the same place: in our twenties, in a job we wanted and trained for, absolutely taken back with the shock of scenes we never expected and the incapability to handle everything at once. How does one learn how to take in all the good, the bad, the trauma, the excitement, the exhaustion when it clatters down like the spray of a fire hydrant?

“What time is your shift over?” I ask. I don’t know why I’m striking a conversation. I think it is because I don’t want him to think I’m crazy. I am crazy.

“Seven,” he replies. “You?”

“Six. I’m getting out before you.”

Maybe I’ll get out of it all… just quit all this ‘paramedic’ bullshit.

I go back to the ambulance, stuff my body in the front seat with my knees pulled up and braced in-between by ribcage and the steering wheel. I return to my coloring book and wait for my partner to finish report so I can get the fuck out of this place.

Today, I got lucky.

Today, luck feels a lot like an electric whip of anger.

[xottzot]

2018-04(APR)-11th--Friday criminals roaming about this hellhole area--A POLICE LEVEL INCIDENT OCCURED LAST NIGHT AT THIS HELLHOLE AREA!

2018-04(APR)-11th--Friday criminals roaming about this hellhole area--A POLICE LEVEL INCIDENT OCCURED LAST NIGHT AT THIS HELLHOLE AREA!

(I will get to the POLICE INCIDENT TOWARDS THE END OF THIS ENTRY SINCE IT HAS ONLY JUST BECOE APPARENT ATER A VISIT HER TO ME BY A POLICE OFFICER CANVASSING FOR ANY WITNESS REPORTS AT THIS HELLHOLE AREA AT AROUND 11am THIS MORNING)

Forgive my typing. My typing hand/arm is heavily bandaged up again. It feel like I have a cast put on but there isn't. My broken wrist/forearm (fractured whatever medical terms they bandy about me) is healing apparently but my entire wrist and forearm feels VERY painful at times. When SC comes around here at 'home' to re-bandage and attend to my wounds (which all was done in hospital when I was in hospital for a week or so), they take off the wound dressing to change it and suddenly it feels very cool and I can see all the damage done to it and I get a flood of sensations in my forearm and wrist. This morning however, I'd previouly taken pain masking pills and so the sensations weer not painful but very aching....just as they had been when I was in bed....it's like a truck has parked on my forearm and wrist and teh d river has got out and walked away leaving me there....THAT is the sort of pain and distress I am constantly in and NOTHING helps it. - Sure pain masking pills cover the pain up for awhile, but then it's like hell laughing at me saying,...we're just taking the pain away for a short while so when it comes back you will REALLY feel pain bwahahahahaha!

Friday 11 April 2017:-------- It was supposed to rain but it didn't. Now the forecast has suddenly changed to cloudy with a slight chance of rain near the coast. But it's getting VERY overcast......even though the sun is shining down at the moment.

I KNOW I don't live near the coast, I live just before the hills in what they call 'the foothills' of 'Perth area'.....but descriptions for this hellhole place are always vague and changing shifting depending on politics (promoting or evading), or authority (buck-passing or blaming), or news-speak depending on whatever event has just been promoted to make NEWS for a period.....

I had a truly TERRIBLE TERRIBLE night of 'sleep'....endless repeating nightmares of the same nigtmare and progressions of, I'd wake up, then go back to sleep only to continue with the damned nightmare as if the nightmare had been temporarily place on-pause whilst I had awoken for a short while, then when I managed to struggle back to sleep....'pause' would come off and teh nigtmare would continue or repeat yet again.....

A Hell never-ending.

I finally got up out of bed this morning (not for the first time I can tell you), let dear Sam & Max outside and went with them for their ablutions in the back yard of this hovel to keep them safe, then let them back inside and secured them okay. It was not quite time to fed them yet, and besides, I needed to get some fresh bread from the local shop nearby to eat, and of course dear Sam & dear Max get some of that as well.

I then had literaly just went outside to go to the shop to get some bread when SC came here to attend to dressing my wound and changing my bandage(s). It was as surprise to me. I walked to SC and amaiably greeted her, and stayed with her for her safety as she went to the boot of her SC marked vehicle to get the medical stuff she needed for me.

As she was doing that......a teenage? thug on a pushbike came from the Koongamia shops area and was aimlessly circling around nearby us on the road. Of course he has no bicycel helmet because that would be obeying the law and the criminals about this hellhole not only don't obey any laws they frolic about in front of Police without any problems at all whilst anyone else gets fined. You think I'm joking? I'm NOT. This has been going on for so very long now. It was just another tiny thing that dear Fliss saw all the time and nobody would believe her about it all either, let alone the rampant drug dealer and the violent households and the utterly feral criminal children who never ever went to any school.....

Ask Fliss all about it....oh but you can't....or you're not allowed to....wherever she is....I have been torn from her and kept apart from dear Fliss....and it is more than hell.......

The thug-on-a-pushbike roamed about then dashed back to the shops area to join up with another on foot who had a carry bag of foodstuffs crap and reported what he had seen.........and that a vehicle wass till parked down at fatguts aboriginal criminal household....a big dark black softtop 4WD vehicle of which males were getting in and out of repeatedly and wandering all about there. (customers or departmentals or what?)

No feral children were about on the streets however which was very strange. And none were playing on the lounge suite still dumped on the street verge outside the twinned criminal aboriginal household across the road from them. -- But read nothing in any of that which is good because it's all just a temporary sham by them.

The SC person told me that it had rained overnight. (maybe the lounge suite was all wet....but that still wouldn't stop them from 'playing with it').

All the roads of thise hellhole area were utterly dry, the ground all dry and dusty. Rain doesn't exist in reality here as it does elsewhere.

The SC person collected the materials needed as I warned her of the roaming thug on a pushbike. The SC person looked up and saw the shit on a pushbike roaming and circling quite close nearby and took careful notice. The SC person made sure (and I also stated it verbally) to make sure the vehicle was securely locked as we walked away to attend to my wounds.

Truly, YOU have no idea of the state of this hellhole area unless you remain here for awhile...and aren't spotted watching the criminals that is....

SC attended to my wounds, which were all yellow which caused me intitial alarm when the bandage was unwrapped from my forearm & wrist, but then I remembered that SC had used some stuff upon my wounds the oher day during dressing them. It's probably the stuff that causes it all to appear yellow? I any event, SC wasn't concerned so I guess that was the case.

Why do you think thugs roam around whenever they see a SC vehicle going to a place to attend to a needy person for medical treatment at home? -- It's because of two thigs....they can raid the SC vehicle and steal what they can.......or badger or disract the SC person whilst somebody else thieves from the vehicle......and also because it shows to roaming criminals who is at home and who is not.......which places to break into and rob......which people they deem to attack....and on and on and on. -- This sort of thing has been going on for many years abut this hellhole area. Dear Fliss saw some of it herself which added to her malaise. The innocent being victims purely from being injured by others and getting help and being seen as having 'lots of money' when in fact the opposite it true...but you can never reason with criminals and least of all with the criminals about this hellhole area.

My injuries have been attended to by SC. - SC has left. And of course the romaing criminals are roaming about now in the streets of this hellhole area.

The Koongamia school siren has gone off (they have no school 'bell' only literally a siren), and so that should mean no school-aged children whould be out on the streets for awhile.....

It's usually when roaming random patrols by Police or whatever might be glanced or perhaps they are following up from crimes committed the night before or days before or weeks before or just...random.

Damned jet planes are flying into Perth Airport nearby and flying low to do so, making noise and exhausting crap into the air. They fly RIGHT OVER HERE ALL THE TIME.

I spotted many planes today taking off from Perth airport, fly over here then suddenly turn and go north to other headings and destinations. Meanwhile OTHER jet planes are also coming in over the hills and flying rigt over and past here to go to the Perth airport. -- Honestly, it's like the Perth airport can only afford to run one runway strip at any one time no matter how busy things get.

Fliss experienced all this hell herself too, so don't just take my word for the truth of this hellhole area.

Growing up as a child, I used to have dreams of big jet planes crashing into the sheep paddocks a few houses away at the end of the street here. And in reality huge planes would thunder in flyig slow and low and make my bed shake, the cabinets in the kitchen clink, and teh noise woudl always wake you up witt their non-stop parading of passenger jets.

The SAME non-stop parading of passenger jets as is occuring right now as I type this.

Even as I was talking outside to the SC lady, the damn jets were loud enough for me to have to repeatedly pause my talking so my voice wasn't drowned out by the damned jet plane noise.

All this and more is why so many people have moved out of this hellhole area and never will return.

STOP PRESS:---- As I am typing this sentence at 10:00am now, I heard a vehicle door outside slamming shut closeby. I looked and what did I see? - A dark grey vehicle parked in a nearby neighbours driveway. I wonder who they might be? - But also at the end of the street, at the end of Kalara Way street, across the Clayton Street road in the little car park there favoured by criminals is a parked marked Police sedan vehicle just sitting there ready to race off at a moments notice as so happens so much about this hellhole area. It's just parked there windscreen pointing up the Kalara Way street. I don't know if anyones in it at the moment or not. There's no reason why they shouldn't be.

And STILL the damned planes fly low overhead coming in to land at Perth Airport......drowning out all noises as the planes do so.

Earlier there was the sounds of aboriginal kids/toddlers etc running about on the roads. I never looked to see anything. I just hope they get run over as proof of what I've been so saying for so many years as did poor dear Fliss also say to everyone but nobody would listen or do anything...hence it got worse.

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

This above is Friday morning at this hellhole.

Once again, forgive me of any typos in my writing.

Once again, to dearest Fliss I hope and pray you are alright and that we will get back together again.

Dear Fliss, I was crying and sobbing in abject sorrow last night of us being parted and not being permitted by others to live the life we were always supposed to have. I had to do it silently or else my violent brother might get angry or violent at me for upsetting his video game playing and his mutterings to himself.

It's 10:26am.......I suppose I'd better have a small plain brand tinned tomato soup with my bread rolls and share it with dear Sam & dear Max. - Ughhh! A damned plane has noisily flown low overhead again as I'm typing this. Are ALL the damned planes in Australia parked at Perth airport now?

The poor sole lone chicken needs company and support so I have to give it some company too after I eat. (ANOTHER DAMNED PLANE HAS JUST FLOWN LOW SLOW OVERHEAD!)

Has anyone tried to wash up plates and so with one hand bandaged before like I have? - It's so VERY VERY hard not to get anything soiled or wet. Especially after so much careful work was done to create it by the nice SC person.

Outside now is a vehicle I'm hearing just slowly turning around in the intersection. It's one of the things that constantly goes on around this hellhole especially when things are quiet. And it upsets dear Sam and dear max because they think dearest Fliss is returning since she would alwasy slowly and quietly try to drive up here without causing them distress too.

Arghhh NO! - Now there is the noise of a shithead on a small motorbike who has just come out of the pedestrian walkway and rode along the roads on an unregistered motrobike of course...and NOW...a thundering car has roared past on the road as well....and a neighbours dog somewhere has been loudly barking in alarm too.

Can you see the HELL dear Sam and dear Max are in too?

This is hell.

No wonder those people in that corner house moved out....all this and worse...AND being broken into (smashed into with a large rock) by an aborigial thug the day after Xmas day.....

And now a damned plane flies overhead again.......

Non-stop noise in a supposedly 'quiet' place.......it USED to be a quiet place and it WAS......and that's why I invited dear Fliss here and it WAS quiet and peaceful and serene until all the criminals moved in......

Arghhhh! - ANOTHER damned low flying low speed jet plane flying overhead even before I've had a chance to send this message upline! -- It's HELL.

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

POLICE INCIDENT at this hellhole.

I was just finishing up typing in all this entry at 11am when there was a knock on my front door and when I investigated it was a young West Australian POLICE woman canvassing households of this hellhole area for any eye witness deatils for 'something' that occured last night at this hellhole area.

By the sounds of it, it was some sort of assault (upon a woman?). Where exactly the assault occurred I don't know. Who it occured upon I don't know. Or it was a criminal incident involving all that and was more?

THAT IS THE NATURE OF THE HELLHOLE AREA NOW...SOMETHING HAPPENS AND YOU NEVER QUITE KNOW WHAT HAPPENED AND YOU CAN NEVER FIND OUT AND IF YOU TRY...THEN YOU RUN THE RISK OF BEING SEEN BY OTHERS TO BE GUILTY OF WHATEVER HAPPENED.

As I said the POLICE officer was not forthcoming with details. And I certainly was not brazen or a fool to attempt to find out any more, I respect real people far more than you or anyone imagines). And I do so wih dear Fliss and have always done so.

Dear Fliss's parents and to dear Cath in Queensland...can you see how BAD this hellhole has become? - It has been erupting like this AFTER dear Fliss arrived here. It was not like this before. It was, but it had got better. THAT was why I invited dear Fliss to come and live in peace and safety and no pressures of debts over Fliss's head. Dear Fliss nor I had NOTHING TO DO WITH ANY OF IT LAST NIGHT. - I do not know where dearest Fliss is in any case.....I hope she is safe......

It was why dear Fliss and I were always trying to get away from it all because it sudenly grew worse here AFTER Fliss arrived. What with the aboriginal drug dealer house and worse.....

Dear Fliss HATED all the shit (Fliss never swore) going on and she terribly kept blaming herself as if it was a 'curse' or something that followed her. Fliss herself was never to blame. I always had to keep reassuring dear Fliss that even when she was sobbing and blaming herself at her worst times. Others would just think Fliss stupid.

No wonder there was a marked POLICE sedan parked in the Koongamia school oval car park later today that I saw......!

I wonder if the impromptu meeting in the street earlier this morning of the next door neighbour etc was also because of LAST NIGHT?!?

I directed the Police officer to possible residences where she might get what she was after. And I pointed out the empty corner household saying that THEY too had experienced hell here themselves......as had the previous residents before them.....and had moved out.

THIS IS A HELLHOLE.

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

I love you dearest Fliss and want to be with you just as you promised me, and to yourself, to be away from this hellhole forever. - I'm dying here. That raffle has been drawn and I won absolutely less than nothing as usual. - ANOTHER JET PLANE OVERHEAD. - How many times can any person in their entire life enter so many things and NEVER EVER win? - I told you of this hell dear Fliss and how this hell afflicts me and never lets me live a good life. - Dear Fliss we love each other and have been cruelly parted by your afflictions and your false memories and those who control you who have brainwashed you into believing what they WANT you to believe about us. - NOW can you see why I was always so scared about us bringing into being any children of our own, at least here? I also told you the same thing when you were with me and you thought me foolish for believing it. Really? - What would have occurred had we had a child and right now it was living with us being parted? - I NEVER EVER wanted a child to live wihout us dear Fliss...I have lived some of that existance myself with my own mother and father being parted as I was growing up and it was truly HELL too, living in poverty, existing on second hand hand-me-downs, poor people food, (a plain sponge cake was a treat for us), my poor dear mother cut off from ALL her dear close relations who lived in South Australia half the Australian land-mass from us......, my poor dear Mum always struggling to pay ANY bills.....but for all of that I loved my dear Mum with all my heart. She KNEW that but always felt she had 'failed' in being a mother who could provide everything to her two young growing sons. - But I grew up with a stout heart and soul whch my dear Mum was silently proud of...and I took care of her after she had a severe stroke leving her severely disabled...I did NOT abandon her and NEVER would I ever think of doing so......but then dear Mum died alone in hospital after I had rushed to see her because she had hours earlier been close to death but then she had recovered, it was truly cruel....I truly hope Mum knew how much she meant to me and my brother....and I truly hope to see her again when I am dead.

Later closer to midday........I was checking the empty postbox (no word from dear FLiss) and I was collecting the just-delivered local newspaper, and I saw POLICE slowly walking in the school oval carpark area that THAT POLICE vehicle had been parked at as if they were looking on the ground there...or are they just milling about?

Meanwhile, over at Ms New Ages rented house, the old guy there has been hammering away all morning (sounding like somebody at my front door) and he has put up more security AGAIN all about the fencing. -- If the 'incident' and Police visit disturbed me, it might also have spurred him further into making his home a fortress again.

THIS IS A HELLHOLE AREA.

EVERY time I think it is 'getting better' here, people suffer, and it proves that it is not, or at least hell is being selective on where and whom it chooses to be victims. - I also weep inside for all those too scared to weep or be seen to be weeping.

THIS IS A HELLHOLE AREA.

I love YOU dearest Fliss (Felicity A. Carthew) and want to be with YOU just as YOU promised me, and to YOURSELF, to be away from this hellhole forever. - I'm dying here.

ANOTHER DAMNED JET PLANE OVERHEAD!..........

[xottzot]

2017-4(APR)-16 & 17 -Sunday-LATER LATER and (early Monday).

2017-4(APR)-16 & 17 -Sunday-LATER LATER and (early Monday).

Last night, late, I'm not sure when, but it was before midnight and after 11pm, I took Sam & Max outside for their 'last chance' ablutions...which they needed.

A marked West Australian Police sedan was parked on the WRONG side of the road and in front of the driveway(s) of the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD.

Streelighting is dim and pathetic.

I have no idea why the Police were there. It could have been anything, even because of the criminal aboriginal almost getting run over early that Sunday. But there is no explanation or reason in this hellhole, and or will there ever be one known by anyone.

Last year West Australian Police were regularly every Monday at the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD. It was like clockwork. - Other minds might (and have done) assume they were in collusion with the criminals but I have no idea or musings.

I have no idea how long the Police stayed there but there was the sounds of a LOT of the cars doors being closed hard. (a sedan only has 5 doors including the boot) so once again, I have no idea why all that noise was being generated. - 'playing' jumping in and out of the Police car? Nobody knows.

From the first time I saw/heard it, until it left, the Police didn't seem to stay all that long.

And when the Police left, they drove up Kalara Way street, into the intersection with Kalara Road street, then they turned in that "T" intersection by doing a big U-turn, then slowly driving down Kalara Way street once more, (passing the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD), and they turned left onto Clayton Street and drove away.

Were they 'delivering' new customers to the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD, as happened so many time last year? Or were they delivering additional aboriginals into the house(s) that are already overflowing with shitheads?

No answer was ever found last year. But it was witnessed countless times back then, countless vehicles would just momentarily pause at the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD and aboriginal adults would get out and go straight into the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD. Using whatever vehicles they were clambouring out of almost as if they were taxis, and indeed it's what they were like but they there were not taxis but unmarked Police or departmental vehicles.....annonymous white vehicles. And quite often they would drag with them bags.....(the mad screaming aboriginal woman was often 'delivered' like that, or by Police.)

I thought the because of last night's West Australian Police visiting there it would ensure peace and quiet and a decent sleep......but I was mistaken completely.

Around 2:40am? Sam & Max woke me up by pacing inside this hovel on the wooden floors. I'd only barely got back to sleep, but they seemed insistent. Perhaps it was intruders, I don't know. So I took them outside for ablutions and to look around the backyard and I had to go with them to watch over them.

The next door neighbour (who has visitors) was strangely making noises, lots of walking about on their wooden floors of the house and calling-outs to each other inside the house. I have no idea why nor wish to.

I brought Sam & Max back inside after their security-check and ablutions. As I wanted to go to sleep and not be interrupted, I fed Sam & Max, despite it still being dark outside. It was cool-cold outside. Once again I kept watch over Sam & Max outside, they performed further ablutions ensuring they wouldn't be deperate later, and we all came back inside this hovel.

And I tried desperately to go to sleep but it took me hours to fall back to terrible sleep, and I had nightmares.

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

Innocent neighbours cars (because of criminals and criminals from the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD), are always parked close to houses outside innocents residents windows to make sure their cars are not stolen, stolen from, vandalised, or interfered with. -- This is as-always in this hellhole.

Monday (a public holiday), the sound of cars moving on the streets outside made it obvious that not everyone had a public holiday. And it woke me up.

Of course the moment I am awoken is the unspoken (and NEVER trained or wanted) signal for dear Sam & Max to demand to go outside for ablutions. So I wearily got up and did so.

This was around sometime before 9am. (sometime between around 8:30am and 9am).

Dear Sam & Max definitely needed to go outside for ablutions.

I vainly hoped I could go back and perhaps lay in bed at least, or beyond hope, get more sleep. Of course I did not get more sleep.

Outside in the street it was like any ordinary school day. That is, aborginals NEVER GO TO SCHOOL.

They were out there manically walking ON the road and loudly bouncing a basketball so fast it was two bounces every second. Worse than an alarm clock going off for anyone trying to sleep.

Up and down the roads it was going until it slowed down then was sporadic. It was only to be replaced by shrill aboriginal voices gabbling about, then hard "THUNK"s, over and over again. As I said, worse than any alarm clock going off.

In the street were two aboriginals, an older girl and a young one.

They were going through the dirt that had been carefully dumped (and had been raked neat and flat), going through the dirt of the area that had been covered on Sunday by the couple who were trying to fill-in and neatly cover the bare clay there on the street verge.

It is literally impossible to try to ever get the Swan Shire (who owns the street verges and is supposed to maintain them), it is impossible to ever get the Swan Shire to do anything, (I've told you this is a hellhole), so whoever the people were yesterday, they were doing it themselves for whatever reason.

And so just as I forecasted.....aboriginals had already walked all over it on Sunday (as if a herd of rampaging cattle had gone over the carefully raked dirt), and now on Monday they were doing more.

And the two girls, the younger one from the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD, the older one from the rented corner house that has massive holes it its fence courtesy of the criminal aboriginals, the two girls were 'playing' in the dirt.

They were grabbing clumped dirt and throwing it on the road to smash into smaller, and they were also throwing clumps and actual rocks about and hitting it with a small hollow plastic toy cricket-bat. THUNK, CACKLE, THUNK, THUNK, THUNK! CACKLE......

That's what all innocent neighbours were forcibly told to awake to on a public holiday.

The aboriginals were treating it like any school day. That is NOT going to school of course. The older one doen't have to because of age and has no other place in life or wishes or aspires to. The younger one is one of the two 'token' ones of the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD that sometimes goes to Koongamia School down across the road. No matter, she will grow up to be like the other. Enthusiastically useless.

They spent ages on the road. Covering it with debris. (prediction, forecast come true)

They went away at some point. Then returned. Then went away.

Then returned. Until 'eventually' (a rarity), the overweight aborignal woman of the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD, came out and brusquely and loudly told the youngest girl to get back home to the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD. She 'danced' like a maniac to regain one-upmanship, as if it was her own idea to go back to the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD, and they were gone into the yard or household.

And that....is what passes for a 'very quiet' time in this hellhole.....so far today.......

LOTS more cars and vehicles including heavy vehicles have been going by on the roads, spewing out terrible fumes both petrol stench and half-burnt diesel stench, which wafts all through open windows and fills houses.

The road's covered in the crap left by the aborignals but that's only the beginning. It surprising the dirt has lasted that long on the street verge. It will soon vanish. Either blown onto the road, thrown onto the road by aboriginals (as has happened so many times in the past then used by aboriginals to deliberatly skid on the roads), or it will be stolen and carted away by the aboriginals because hey......you'd just dumped it on the ground so it's ours!

It's rubish bin 'night', that is innocent residents will be putting their big wheeled green council rubish bins onto the street for Tuesday's regular collection in the early morning. And of course, putting ANYTHING out is a clear signal to aboriginals and shitheads to ferret through innocent peoples rubbish bins, or to fill up innocent peoples rubbish bins with absolutely foul, disgusting, putrid rubbish, so foul it would make you vomit. - It happens all the time. and just when you innocently think it won't happen again....it will happen again.

Or your entire rubbish bin will be stolen.

And of course the empty evicted aboriginal drug dealer property rubbish bin will probably 'magically' reappear on the steet verge tomorrow for council collection. -- Even though the shithead aboriginal drug dealer house has been evicted empty and boarded up for over a year. - It must be a magical Wagyl causing that to happen. - Or maybe it's really just as always the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD or their many countless associates who don't care.

I wonder if the sound of empty rubbish bins being wheeled off to other aboriginal houses to be filled then brought back for tomorrows collection will be heard or seen...or will the sound of inane basketball bouncings up and down ON the roads be hear to cover it up? - Oh, I spoke too soon.....rapid basketball bouncings by aboriginals of the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD as they walk barefoot up to the Koongamia shops ON THE ROADS drowned out peace and quiet. Not allowed to have peace and quiet you see......

Oh, and before I forget, there was a crowd of aboriginals sitting down in the empty school car park. - They were ludly yelling up the streets to the aboriginals of the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD. - Just like an ordinary school day. Public holidays confuse them when every day is a 'holiday' for aborignals who never go to work or school but instead just walk around and wander every day......

The only difference is is that it's threatening to 'rain' and cloudy and 'overcast' but it will not rain. Maybe a drop or two that will instantly dry up upon hitting the parched ground.

It will not rain because everything desperately needs rain and water and is dying.

P@14:01 (2:01pm) Monday, 17-April-2017. -- I love you dear Fliss. You have no idea of this hell. - You have no idea of the hell for poor dear Sam & Max and myself.