#the community garden across the street was being cared for (even in winter) by my neighbors

[angelmush]

it looked sooo pretty outside today :)

[royivia]

The Neighborhood

Sibyl Campbell wasn’t even mad when she woke up on a hot ass May morning in her room, drenched in sweat. Instead, she bypassed anger and went straight to resignation because the HVAC system in the Robert Moses Houses was broken — again — and she didn’t have the time or the energy to bitch about it. In fact, the heating and cooling stayed shutting off across Groundview Gardens. It had become a predictable kind of disappointment in the neighborhood, more so than flooding during superstorms or the fact that no matter which part of the neighborhood you were in, you could feel the rumbling of the shuttle every seven minutes.

Sibyl had spent all night coughing and turning in her bed from the claustrophobic heat that agitated her asthma. Her mother had already gone to work, otherwise, she would have heard Mildred Campbell yelling in indignant patwa over the phone at an Arcadian Realty & Management representative “to fix the damn AC” before she threatened to call 311 on their ass, and report them to the city. Both Mildred and the AR&M rep knew it was an empty threat, but to shut her up, they’d call someone who’d tinker with the system and the air would come back on for a couple of days or so, before it chipped out. And then, the routine would start again.

Sibyl checked the weather. It was already ninety-five degrees. She took a puff from her inhaler and scrolled through her timeline. The same picture of a little girl with a big bright smile captioned with different variations of “RIP Destiny’’ and prayers for her family flooded her feed. Sibyl forced herself out of bed. The sweat on her body made her feel uncomfortable. She hauled a clunky, old portable air conditioner out from her closet and plugged it into the wall. Management would fine them for the spike in their energy use, but she didn’t care. She pushed the power button on, and waited for the box to cough out some hot air before it eventually cooled the room down from a humid haze to a lackluster lukewarm.

#

SOIL had been trying to meet with AR&M, the neighborhood’s collective management company, about the HVAC problem with little to no success for close to three years. They had circulated petitions. Tried shaming them in the local news. They even considered organizing a rent strike, which would have done nothing because everybody who lived in Groundview Gardens received subsidies from the city that made rent practically free. And as much as people were pissed about freezing their asses off in the winter or not being able to breathe during the summer, nobody was tryna fight free rent. So, SOIL decided to annoy the shit out of their landlords instead. On their way into their coolly ventilated corporate office buildings, occupying their lobbies, picketing in front of their luxury condos, and most effectively, managing to damage one, or two, of their solar-powered generators in the hottest month New York City had ever seen. A few arrests and some pissed off rich people later, management finally agreed to hold a town hall to hear from their tenants, which meant SOIL’s next plan of action was to convince as many people as possible to show up. Nefi Ramos saw it as a challenge that they could surely accomplish. Her neighbors were like camels to water in a desert. They were thirsty, and had learned to go without for as long as they needed to, but lead them to a watering hole, and they would drink.

“It’s too fucking hot,” she shouted into her megaphone. She was standing in front of one of the many large screens around Groundview that cycled between ads for things they couldn’t afford and AR&M’s infamous “neighborhoods of tomorrow” promotional video. Most people just used the screens to check train arrival times and the air quality. The next shuttle was two minutes away, and the air was currently “unsafe for vulnerable groups.”

“Are we just supposed to take this shit?” Nefi asked. “We don’t deserve to live like this.”

Around her, the rest of SOIL handed out cold bottles of water, popsicles, and fruit cups from coolers filled with melting ice, along with flyers to people walking towards the train platform. They walked past the demonstration uninterestedly, only stopping long enough to take a bottle of water. Everyone had gotten used to Nefi shouting at them to care about things beyond their control, and learned to tune her and the rest of her angry SOILders out, taking their flyers every now and then only to chuck them into the nearest trash can. This morning, a few people did stop to listen for a second or two, the heat getting the better of them, before they saw the time flicker on the screen behind her, and realized that they’d be late for work.

Sibyl, her camera always strapped to her body, snapped a few shots of her neighbor. Nefi was like a loud older cousin who wasn’t afraid of a little trouble, or frankly anything. She both awed and terrified Sibyl.

“It’s time for these slumlords to sweat,” Nefi went on. “We need to organize. Our voices are stronger together — ”

“What makes you think anyone gives a shit about what happens to us down here?”

Mr. Solomon had been on his way to the bodega to buy his morning loosie, but stopped to sit in his walker, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“That’s exactly what they want us to think, vecino.” Nefi softened her voice in that way she did when she was trying not to shout. “The more we believe that we can’t make them pay attention to us, the longer they get away with treating us like shit.”

“I remember when they first moved people into Groundview.” In the midst of reminiscing, Mr. Solomon started coughing aggressively, prompting someone to hand him a bottle of water which he drank quickly before continuing. “We were protesting and shouting in the streets, but they didn’t care then. They’re not gonna care now.” The history lesson quickly turned into yet another heated debate about neighborhood politics between him and some of the other SOILders trying to convince him to take one of their flyers. Sibyl used the opportunity to catch Nefi’s attention, who waved her over enthusiastically.

“Yo, did you hear?” Nefi handed her a fruit cup. “We finally got a meeting with the overlords! Are you gonna come?”

“Nahhh, Nefi. You know that’s not really my thing…I’m not an activist.” Nefi was always trying to recruit her for some radical ass shit that just never seemed worth the trouble of explaining to Sibyl’s very Jamaican mother.

“Nobody said you had to be. You live in this neighborhood, and have just as much say about what happens in it as the suits who own it.” Nefi sensed Sibyl’s hesitation. “Please Sib! Come so we have more people in the room. You don’t have to say anything. We just want those dicks to see that we have power. People power!”

Nefi was very proud of the fact that she had an uncle, or it might have been a second cousin, who had been a member of the Young Lords and, drawing on their legacy of fighting for the liberation of Puerto Ricans, was always going on about the oppressive nature of renting, and self-determination for poor people, and community empowerment, and, and…

“Aight — I’ll go,” Sibyl assured her, trying to cut her sermon short. Nefi hugged her and thanked her a million times before shoving a stack of flyers into her arms to pass out and post up around the neighborhood.

#

The singular garden in Groundview Gardens was usually ten degrees cooler than anywhere else in the neighborhood. It was created — not by the architects who had designed New York City’s newest development, but instead — by the community out of desperation as an escape from their cramped apartments. During the days, the older folks used it to grow their herbs, medicines, and flowers for their healing practices. The local farmers grew produce that fed the community. After school and on the weekends, all the kids hung out at the community center at the heart of the garden where they learned to dance, make art, and play music.

By the time Sybil got there later that night, Groundview’s collective of artists had already transformed the greenspace into their Saturday night hangout. One of the DJs was spinning records. People were dancing, drinking, smoking, having a good time. Dante, Sage, and Felix had bottles in their hands when Sibyl joined them at their usual spot. Their clothes were covered in colorful patches of spray paint.

“Did you finish it? When do I get to see it?,” she asked them excitedly. She hadn’t seen her friends in about a week, which meant they were either done with their latest mural or were taking a break before they disappeared for another few days. “Soon.” Dante looked tired, but excitement danced in his eyes. “Shoot anything good lately?” He leaned in reaching for her camera, but she quickly pulled back from him.

He laughed at her and took a sip of beer. Dante was her oldest friend out of the trio. There was a quiet protectiveness between the two of them Sibyl hoped they could always maintain.

“It’s been a minute since I last checked.”

“How come?” Dante asked.

Sibyl usually couldn’t wait to hold herself up in the darkroom at the community center to develop her film, but she had been putting off her latest batch. She’d fallen in love with photography while taking classes at the center as a kid. So much so that one day, her mother came home with an old film camera and Sibyl never put it down. That first summer, she ran around the neighborhood asking to take people’s photos. It felt so natural to her, though it had taken a while to gain people’s trust. Take their pictures for what? What was she going to do with them? Skeptics, but curious, they eventually agreed. They’d uncomfortably pose or force a smile, and then immediately ask her to see it because if they didn’t look good, she’d have to delete it. Then she’d explain how film photography worked, and they’d cuss her out for wasting their time.

Weeks later, she’d find them again — at the corner store, or at the People’s Garden, and give them the glossy prints she’d developed. Through her lens she could see they were secretly afraid she’d see the things they’d all spent so much time and concern trying to hide. But those things would all melt away when they’d see themselves — some for the first time — with the same worth and value she saw in them. After that Sibyl didn’t have to ask. They booked her for quinces and graduation parties and engagement photos. People would stop her when they saw her around. “So you not gonna take my picture? Girl, you know I look good today. Quit playing and snap something quick,” and they’d pose with more pride than before, as if to officially celebrate the triumph of living, something they didn’t know they had accomplished until they saw proof.

After seeing so many of her neighbors’ pictures, some of which she took, circulate in online memorials, something lodged itself in the pit of Sibyl’s gut. She couldn’t fully identify what it was, but it left her with little energy to feel or do anything else outside of going to school and work. But she didn’t know how to explain that to her friends without being weird or bringing down the mood, so she just said, “Been busy with school.” She quickly changed the subject before anyone tried to press her on it.

“Are ya gonna go to the town hall?”

“What town hall?” Sage asked.

“The one with management. About the HVACs.” Sibyl handed them flyers from her bag. “I promised Nefi I’d go, but I don’t want to go by myself. Someone come with me?”

“Pass,” Felix snorted.

“I’ll go. Should be fun,” Sage said with a smirk on their face. “I wanna hear what those assholes say their excuse is for not fixing shit.”

“I’ll save ya the trip. Sorry, you’re too poor for us to care,” Felix mocked. “It’s not like they’re all of a sudden gonna have a conscience ya know.”

“You mad negative bro,” Dante said.

“What?” Felix asked animatedly. “You really trying to spend the rest of your life down here? We all need to focus on getting the fuck up outta here instead of asking them to fix some janky ass vents.”

It’s not like anybody was trying to spend any part of their lives in Groundview, but lately it seemed like the rest of their lives wouldn’t take so long. The sound of the shuttle, more muffled than anywhere else, reverberated throughout the garden.

“I’m out the first chance I get,” Dante admitted. His answer wasn’t surprising to any of them, but this was the first time Sibyl heard him say it out loud. Dante was one of the more talented and disciplined artists in the collective. It would only be a matter of time before he blew up and left.

“What happens when ya leave though?” Sage was upset. “You get out, but what about the rest of us? Not everybody can up and leave right? Shouldn’t we try and make shit better for everyone.”

“That’s a trap, Sage. Shit’s not gonna get better,” Felix said harshly. “Does it ever hit ya, like really hit ya that there’s no future for us here? Everybody’s so busy working to get by, we don’t even have time to realize how fucked up everything is.”

“I’m not saying it’s perfect.” Sage shot back. “I just don’t think we have to turn our back on our community. That’s fucked up.”

“Don’t take it so personally, Sage,” Dante cut in. “Nobody’s turning their backs on anyone.”

“Besides, no offense to Nefi n ‘em,” Felix said, “but everybody’s wasting their time if they think those suits are gonna fix anything.”

Sibyl listened quietly. Groundview was all they ever knew. She had never considered leaving it, and yet she also was afraid to admit that she thought Felix might be right.

#

The middle school auditorium only had like fifteen people — half were members of SOIL — in there that Tuesday night, which was more than Nefi had expected. The handful of people who told her they wanted to go to the town hall, but couldn’t, were either working, or would get home too late from work and would have to cook dinner or iron school uniforms for the next day. Everyone else couldn’t be bothered; like Felix, they thought it was a waste of time. That nothing would come from it. Sibyl didn’t show. No one who attended the town hall actually thought anything would come from it either. If AR&M had wanted to do something, they would have done it a long ass time ago. The people who did show up were mostly Nefi’s elderly neighbors who were always ready to spit their anger into a mic because if they weren’t going to get a solution, they would at least get to cuss someone out, and have an audience to witness it.

Nefi worked her way around the room to thank people for coming. These things always felt like family reunions to her. Old friends hugging and catching up because they hadn’t seen each other in a minute, with work and family and life moving everybody in this or that direction, even though they all still lived in the same neighborhood. She finished up her greetings and joined the rest of SOIL, huddled at the front of the room. They went over the order of speakers, before Benjy, the group’s designated peacemaker for the evening, asked everyone to quiet down and get seated so they could start. He reminded everyone to keep it civil. Then one by one, people got up to the mic to direct their anger at the empty faces in tailored suits, sitting at the table in front of them, who could all care less about the people shouting at them. There was a lot of finger snapping, and “that’s right” and “tell-em’s” from the crowd throughout.

Finally about half an hour in, a young woman, with a little girl clutching on to the left side of her body, got up to the mic.

“My name is Mercy Brooks, and this is my daughter Angelique.” Her voice was shaking, in that soft, angry, pissed off kinda way that warranted attention. Nefi hushed the crowd down so that she could speak her peace without interruption. “My daughter’s asthma acts up almost every day. She can’t breathe. Ya should be fucking ashamed of yaselves. Our babies are dying down here. Is that what we deserve because we can’t do better? We just supposed to take that shit. You ever thought about what it’s like to live down here, huh? I’m sure ya don’t cause if you did, you wouldn’t think it was right to keep people living like this. Or do ya not care cause it’s not your kids?”

There was silence from the table, which was worse than feigning any sympathy or remorse. It set the room off into chants, which meant it was over from there. AR&M security shut that shit down quick right on cue, and if you weren’t arrested that night, you were brusquely escorted out. Management promised to set up some vague kind of task force with representatives from the neighborhood, but it led to nothing. A fucking disappointment, that’s what that shit was. And it wasn’t a surprise to Nefi or anyone else, but it hurt all the same. A few weeks later, that same woman who got up and spoke, her daughter Angelique died because they couldn’t get her to the hospital in time after she had an asthma attack. AR&M still hadn’t fixed the vents in their housing complex. And they still didn’t change the filters or fix the ducts in the other housing complexes so that it wouldn’t happen again after that. SOIL kept trying to drum up some kind of anger. Anything to get people to feel something. To do something.

Murals of Destiny, Angelique, and every other person who had died that year quietly popped up around the neighborhood. Vigils and altars with flowers and prayer candles accompanied them. But as much as people were upset or sad, no one knew what else to do except mourn and move on because it was clear to everyone that no one gave a damn about them. And so, what was the point?

##

They called it the Subterranean Housing and Inner-City Tunnels project, or S.H.I.T. for short. A plan to provide affordable housing for everyone who had experienced the worst housing crisis New York City had ever seen. People were evicted left and right. Families were priced out of their homes and neighborhoods. The shelter system, swelled beyond its limits for decades, finally collapsed. The streets and subway were overrun with people in sleeping bags and blankets. So nothing new, but it finally annoyed enough people to warrant action.

Naturally, the city contracted its most blood thirsty developers, AR&M, to help solve the problem, which was kinda like asking an arsonist to put out a fire they had proudly started. To no one’s surprise, they didn’t want to forfeit any of their luxury condos that sat empty while people slept on the streets. Instead, they struck a deal to create the largest scale of public housing of its kind, in exchange for absolute, unregulated freedom. The only problem was there was literally no land left for them to develop because they had already bought it all. And then one day, the chief architect of S.H.I.T. had an epiphany when he felt the uptown 6 train rumbling beneath his feet. There was an entire part of the city he had yet to consider. Where a majority of the people who needed housing were already living. Sprawling housing complexes with multi-unit apartments appeared overnight 150 feet underground, with the pilot site in the South Bronx. A new subway station and miles and miles of foot tunnels connected New York’s newest neighborhood to the world above it.

There were protests, anger, outrage! That the country’s most progressive city could so blatantly, and quickly!, shove all of its poor people out of sight only seemed to bother the poor people because everyone else praised S.H.I.T. as the most innovative solution of the 21st century. New York City had done the impossible, and housed every single person. That was grounds for celebration and federal funding. Plans were quickly announced to roll S.H.I.T. out across every major city in the country. To ease people’s concerns, the mayor at the time, eyeing a presidential run, promised that his own city’s underground neighborhood would just be temporary — transitional housing at best. Transitional to what, no one could answer. Temporary until when? Until they could think of something else. One year became five, became ten, etc., etc.

In time, AR&M and the city eventually added a couple schools, a hospital, a library, and a sad excuse for a park that residents eventually turned into the People’s Garden. Folks opened up bodegas, 99 cent and liquor stores, and made themselves at home. It didn’t take long to accept living where they did as another fact of life because they had no other choice. Over time, the plan to move everyone back aboveground disappeared from the city’s housing briefings. Then, the briefings disappeared altogether. The high rates of asthma and chronic bronchitis that seemed to come from living in Groundview occasionally made the nightly news, but not enough to cause major concern or stop neighborhoods like Groundview from popping up across the country.

There were still those who remembered life before Groundview, and vowed to move out of the neighborhood as soon as the opportunity arrived. They kept the dream close to their hearts. And if it didn’t happen during their lifetimes, they’d make sure it would happen during their children’s. More realized it was a fool’s dream and moved on. Eventually though, everyone adapted to the vibrations of the shuttle inside their kitchens. The white, fluorescent lighting that lit every corner of their world like a harsh, artificial sun. The damp, muggy air that arrested their chests if they tried to breathe too freely. And the humming of the massive ventilation systems that heated and cooled their cramped, windowless apartments — when they decided to work.

#

An Artist’s Treatise on Survival

I don’t know how we do it sometimes. That is, put up with all the shit that life throws at us. Work jobs that exhaust us with little in return. Take care of our families with little to no support. Do so much with so little. And still be able to smile or laugh in the midst of it all. Then, I remember: it’s because we have to. No one else is gonna pay our bills if we don’t. No one else is gonna put food on our tables for us. No one’s gonna bail us out. Naturally, you learn to hustle. To channel your frustrations into working around the way things are because trying to fix things that were built broken takes time you don’t have when you’re just trying to get by.

What gets me even more is how we’ve perfected survival itself as an artform, and created whole new types of living from abject desperation. We wasn’t supposed to, much less find reasons to enjoy life, but we did anyway. Some even take on the added challenge of trying to make life more bearable, more enjoyable, for the rest of us. For example, sometimes when it felt like there wasn’t much to appreciate. That you were resigned to the fate of being alive and not living and didn’t deserve any better. You’d see a mural. On the way to the laundromat. Or the corner store. While you were running errands. Or walking home, bone tired, from the train after another long, shitty day at work. And like all good, beautiful things, it reminded you to breathe. You didn’t always know who created it. Or couldn’t remember if it was there the day before even though you’ve walked that way millions of times. You just knew that it was, in its own way, encouraging you to make it to tomorrow. Bright bursts of color and story interrupting the mundane, tiresome every day you’d come to accept with no protest. After a while, it becomes easier to accept a simple truth about living. That we can still manage to find a reason to laugh, to enjoy life, despite it all, and that we can be the source of our own power. It’s kind of audacious of us to still try and find joy even if it means creating it for ourselves. Maybe that’s why we do it.

#

At first, it started off as harmless tagging, and they kept it up chasing the thrill of not getting caught. Then they tried to outdo each other. It became a sport: who could paint the better mural. Get the most buzz around the neighborhood before they got painted over. But the better they got, and the more the murals looked legit, the longer they stayed up. Until they stopped painting over them altogether because people loved them so much. They didn’t belong to the creators anymore. They belonged to the neighborhood. And before they knew it, they’d created something much bigger than any of them could have imagined.

The tunnels just seemed like the next natural step for the graffiti artists in Groundview. Miles and miles of blank walls? Dante, especially, saw something to keep him busy after his brother died. Besides, painting murals felt like the only thing he could do. He’d stopped going to school. He’d just paint. When he ran out of ideas to paint, he asked Sibyl to see her portraits, and he started replicating them across the neighborhood. He was relentless — portrait after portrait. Sage and Felix started helping him out because they worried he would lose it, spending all that time in the tunnels by himself. He was grasping for something, but he didn’t know what it was. Until he saw it, lying on the ground near a garbage can.

The Groundview Residents’ List of Demands

The People of Groundview Gardens demand financial and social restitution for all residents, especially those who developed chronic health issues from living underground and/or have lost loved ones because of it.

The People demand New York City move all Groundview residents back above ground into rent subsidized apartments.

The People demand New York City disband all underground housing policies so that no one else has to live in Groundview Gardens or any other housing project like it.

Until the first three demands are met, The People demand Arcadian Realty & Management fix the HVAC systems in every single housing complex it owns and regularly maintain them.

Once Groundview Gardens is fully evacuated, The People demand New York City turn the entire neighborhood into a public memorial to commemorate the loss of life, preserving the art and The People’s Garden.

After the town hall, and the supposed task force, proved to be a bust, SOIL had created the demands to deliver to the city. They circulated leaflets with the five bullet points, but no one would take them seriously. Dante himself, admittedly, had checked out, and had ignored SOIL’s literature, up until that point. The demands appeared overnight on the walls of the tunnels in bold white paint for everyone to see. They were the last thing everyone saw coming into Groundview and the first thing they saw from the shuttle on their commutes leaving the neighborhood.

#

Nefi kept waiting for the moment when her neighbors would suddenly realize that they were angry — very angry. They’d decide they were fed up once and for all and refuse to settle for less anymore. They’d riot in the streets. They’d protest in front of AR&M’s offices. They’d refuse to go into work until something changed. Their anger would get everyone’s attention. Her own rage had burned intensely inside her for as long as she knew herself. She learned to channel it through SOIL trying to make Groundview a better place, even though everyone told her it wasn’t worth it; it wasn’t possible; it was a waste of time. But it was either that or literally set some shit on fire. But, it didn’t matter how many rallies, tenant meetings, town halls, or demonstrations SOIL organized. Nefi learned that she couldn’t have a revolution without people. And the people? They were tired and overworked. They didn’t have time to overthrow anything. And, even though no one would admit it, they were also afraid — afraid of change, of what they could lose, of realizing that something greater than what they had come to know was possible. So to save themselves, and Nefi, further disappointment, they rebuffed her again, and again: Nefi you need to chill. Girl you’re doing too much. Don’t waste your time. Nothing’s gonna change. After the town hall, and years and years of holding hope, the fire inside Nefi dulled until she couldn’t recognize herself anymore. She conceded her rage for high-functioning hopelessness. She withdrew from her friends, from her neighbors, from SOIL, only tapping into enough energy to wake up, go to work, and make her way back home. The days bled into each other, so much so that when the night Nefi had been waiting for eventually came later that August, it caught her completely off guard. It caught everyone off guard because it wasn’t the HVACs or the deaths of toddlers, or even the wrath towards AR&M that finally set people off. But it shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone who’s lived in New York City long enough because it was the one thing that could incite the level of large-scale anarchic rage Nefi had been holding out for — and that was the MTA.

#

The night in question, the air was hot, muggy, and heavy with potential. Like any other evening, people were heading home from work, the collective exhaustion weighing down on their bodies, stamped into their faces. They waited together, huddled in a sweaty mass on the sweltering Third Ave-138th St. platform for a train that felt like it would never come. When an empty shuttle finally did arrive in the station, the doors opened to the grating sound of a man’s voice coming through the train’s speaker system:

“Attention passengers. This is your conductor speaking. Due to unplanned construction up ahead, we are disbanding all trains to Groundview Gardens at this time. I repeat, we are disbanding all trains to Groundview. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

This shit had happened plenty of times before. A disruption of service that made it difficult to get home. Everybody was so used to it and had even come to expect it. The inconvenience of being poor and powerless consistently working against them. It too had become a predictable kind of disappointment. Even the audible, collective disapproval was muted and slightly rehearsed, nothing more than a reflex. They would have to find their way home, some two-odd miles on foot, through the tunnels. But that night, Ms. Claudette, who had been on her feet all day at work taking care of her elderly patient and still had to go home and iron her scrubs for the next day, was fucking tired. She had paid her fare. And, she had paid her taxes. She had also paid her dues in this country — twenty-seven years worth of struggle and debasement — for what? This could not be it. Life could not just be disappointment. The least she expected was that the train would get her home like it was supposed to. She decided that she was going to let the conductor have a piece of her mind.

“This is nonsense. Tell me, just tell me, how am I supposed to get home?” Her boisterous St. Lucian accent traveled well beyond her.

Folks who heard her echoed in agreement, hyping her up. “They have the nerve to raise prices for this shitty ass service,” someone said loudly. They all collectively decided to board the empty train. The construction workers in their hard hats and massive boots, the women with their large tote bags and their tiredness neatly folded away into themselves. They were all going to sit on the train, until it started up again. It was going to take them home.

The conductor was tired too. Nothing as deep-seated as his passengers, but something not too far removed. He had no skin in this game though, and his job didn’t pay him enough to care. He was annoyed; they were keeping him from clocking out. And so, after listening to a bunch of people passionately curse him out, he told them to, and I quote:

“Write a letter.”

It happened so fast. I mean, when I say shit popped off before anyone could swallow their spit. Someone knocked over the trash cans on the platform. Someone else, set them on fire, with what to this day no one really knows, but their latent anger seemed to have ignited what they didn’t know was inside them.

The riots lasted for weeks. People boycotted the MTA and didn’t go to work.

The restaurants aboveground shuttered because they were understaffed. Construction on all the new developments stopped because the workers, a lot of whom lived in Groundview, refused to show up. People aboveground had to stay home because their nannies and house cleaners weren’t able to come and relieve them like they had come to rely on. Groundview had forced the city to come to a complete stop. The mayor held a press conference saying she didn’t condone the behavior of the vandals at the train station. SOIL led protests and demonstrations in front of city hall until she had to hold a second press conference to apologize for her statements at the first press conference. She promised she was going to make sure that it would never happen again — not just the riots, but the unnecessary deaths in Groundview, the resentment the residents felt towards the city. They were going to fix the HVACs, and the MTA! They were going to heal the great divide the city had long thrived on once and for all, if, and only if, the workers called off the strike and went back to work. It sounded so sincere, everyone wanted to believe it. Tired of holding all the power, they asked SOIL to represent them at the bargaining table. Deals were made. Hands were shaken. And things went back to a semblance of normal with a few slight adjustments.

#

Sibyl was heading out of her apartment when she saw a piece of yellow paper on her front door.

60 DAYS NOTICE TO INCREASE RENT

Mildred Campbell 207 167th St. (GG), Unit 10E

Beginning September 1, 2041, the monthly rent will go up an additional 5% for all units located in the Robert Moses Houses. Please make the appropriate adjustments within the AR&M digital payment system.

We appreciate your continued tenancy.

Sincerely, Arcadian Realty & Management

Pieces of yellow paper were taped to every single door she passed on her way to the train. It had been a year since the last time the heating or cooling had stopped working. Everyone held their breath celebrating, just in case that was when the heat would shut off or the air would decide to stop working again, but it never did. The number of deaths and hospitalizations went down, and everyone seemed content enough after the strikes and boycott ended, to go back to work. The trains even went back to running as efficiently as possible for the MTA, always teetering on the edge of collapse, but never actually approaching it for fear of recreating another opportunity for mass rebellion.

On her way to the shuttle, Sibyl saw a group of people congregating near one of the murals. She clutched her camera in her hand, ready to raise it to her face, when she heard a voice she didn’t recognize shouting through a megaphone. It belonged to a man she had never seen around the neighborhood before, and he was walking backwards while talking to a group of people Sibyl also didn’t recognize.

“Groundview is the latest up and coming neighborhood in the city,” his voice echoed. “Some of the most promising young artists have gotten their start in this urban — ”

She didn’t stick around to hear more.

After the riots, small groups of tourists descended regularly on Groundview like vultures to see the murals they had seen in viral photographs. They’d rudely block the paths from the train platform, or take up way too much space on the footpaths of the tunnels posing in front of the murals for pictures. Not long after that came the opportunistic hacks who had never stepped foot in Groundview before, running “culture tours’’ around the neighborhood. The residents felt like they were stuck in some sick and twisted museum. Out of annoyance, they banned the tours and non-residents from the People’s Garden, preserving their one last sanctuary in the community.

Sibyl had been in the middle of it all the first night of the riots. She was on the subway platform on her way home from classes and started snapping pictures once she realized what was going on, catching the fervent energy better than anyone could describe to everyone else who wasn’t there. She had no idea her photos would end up everywhere. But they did, and they not only helped draw attention to the plight of her neighborhood. They also drew attention to the wealth of talent germinating underneath the city. Her photos of her friends, their murals, and the other members of her neighborhood, had also attracted a lot of attention that felt good to the young artists who all of a sudden saw opportunities previously unavailable to them right at their doorsteps.

The shuttle arrived on the platform before her. Sibyl boarded the cool air-conditioned cart; the beads of sweat on her skin quickly evaporated. Nefi had warned them to be careful early on. “These things always end up having you exploit your own people for a cheap come up, and it’s never worth it.” Everyone thought she was trippin’. There Nefi was again just looking for another cause to fight now that her crusade against A&RM had seemed to come to an end. Even Sibyl thought she was overreacting at first. People were finally paying attention to Groundview. If she and the rest of the artists could help show the world how important the lives of the people who lived there were, maybe things could change for the better.

The train disappeared into the tunnel towards the 138th St. station. A lot of things had quietly changed over the last year and a half. Many of the families who had lost loved ones, including Dante’s, received settlements from the city and moved out of the neighborhood, leaving a sizable number of the apartments empty. Leading to perhaps the most visible addition to the neighborhood. AR&M had a couple of the younger artists looking for their own big break paint over SOIL’s list of demands and replaced it with a more “aesthetically inviting” message for the new visitors to the neighborhood: Welcome to the Mural District. Sibyl had only heard the tour guides call it that, in an unveiled attempt to rebrand Groundview. It didn’t take too long to find out where they got it from. The name and the welcome sign led to intense debates between the artists in the collective, including her friends, about people selling out and what they owed to each other as artists and their neighbors, which led to a few people splitting off and doing their own thing. The mural made Sibyl sick to her stomach, and she tried her best to avoid seeing it on her commutes. Then one day, someone started covering it up with black graffiti making the message unreadable.

No one knew who it was because they never got caught, but it didn’t matter to AR&M. Like clockwork the next morning, they had cleaners paint a fresh welcome message over it in time for the daily tours at noon. When the welcome message started appearing on the AR&M screens, the screens started getting covered in graffiti too. After a few months, Sibyl expected the guerilla painters to give up and move on, but they didn’t. Fresh graffiti kept appearing over the mural and on the screens, prompting AR&M to deploy their clean up crews, and then the routine would start again. Sibyl looked out the window in anticipation. “OURS.” The word, written over and over again across the mural, quickly came into view and then vanished out of sight.

[chilling-seavey]

Seasons Change (d.s.) - ONE

↳  A/N This one already holds a special place in my heart and it has barely even begun! Might be a bit slower on updates because I want to make sure it’s perfect for us all. Thank you to @stuffofseaveyy for your unwavering help with plotting this storyline out, @randomlimelightxxx for your excitement and help, and of course, @jonahlovescoffee​ for being my hype girl and the best mayor’s wife anyone could ask for ;)

↳ Summary: Everyone knows everything about everyone in this small rural town in east Connecticut and the handsome single father who owns the farm down the main street seems to always be the talk of the town. Balancing the care of his acreage, raising his school-age son, and coaching the local boys’ hockey team keeps Daniel busy; but his mind never strays far from the expansive and vibrant flower gardens planted outside his farmhouse.

↳ Word Count: 2520

↳ Warnings: This story touches on topics such as loss of loved ones and grief. Nothing too detailed but read at your own discretion x

If you weren’t looking, you would miss it. An hour-and-a-half drive east of Hartford, Connecticut rested a small town that barely occupied more than an intersection of space in time. On your way east towards state lines, a rectangular green sign half covered by an oak tree would welcome you to Lincoln – Population: 200. You’d leave the town before you even realized you were in it if you weren’t paying attention but maybe that’s how the locals liked it.

People moved to Lincoln to get away from the bustle of the city…it was full of those people who had ‘let’s ditch this town’ mindsets and set down roots in a section of the world where they wouldn’t be bothered. It was the type of town that lived in the lyrics of a country song: picture perfect homegrown peace where everyone knew everyone and everyone had a place. It was easy to know everyone in a town like Lincoln. Driving in from the city you would pass a white paneled church, a few small single storey houses with lengthy driveways, the red trimmed general store, a brick sided restaurant, a run down and rusted mechanic’s shop, and catch a glimpse of the small community center just past the park before being enveloped by the nothingness that middle-of-nowhere Connecticut was known for.

Not much happened in Lincoln – at least nothing that was worth noting. Sometimes a car would break down and a city dweller in a designer suit would find his way to the general store to ask for assistance or, more often, a coyote would be rumoured to be roaming at night but that was the extent of the excitement. The most exciting thing to do outside of day to day work was play hockey and it seemed to be the town’s pride and joy of a pastime. There was no such thing as ‘hockey season’ as hockey season was year round in the small town of Lincoln, Connecticut. The community center housed an ice rink that could be melted down to a basketball court but everyone stayed for the hockey. The Lincoln Lighting Junior and Senior leagues were usually the talk of the town. The school-aged boys (ages 7-13) played for the juniors and the later teens and most of the fathers played for the senior league. The captain of the senior league was the coach of the juniors and he owned one of the few farms a few paces north of the main intersection.

A father of one and the best hockey player Lincoln had ever seen, Daniel Seavey was more than one could expect from a small town man.

He wasn’t your everyday potato farmer with uneven tan lines or a body that housed more beer than muscle and, in fact, he was the talk and the eye candy of the town. At only twenty-nine, Daniel was the best of the best in Lincoln: best hockey player, best coach, best farmer, best guitarist, best father; and he had the sandy brown hair and sky blue eyes of a heartbreaker to top it all. At six feet tall, Daniel was slim and handsome, and yet had the muscles capable of running a farm and shooting slapshots like you wouldn’t believe. Daniel was quiet and polite and he innocently humoured the wives of the town as they flirted with him in front of their unimpressed husbands.

But no one could be mad at Daniel. Not when he was the first and only widow Lincoln had ever seen.

Marigold Seavey was twenty-six when she died in her bed at their farmhouse in the early hours of the morning. Her passing was the first major event to ever shake the town of Lincoln. Everyone knew everyone in this town and, that being said, everyone knew what a sunshiny soul Marigold was. Daniel, especially, seemed to have his light burnt out once she was buried behind the church at the corner of town. Some of the folks in town will tell you that the saddest sight they had ever seen was Daniel standing at the foot of his wife’s grave after the funeral with his six-year-old son holding his hand and the two of them crying silent tears into the fresh fall soil.

Despite Daniel’s quiet persona, he was strong and he knew he had to be for the sake of his young son. He couldn’t wallow in his grief for long since he had a son to raise and a farm to tend to and the generosity of the townsfolk certainly helped him to stay on his feet after his wife passed.

It had been a year-and-a-half since Marigold died. Daniel had just turned twenty-nine as March moulded into April and the winter chill was starting to fade into spring and the second birthday without her wasn’t any easier. The birthday cake baked by his neighbour wasn’t as delicious as Marigold’s classic lemon cake she would make him every year but he politely thanked the woman and dared not complain. Daniel would never complain over the niceties of the townsfolk.

That’s what came with living in such a small town; everyone had everyone’s back.

It was the first Sunday of April and the first truly nice spring day of the year. With a crisp breeze in the air, it was only just warm enough to discard the winter jackets and most of the town was gathered in the large backyard of the mayor’s house for the usual after-church brunch. On the colder Sundays, brunch was held in the main restaurant but everyone preferred to gather in the fresh air and over the crisp green grass of the mayor’s house as soon as the weather permitted.

The mayor’s house was the largest and had the most land outside of the farms that were just north of the main intersection in town. Jonah – known by the locals as such since he didn’t like the formality that came with the title of ‘Mayor Frantzich’ – and his wife Jocelyn kept a pretty house on the edge of the little town. They could be what you call the ideal small town family with two kids, a dog, and white picket fence – enough backyard space for it to be the perfect spot for weekly brunch.

The town children had space to play and stretch their legs after sitting for an hour in church and the yard was filled with the shouts from their games. The adults lingered around the yard in various little circles, nursing freshly squeezed orange juice in spring-themed clear plastic cups and talking amongst themselves.

Daniel did a lot of listening during Sunday brunches, standing amidst one of the groups of parents as they talked about school, clubs, and work. Marigold was always the chatty one of the two of them…without her, Daniel felt out of place.

“What about you, Daniel? Think the frost will be gone to break ground this week?”

Jack spoke first, a shorter man with unruly brown hair and enough tattoos to surprise anyone with the fact that he raised an apple orchard. He owned the farm beside Daniel’s and was one of his closest friends in the town.

Daniel thought for a moment and scuffed the toe of his dress shoe against the grass. The cold ground was still pretty solid and the chill in the air still had them all wearing blazers over their Sunday button-ups.

“Only if this cold front lets up.” Daniel answered. “I’m hoping to plough by next week at the latest.”

“Everything’s been going well with the farm and your boy?” Jonah asked, his hand tucked around his wife’s waist and he raised his opposite hand to his mouth to sip his juice.

Daniel shifted on his feet and gave a shrug, his eyes drifting past the group of parents to easily pick out his shaggy haired brunette son across the yard with the rest of the kids. At almost eight-years-old, Lennox was the light of Daniel’s life; his little hockey star, helping hand, and the one whom his late wife’s smile and spirit lived on in. It had been a hard year-and-a-half for the two Seavey boys but Daniel was relived that he could hear his son laugh again, his audible glee reaching to the far edges of the mayor’s property and to his father’s ears.  

“It’s been…fine.” Daniel sighed, his eyes lingering on his son as he answered Jonah’s question, “Lennox has been doing well…his grades are better this year which I’m relieved about. I just…I already sold the sheep and half the chickens and the second cow last spring to try and tame some of the workload but it’s still a lot.”

“Running a farm on your own isn’t easy.” Jack said, “I know how much work it takes for two owners let alone one.”

“We’re here to help with whatever you need.” Corbyn assured him. “I can give you deals on whatever you need from the shop as often as I can.”

Corbyn owned the general store in the center of town and was the bachelor of Lincoln. It wasn’t like there were any women to date in such a small place full of cookie cutter rural families but Corbyn was very happy as he was: running the store and being the eyes and ears of the town.

Daniel shut down his generous offer politely as he looked back to his friends, “No, no. I don’t want that…thank you though. I’m just worried the garden will suffer. With so much to do with ploughing and planting and coaching…I don’t know how much time I’ll have for the flowers.” Daniel let his gaze drift back to his son playing across the grass, “Lennox is too young to tend to them himself but he loves the gardens so much so I don’t want yet another thing to disappoint him.”

“Have you thought of hiring someone?” Jonah asked.

“Like a gardener?” Daniel hummed, “I dunno.”

Corbyn sipped his drink, “Is it in the budget?”

“I think so.” Daniel shrugged, swirling his orange juice in his hand. “Never thought about it. Mari always took care of the flowers so…”

“I have a family friend who’s pretty good with gardens…I’m sure she’d be more than happy to help out.” Jocelyn offered.

Daniel chuckled under his breath, “That’s…a nice offer but I’m not looking to put anyone out of their way. They’re just flowers after all.”

But everyone knew that they weren’t just flowers to Daniel. They were Marigold’s flowers.

Jack tisked at Daniel’s hesitation, “Well if it’s in your budget to hire a gardener and you know the gardens are important to Lennox and yourself, then why not give it a try? You don’t have anything to lose.”

Jonah only added onto the argument, “She’s been wanting to come visit Lincoln for a while now. Why don’t we invite her to town and she can stay with us and you can give her a look over…if you think you want to hire her then you can.”

Daniel thought about it for a moment, taking a sip of his juice as his eyes found his son again. It was habit. Lennox was already running for him at top speed across the grass and Daniel set his cup down on the table just in time to welcome his seven-year-old’s energetic jump at him. He scooped him up with one arm and a tired grunt as he hiked him up onto his waist and Lennox held onto him around his neck, giggling as the other kids ran over after him.

“Daddy’s safe. You can’t get me.” Lennox told them matter-of-factly.

Daniel smiled proudly and linked his hands under his son’s bum to hold him up securely. At almost eight, Lennox was a bit heavy to hold but after nine years of farm work and working out for hockey, it wasn’t much of an issue for Daniel to hold him. He’d never complain regardless.

The other kids found their parents, gladly taking sips of juice or pieces of cut up fruit after a tiring chase around the yard. Jonah and Jocelyn’s seven-year-old twins found their way between them and helped themselves to the few snacks on the table. They were the closest to Lennox’s age – although a few months younger – and the boy of the set of fraternal twins was on the junior hockey team with him.

With the parents busy for a moment with their children – Jack was helping to fasten his daughter’s curly hair back in her headband – Daniel pondered the previous offer. His son rested his head against his with his small arms slung around his neck and Daniel could feel each of his gentle breaths rising and falling his chest. Everything Daniel did was for Lennox. He bit his lip.

“No rush.” Jocelyn said to him, reassuring their offer as if she could see his hesitation, “Just let us know.”

“Thank you.” Daniel said honestly.

“The Herron’s are coming over.” Corbyn whispered to the group and right away they shifted awkwardly as the family approached. Daniel let out an anticipatory sigh.

If you ever thought of jealousy, you would think of Zach Herron; father of two boys who weren’t very good at hockey and husband to a wife whose eyes liked to linger on Daniel’s biceps a little too much. Zach envied a lot of Daniel…maybe even envied him that his wife was dead. He would never admit that out loud though.

“Seavey.” Zach greeted as his family approached the group with his petite platinum blonde wife on his arm. He glanced around to the others, “And friends.”

There was a dull chorus of replies.

Zach continued, “I’m still willing to buy your horses off you. You know I have a generous price to offer.” 

Daniel chuckled lightly, “Yes, I know. But the horses are not for sale and they never will be.”

“Daniel would sell his house before he sells those horses.” Jack said. The group laughed lightly at the truth behind that. 

Lennox wiggled from Daniel’s arms and he set him down to join up with the two Herron boys who had just come over. The children gathered together at the other side of the table and chatted excitedly. Daniel picked up his orange juice.

“Daniel,” Zach’s wife set a hand on his bicep, her face filled with nothing but dramatic concern, “how are you holding up?”

“I’m doing fine, Katie, thank you.” Daniel replied politely.

She sighed, “It would just be a terrible shame to see your beautiful gardens go to waste; I overheard you talking about it from over there. Please let me know if I can help in any way.”

Zach’s annoyed scoff had Jack smirking into his orange juice. Corbyn and Jonah exchanged amused glances between themselves. Daniel offered Zach’s wife a small polite smile.

“That’s very nice of you to offer, but Jonah and Jocelyn already offered a family friend who’s in the business.” Daniel looked over at the couple again, with slight thankfulness in his eyes, “And I think I will gladly take them up on that recommendation.”

Seasons Change Taglist: @stuffofseaveyy @randomlimelightxxx @jonahlovescoffee @hiya-its-amber @hopinglimelight @midnightpsychic @sbrewer21 @bessonsbxtch @viamiasoncrack @the-girl-who-cried-wolf

Please click the link in my bio to be added to the taglist!

[lideria]

Wayfaring. | Winter.

➥ characters: genderneutral!reader, mark, johnny, jaehyun, yuta, taeyong, haechan; to be added

➥ genre: apocalyptic!au (apocalypse based on the game “the last of us”), very much angsty, kind of action-y, sad, sometimes fluff 

➥ warnings: violent themes, blood&gore (detailed depictions), gun use, mentions of killing/m*rder, mentions of s*icide, depictions of corpses, swearing, zombies ofc, i would like to guess that that’s it but please contact me if there is anything i need to add, and as always English is not my first language so if there are any errors, please excuse me!

➥ word count: 19.3k

➥ summary: every little thing you had, had been built and preserved in the pool of nothingness. and now, you lost it all.

➥ author’s note: !!PLEASE READ!! hoping after all this time that i’ve not posted this doesn’t get taken off the tags. after much thinking i decided to make this big story a series, because i’m pretty positive the overall product will be over 60k words. this is the 1st part and there will be 3 parts. to make it a bit more meaningful, i’ll be releasing the winter part now (in winter for where i live), spring part in mid-spring (possibly around april), and summer in again, around mid-summer. the playlist will also be revealed then. i am hungry for feedback, any and all is much appreciated! also, i’m not over tlou still haha fu- there’s also going to be a taglist since the updates will be so slow, so please drop by my asks if you like it and i’ll gladly add you to the taglist!

➥ taglist: @nct-writers

i hope everyone enjoys this, have a great morning/day/evening/night!

The night was freezing cold.

You walk through the streets of a mix of stone and wooden buildings, lights mostly dim because of the scarce population. Most of the people were at the city square. They were laughing and dancing the night away as groups of people sang for them with the old, occupied instruments that belonged to who-knows-who all those years ago when all of this first started. ‘This’ as in survival of the fittest, as some would say. And from what science could explain, a fungal infection that took over the brain and body that eats away at your tissues until it has completely taken over your motor functions and skin, and can spread its spores to others freely. An infection that could basically ‘zombify’ and fungi-ify people.

That is what everybody who has experienced the outbreak day would tell you, at least.

Being born into it is apparently easier, that is what the older adults tell. Because people have it figured out, there are communities like the one you are in; nobody has to roam around alone and lose so many people in the process. You did not agree to that. Nothing was easier, except for maybe gathering the knowledge of handy survival skills.

Perhaps living in a community was easier, as well. You loved it. You specifically loved your community. The stone and wooden houses, the olden cafés and restaurants, actual electricity that was not a thing outside of the gates, fairy lights hanging across porches and roofs, kids and bicycles around, horses, elderly people. Schools. A whole cinema and market places. People who were hunters, people who were guards, people who were wanderers, people who were recruiters; people who had the luxury of just being parents or students or more. And people, perhaps after seeing the world fire up and fall apart, were filled with love towards each other. Compassion, respect; a lot of things that the outsiders did not have. For the most part, of course. Evil was still a thing even within the community.

You smile at the children hurrying towards the square with a few apples in their hands, laughing and skipping around with joy— one of them waving at you as they pass you by. You wave at them as well, chuckling at one of the boys’ claims on how he will make a run for the sugar in the cafeteria so they can caramelize them.

This is why you love it. Even though it is hard.

Just as snow starts to fall from the sky that was clear with visible stars just moments ago, you take your last turn and make your way to your destination. The light shines from their porch and emphasizes their house as you pick your pace up with your boots that are crunching the asphalt that is too old for its own good, cracked and overgrown with the unkempt vegetation.

And surely enough, he is there. You cannot see him clearly since his silhouette’s too dark with the light hitting from behind, but there is only one person who can be as tall in that household even when they are doubled over.

Not making eye-contact even once as you approach the house, you take big strides through their garden and get on the porch. He does not turn to you and opts to stay silent, still doubled over with his elbows placed on the somewhat high fence. You do the same and let out a huff; a laugh too airy and low to be considered one. “What are you doing out here all alone?”

Johnny smiles, still not meeting your eyes. “I freaked out.”

“Over a kiss?” One more huff. “Sounds nothing like the Johnny I know.”

“Yeah,” He nibbles on his lip a little, and smiles at their neighbor whose kitchen window is just across their porch that is grabbing a glass of water in greetings. “I just don’t like the idea of kissing someone and having it not mean anything anymore. Feel like I’ve passed that stage.”

Your eyes lock on a star in particular when he turns his head to look at you. “Reasonable,” You let out nodding your head. A witty smile creeps up onto your face at that second, and you turn to look at him also. “I guess it comes with growing old.”

That makes him giggle and playfully punch you on the side of your shoulder, prompting you to let out an ow, motherfucker, because he is too strong for his own damn good and he seems to never realize that. “I’m not old.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You brush him off, massaging the side of your shoulder, the smile still on your face. “Tell me though, was the kiss good? It looked good.”

His brows furrow in unfiltered concern. “You watched me kiss?”

“Well if you just adhere onto someone’s lips like they glued you to each other in front of the bar I’m trying to get a drink from, Johnny, I’m kind of obligated to see it for like a second at the least.” He laughs at your ramble and breaks the furrow of his brows. As if he is defeated, he nods at the end a little. “It was amazing.”

“Oh so it’s like that,” You lean into him, hardly containing your giggle. “What does that mean?” He asks back with his own smile still on his face, clearly amused. Your eyebrows furrow this time albeit not seriously. “You damn well know what that means.”

Johnny sighs. Long and deep. Then, he speaks. “I love you, you know. You’re the best annoyer I never would’ve asked for.”

At that you chuckle, letting your shoulders shake with the force of it. “Good thing they didn’t ask you then.”

He does not say anything after that for a while. The two of you stand in silence, you looking at the stars and him looking at the street— or maybe the overgrown plants, you do not know. He fiddles with his calloused hands slightly, and it is only then that you realize that the house is much quieter than how it usually is. His parents must still be at the square, even though you have not seen them at all that day.

That night, to be more honest. During the day it was not really like you could see a lot of the folk.

Johnny must have somehow read your mind, because he speaks up again with only a heavy huff. “I heard about this morning,” His gaze is directed at you again. You break your smile and lean further, letting your head drop lower to the fence as you sigh yourself. One of your hands instinctively go to your face and to the spot where everything aches right on your cheekbone, tracing over the few burn scratches you got when you fell onto the ground. “It was nothing.”

“That wouldn’t have been believable even if I hadn’t known you.” He stands upright then. You see his hands come into your vision before they pick your arms off the fence and force you to straighten up as well. He inspects your face for a bit, tracing your red spots and scratches with his fingertips, and frowns. “Sometimes I think you’re a bit too careless.” Johnny mumbles just above a whisper, making you smile. Not particularly with happiness or being flattered, but something rooted more from embarrassment. “You say that a lot.”

“Yeah, because I want you to come home in one piece.” He takes his hands off of your face. “So you can finally get it on with Jaehyun.”

He immediately receives a shove to his chest and full on laughs at that, watching your pissed off face that is rather scary for anybody else. After years of knowing you ever since you first walked into this place only with another survivor, coming from a smaller settlement that went to absolute chaos, Johnny could not ever fear you. Fear you in a respectful sense, yes, absolutely. Because he has seen what you are capable of doing outside to survive. And in actuality, it is not the capability that made him fear you in that respectful sense; it is that he has seen you melt into the nature of it all, sometimes losing yourself in the things that surround you and the things you are feeling. Johnny has always differentiated himself from everything, so seeing that was what made him fear you.

The very same things made people fear you, as well. A lot of people stayed away from you, which always made him feel bad. He found it extremely admirable that as a teenager you were able to look for a settlement without any guardians and with only a companion, even though your earlier settlement was not too far from the city. At the same time, he could not fear you knowing how you can get with people when you care about them. He had learnt about it all first-hand when he was the first to approach you at the grey and distressing identification center after you arrived, after his parents encouraged him to ask you over for dinner, after visiting you many times at the lonely dorms and helping you fall asleep by tiring you out with his jokes and conversations, after helping you move into your own place when you were old enough, after going on patrols with you and much, much more.

“You’re disgusting, does anybody ever tell you that?” Your annoyed voice almost echoes to his ears after the many shouted singings and overall shouts he had heard that night. “The word you’re looking for would be ‘teasing’ and I just know it’s on the way. That relationship is long overdue.”

“Hey!” A familiar voice interrupts your bickering, and when you turn to the direction it is coming from, you see Yuta just behind the fence. He climbs up a bit and hangs off the railing, not fully climbing onto the porch. “Hey, man. Why don’t you just come to the porch?”

Yuta holds a hand up and waves it around, and both you and Johnny fear that he will fall down with only one hand on the fence helping him sling over, so you both take a step towards him in a hurry. But he does not fall and places his hand back. “I’ll just go home. I’m very cold and kinda drunk.”

Johnny mumbles a we can see that under his breath, but he cannot say it louder because Yuta points a finger at you, prompting you to take another step. “You are patrolling with me tomorrow.”

You finally get a hold of his arm and Johnny takes care of the other one, so now his feet are planted to the ledge of the porch and you two are basically holding a whole grown man up on his feet. That does not hold you back from complaining, though. “What, why? I was out just today.”

The drunken man shrugs. “Don’t know why you, but I think I saw Jaehyun sign your name up with us.”

A closed-mouthed snicker comes from Johnny at Yuta’s words and you snap your head at him, looking into his eyes, warning him not to do the very thing he is doing right now and to shut up about it afterwards. “Fine, I’ll come with you tomorrow.”

“You didn’t exactly have a choice.”

The knock on your door wakes you up the next morning.

Groggy a little from drinking the night before, and from the soreness of your face, you are not the happiest when you open the door up to greet Yuta and Jaehyun. They are standing on the thick snow that has covered the ground overnight, all equipped up and ready to go. The two of them look noticeably more content as well whereas you are just there basically ready to beg them to let you sleep some more. Actually, ready to beg them to leave you alone altogether.

You could really use a day off after falling face-first to the concrete yesterday. It has been long since you have had a day off anyway. Lately it was either you were going out on a patrol or sweep, or you were training the new recruits and the volunteers. You kind of did not remember the concept of sleeping in at this point.

“I would say good morning, but your morning looks far from any of that.” Yuta says in an annoyingly bright tone, and then he points at your face. “Your face didn’t swell up. I don’t know if you can tell, but that’s magical.”

Your fingers reach up to your sore cheekbone once again. Yuta is all true, there is no swelling up although it hurts so bad still as if you had not cleaned it up, when you did. Multiple times. “Just come in. I’ll wash up and grab my coat.”

They walk in when you hold the door open for them and scoot to the side, and make their way to your couch, plopping down on it without any care. You make your way to the bathroom in silence and quickly wash your mouth and face, only bothering to change your clothes because you see a change hanging over the shower cabin. After doing so you hurry over to your wardrobe in your room and grab your coat along with your gear, and make your way to the pair of boots you had been wearing for quite long. You ask your question while you are struggling with putting them on. “Why are we going out anyway? I thought every spot was clear.”

“Someone said that the crops are dead already outside the walls,” Jaehyun answers. “Means the winter’s coming faster and harder. And that means herds may come in faster. Taeyong just wants to make sure nothing’s out of control.” Which does make sense that him and the council would decide on something like that, especially after the chaos that was a couple of years ago. Uncontrollable increase in infected meant uncontrollable increase in herds moving around, and that meant uncontrollable fullness of areas, which meant hunting for supplies were almost halted, which meant there was a serious shortage in supplies. “Plus, we’re running low on medicine. So if we find any on the way,”

“Yeah, okay.” You nod as you let your foot fall after tying the last knot. “Is it only us three?”

“No,” Yuta jumps at the question, almost. “Donghyuck’s coming as well. Said he needs to let off some steam.”

“Why?” You chuckle. He looked dandy fine last night at the square, warming himself up by the fire and chatting and laughing with people. “I heard they fought with Mark.” Jaehyun, once again, answers.

“Again?” Grunting as you wear your coat, you zip it up before opening the door and holding it out once more. The boys stand up and walk towards the door. “Why can’t they keep their stuff to themselves?” You laugh, dearly hoping this fight is not another one feisty enough to keep them from talking to each other for months.

“Wouldn’t know.” Jaehyun mumbles, and waits for you to close your door before starting to walk with you. You smile at the close proximity he keeps with you as you two walk behind Yuta, following him to the stables near the big metal gates through the lively streets.

Donghyuck is already waiting for you when you arrive. He complains about his horse being taken by someone else first thing when he spots your group, prompting the stable staff to laugh behind him, presumably at the fact that he is not complaining that he will be going out for a patrol in the freezing cold, no, but that he is complaining about ‘his’ horse that is technically not his being taken away. He does not really bother to greet you as well. It is a common theme with him, so you do not take offense.

Once you are handed your horses over to you, you make your way to the gates, holding them from their reins— just in case if they ever get freaked out from the sounds the gates decide to make.

You spot a familiar face at the gate. Walking over to him is basically an instinct. “Hey,”

“Hi.” Mark smiles at you, and pets your horse on the nose a little.

Mark is important to you.

He is the person that has accompanied you on your way here after your last settlement got raided by a large group of people that belonged to a community called Nox— the largest community ever established after everything went wrong with the world, and the most developed, as well. Their recruiting process was very disciplined, they had spread all over the country in years and mostly aimed specifically for the big cities, which allowed them to have plenty of resources and people with ‘greater’ professions (like doctors, scientists, military officials, agents, anything that was deemed to be handy in an apocalypse) in their communities.

That had been what happened. It was supposed to be a recruitment, but once people denied to be a part of them and stood up for themselves, they did not like that. At least the branch that they had sent out did not like that.

Your settlement was up in flames by the time you and Mark made it out of there. The night had brightened up as if it was the morning.

Then, it was a month full of almost-dying. The two of you had been out of your settlement before, but not for long periods where you also had to look for some place that would take you. Infected wanted to get you, and if they did not, it was the people. Sometimes they would take you in for a short while, letting you use their resources before changing their paths and letting you go with a bit of a help; maybe weaponry, maybe food, maybe medicine.

Mark and you would have to find hiding spots and places to sleep, and a lot of the times you would just make do with sleeping under a vehicle in the cold in unpopulated areas. Although hard to believe, those spots were one of the least visible and most secure.

The two of you had saved each other perhaps countless times from dying. You were not friends before you ran away from your settlement. You did not exactly know a lot about each other beforehand, only acquainted as a familiar face you would see on the street. Yet when you ended up together, you cared about each other so unexpectedly much.

After you came to the city, though, it had changed a lot. They put you on schedules and dorms and houses that mostly did not go with each other, so the communication had broken— except for slight communication through Johnny who was your middle ground with his role of being a mutual friend. The sheer care you had for each other had stayed the same, though. It would have been difficult to let go of that.

“What happened to your face?” Mark asks and instinctively reaches out for it, making you hiss when his fingers come into contact with the sore red spot. He immediately retracts. “I fell.”

His brows furrow as if he is not believing it, so you laugh to calm him down. “No, I really fell. Planted face first onto the concrete.” That makes him chuckle, but his brows are still furrowed. “Of course you’d do that.”

Mark takes a deep breath. “You have everything you need?”

Someone shouts from behind, one of the watches. “Herd patrol, open the gates!”

“Yeah, I do.” You answer him, and he smiles a bit more reassuringly. “Be safe out there. Let me see you from the gate when you come back.”

There is the screeching sound that the gates do whenever they open that would surely attract some infected if there were any of them around, so you could only hope there were not. Your hold on the rein gets tighter when your horse gets a bit agitated from it. “I’m coming back and you know it, Mark.” Smirking, you step on the foot hold and mount onto the saddle.

He says only one thing before he lets you go. “I do.”

Outside the gates could have been just as pretty as it always was if it was not for the thick snow that coated everywhere and made it hard to travel.

Underneath the thick cover of snow would be overgrown grass and wild plants and flowers that definitely were made to not be natives of the land before any of this had happened, but were now claiming their home to themselves and growing freely without any control. You did not know what most of the plants or flowers even were, even though they had taught you back in school— but you knew you would never be a farmer or a wanderer. You knew you would never have to rely on that knowledge so giving up on it was pretty much an instant thing.

Above the snow, though, were pines and willows thriving in the humid cold. Corkscrew willows, narrow leaf willows and glaucous willows were painting the very much white and grey scenery some lighter shades of green and pink, glistening with the snow sitting on them when the silver but blinding sunlight hit their surface.

You were pretty much on watch the whole time as the possibility of a herd passing through occupied your mind. There were the occasional wildlife passing through the valley, mostly rabbits, dogs and squirrels, and the occasional deer. They run around, sometimes passing under the horses or too close to them and scaring them a bit off. It was nothing that you could not take care of though.

Through a mutual agreement, you go to the town first since it is a good distance away from the city still and is one of the places that is sure to have any signs of a herd if they are coming in. That was because there were not a lot of traces of the infection since there is no people that still live in that town, and the infected would just roam through to potentially find a host.

Some of them would just die on their own from the cold and spew out spores in hopes of reaching something. They usually did not.

When you are in the Western-looking, red and brown brick-borne town, you divide the sections and go your separate ways. You probably would not have done that had the entrance of the town been crowded, but it had not been anything close to that. Yuta insists on his advice for all of you to do everything as quietly as you can just in case, and you all seem to agree on that, considering this is only a patrol and not a sweep and you do not have that much ammo.

The South of the town was mostly empty to your delight. Definitely more crowded than how it usually was this time of the year, but nothing you could not take care of. You did not even have to waste too much of your ammo taking out the infected that were already there— ones mostly freshly infected. Runners, who could still see you and who could still run and who still looked like humans except for their blood covered mouth and hands. They looked alive. They grunted, they made humanly noises, they twitched in their place. It almost looked like whoever they used to be was still inside them and was trying to fight that damn thing off.

It made your blood go cold at the thought every single time.

Once you are done with the infected you could see so far by the help of your trusted stealth skills and dagger and only some of your ammo, you check on a couple of buildings that were on your list that had not been explored yet. But after being open for anybody to come and loot year after year, there was not much that you could find. Some rubbing alcohol hiding away in a stash of unusable supplies, some canned food that were very suspiciously still not out of date, and a few more things. Nothing too useful.

Within a bit over a couple of hours at the least, you make it back to your meeting point at the main street of the entrance, the supplies stacked behind your horse and on the board she was equipped with that would help her in being able to drag everything comfortably. To your relief, everyone is already there, and there are no infected in sight. “Anything useful?” Jaehyun asks, and you shake your head.

“I could get some rubbing alcohol and some gas for the generators, but that’s about it.” Yuta nods at your words. “Same here— except I found this stash of ammo and some meds, but I didn’t take any of it.”

Donghyuck glares at him with an obviously visible amount of anger in his eyes, which makes Yuta further explain himself. “I don’t want to mess with them if they’re a trespasser. I’ll give it a week, and if it’s still there then, I’m just gonna dive in because the prick had some good stuff in there.” He sighs. “I also left a note, saying you’re kind of fucked, friend, because the herd’s coming. Told them to head down to the river following the valley and that the place with working lights and big metal gates would welcome them if they’re smart about it.”

Sometimes Yuta could be extremely innocent, wanting to believe everyone is good, but he had something about him where most of these people he left notes for would actually turn out to be decent people that would join your community. So you could only hope whoever this was would be the same. “That is so sweet of you, but I think some of the herd is already here.” Donghyuck says, and all of you turn your heads to him. “You know the hotel half of it’s said farewell? It was flooded with infected. Of all kinds.”

“Sounds like a fucking dream.” Jaehyun murmurs, kicking around the snow a bit with his boots, looking down. You lay a supportive hand on his forearm. “Sweepers will be lucky though. Some of them are loaded with stuff— backpacks on and everything.”

But his words still hold a heavy weight to them, because these poor souls just did not survive for as long as they planned for. And it makes you wonder, wonder if they were alone or in a group, moving or not moving, had a family or not, had friends or not; what was their original plan? Did they even have a plan, or did everything just happen when they were hidden away in somewhere?

“I found a safe, like a whole dark room,” Jaehyun says. “Inside an apartment. I guess they were a pharmacist or a doctor or something— there are a lot of bottles and boxes of medicine and compounds. And I hardly think they belong to anyone at this point because the door lock was literally rotting away.”

“You think it’s okay to take?” Donghyuck asks Yuta, who nods promptly. “Let’s not take all of it just yet, though. Leave it for the next patrol or the sweepers, they can get the remainder later.”

And then he clears his throat. “Why don’t you two go ahead?”

You two. Jaehyun and you.

Before you know it, you are already sent that way and are trotting your way down to the apartment with your horses. The apartment is definitely not close to the meeting point, especially had you been on foot, but with trotting your way down it was much easier to access. You see the infected Jaehyun has taken down, and again, most of them were Runners; the only explanation you could come up with was that the actual herd had had a feast in another settlement or an area ridden with survivor groups, and since they are Runners they can move faster which is why they are already here with the cold. Basically that they are the herd before the herd.

You dismount when you arrive at the brick and brown, dirty looking building and follow Jaehyun up the stairs that by some miracle do not just collapse, watching him easily open up the doors after having broken into them.

Like he said, the room is there, mostly dark but only lit when its door is open and light spills in through the shutters, and it really is packed with medical supplies.

“I randomly inspected some of them, most of it’s not out of date yet.” You nod at him when he looks at you. “Okay.”

But something genuinely pisses you off. It has been pissing you off for some time, so the only thing you can do is confront him when you are alone. “Jaehyun,”

“Yeah?” He kneels onto the floor and starts inspecting things again, placing some of them into the bag he had grabbed from the side of the saddle before you made your way in. You kneel in front of him and sigh, looking down at his hands and spotting the slightly scarred knuckles. Probably from subconsciously pushing on doors while breaking in. “I know it was weird a few nights ago because everyone was around, but it’s weirder right now because you have a thing where you go awkward and quiet when you feel that way,” His eyes bore into yours. “And I really can’t stand that,” You let out an airy chuckle, and he kind of smiles as well. “So either kiss me like you mean it next time or never do and let us stay as friends.”

It was supposed to be a basic thing.

Jaehyun had kissed you a few nights ago at a movie screening. He had asked you to watch the old sci-fi movie with him, and had waited for you in front of the cinema, stuck between the crowds of people of all ages. Throughout the movie you had just whisper-chatted back and forth, almost none of your attention on any of the scenes even when they got louder. The topics of your chats had been lighthearted and fun as well, gossiping a bit about your friends and telling each other about funny encounters you recently had with people around the city or outside. Sometimes the chats were about the movie, with questions of what would you do if you were living in that universe instead of this one, which one would you prefer and more, debating on the questionable answers; throwing your dried and seasoned corn at each other if either of you thought the other had absolutely ran out of any sanity.

After the screening he had just asked you if he could kiss you as if it was the most normal thing he could ask, saying he could not wait any more, and you had let him because the mutual attraction had been there for too long and you wanted him to kiss you just as much as you had been wanting to kiss him.

But he had gotten shy about it— crowds were never Jaehyun’s thing, and that was fine. The thing that was not fine was how he acted around you for days after that, quiet and somewhat cold and awkward, when you were okay with it all and had expected him to make a move last night at the square.

He breathes out a laugh through his nose and looks down, playing with his hangnails and the traces of the rein that is left on his fingers, not deep but definitely visible still and a bit pink around the outlines. He smiles under his nose, you can see it because the lines of light that hits his face illuminate the side of his lips that is curled up, and when he picks his head up and the lines hit his brown eyes, you are smiling too.

Because Jaehyun places his hand at the back of your neck and kisses you.

Firmly, with care, and like nobody else is there— there is nobody there, but this time it feels like even if there were people he would have been fine with it. He lets you place your hands on the spots between his chest and shoulders, and lets you pull him further down with ease, spreading his other hand that is holding you on your back to give you better support. He opens his mouth first for you, maybe to show he is meaning this and he means so much more, and you give into it. That goes on for a while with hands roaming wherever they can. You only come back to your senses when his teeth scratch your bottom lip.

He stops when your hands push against him lightly. “Any longer and Yuta will never let this die down.”

Nibbling on his lip with his teeth, Jaehyun huffs a smile and nods. “He really won’t.” And he leans in again, only pecking you this time.

Johnny and his predictions that gave you the bravery and encouragement to do these kinds of things could go fall face first onto the concrete.

The rest of the patrol and getting back to the city go almost seamless, except for the fact that you had to pass by a couple of groups of infected— some Runners who had spotted you and alerted the Clickers (one of the older stages of infected where the infection has taken over most of their skin and has made its way out, taking over their eyes and using echolocation with the clicking sounds that comes from their throats) with the sound they made. They caused a bit of a hassle, but nothing you could not take care of; not with Jaehyun’s quick bow skills as you galloped through the occupied areas of the valley and all of your leftover ammo. “You’re losing a lot of arrows, don’t you think?” Donghyuck asks Jaehyun, shouting a bit out of breath since the galloping motion is taking a toll on him.

Jaehyun pulls the reins to himself harshly. “Yeah,” His horse halts without any discomfort, and you see him from the corner of your eye before he is left behind. “I’ll meet you at the gate!”

And he starts galloping to the opposite way.

If it was anybody else, any and most probably all of you would have started screaming some sense into him. But it was Jaehyun. Whose way of doing things outside, although stealthy, was very impulsive. So you do not take your gaze away from the road ahead of you, locking your eyes on the city just now visible as you make your way down.

It is already dusk by the time you are at the gates and the watches see you, asking where the hell Jaehyun is and offering to open the gates when Yuta tells them he is collecting his arrows back from a small area, so he should be back any minute. All of you agree that you do not want the gates to open before he comes so the noise does not attract anything more than it needs to.

Just as you expect, the missing person of your quad comes sooner than later. A proud smile is on his face as he goes on about being able to get back five of the seven arrows he had used, waiting for all of you to make your ways in before walking in himself.

“We have some gas and some meds,” You tell the watch who is there the second you walk in, to unleash the supplies behind your horse. “With plenty of infected on the side.” Donghyuck adds, too upbeat for the news he is delivering. One of the gatekeepers is quite mortified to hear that which is why he feels inclined to add more to his words. “Not a dooming amount, but we definitely need a few sweeps. It’d be worse if the herd caught up to them.”

“Why don’t you just go tell that to Taeyong?” Mark cuts in, and you can immediately tell how irritated Donghyuck gets. His face gets red, his eyes drop and squint, and he completely forgets about getting off his horse which all of you do at that point. “Oh would you look at that,”

Mark tries to hold a snicker in, you can tell, because his lips curl inwards. “It’s almost as if that’s not exactly what I was about to do. Fucking asshole.”

Mark finally gives in then, letting his shoulders shake when he greets you, giggling. He tries to check if you have any bites since it is a procedure he needs to do, but he cannot do it effectively with how much he is giggling— which was fine, because he could very clearly see you did not have any bites. None of your clothes were torn, and your face, hands and neck that was not covered up was just very visibly in quite okay condition.

“I’m having dinner at Johnny’s tonight,” You tell Mark as he lets go of your hands, making him pick his head up. “Just saying.”

“I’ll see if I can pay a visit.”

You smile at him and make your way over to Jaehyun, letting him put an arm around your shoulders and walk away with you, planting a kiss on the side of your head.

He does pay a visit.

The night is pierced through with Mark’s laughter when Johnny’s mouth drops open. He stops mindlessly strumming his guitar when it takes over him. “Dude, I’m telling you,” He says between his laughs. “They didn’t even look at each other when they were leaving, and somehow they were all lovey-dovey by the time they got back.”

“Fuck you,” Johnny nudges you rather hard in your side, and this time you are snickering along with Mark just at the sight of his face. “You called me creepy when I knew all along.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Johnny. I apologize for not crediting you enough on your talent of predicting relationships.” Your smile dies down a little after that, and your voice goes a bit quieter with the confusion. “Well I don’t know if it’s a relationship yet. It just happened, sort of.”

Johnny shrugs at that and puts his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him on the couch with one of your legs dangling over and one of them propped up. “That’s fine. You guys can let it brew for a bit more. Just test the waters.” A breath of a chuckle makes its way out of your nose at his words and how the high you had felt a few hours ago had crashed down into this weird oblivion, but Mark nods in agreement.

You do not see it, but Johnny smiles down at you while you fix your eyes on the photographs on his wall. Some of his, some of his parents’, some of his newborn days— the final days just before the infection started taking all over the country and the world. There are a few with you and Mark, too, a couple of them looking downright awkward with Mark and you too numb to the friendship he was offering you after coming to the brink of death maybe tens or maybe hundreds of times, and another couple of them where the photos are just blurry with how much you were laughing and it made steadying his parents’ old camera harder.

He turns his head to the opposite side, facing Mark. “You got any sick raps, Mark?”

“What is that question?” Mark howls out, laughing his chest off like he always does. “When you say it like that I don’t wanna rap ever again.”

But he does, because Mark is like that.

Johnny and you do your best in hyping him up, shouting and howling and springing in your place to the beat of his lyrics. You two let him rap until he really does not feel like it anymore, and you listen to him when he goes back to strumming his guitar, softly singing some things every now and then. So quietly that you almost do not even hear it.

The night goes on like that. You just lounge around, Johnny between you and Mark, cozy and warm.

If there was anything about them two, it was that they made you feel normal somehow. Which is maybe why you cherished them so much, and what the three of you have.

Unfortunately, you wake up early once again in your own room in the morning even though you do not have any reason to.

There are some upsides to that when you have the day off, as much as you hate it. You get to take a shower with all cold, yet much appreciated water, and properly change your clothes into new ones after a long while, to make a breakfast with what you have stored away in your cupboards, and maybe even do laundry if you had any leftover homemade soap.

Sometimes you paid a visit to the dorms, checking up on lonely recruits if there were any that you had grown some kind of attachment to.

That morning you do all of that, too. You get your hair and body feeling and looking all clean, eat somewhat of a nutritious breakfast that is much better when compared with just going with an all empty stomach, change into some of your newest clothes that Johnny and Jaehyun had gifted you once after an outing for hoarding. Except while you are making your way to the dorms just to check on the newest recruits, you stumble upon a group of people lining in front of the entrance to the stables.

Your interest peaks when you spot Johnny, who is writing his name down on the board at the gates that open to the place. You hurry over to him as best you can in your still sleepy state. “Morning,”

He hears you but does not bother to turn his head to look at you, knowing you would come to stand next to him. “Hey.”

As expected, you halt when you are there. You look at his name on the board and his signature along with the date, and you know for a fact he is going out. “Sweep?”

“Yeah,” He lends the pen to the person next to him, and moves out of the line, prompting you to move away with him. “Signing up last minute. Taeyong and Yuta can’t make it out today, so.”

“Why?” You furrow your brows, and he shrugs a little. “Yuta’s needed at the training grounds today, and who knows what Taeyong has to take care of.”

He watches you as you sigh, truly tired of it, but the inner conflict is louder than any type of exhaustion you could possibly have. “Well I’m coming with you.”

When you try to walk into the line he steps in front of you, and puts a stop to whatever madness you are planning. His hands physically stop you as well as he places them on your shoulders. “No you aren’t,” Johnny’s voice is firm, and his brows are furrowed just slightly. “You need a day off. Your whole face looks purple with the cold, the lack of sleep, and the scar— and you look awful.”

He smiles then as if he had not just dragged the way you look all over the floor. “Just go and relax. Maybe spend some time with Jae, hm?”

You bite down on the insides of your lips and nibble on them, and furrow your eyebrows at the squeeze of your heart. “Just do me a favor and be careful. There are a lot of Runners around,” One of your hands come up half-bothered to point at the people in the line. “Tell that to the group as well.”

There is a silence that lasts a couple of seconds, but then Johnny pulls you in for a hug. “You know,” He mumbles. “If you actually talked to more people they’d like you better.” He knew what you would say, that you do not like the stares that people throw at you anywhere and everywhere, and that it stops you from approaching them. So, he stops that from happening before it can. “I’ll take your horse if that will make you feel any better.”

Stepping away from him, you smile and shove him a little. “Take my horse if it will make you feel any more secure, and send her back if your ass can’t make it.”

“Will do.”

Dusk comes, and the sun sets.

Some people do not return that evening, and Johnny is one of them.

Supposedly, his whole group is missing— which is a good thing, because it is not completely uncommon that people camp in some sort of a hide-out if the infected in the area are too much for them to handle with the amount of people they have and they think it is better to wait it out.

Which is why, although bitter, there is hope inside of you.

His parents are distressed when Taeyong comes to tell them the news, and they remain just as distressed afterwards if not more. Whenever you see them, you cannot help but notice how their faces are overborne with concern. Their brows are always furrowed, their mouths are always pointed downwards in a frown, their eyes always glazed over with what looked like thousands of thoughts racing all around, and the wrinkles on their faces are deepened in some areas with the weight and tension.

You grow distressed and restless as well, as hours— days pass. The concept of night and day loses its significance because you are too distracted during the day when you are supposed to be training the recruits, and too uncomfortable during the night rolling all over the bed without a drop of sleep in your eyes.

And it must be not only you that is feeling that way, because Taeyong knocks on your door in the dead of the night a few days after Johnny’s disappearance. When you open the door his arms are crossed over his chest, and he looks a lot paler than he usually is, his eyes red all around.

He gets straight to the point. “You, Yuta, Jaehyun and Mark. I want you to search for them while another group goes for a sweep.” His voice breaks at some point because of how tired he must be feeling and how scared. You nod slightly, the tension pulling and burdening your face. “Okay.”

After your mumbled, quick and short answer Taeyong turns right back on his heel and walks down the stairs of the porch. You cannot bring yourself to close the door just yet when you see him, a friend of a friend but a figure as protective and wise, walk away with his guards clearly down. “You should try and get some sleep,” You advise after him, even though you yourself are suffering from the same problem he is. “What you do matters.”

Taeyong does not slow down, and is out of your sight within seconds after he leaves your backyard.

Next morning, it is as if you had done a mutual agreement between the four of you, because you are all by the stables with the slightest hue of sunlight.

No one is smiling or looking content in any way or shape, but no one is agitated, either. The most healthy thing at that moment is to force yourselves to go numb altogether and you all know it.

With so much as some collective huffs you write your names down on the board and sign in the hand-drawn boxes next to them, being able to see all of the missing people’s names that were out just before you— it was never a pretty situation. The stables are kind of empty from all the horses that are missing as well and it feels weird to not be able to go out with the horse, your horse that you had considered a companion for years on end.

But Anubis, the black horse assigned to you that day, was a good compensation. He was surprisingly comfortable with you from the get-go.

The stable you were in got too empty after all of the search and sweep groups took their horses with only a couple of them left behind, and before you knew it, you were on them and stationed in front of the gate. Handwritten documents were in Yuta’s hands mapping out yesterday’s group’s sweeping locations.

And as he said just before you all mounted on your horses, no one would be parting ways that day.

When the gates open, you immediately start galloping behind the sweepers— they collectively had more ammo than your group, and they were going in the same direction for a while, so they could be some sort of a shield for you if the groups had somehow started moving much faster all of a sudden. Your group would be heading to the settlement just a bit further away from the town you had gone through yesterday; most probably what used to be its business district if any of your predictions were true. The sweepers would be going to the town, figuring the groups that were saturated behind the town must be at its downtown now.

The way up the valley is rather empty, which is almost more unsettling when you think of how many people are missing.

Six, to be exact, counting Johnny.

You try to focus on different things, like how your backside hurts as you gallop upwards and Anubis pants under you. On the fact that he is a rather strong horse and you had never noticed that when anybody else was riding him. How he is maybe the most elevated horse you have ever had, and how his back is very uncomfortable to ride on even with a saddle. How he is very enduring considering he does not slow down in the slightest even after the valley starts getting a little rough, not falling behind any horses and even passing some of them if it was not for you that took him back under control.

It helps you, focusing on him, because you do not want to focus on things that might get your guard down.

The sweepers part their way with you at the point they need to, making a turn for the northeast once you enter the town, letting you pass straight through. Without any goodbyes because you have officially entered the danger zone.

And you truly have, because there are Runners around with not as many Clickers roaming through in the visible distance where the sweepers are headed. You can only internally wish them good luck.

It takes less than an hour to get to the probable business district that is filled with concrete and glass covered buildings unlike the town, overtaken by vegetation (and snow) that has washed over its blues and greys and beiges and the financial personality it once had— again unlike its brown and red brick counterpart.

All of you make your horses come to a halt once you enter the environment, again, just to make sure there is as little noise as possible. Dismounting from them and taking the reins in your hands is an instinct. “Where do we go first?”

Yuta looks down at the papers with Mark’s question. His fingers trace over the words until they find what they are looking for. “Well,” He huffs, placing a hand on his nape with a wince. “They were going to the law firm, the bank in southwest, the city hall and they would meet at the conference hall. They must be around these areas if we’re lucky.”

“And if they’re lucky.” Jaehyun says under his breath, but you hear him loud and clear. And you have a feeling that everybody does.

Yuta drops his hand that is holding the papers and sighs. “The bank’s the farthest one, let’s go.”

They are not at the bank.

Not in the bank, not around the bank, not in the subway station under the bank where there is a hide-out in one of the conductor rooms, not inside the surrounding business buildings all of which have of their doors opened whether it is one of the back/staff doors or the front entrances as if it is an all-you-can-get open buffet of places to roam around for the infected. When in actuality, your people’s strategy is to close the doors and lightly barricade them after coming into any contact, trying to keep as many infected on the roads so it is somewhat easier to wipe them out by narrowing their moving space. It also helped indicating whether there had been any recent trespassers at all, because most people not acquainted with your settlement would not bother with closing the doors behind them as they lost themselves in all the possible places to hoard.

And it all just means that there must have been trespassers recently, making the infected harder to find since they were free to go into the buildings, which must have messed up with the sweeping.

It does not feel right at all.

The law firm which is a rather small building is of no help as well. No alive, normal human is inside, not in any of the five floors that you have to clear out a little or around, and once again the doors are open. All you can find are supplies lying around the fifth floor that are definitely from the city’s storage so you know that they must have stayed for some time there at some point. You take them back. But there is nothing more.

To be truthful about things, none of you had your hopes up about the city hall. It was an extremely open space and was most definitely not the safest in this situation, nor the most resourceful place to hide or camp in anytime— or to hoard things with nothing but once-fancy tiles all over the interior and no leftover supplies from passing groups. However, they would have gone there to check if there was anybody hiding away, because people (especially in groups) who passed through did that since it is a quite distinctive and low building in between all of the higher buildings for those unfamiliar with the area. They would have brought them back to the city if any of them were there. So it does not surprise you when you find the city hall empty as well, except for the sea of infected that swarm the grand entrance to the hall that make your eyes widen and immediately shut the door close when you first open it up. Plus holding onto dear life pushing against the doors with Jaehyun when some of them are attracted to the noise and make a run for it.

Sweep season was the worst season.

Through a mutual agreement, you barricade the doors a little (a lot) tighter with fire truck hoses that have long been detached from the abandoned truck between the hall and one of the high-rise buildings that most probably was sitting there since the outbreak day, where fire trucks were not only used for the countless fires that started especially in the traffic, but also to rescue people stuck in upper floors of buildings that were taken over by the Runners.

There is no way the infected trapped in the hall can open the doors through layers upon layers of a thick hose wrapped and tied around the handles of the entrance, at least you all would like to believe that.

When your heart rate picks up is when you spot a building with its visible doors closed on the way to the conference hall. “Wait.”

Everyone stops, prompting their horses to do the same as them. The guys look at the direction of your gaze, and they all seem to come to a realization. “Do you think-?”

“I think there’s no reason we shouldn’t.” But Yuta does not look too keen on it, so you have to agree further. “There’s something obvious here, and I think it’s an objective point when I say that.”

He nods at that and clears his throat, looking up at the building for a split second. “Is it okay if you search with Mark? Jaehyun and I’ll be here, I kind of need a second thought as I plan out the mapping for if they aren’t here or at the conference hall.”

“That’s fine.” You assure him, and nod your head at Mark. “Let’s go.”

Inside the building is eerily quiet, but brightly lit with the afternoon sun shining through all the glass. You have never been in this building before, at least you do not think so, because the lobby does not ring the slightest bell to you.

There are bodies of infected that are taken out lying all around. They paint the light creme flooring red with their blood, but it is comforting. Because it is for certain that they have been here, at least.

A fire exit door is all that you are looking for, or a staff room that could possibly lead to the stairway, but it takes a bit of an embarrassingly long time for you two to spot anything in the seemingly open-spaced, bright lobby. You come to learn a bit after starting to walk around that the entry to the stairway beside the elevators just outside of the oval lobby is also blocked with something on the other side.

“There’s a crack in the elevator doors,” Mark suggests, and although ladders are the one thing you hate the most, you agree to take them to the upper floors.

It is so dark and humid inside with years upon years of unventilated air, the smell of rust and rot is absolutely disgusting, and you fear that the years-old ladders will break any second with both you and Mark’s weight on them. Not to mention how tiring climbing up a ladder can be for your arms and legs when you hold onto the thin and flimsy metal waiting for the other to separate one of the elevator doors, most of which are rightfully blocked.

On one of the far upper floors, though, there is no blockage, and you can swing yourselves onto the hallway. Which is scary to be honest, especially when you are all this way up and if you miss anything your way down will be met with an old, hard, rusting top of an elevator on your back.

But god bless the planners (maybe their souls) of this place, because the ladder is close to the opening enough that you can swing onto the floor without too much hassle. Neither of you slip after jumping down onto it.

“Do you think,” Mark dusts himself off as if it would help with anything, takes a deep breath in his tired lungs, and rephrases his words. “Do you think they came all the way up here through that?”

“Maybe they blocked the stairway and the doors,” You suggest instead, and it sounds a lot more like the option the two of you would like to believe in. “Right half yours left half mine?”

“Sure.” He answers, and the two of you go your separate ways on the big office floor.

A few doors open to the empty, messy office rooms and you check through the drawers for anything worthy to take back with you even though there is not much of it. One of them provides you with some scissors and lighter liquid, which end up being the most usable things you get out of them. Some doors do not even budge with whatever is blocking your way.

But there is a room at the visible end of the hall where the door will budge, but will not open.

You resort to using your shoulders to break into the room rather quickly. There is not any particularly loud sound coming from behind the thick, polished wooden door, and something about it being left secure but still accessible made you think there must be something behind that door that is useful. Maybe a stash of actually usable supplies or much preferably, anything that leads you to your missing people.

The door opens with your fifth push, and you hear the sound of a broken lock clink on the ground.

You also hear the shriek of a Runner who jumps you immediately after being attracted to the sound.

With the force of your push you have basically thrown yourself into the arms of the Runner which is never a good thing or in any way close to an ideal situation, and you have to duck away by kneeling lower and throwing yourself to the sharp opposite side of where the infected is facing to make sure it does not grab your arms. You take a few steps away but it is just as fast as you are, so you have to use your quick wit and draw out your gun in the blink of your eyes, shooting it in the head— impractically unable to care whether there were any infected on Mark’s side or not because it was either you or whoever they were with the shock and the pace of things.

The mess of a creature falls down with a slump, your heart absolutely racing but also dropping— because as you look down at it you can see that you know who she used to be. You were not friends or even really acquaintances, but you know for a fact that she lives in the city. So you turn back around to the open-planned office with your fast approaching panic and adrenaline.

Which is when you see it.

Johnny, slumped onto the floor, sitting with his legs spread out. Johnny, whose ankle looks broken. Johnny, who has his gun in his hand.

Johnny, who has a bite mark on his exposed right arm where orange-salmon colored fungi is growing out, extending upwards to his shoulders and neck.

Johnny, who has a hole on the left side of his chest, red spatter over the wall behind him, slumped on the floor with fungi growing out of his arm ready to grow all over his glowing skin until he grows into the wall and starts letting out spores.

Johnny, dead.

You do not know if any air makes its way into your lungs. It surely does not feel like it. Your ears ring and your eyes go dark with purple spots all over your vision and you get dizzy and nauseous, but somehow, you stand.

“Mark!” You shout out, surprising yourself, calling and alerting him when you can already hear his fast approaching steps thumping on the floor at the sound of the gun fire. Before barely a few seconds can pass he barges into the room with his gun in his hand but stops when he sees you frozen in place. Then, he follows your gaze.

Even from the side of your eye, it is obvious he flinches. “What the hell happened here?” His voice is not above a whisper.

You look at the less familiar face lying on the ground, and its shoulder. “The bite marks look similar.” There is no sense of stillness in your voice as you speak. “I guess they just locked themselves away,” Teeth grinding tightly, you let out a silent and choked sob, because you cannot believe any of this bullshit your eyes are seeing.

Mark takes a few steps towards Johnny and picks something up from the ground— a paper— making his way to you. But he stands on his own while he reads with his slightly shaky hands, and crumples the paper once he is done skimming over it. He sits next to you on the hard, carpeted but otherwise concrete floor. “They got bit while they were clearing out the basement,” His lips wobble a bit, but he quickly covers it up by placing his fist over his mouth until it goes away. “Locked themselves in here so they wouldn’t harm anybody.”

“If the trespassers didn’t go through the district leaving every goddamn door open, none of this would’ve fucking happened.” Maybe you were trying to blame it on someone, or maybe you really were mad at them for their ignorance as they went through the city. You did not know for certain, although it felt a whole lot like it was the latter. Because they would not have had to camp here anyway. There would not have been infected in the buildings in the first place.

You sit down where you are standing, looking at Johnny.

All you know is that this was unfair. If anyone deserved surviving long in this world it was Johnny. He was physically strong, and he had a good mental attitude, and he was so purely good that the last thing he deserved was to die the way everybody did, alone and scared and not wanting to turn into one of those things. He deserved to die of old age if anything after living a happy and healthy life, continuing to help lonely recruits like you and Mark— doing what he likes to do until his very last days. Training, falling in love, teasing and pestering his friends whenever and wherever, giving advice, making people’s stomachs hurt with his smooth and not-so-smooth jokes, doing photography as long as that camera of his would survive, spending time with his family and not moving out of their house even though there are available houses until the time comes when he absolutely has to.

But he cannot do any of those things anymore.

He also cannot be there for you or Mark anymore.

Your trembling hand comes up to spread over your eyes and your fingers rest on your temples, and you hitch a breath in. “What are we going to do?” You ask Mark with your just as trembling voice as if he would know. The question is not necessarily about this particular moment in time, but about the far future as well. He lets it linger in the air as his eyes switch between the two bodies.

“Well,” He clears his throat when his voice shakes violently and looks at you, his hands playing with the carpet, picking and tearing away. He chooses to ignore the far future, at least for now. “We’ll have to tell his parents first.”

The hand on your face falls down. You look at Mark, and he notices how wide your eyes are. He knows you cannot comprehend it by the way your eyes look, looking right through him with your shell shocked, hundred-yard stare. “No,” You whisper. “Mark, I can’t.”

“That’s fine,” He looks into your eyes with his own that are glazed over, and nods reassuringly. “I can.”

But it does not feel better. Instead, it makes you feel worse immediately, because you feel like you at least owe Johnny and his parents this. It makes you feel ashamed that you will not do even one thing about it, because you do not think you would ever be able to look into his parents’ eyes again; knowing you joked about it before he left and you were too unbothered to go out after him before you were ordered to do so. There is nothing in your heart, mind, or body, that tells you that you can do it without completely losing yourself in the process.

The two of you collect yourselves and come back to your senses as quickly as you can, because you knew Yuta and Jaehyun would be on you if you were any more late.

Mark helps you in carrying the bodies down the stairs which is an extremely tiring task considering you go down several floors, and the mental toll it has on you. The two of you unblock the fire exit door and push the metal drawers and organizers aside, opening the door and carrying them to the lobby.

Then, you head outside. Yuta and Jaehyun do not spot Mark and you until you get closer, but when they do, their brows immediately furrow. “We need two bags.” You mutter, feeling your chest stutter with the words. Their faces fall at that very second. The grip Yuta has on his map that he is holding tightens and his knuckles go white, and he sighs with utter disappointment. Knowing Yuta, it is at himself.

“One of them’s Johnny.”

The muscles on their faces relax only for their eyes to widen.

It takes a few hours for all of you to get back to the city once you put them in bags and start riding, not galloping nor trotting; deciding not to look for the others knowing it would take a longer time to get back and not wanting to stress out anyone in the city further. A night group could easily replace yours.

When you are at the gates the sun has long set. Questions arise once the gates open and the bags dragged by the horses are seen. You and Mark answer them since you are the ones who found them in that state, where you found them, which building, which floor, was there anything written around them, any symbols, any human spotted around the area— anything useful.

You give them the answers still in a daze, and let them take Anubis from your hand. Without waiting for anybody you start walking, on the way to your house.

Except, you do not end up in your house for a while. You wait in the dark, just around the corner leading to Johnny’s house and you watch Mark deliver the news to them. Although you cannot hear what he says to them, you can see it clearly with the light on their porch. How Mark delivers the news with his hands linked in the front, fiddling with his fingers a little as he looks at their expectant faces. How Johnny’s mother hugs into his father once she hears the situation, both of them shaking with sobs. How Mark’s shoulders drop and how he tries to console them, but stopping when Johnny’s mother does not take a step away from her husband and he waves at Mark presumably wanting some space and time alone to themselves.

You watch as Mark nods and leaves, and you head to your house. Hurrying into your backyard, you swing open the door and kick off your boots. Not bothering to put them in their place, you take your bag off your shoulders and the only reason that you do not let it fall onto the floor is because of the guns packed inside. Then, you make a move to take your coat off.

And the damn zipper gets stuck.

With a sigh, you force it down. But it does not budge. So you try again, but it will not move. You wait, nibble on your lips, give it time to change its mind: maybe it was frozen and it needed to thaw.

But when you try again, it just does not want to move down.

Pissed off, you try to strip out of the coat. But that proves to be almost harder. Everybody wears thin but warm, lightweight coats to make their movability better, especially outside. But moving your whole arm to yourself and then down while holding the two layers of clothes, one thick sweater and the thin coat on top of it was undoable— because then they were fully limiting your movement.

And you had to take it off. You need to take it off.

Your hands then start picking and grabbing at the coat trying to rip it off, and that is when your door opens without any alert beforehand and Jaehyun walks in.

“What are you doing?” He whispers and walks over to you near your couch. You only stop struggling when he stands in front of you. “I can’t get it off, it’s stuck.”

He notices how you will not look into his eyes in the dark, and he notices the tears streaming down your face that you probably are not realizing. “Okay.”

Jaehyun walks over to your bathroom and takes a bar of soap you have. He walks right back to you in complete silence and dabs at your zipper with the sleeves of his hoodie up and down to take off the excess moisture, and starts slathering on the soap along the zipper until its sharp corner has visibly softened and the zipper looks white with the coat of it. He then fumbles with the zipper for a few seconds before it slides right down.

It makes you feel a mixture of embarrassment and anger, and you sniffle, only then realizing that you are crying after feeling the wetness in your inhale. Your lips waver as you try not to let a sob out. “There you go.” He mumbles as he helps you out of the coat and places it on the arm of your couch. He picks your boots up and places them next to the door.

“Let’s wash your hands.” He suggests, and you look down at your hands, seeing the blood from that Runner.

Jaehyun is almost late to hold you once your face violently scrunches up and you start fully letting it out, shaking with choked sobs.

Because your crying does not subside for several minutes, he ends up going to the bathroom again and comes back with a couple of wet rags, soaping one up and cleaning your hands delicately before wiping them off. He leads you to your bed then and lets you lie down, pulls the cover up, and kneels down in front of your face. “Try to sleep, okay? Force yourself to if you need it.”

You nod at him, and let him leave after he smiles at you.

His eyes had looked empty, which was always the worst for Jaehyun.

The next morning you hear your door lightly opening in your sleep, and being carefully shut. A few steps make their way over to you slowly and the empty side of your bed sinks with a somewhat loud huff.

Whoever it is waits for a bit, lets you sleep a little more even though you are not deep in it. That goes on for a few minutes before your bed sinks closer to your back, and it sinks a bit less than before— an elbow.

Fingers start running through and playing with your hair. It must be Jaehyun. And you are right. “Taeyong let me and Donghyuck take over you and Mark’s work for a couple of days, so you don’t have to go in today.” He softly whispers, and you nod slightly. “How’d you know I wasn’t sleeping?” You ask in hopes of distracting yourself from the thoughts and views that race over your eyelids, and open your eyes when it does not exactly work out.

He answers with a slight smile. “Your lashes fluttered when I walked in.” You feel him place his chin on your shoulder. “You slept any?”

Gulping, you shake your head. “Just got some shut-eye.”

“That’s okay.” Jaehyun whispers. “Better than keeping your eyes open. I’m happy you got some sort of rest.”

He sighs and takes his hand off your hair then. “Yuta wants to see you and Mark eating so he’s preparing breakfast. I have to leave, but head out soon and try to eat for me. A few bites is all I’m asking for.”

“Okay.”

Porridge and bergamot tea.

The breakfast Yuta has prepared for you and Mark, with some dried plums and apples inside that he fried on the pan a little. It smells nice, looks less so.

There is no one to greet and welcome you initially when you are in front of his house that is on the same street as Johnny’s. But it does not matter because you barge in to avoid being seen by his parents, taking big strides from the start of the street. You hear the stir of the wooden spoon inside the metal pot, and the fruit that spills in while you make your way to the kitchen.

Mark is sitting at the island counter of Yuta’s kitchen with his elbow on the surface, his head leant against his hand.

Yuta turns away from the cream colored counters and his electric stove once he hears the footsteps. “Morning.”

You see Mark’s head only tilt a little, but not fully to the extent that he can look back at you. “Hey.” Your voice does not really come out, so you clear your throat. Yuta’s face falls a little at that. “Is there tension in your throat?”

“Yeah.” You sit down next to Mark. With your hands placed on the surface, you turn your head to look at him but his face is covered by his hand and arm. “There’s some powdered ginger you can take in the pantry. But you should try and relax your muscles first.”

With that he pours the porridge into the bowls he has taken out for you, and serves them with a slight smile on his face. Then he pours the hot tea inside two small jars and hands them out as well. “Dig up.”

It does not feel right. The atmosphere is too heavy, but you know you will not get out of it unless you really eat something, so you pick up the spoon and take a spoonful of the meal, gathering a piece of everything. Letting it steam for a few seconds as you watch it, you contemplate putting it in your mouth because ever since yesterday you feel this sickness in your stomach. It is more fragile than it ever could be on any given normal day.

Even so, you take a bite. At first it feels like you will throw up at the sheer hue of sweetness in it.

But you chew, and continue chewing, and you do not throw up.

“I heard you’re going out again today.” Mark mumbles, which makes you perk up, looking at Yuta. His eyes widen in the slightest. “I am,” He says, his eyes looking boringly only at Mark.

You chuckle drily. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Taeyong wants me there. He’s going out too.” His explanation does not calm your heart, which feels like it is being squeezed, at all. You turn back to your bowl and continue picking some porridge. Just to avoid his gaze.

Yuta does not say that he would come back or that he would be okay. Because he knows that those words do not hold any meaning to them whatsoever, especially now. “I have to go soon, so you should better be finished with these before I do. I’ll let you drink the tea by yourselves.”

Mark and you start eating in complete silence. Mostly because Yuta is watching you eat and it is extremely uncomfortable, and it would be awkward to just talk as if he was not there.

It makes you both rush your meals as well. The bowls empty out in a matter of minutes and your stomach feels heavy, though in all honesty, it was a pretty good breakfast Yuta had prepared for you. It was a fact that you would not have bothered to cook or even to prepare something that did not need to be cooked.

When the two of you are done with your meals, Yuta smiles and takes the bowls away to wash them quickly. Mark tries to intervene and says that Yuta could go out and he would take care of the dishes, but Yuta shuts him right up saying he needs the distraction anyway.

You can see Yuta’s hands shaking slightly.

It is always difficult to know for sure what he is feeling. But if you had to give it a shot, you would say he is feeling either anxious or shocked, or both. He is the type to live his emotions very secretively, and you could never recall an instance where Yuta’s grief was noticeable. Maybe only when he had lost one of his recruited, young survivors on the way back home. That had changed him as a whole; losing someone (especially much younger than him) under his responsibility.

He leaves once the bowls are washed, not looking at your way or telling you goodbye. You are simultaneously thankful and angry at him for doing that.

The bergamot tea is still steamy. It somewhat burns your hands when you put them around the jar to warm yourself up and start looking into the dark substance, looking so deep into it that you start feeling as if you are part of the dark liquid.

Mark clears his throat. “You’re wearing the same things as yesterday.”

That is true: even though there is nothing that you want more than to take them off and trash them to never see them again. But at the same time, there is something inside of you that does not want to let go of them. Even if it is just taking them off.

You look at the side of his face, and see him taking a sip from the jar. “Could you sleep?”

He shakes his head with a gulp. “No, no. You?”

The two of you make eye contact when he finally properly looks at you, and you shake your head as well. “I kept seeing it like a picture— like something projected at the backs of my eyelids.”

Mark nods, and that is it for a while. No one speaks for some time and you sip your beverages together as if it is a chore that you have to do, as if Yuta would see you two if you spill the tea into the drain of the sink and would come after you, trying to get done as quickly as possible so both of you could leave to be by yourselves. And it goes on until Mark decides to speak in a low voice. “They buried him early in the morning. His parents didn’t want anybody to see.”

Your eyes burn and the lump forms back in your throat because you can understand why they would not want anyone to see, but at the same time, you cannot. “Some of his older recruits left him flowers and letters, seeing that made me feel a bit better.”

You nod. “He deserves that.” And so much more. Despite yourself you smile slightly, and Mark joins in understandably grim, nodding. “He does.”

The day goes by extremely slow, yet so fast once you are back at your house.

You let yourself take refuge on the bed and do not move much throughout the day, trying to sleep. Expectedly, you are not too good at doing that. You toss and turn and huff and look up at the ceiling meaninglessly until you can no longer hear kids playing outside and the adults going about with their daily duties; until daylight loses all of its significance. Until you realize you have melted into this state of mind and have completely forgotten about your needs, using the toilet, eating, or drinking water.

Yesterday’s clothes are still on you. And you cannot bring yourself to change out of them, again, even though there is nothing in this world you want more than to never see them again.

The night would have not had any significance whatsoever as well if it was not for the sounds of hurried shuffles through the snow that were coming out of your room’s window at whoever knows o’clock. Before you could even show any type of physical response to it- whether it be surprise or suspicion- there were loud and hard knocks on your door.

It takes probably all of the strength you have in you to get up and walk to the door. You laze your way over to it and swing it open, rubbing your eyes.

You would have expected it to be Jaehyun, since he must have gotten done with his duties. But it was not him. It was Mark.

Mark, whose eyes and face were lit up with adrenaline. There is not a single emotion you can make out from the way his face looks. The world could actually be ending for all you know, or the community might have been getting raided.

You cannot make anything out from the way his voice sounds, either, when you hear him speak the millisecond after the door knob turns. “They found the trespassers.”

The look in his eyes- whatever it was, shifts into concern for a split second before he carries on with his words. “One of them’s the one Yuta left a note for, they were making their way over here when Yuta found them.”

Those words spark a light in your chest because of course. Of course they were the ones that caused this whole thing in the first place and it sounds stupid to you now that you had not even thought about them when you noticed the doors were open.

Which is because the doors at the nearer town were, in fact, closed while you were there.

Now it does not make sense. “Wh- how- that doesn’t make any sense. The doors were closed when we were out earlier.”

Mark shrugs. “I don’t know, I guess they got the theme by the time they were there. Yuta told me about the whole interrogation,” He chuckles humorlessly, shaking his head. “They claimed everything before they could even ask the questions.”

“Do they know they fucking killed people?” You ask, and Mark flinches at the harshness of the words. However, he nods promptly. “Yuta told them. They said they were sorry-”

It makes you laugh at the sheer comedy of it. “They were sorry? That doesn’t bring them back or make up for anything.”

“Nobody ever said it does-” Mark defends, but you are too angry at them to stop. “You know how fucking miraculous it is to survive twenty five years- the whole ordeal, especially when you go outside frequently. His parents pushed through thick and thicker with a newborn baby just to get to where they are now, to give him a damn chance at life and this is how Johnny goes? Because of someone else’s stupidity and inconsideration?” Shaking from anger, you wipe at your eyes that have gotten a little wet while your blow-up was going on. You gulp and shake your head, feeling the tension in your jaws. “They should save their apologies because not even a billion of them,” Faster than lightning, you hold a finger up in the air in between you and Mark. “Would make up for a single hair of Johnny’s that got hurt nor for a single tear of his parents.”

Mark, your poor friend and companion, only nods a little. He knows how you get when you are angry, and he knows how fed up you must be feeling, and he can see how tired and out-of-it you look, so he does not talk. He knows that if he were to say anything you would spill words from your mouth you would either regret saying or would only upset you more, and he did not want that to happen.

Though, Mark did have to say one thing. A part of the truth that would concern the two of you. “They’re from the Nox.”

He watches your eyes slowly widen. In a matter of seconds, you look awake and aware as if you did get all the sleep you had lost the past two days within those few moments. You lean your shoulder against the door for support or from the shock, he cannot be sure. “What?” You whisper.

Mark shifts from his place, the tips of his shoes touching your socks as he leans in much closer- most probably to drown his voice out. The neighbors should not hear more than what they might have already heard so far, even though you had been conversing in low tones. “From the headquarters,” He whispers, looking into your eyes. “They came to recruit people from this area. The others are with them.”

Your brows furrow with the oncoming nerves. “So there were more of them and they just joined?”

After a second’s hesitation, Mark nods. “Seems so.”

“Why would they?” Upon the question, Mark takes a deep breath and pushes his shoulders back much like a school kid being questioned on a topic they have not studied, and looks at the side. The yellow lights from other people’s windows hit his face as he nibbles on his bottom lip indecisively. When he turns back to face you, the lights still illuminating the right side of his face, he shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

Mark does not get surprised when you chuckle humorlessly. “Well I think it’s pathetic to run with people who’ve killed your own.”

It is quiet for a few seconds as he nibbles on his lip some more, but in the end something- that looked much like defeat- washes over him before he just nods a little. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Maybe five seconds of quiet before he speaks, looking down at his hands where his fingers are picking at scabs formed over his knuckles that seemed to be there every living day. “Um,” He swallows the words that would come after that at first, but he thinks, and thinks some more. It takes a couple of seconds, but he does decide to speak up. “You know what, nevermind. Maybe later.”

You get a bit taken aback but he cannot tell, because your brows are still furrowed a bit angrily and there is no other emotion over your face. “Do you know where Jaehyun is? He said he’d come straight after his duties.”

Mark’s mouth opens but no word leaves it. “He uh,” It closes and opens once again, his eyes widening a little. “He’s- he volunteered,” He clears his throat and looks down. “He volunteered for filiation.”

“Of what?” Your heartbeats have gotten significantly faster, stronger and heavier, but you cannot say if it is worry or the oncoming anger. “The trespassers’ base. Taeyong was looking for someone he could trust and he-,”

“Amazing,” You chuckle and shuffle on your feet, crossing your arms over your chest. “That’s amazing.” Mark sees you lower your head and your tongue swipe over your bottom lip as you smile bitterly, and when you raise your head back up, he can see the unshed liquid shine with the moonlight. “Why does nobody act responsible?” You whisper, and he sees the falter in your furrowed brows- the stutter.

But Mark knows you better.

He knows this is not how you truly think. He knows you out of all people want to move at the front, he knows you want that the most, and Mark knows you blame yourself for the things you are (in his opinion, rightfully) unable to do. He knows it is because you are scared. He knows you are terrified. Because it has been long, so long since either of you two have even gotten close to properly surviving outside and in all honesty: through these years of routinely going out for shorter periods of time and not having to dwell on things out of the gates, you two have grown accustomed to the feeling of homely safety. It really had felt like nothing and nobody would be able to reach you or anyone around you, even if it felt like it just inside the walls. The bubble of routine reality hidden in the much chaotic and unforgiving reality that was this community had slowly but surely implanted the expectation of seeing your loved ones get back home as if it was just a shift of a pre-apocalypse job- what they called 9-to-5.

And Mark knows this is almost like a reset, and that the sense of security and whatever this place has brought you feels like it is gone. He feels like it too.

Mark hates to see you this way. He hates to feel this way. He hates that Johnny was the one who had to go out of everyone, because he was the best of you.

But he knows he should take care of who he has left. In whatever way he can.

When he looks at you, the concerned look in his eyes from a few moments ago is back. “Have you slept any?”

You shake your head. “No.”

He nods as if he expected the murmured answer. “We’re going back to duties tomorrow, you need to sleep some.” Mark sees you chuckle just once and hears you mutter an ‘Easy to say.’ while tilting your gaze down, but he interrupts you by pointing inside, albeit a bit reluctantly. “Do you want me to help?”

“Would you?” He nods, the genuinity somehow visible from the way he does, and steps in gladly when you get away from the door and open it wide enough for him to walk in.

It had been long since the last time he had helped you sleep. It was a few years ago when you were on your own, having just separated from a group of survivors the two of you had become somewhat attached to. Their goals with life were much different than Mark’s and yours- two mere teenagers whose only wish was to not be much farther from home in hopes of reuniting with the people you had grown with.

Who could ever know that a little over three weeks of traveling on foot would already be too far from home, and too impossible to ever cross paths with? A miracle, really, ‘for kids your age’ (as people who were around the age of your parents would say).

Some nights the hopelessness and the feeling of never belonging to any group would take over you. Mark was the only person you could depend on, and you were the only person he could depend on. With how young you both were it was only natural that both of you had times where the cycle of hunger, loneliness, the paranoia of surviving and being infected, almost-dying but being saved, seeing the only person you depend on almost die but saving them, either being showered with love from other survivors or being hated for whatever reason, and getting left behind either way would get too much to deal with.

The two of you were camping overnight inside a completely empty water tower, warm and dark in the winter night- the last gift of the survivor group you had tagged along with had been an old map marked all over with safe and hopefully clear places to settle in. Plus the groups you should never encounter.

So he had done what he was doing right now. He made you lay down like right now, that time on the hard concrete and now on your kind of soft mattress that was slowly rotting away, knelt in front of you unlike in the past when he laid down beside you, started playing (more like softly scratching) with your hair and scalp because he knew it worked well to make you sleep, and sang in a low tone because he knew you loved it, and found comfort in it.

His voice sounds rougher than ever when he starts.

“Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life,” This song is much too familiar, and it is Mark’s favorite verse of it. It means so much to him, having been brought up with faith in a world he once stated he felt was ‘too far from it’.

“And I will dwell on this earth forevermore,” His voice is soothing and soft, even though you knew he preferred his rapping much better over his singing. “Said, I walk beside the still waters and they restore my soul,”

He stops a little to take a breath, an unnecessary one, yet heavy. “But I can’t walk on the path of the right because I’m wrong.”

Mark’s voice is working its charm- or maybe it is knowing you are not alone, you do not know. But your head was getting clouded and dazed with the sleep creeping up to take you over already. He, however, continues. “Well, I came upon a man at the top of a hill,”

His voice cracks a little. “Called himself the savior of the human race,”

Through the cloud of sleep, you try to reach him. Only mentally, but you try to reach him. You wanted to hear him until the end. “Said he come to save the world from destruction and pain, but I said ‘How can you save the world from itself?’”

You barely make it to the end of the line, only hearing a glimpse of his sporadic whistling.

When you open your eyes you see Johnny sitting down next to your hand laid in front of your face, hugging the pillow. He smiles down at you, ruffling your hair for a bit. The room is dim- only the wall lights are on. The environment is mostly dark, even Johnny’s face that is much closer to you than anything. You can still see him pretty well, though, in the dim, warm yellow lighting.

His clothes are relatively clean. A few stains and tears here and there, but nothing unusual. Him and his parents’ ways of doing laundry were always superior to many others. You wanted to learn how but Johnny said you would have to come and do it with them once to properly learn once you are out of the dorms. Sometimes he would offer to do your laundry for you when the queues and waiting periods of the laundry got too long in the dorms- it was easier to have problems with water at a rather small place where a lot of people lived, and when they got their clothes really dirty almost every single day while getting educated on survival skills and agriculture.

His face is bright. His eyes are puffy just the right amount; he looks energetic. His smile is of genuine fondness towards you, and it makes you smile as well.

“Sleeping too deep?” He asks quietly. The dorm room is unoccupied excluding the two of you; your roommate had gotten a bad cold and was kept in the small hospital ward. You shake your head at his question but the yawn you let out contradicts with the motion. “I was just taking a nap.”

Johnny nods and looks down for a second, sighing a little before looking back at you and slightly raising his hand which held a tea cloth, showing off the little pouch. “Eomma sent some cornbread. I brought some dried figs as well.”

Excitement washes over you, and you take the cloth out of his hand gratefully when he holds it out for you. Unable to hold yourself back, you break a small piece off of a slice of cornbread and happily put it inside your mouth- giggling in delight when you notice the fresh corn taste and the fluffy texture. Johnny chuckles at your reaction and coos only a little.

His smile dies down pretty fast despite its brightness just a moment ago. Which is unusual for him, who likes to stretch his smiles out for as long as he possibly could.

“Can I lie down?” He asks and points at the pillow reluctantly. You nod and scoot closer to the wall, arching your back a little and tilting your head back to secure the tea cloth of snacks inside the small, empty vase placed on the windowsill. It operated as a whatever-holder: sometimes it was actual flowers, sometimes it was small jewellery or gifts you had gotten on your birthdays, sometimes the very occasional letter from Mark even though he was just two buildings down, but usually it was snacks from Johnny.

He lies down next to you and does not bother to get under the blanket, placing his hands on his stomach as he looks at the ceiling. You watch his chest rise and fall three, maybe four times before he can start speaking. “Did you ever observe one?”

“An infected?” He hums at your question. You look at the ceiling and try to remember a time you might have but nothing resurfaces. “Not really. Was too busy trying to save my ass. Or Mark’s.”

“You never went outside before the raid?” Johnny asks, quite curious. You shake your head again even though you are not sure if he would see it. “Not never, but we were in school mostly. It was high up in an apartment so it was the safest place. I did not have to worry much about them until we were older.”

An exhausted sigh makes its way past your lips and it is not only because you are physically exhausted. “And then we ran.” Turning your head to the side to look at his face, you smile. “And now I’m in a different kind of school.” Calling the dormitories a school was simultaneously a far reach and not. It was mostly to train people to not be shenanigans until they became adults, and to be responsible with their duties and communal living once they were one.

A hand laid on his stomach reaches out for one of yours and he holds it, squeezing in a way that could not be described as tightly but rather, strongly. In a way that reassured you and calmed you down, in the way that made all your past worth the present. “You’ll get to be a Wanderer soon enough. Just a few months more.”

“I just like the idea of having my own place,” You chuckle as you shrug, acting like being a Wanderer was the least of your interests. “A bathroom all to myself, a less shitty bed and having the freedom to walk around whenever…”

“Just make sure you don’t forget about us when you get your luxury.” He smiles and looks at you, and you smile back at him devilishly. “I couldn’t if I wanted to,” At that, Johnny’s mouth drops open in surprise and happiness, but you cut him off before he can even start, playing your game further. “You see, unfortunately most people I consider friends in here aren’t peaceful, calm farmers or healers or-”

“Yeah, we all have a fucked-up liking of the outside,” He nods as he talks to himself, eyes slightly squinted. But he comes to his own rescue with a protest. “It’s not like anybody can blame us. Being lost in the old world is quite dreamy when there aren’t screeching mushrooms running around.”

It makes you laugh the way he addresses once-people back from the dead, even snort a little. It had been long since you had seen one. Young recruits, or recruits that basically were not at the age of maturity, were not allowed to go on patrols, research scouts, or sweeps unless it was absolutely necessary. From what Taeyong had told you the first time you ever stepped foot into the dorms and were told about the way things went around the city, it was to give people, especially teens, a chance.

A chance to live at least until the day they were considered adults.

“Speaking of,” Johnny’s smile dies down once more. He takes a big breath, and his chest rises with it, and he holds it there for a few seconds. When it is let out, it sounds sad more than anything. Maybe even a bit depressed. “When we were out on a patrol today with Taeyong, there was this small group of Runners at one of the checkpoints,”

He looks at you, but you do not say anything, so he continues. “So we were clearing the place out as we do, and I went upstairs while Taeyong stayed behind just to be safe. I went into the studio to write down the report,”

With that he turns his gaze back to the ceiling, scrunching his eyebrows slightly. “And there was this.. Runner, it- he didn’t hear or see me so I hid behind a table. But he wasn’t moving around, you know? Just standing at the same spot. It was very early stage, he had just turned. Maybe a couple of days ago, I don’t know,”

He starts fiddling with his fingers. “He looked around the same age as me, or maybe a bit younger. Wasn’t flimsy, didn’t look like he’d been starving- he just looked healthy otherwise. But as I looked at him and the way he flinched, the way his hands moved and his shoulders cramped; the way he grunted.. it sounded too human.”

There is silence for a second or so, but he picks his words right back up. “And his eyes- his eyes,” Johnny breathes, and the sound that comes from his nose sounds a bit too stuffed and wet to be normal. “They didn’t look completely empty. Not even meaningless.”

He looks down at his hands that are still fiddling, his lips hanging out a bit the way they did whenever he was sleepy or sad. Then, he nods a little, confirms whatever is going through his mind. “I think he was there,” His voice cracks and stutters. “Inside. Trapped and waiting until it consumed his brain whole. Trying to fight back as if it would be any help.”

“And I couldn’t help but think, as I shot him down,” He shrugs and shakes his head. “That I’d never want to be trapped in my own body and have to wait until I have no control over it, if it ever happened to me.” And he looks at you.

Johnny looks at you.

With his sad, brown, dark eyes. His empathy for the Runner and for his own self. He looks at you so deep, almost like he is frozen.

Because he is.

You reach out your hand to touch his arm, and find it to be extremely cold, and stiff.

He is gone.

You wake up breathless and almost shoot yourself out of your bed with the force you are sitting up. Mark is gone, and nobody else is there. You are completely alone. The sky is just turning a bit grey, signalling the coming of the morning.

Sighing, you try to relieve some of the pain in your jaws and chest; trying to forget the memory of Johnny that was now your nightmare. You had clenched up too much, it felt stiff everywhere. Now, your head was hurting too.

There is not a single drop of sleep left in you- even if there was, you hardly think you would be able to go back.

So you get up.

Walking to your closet in a hurry, you pick out some clothes in the dark. In all honesty you do not even know what you are picking, but it does not matter. There would be very few people outside at the dead of the night if at all, and you could not care less about how they thought your outfit was.

This felt like the only time you could actually visit him. You just wanted to be alone with him, and the silence.

Once you wear your coat you are already half outside. You shut your door as quietly as you possibly could in your hurry, which was undeniably a little loud even if it had been a reasonable time to leave your house, but it was not like people would care. Unless someone or something was screaming, nobody really cared.

From your house to the cemetery took around ten minutes of walking, which was a reasonable distance given how spread out this city was. How it came to be this big you did not exactly know. Johnny had told you sometime that the bigger series of stone buildings belonged to a winery- the wines would be fermented in the summer and then shipped out here in the fall to age before being sold, which was what his parents told to him. It made sense, because the stone buildings all had underground basements that were all connected, some of which were used as a hospital ward and some of which were used as a communal living space for people who did not really have families nor a role in the community like a Farmer, Wanderer or Sweeper. Basically for people who were deemed unqualified to have their own houses.

It kind of sucked, but then again, some people actually preferred being there. The director of the basements and dorms, this lovely woman called Sarwendah, had told you once that even though it was not the majority, some people found comfort in living with other people openly since it made them forget the reality of everything as long as they were in that bubble.

The wooden buildings were either built after the gates were built- which, the gates were built after the army claimed the zone to themselves at the start of the outbreak, whose control over the area for something around 11 years, Johnny remembered those times in his childhood- or they were the ones already built for the winery’s workers and their families.

Johnny. That bit of knowledge came from Johnny too, as well as many others.

And when you are in the cemetery walking through the graves, looking for his name and spotting it without much time passing, you see a silhouette standing right at the foot of the grave.

Who, upon walking closer, turns out to be Mark.

Who, also upon walking closer, seems to be fully equipped with bags and his gun.

“Why so equipped?” You ask, and it startles him, but he does turn around and watch you as you walk over to him. “You’re going outside to join Jaehyun?”

He clears his throat. “No, he got back,” There is a split second of silence that feels a bit too long in your confusion for how long it actually is. Mark rolls his shoulders back and takes a deep breath, lets it out, creating a rather long-lasting vapor. “But yeah, I’m going outside.”

“Where?” You ask further, and he visibly winces. He avoids the question to play with the stones around Johnny’s grave with his foot, nibbling on the inside of his mouth before mumbling. “I should’ve told you before but I couldn’t.”

Your brows furrow as a string is pulled at your heart with the suspicion and the piecing of things together. “What were you going to say?”

One more exhale, but this time sharp and clear-cut. Controlled. He looks at you, looks in your eyes, and tells you the words you would have never imagined he would. “They’re releasing the trespassers and I’m leaving with them.”

Everything kind of slows down at that moment if that is even possible with the lack of action-filled things around you. Shock, was it? Or utter betrayal? “I’m sorry?”

Mark takes a step closer to you and fully turns his body to face you, towering above you not so much with his height but more so with his body language. “They’re working on a vaccine. They trust what they’ve got in their hands and they’re traveling around recruiting people to guard the headquarters. They’re afraid someone might-”

It was all too much.

“Mark, what the fuck are you talking about?” You snarl, and it shuts him up effectively. Yet, after that, you do not say anything. You wait for him to explain himself and after a couple of overwhelmed inhales, he takes the opportunity. “I’m going there to work as a guard. They’re afraid of the possibility of someone stealing the samples, or worse, attacking the lab. They need every volunteer they can get right now.”

Anger.

Pure anger is what you are feeling, and it is indescribable. It covers you from head to toe, right to left, inside and out; it feels hot and yet, icy cold. “Johnny’s blood hasn’t even dried yet, and you’re leaving with the very people who caused his death?”

Mark looks taken aback. “Be sensible. They couldn’t have known about the doors, they’re the first group from the headquarters to come here in years. It’s life or death out there, and they probably didn’t have the time for details.”

You take a step closer to him as if it is possible, and hit his shoulder lightly. “How about you be a little sensible? How can you trust them so easily? What if they’re saying these just to recruit all those people- and to travel all the way through there-”

“They have a car. Takes three days.” Mark cuts in, which makes you chuckle humorlessly. “Okay, great. What if they just recruit you to use you as a scapegoat for when they encounter bandits? Or, like I said, they just recruit you to have more guards? The vaccine has been a word since forever, Mark, and we know it. It’s a stupid hopeless rumor.”

“I’m telling you, they have scientists and they have evidence-” Mark starts, but you cut him off. “Yes! But their people also raid towns, and these people themselves are inconsiderate enough to screw up our whole system and kill our friends along the way-” You are basically trying to make sense to him with your whole body, pointing at the grave and getting closer to him and looking at his eyes to make him regain some of his sense. Just enough to keep him here, where he should be. “How can you trust them with your own life when they’ve been so inconsiderate of the others’ time and time again? You walk out of here with them and the next thing you know, you’re dead, Mark.” You point to your left, which is the direction of the big gates where the trespassers must be leaving, as they need to leave under the Leaders’ watch.

He is silent upon that. It takes him a few moments to come up with the words he is going to say, and his eyes flicker around under the confused sunlight signalling the coming of the early morning.

But he comes up with them nonetheless. “I owe it to people and to him,” He points at the grave. “To do whatever part I can to end this someday. And if I need to go to great extents and forgive them, so be it.”

And with a determined gaze in his eyes you had never seen from Mark before, he says what he really thinks. “I’d rather die running after something I believe in than live with the shame every day.”

You understand.

Not him, but that he is going.

That maybe, he is already gone.

“You leave,” You look at the grave and bite the inside of your cheek before looking back at Mark. “And I’ll come looking after you.” You whisper.

He looks away and bites down on his lip, placing his hands on either side of his hips. And then, he shrugs, not even trying to think it through. “That’d be up to you.”

And he starts walking towards the left, leaving you at the cemetery.

For the first time, you are alone.

[lubbuthedigitalnomad]

A PERFECT PLACE

Happy Bob Marley BD (it was Feb. 6), Tibetan New Year (Feb. 12) and Valentine’s Day week! I hope you and yours are happy and healthy. Communications from America say that things are a little less crazy now that the election is over. That’s good. Even the most pro-American Asians were thinking we went a little wacky!

With any luck, folks in the USA will continue to take deep breaths and calm down. With a little effort, things will become less hateful and more loving as both the reds and blues start to realize that working together is the only way things will ever work at all. With that sentiment in mind, this week’s 1000 words are from the Fearless Puppy On American Road book, and about a time and place that remembers the more beautiful part of the American experience.

Once something changes, it can never go all the way back to what it was. In many ways, that is a good thing. We can preserve some better parts of the life we already had while allowing room for new and improved ideas. Insisting that both those new ideas, and the parts preserved from the old, are employed as actual improvements that benefit the vast majority of us has become the non-negotiable, essential responsibility of each and every citizen. Like it or not, it seems we will have to stay actively, consciously, and intelligently involved in order to insure success.

Please be well & stay well. Love, Tenzin and the Nepali Crew

FEARLESS PUPPY WEBSITE BLOG

FEARLESS PUPPY ON AMERICAN ROAD/AMAZON PAGE

REINCARNATION THROUGH COMMON SENSE/AMAZON PAGE

FEARLESS PUPPY ON AMERICAN ROAD WEBSITE

Rural Vermont

Helpfulness. Tribalism at its best. Everyone works together on everything. Lives depend upon each other in temperatures well below zero.

Hitchhiking is no longer just getting from here to there while barely knowing my host. Nearly every ride establishes or increases a friendship.

More cows per square mile than people, more open space than cows, and more forest than open space. Pronounced seasons and cycles. Cold, white winters. Muddy springs. Vibrant green summers pulsating with life that knows it only has a few months to do what needs to get done. Rainbow autumnal foliage so brilliant that guests come from continents away to view it. Streams clean enough to drink from.

Eggs come from happy chickens — not from the cruelty of large “animal production” warehouses.

Everyone waves hello to anyone driving by.

There’s always time to speak with whomever you meet at the General Store or Post Office. There’s always time. No hurry. Life comes first. Being is more important than doing (once the doing gets done).

The only store in town is the size of five closets but has everything — food, hardware, videos, clothing, beer, and more. A giant empty cable spool acts as a table around which to enjoy coffee, home- made donuts, and the company of neighbors. A best friend makes maple syrup. Everyone grows incredible gardens.

I have spent a lot of time with four other people and five beers staring into the open hood of a pickup truck that was not in need of repair.

Wood keeps you warm three times — once when you chop it, again when you carry it in, and the third time when you burn it. Overflowing abundance lives here. Some folks want more. Few need more.

Theater groups that produce professional-quality plays thrive in the forests of nearby vest-pocket towns.

The purity and clarity of omnipresent Nature rubs off on its human inhabitants. Crime, violence, and assorted hatreds appear only in newspapers and on TV stations. No one here has seen those things in person.

The Town Treasurer has a sign on his office explaining, “It’s very hard to get away with anything in a town this small.” Live and let live. If it hurts no one, it’s legal.

Resourcefulness is a way of life. Anything you need can be built from left over parts of things that you don’t need anymore. If you don’t know how, someone will show you. They’ll be happy to help — even happier if you bring a beer to say hello and thank you.

Deer hunters and trout fishermen deny slaughterhouses and corporate supermarket chains their abuses and profits. Unprocessed foods, hard exercise, low stress, clean air, and clean water deny the medical industry their profits from unnecessary surgery and drugs.

Awe inspiring natural beauty excludes land developers and their profit-over-people motivation. Their concrete and steel are not welcome here. The industrial decay that would lead to profits for a large assortment of unethical folks in fancy suits is denied entry by the conscious decisions of simple, intelligent farmers in overalls.

There will never be a Wal-Mart or a crack house here. There are many guns. They are never used for anything but hunting food. People are constantly helping each other to build a barn or house, dig out snow and mud, care for the children, cook, clean, weed the garden, and feed the animals. Anything that can be done at all is usually done by a group, even if it’s actually a one-person job. Folks enjoy each other’s company. Except in the most extreme circumstances, everyone deserves inclusion.

Parties get thrown together instantly for no other reason than that someone feels like being the host.

On a Tuesday, my friend Mike told me that he was having a party at his house on the following Saturday.

“What’s the occasion, Mike?”

“The occasion is that I just came up with the bright idea of having a party. I’ll get out a side of venison and buy a keg of beer. Tell everyone you see to tell everyone they see. If anyone wants to bring more food and drink, that’s good. If not, we’ll be fine with what we’ve got, I figure.”

“OK, Mike. I’ll get everyone but the assholes informed.”

“Inform the assholes too, buddy! Who knows? Maybe if they got invited to more parties, they’d figure out how to act better and wouldn’t be such assholes.”

It was hard to argue with Mike’s logic, but then again it is hard to argue with much of anything in a clean, friendly village.

During those years of having a home community and base station, a lot of work got done elsewhere. Rest time there made hitchhiking across nearly every inch of road in Northeastern America possible. I probably hitchhiked as many miles regionally during this period as the number of miles that were traveled in all the previous cross-country trips. Each full month of whistle stops working for environmental groups and charities included many towns and cities. It included talking to independent business folks all day about various causes, sleeping wherever possible, and celebrating whenever plausible. At the end of road tours like that, staring at mountains in between long naps was more of a necessity than an option. It is a lot easier to burn yourself up on the road when you know that a perfect place to revive is waiting for you.

The focal points of the road binges included Greenpeace, Citizen’s Awareness Network, and self-organized efforts to help support a Mexican orphanage, raise awareness and funding for American homeless folks, and help the victims of a very severe African famine. The results varied. My little part as a team member in the environmental efforts worked consistently for over a decade at each. The orphanage and homeless projects I organized worked minimally. The famine relief effort worked very well. It involved a governor, two senators, labor unions, school systems, businesses, major league sports teams, rock bands, and more. Thousands of people in the Northeastern section of America gave massive help.

This is a short chapter, but it covers a long period of years. Eventually, my good friend who allowed me this cabin in paradise had to liquidate his properties. This put me back out on the street at age fifty. But for a while, my life was as close to normal as it had ever been. It included long term friends and neighbors.

Those years seem to have gone by very quickly.​

About the Author

Doug “Ten” Rose may be the biggest smartass as well as one of the most entertaining survivors of the hitchhiking adventurers that used to cover America’s highways. He is the author of the books Fearless Puppy on American Road and Reincarnation Through Common Sense, has survived heroin addiction and death, and is a graduate of over a hundred thousand miles of travel without ever driving a car, owning a phone, or having a bank account.

Ten Rose and his work are a vibrant part of the present and future as well as an essential remnant of a vanishing breed.

Follow him on Facebook, Doug Ten Rose

Travel Adventure Books can be an excellent gift to your friends and family, buy from Amazon.com

#traveladventurebooks #keepreading #kindlebooks

The books Fearless Puppy On American Road and Reincarnation Through Common Sense by this same author are also available through Amazon or the Fearless Puppy website, where there are sample chapters from those books. Entertaining TV/radio interviews with and newspaper articles about the author are also available there. There is no charge for anything but the complete books! All author profits from book sales will be donated to help sponsor an increase in the number of wisdom professionals on Earth, beginning with but certainly not limited to Buddhist monks and nuns.

If you missed the Introduction to the new book that will be titled Temple Dog Soldier, or would like to see several chapters of it that are available for free online, go to the Puppy website Blog section. This is a book in progress. You will be reading it as it is being created! Just like you, I don’t know what the next chapter is going to be about until it is written. As the Intro will tell you, this is a totally true story — and probably the only book ever written by and about a corpse journeying completely around the world!

[laurelsofhighever]

Chapter Rating: Mature Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Cousland Feels, Hurt/Comfort Summary: Alistair and Rosslyn end up somewhere they don’t expect.

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

She sat tall in her saddle at the head of the column of riders, the salt breeze stirring against her face, tugging at her hair and the deep blue cloak arrayed over her horse’s quarters, while the jingle of harness rang like the clamour of Satinalia bells in her ears. She didn’t need to look behind her to see the array of the knights who followed her banner raising dust along the length of the Cullodhne Road, gleaming so brightly in their armour they seemed less flesh and blood than a trail of sapphires led on a silver string, like something out of legend.

On her right hand, Highever was laid out under the cloudless Kingsway sky, industrious as a beehive. Boats bobbed on the incoming tide, flashing signals to one another and to the dock workers to communicate their cargo, and further into the city itself smoke rose from the smithies, the bakeries, from the eternal fires lit in the various chantries scattered through the streets. The Orlesians had left it a wreck, blockaded as it had been during the Rebellion by Clayne pirates and abandoned by all but beggars and the most stalwart fisherfolk, but her father’s careful investment had mixed well with the forthright determination of his people, and bit by bit, like a kennelmaster nursing a starved whelp, the city had returned to prosperity. Now it sat, the third jewel in the crown of Ferelden’s northern coastlands, sleek on the riches brought south from all over the world.

And her gaze stretched beyond it, to the basalt cliffs that hid ribbed flats of silver sand and sparkling rock pools beneath their skirts, and as far again in the other direction, until the blue haze of distance stole all detail and blurred land and sky against the horizon. Stubbled wheat fields and rolling pastures dotted with livestock gave way to deep forest that fluffed like discarded bobbles of felting with the distance, but which grew tall with ash and oak and sheltered dense populations of game under their eaves.

A thought itched in Rosslyn’s mind, despite the beauty of the day, like there was something she had misplaced. The gates of Castle Cousland stood ahead, another hour’s ride away at the end of the road, the keep couched above the town like a lioness watching over her tumbling cubs. Squinting against the glare, she scanned the walls, though for what she did not know.

“Is it good to be home?”

She turned to Alistair, on her left on a great bay charger. “I can’t quite believe it yet.”

He reached across the space between their mounts to take her hand. His oak-bronze eyes softened with his smile, lending her strength and maybe taking some for himself too. Surely she should be allowed a little pride at having caught him, all handsome lines and wind-ruffled hair and laughter, a fierce warrior and a good man and hers.

“I love you,” she said, and he beamed.

They reached the castle gates to the clarion notes of a fanfare. People lined each side of the road, waving strips of brightly coloured cloth like pennants as they strewed wildflowers beneath the horses’ hooves. As the delicate stems were crushed, their sweet, herby scent rose as a greeting and Rosslyn sat a little straighter, determined to match the grandeur of the celebration. Her horse tossed its head. She had to let go of Alistair’s hand to manage it. They passed into the shadow of the barbican, clattering over the hollow boards of the wolf-pit to reach the second portcullis, and emerged again into the airy, gravelled space of the bailey. The Laurels flew from every pole, from the battlements and the towers and the tips of the standard-bearers’ pikes, framing the straight path to the keep in an undulating sea of blue silk.

Her parents waited for her at the top of the steps. For some reason her eyes darted to the western gate, but the shiver passed as her horse pranced sideways against the bit, and she dug her heels into its flank to keep it grounded.

A third figure waited behind her parents. As she dismounted, he stayed far enough back that all she saw of him was a shock of feathery white hair and beard blown over rich furs, but she turned to hand the reins to the groom that had emerged from the throng and thought no more about the details of his face. Alistair stepped closer to her, using their horses as a shield. With soft eyes, he leaned in and brushed his hand along her elbow, briefly enough to look like he was steadying her, lightly enough that she wished all the layers of her armour gone.

“I know there are people watching, but I really want to kiss you right now,” he murmured.

“Save it,” she teased, with a playful glance to his mouth. “Give me two kisses later.”

“Only two?”

Side by side they climbed the steps, Rosslyn with her stomach churning and the relief of home settling over her shoulders like a mantle. Feeling too hot, she tugged her gauntlets off her fingers and twisted them through her hands. Bryce and Eleanor came forward before she even reached the top, and smiled as they enveloped her in a hug, armour and all, holding close for a tight, desperate moment before they pulled back to welcome Alistair as well.

Her father bowed. “Your Highness, I am honoured to meet you at last.”

Alistair flushed to the roots of his hair. “And you – I mean, the honour is mine, Your Lordship,” he stammered, slinking into himself as he always did when his lack of confidence overcame him. For a moment he stumbled, caught off-guard by the two benign expressions, but when he glanced sideways Rosslyn lent him an encouraging nod, and the happiness clear in her eyes allowed his shyness to melt away.  

He cleared his throat. “Highever Is just as beautiful as I imagined it,” he said, and earned another proud smile from Rosslyn. “I’ve been told so much about it.”

“No doubt,” Eleanor replied on her husband’s arm. “But we must thank you for the help you have given our daughter.”

“Who, me? I mostly just cheered from the sidelines.”

“Alistair –”

Bryce laughed. “Handsome and modest to boot! Looks like you were right when you told Fergus you didn’t need any help to find a husband, Pup.”

“Bryce!”

“Hus–?” Rosslyn froze. “No, he’s – we’re not –”  

“Talk for another day, I see,” her father allowed, rubbing the spot on his arm where Eleanor had swatted him. “Well, no rush, as long as all stays fair. In any case, there’s someone else here who wishes to see you.”

He turned with an expansive gesture to the man waiting behind them. In the breath of space it left them, Rosslyn passed a squirming look at Alistair, expecting to see relief in his features now that her father’s scrutiny had been directed elsewhere. It was there, in the quirk of a brow and the tilt of his jaw, but it warred with a curious lift to his mouth that she didn’t know how to interpret. Before she could ask him what was on his mind, however, the expression disappeared in a shock of recognition as the old man finally stepped into their circle.

“King Maric!”

Startled, Rosslyn hurried to mirror Alistair’s bow, but the king made a noise of displeasure and waved the gesture away, as if such formality were out of place. The movement unsettled the mantle of wolf furs that bundled him against the chill of the autumn air, exposing the rich, embroidered cuff of his tunic. Up close, the white of his hair still retained a golden sheen, weak as winter sunlight, framing a pale face with the same square jaw and straight nose as both of his sons. A pair of washed-out, tired blue eyes regarded them from beneath a stern brow, but the moment eased and the frown melted into a kind smile as the old man reached out and laid his hands on Alistair’s shoulders. There was barely an inch of height to separate them.

“My son,” the king said in a quiet voice.

Rosslyn looked away, not wanting to intrude.

Maric’s smile faltered when Alistair remained too stunned to reply, but he seemed to share Cailan’s implacable nature, and recovered well. “Let me look at you, all grown – you’ve surpassed all my hopes for you, you know. Ferelden owes you a great debt, and your name – both your names – will be spoken for ages to come.”

“Father…” The word tripped from Alistair’s tongue, unfamiliar, guarded against all the things he did not say.

“You should be proud of the man you have become,” Maric told him. “As I am – especially given your excellent taste in companions. Will you introduce me?”

Startled into manners, the younger man stood back and brought Rosslyn forward with a gesture, remembering to let her bow before giving her name. Behind them, her parents’ attention was turned by the arrival of a servant, who whispered in Bryce’s ear before scurrying away again.

“Your Highness,” Eleanor called, “forgive the intrusion, but preparations are being made for this evening’s feast. since it isn’t for a few hours yet, would you like to get settled first?”

“Everyone is eager to see you,” her husband added next to her. “The two Heroes of Ferelden given a proper homecoming at last.”

“Your rooms have been prepared, if you would all follow…”

The brightness of the day gave over to the dim interior of the castle’s entrance hall, with its familiar gold-threaded tapestries and the view out onto the courtyard garden brimming with colour. Guards stood at attention in their alcoves. As Rosslyn lagged behind with her father and Alistair, rich, savoury smells wafted up from below, like in every celebration of her childhood, and without anything particular to take her attention, she drifted into memory. When she had last been here, garlands of holly and ivy had arched above doorways, twined with red glass beads and baubles enchanted to glitter like stars.  

The image made her uneasy, the same anxious flutter beneath her ribs that she had first felt… When? She knew it well, as the fire that sang through every nerve before a battle, but the details escaped, slipping through her mind like grains of sand through her fingers. Her disquiet must have shown on her face, because a hand brushed against hers, too casual to be noticed by anyone else, but deliberate enough that Alistair’s fingers didn’t move away when she returned the gesture.

Her father had pulled ahead slightly, lost in the castle’s rambling history, and didn’t notice them falling behind. It was a well-worn speech, the same one offered to all new visitors, though some bore it with more grace than others; Oriana’s parents had made it three hours and four ages back before the dainty Lady Ophelia had ‘twisted her ankle’ and begged them both out of climbing the tower. And yet, the comfort of the familiar words could not drown out the doubt in her mind that pricked at her like hailstones, drawing her in all directions like the echo of a shout across a foggy heath.

“What did we do?” she asked, when the wrongness finally clicked.

“What’s that, Pup?”

Her mother had turned, too, already five steps up the central staircase with the king.

“His Majesty said Ferelden owed us a debt,” she clarified, with an uneasy glance at Alistair. “But for what? I have no memory of it.”

Maric tutted. “No memory of routing the last of the rebel forces and saving us all? You are too modest, my lady. My son, surely you haven’t forgotten your victory?” He smiled, but the expression looked hollow as new ice, and the gap in her memory glared wider, insistent.

“There was the war…” Alistair tried. He scratched his head.

“The war is won,” Eleanor told him. She looked imperious, standing at the top of the stairs, her face backlit in sharp angles by the windows, her hair pulled back in neat braids except where loose strands fell around her face…

Rosslyn tasted bile. “You died.” Months of nightmares, the revulsion crawling across her skin, those last cold, desolate moments atop Harrowhill with the weight of the Cousland sword on her hip. “Howe killed you and put your heads above the western gate.”

“The men who told you were mistaken, Pup,” her father replied, laying a hand on her arm. “Howe got what he deserved, thanks to you, and you should be proud of that, but you’ve been too long in battle. You have forgotten the feel of peace, that’s all this worry is.”

She shook him off. “What men who told me?”

The challenge hung in the air. Her eyes, locked with her father’s, stared him down, waiting for a crack, a flinch, anything that might reveal what was really going on. A hand twitched towards the sword still buckled at her side.

“Come now,” Maric chuffed, catching the movement. “What manners are these? Is it not enough that we are all here, whole and well, and ready to celebrate?”

“King Maric died at sea.” Alistair spoke quietly, but he had shifted his weight further behind Rosslyn, and his hand, too, had reached for his sword.

“Shipwrecked, and a long time coming back to my rightful place,” came the reply. “You know this. I don’t understand why you’re both being so stubborn.”

“Pup, it’s time for you to rest,” Bryce said, and turned to Alistair. “You know she pushes herself too hard, doesn’t give herself the credit she deserves.”

“Yes…” He shook his head. “I mean, she does – you do – but this isn’t right.”

“Howe is still out there,” she insisted. “The war isn’t over.”

“Nonsense,” Eleanor snapped. “You are safe. There is no war, and you should be proud of your role in ending it.”

But Alistair was frowning. “We were in the tower, at the Circle. The last thing I remember was… Uldred – we were fighting him to save the mages.”

A flash blinked in Rosslyn’s mind, an image of dark stone and a looming monster, shards of black energy scattering across the floor. But a fog closed around it, cutting it off like a dream. Her father once more touched her arm, his smile kindly, his eyes soft.

“That’s not your concern,” he told her. “All we want is for you to stay here, and take your rightful places as –”

“You’re not real,” Alistair interrupted. “None of this is.”

Rosslyn stepped back, out of reach, sword drawn. “My father would never say such a thing, not while there was still fighting left to be done.”

An instant passed in which it seemed her father would try cajoling again, but they stood firm, side by side, and as he looked from one to the other his face collapsed into a snarl too twisted to be human. Ambient sound dropped like the sudden cease of a storm. Behind the demon, the castle blurred and shimmered, its details and those of the other players dissolving without the need to hold onto the illusion. Only the floor beneath their feet remained steadfast, solid enough to ground her as she drew her sword.

“You couldn’t just be happy, could you?” the Not-Bryce growled at her. “I would have given you everything you wanted, let you live the dream of everything you ever hoped coming true.” It circled them. “What fools you are – you delight in struggle, and wriggling like little hooked worms instead of the hawks you might have been. Even you, Lady Falcon.”

It made to lunge, starting forward with a hiss, and its hands curled into claws, but pulled up short before it reached them, head cocked as if listening to something.

“No – no,” it muttered. “They are mine. They are mine. You won’t interfere.” It shook itself, growing sinister and stretched out even as it kept Bryce Cousland’s form. Its words echoed with a second voice beneath the one it had borrowed. “You bring this on yourselves. If you will not give me your pride, I will take your pain, and such exquisite pain it shall be.”

Two guards leapt from nothingness and grabbed for Alistair. He cried out, but before Rosslyn could reach for him the blurred world dissolved into black, swallowing him with it. She stumbled, whirled, found the demon smirking at her turmoil.

“Yes,” It sneered. “I feel your pride. Fight me, give it to me, give me strength…”

She raised her sword. “You do not get to wear my father’s face.”

--  

The doors of the harrowing chamber burst open. Almost before the first abominations could turn, arrows took them in the throat. Soldiers roared, demons squealed, and in the confusion of the clash of metal and bone, Cailan stormed through, a war cry on his lips, resplendent despite the ichor staining his golden armour. His greatsword cleaved through everything that rose in his path as he wielded grace and violence in equal parts, and in moments the ragged line that had managed to form against him collapsed. He faced the thing that had once been Uldred. Only the barest traces of humanity were left in its face, in the carapace just barely clinging to its old proportions and the grin that stretched too wide with too many teeth. Energy crackled between its claws as it turned towards him, dark tendrils that coiled down and wrapped around the two motionless figures at its feet.

“Do you worry for your friends, little king?” it boomed when it saw the direction of its gaze. “Do you think to save them? Your pride will undo you.”

Cailan laughed at it. “I’ve roasted larger game than you, piglet! Come taste my blade and die on it!”

He charged, roaring, but the headlong rush was more controlled than the demon believed. As it swiped for him he dodged, rolled, came up under its guard and neatly sliced through the soft skin behind its knee. The demon howled, crashing to the floor as its hamstring was severed. Fade being it might be, but it had trapped itself in a mortal body, in the limitations and the pain of the physical world, and its grip on that reality seemed to be weakening. Unfocused, it lashed out, catching the templar on Cailan’s left, and one of its own kind as it tried again. The king parried the blow as he ducked out of the way again, and this time – there, beneath the arm. He sprang like a cat, thrusting his entire weight behind the point of his sword, straight into the exposed inch of flesh beneath the monster’s arm. The steel pierced deep, first through muscle and bone and then into the cavity of the chest. The roar became a gurgle, then a rattle of air. Blackish blood surged over Cailan’s greaves, into his boots, making him slip as he darted out of reach of the still-flailing arms, but as he swung to face his next opponent, he found the last abomination falling to his captain’s sword.  

Across the other side of the room, one of the templars was loosening the bonds on the remaining mages, and another had taken charge of the warrior who had accompanied Rosslyn and Alistair into the tower. All around, the carnage of the battle was being settled, picked through with the grim efficiency of soldiers practiced in war. Seeing himself not needed for the time being, Cailan wiped his sword clean on his cloak and sheathed it, shucking the confines of his helmet before turning to the two figures on which the demon had been feeding. Alistair was already awake, but Rosslyn still lay sprawled upon the stone, her face exposed and pale, all but unresponsive to the sound of her name or the hand on her cheek.

Slowly, she stirred, groaned, pushed herself onto her elbows and rolled upright, pressing her fingers to her temple. Alistair’s voice came low and soothing in her ear, his arm a support around her shoulders that she leaned into him like a small creature huddling from the cold, bringing their heads so close they seemed to shut out the whole world.

“… And I killed him,” she said. “I killed him. My hands – the blood –”

“It wasn’t real.” His hand covered hers. “We were in the Fade, and it was toying with us.”

“I - Your Majesty!”

They parted like scolded children, and Cailan, like a worried parent, found his hands going to his hips.

“You both seem determined to age me prematurely,” he huffed. “Not content with a failed assassination, you decide to storm a tower full to the brim with demons! It was well done with the rest of the brutes, but it seems lucky I decided not to wait – that last one nearly had you.”

Rosslyn frowned. “We would have defeated it.”

“You’ve been missing for two days.”

“Two –?”

“I had to threaten Greagoir with exile before he would let me help.”

Alistair sat up straighter. “Did he force the Annulment?”

The king shook his head. “Luckily for you, Val Royeaux is a long way off, and your heroics managed to give first Enchanter Irving a chance to slip away and explain the situation.”

But Rosslyn was still frowning. “How were we lost for two days? It was still afternoon when… Where is Enchanter Amell – and lieutenant Cullen?”

“They’re being seen to,” came the reply. “You’ll all be weak after so long without food, hold on – you there! Fetch water and some tack from the stores.”

With Cailan’s attention diverted, Rosslyn let herself sway against Alistair once again. “Two days…”

He traced a thumb along her cheek. “We were trapped in the Fade,” he reasoned. “Maybe time is distorted there? But we survived it, and that’s what matters. The Circle is safe and now Greagoir has no reason to allow the Annulment.”

A wet chuckle interrupted them. Uldred’s body twitched, its form shrunk back to moderate size now that the demon had been slain both here and in the Fade, but the transformation had left sagging folds of flesh poking through the ruined clothes like loose sails. As they watched, he hauled himself onto his front, head lolling, his breath a harsh rattle in his throat.

“You think it so – so easy?” he babbled. Blood trickled between his lips. “You have – only delayed the inevitable.”

“I see no victory for you,” Rosslyn snapped. “Your army lies dead, and the mages and templars still live. You failed.”

The mage’s eyes rolled back in his head, his words seemingly more for himself than his audience. “Loghain will come for you – all of you. And you will not – be able to – you won’t stop him. He can’t be stopped.”

“Loghain told you to turn yourself into an abomination and go on a murderous rampage, did he?” Alistair scoffed.

Cailan returned, his eyes narrowed and his mouth set in a grim line. “He is just a man,” he said. “Even if he did orchestrate this tragedy.”

“Another one to add to the list.”

“He promised us an end!” Uldred cried. “To fear – a life free of the Chantry’s leash – and I – would have gladly served. But you don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

The chamber rang with the harshness of the mage’s laugh. “You pretend you have no fear, but it knows you – all of you, what you cry out into the night, and – you will fail.”

“What knows us?” Rosslyn demanded, struggling to her knees.

“I am not the only one to seek help in the Fade.” Sightless eyes turned on her. “His ally is more ancient and powerful than anything – you can imagine. He will use it to burn you to ash, and I –”

“I’ve heard enough of this.”

There was a bright swipe through the air, and a wet thud as Uldred’s head was separated from his body and rolled away across the floor. Cailan stood over him, sword still raised, staring down at the corpse with nothing but revulsion in his face. After a moment, he shook himself, sighed, and crossed to kneel beside Rosslyn, taking a waterskin from his belt that he pushed into her hands. She took it without a word.

“It is over,” he said. “Brother, can I trust you to watch her? I must organise the relief and get word to Knight-Commander Greagoir.”

Alistair barely spared the king a glance. He nodded, already helping Rosslyn to her feet, ignoring his own dizziness and the weakness of his legs as he led her to a chunk of fallen rubble at the edge of the room. She stared at the floor as he knelt in front of her and shed his gloves, and only reacted when he pulled hers off too and chafed his palms over her fingers to warm them up.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry it took their faces.”

She blinked, softening as she caught up to what he was saying. “That’s not what… It tricked you, too.”

“It’s not the same for me,” he replied, still with her hand in his. “It’s not like Maric and I were close.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”

He offered her a weak smile, a huff of laughter and a cautious look to see if they might be overheard. “My lady is too wise for me.”

“That cannot be,” she answered, leaning closer, “because my prince is not a fool.”

“Only a fool in love.” But he stopped short before he could kiss her.

Around them, the remaining mages helped to the lower levels by members of the royal guard, Amell was channelling a glow of healing energy into Cullen’s unconscious form, and the ichorous stain where Uldred had fallen had been scattered with sand from a bucket in the corner. Her eyes fixed on it, the levity of the past few moments falling away into a frown.

“A demon. He’s in thrall to a demon.”

Alistair followed her gaze. “If a demon’s manipulating Loghain, it explains why he’s dealing with Tevinter, maybe even why he started the war,” he reasoned.

“You don’t understand.” A muscle ticked in her jaw. She sighed to steady herself. “I… I almost gave him Highever.”

“What?”

“When I was escorting Baudrillard to the border, I drafted letters in case he betrayed us, declaring a turn of allegiance if – in case I was killed.”

His eyes went wide. “But that’s –”

“Treason. I know. I thought it would be the lesser of two evils in the face of an invasion from Orlais, but… now? A demon?” She sank her head into her arms. “I can’t believe I was so stupid.”

Gently taking her hand again, Alistair eased down next to her. Around them, the clearing of bodies continued without talk. Most of the dead were mages who had refused to yield to Uldred and his abominations, and they had been discarded for far longer than a mere two days, though with the pressure of magic in the air, the corpses had been preserved. The templars’ blank faceplates betrayed no emotion as they worked in pairs to lift each one to the lower floors, but they were focussed on the work.

“You couldn’t have known,” Alistair murmured, once the nearest templar was out of earshot. “What happened to the letters?”

“Burned. Gideon saw to it.”

He nodded, relieved. “Can you stand?”

“I may even be able to walk,” she replied, nudging against his shoulder. “Good thing too – it looks like we’re about to get our marching orders.”

Cailan appeared at the top of the stairs, his sombre mood already stuffed behind his usual joviality, his steps picking around the rubble still left on the floor.  

“They’re going to house us in the barracks, Travers here is going to show you where it is,” he told them. “I can take care of the rest for now.”  

“Did we thank you for rescuing us yet? Because we’re really grateful.”

The pair staggered to their feet, using each other for balance, their armour as much a support as a hindrance for exhausted limbs. Hunger gnawed at Alistair’s belly almost worse than the cramp in his muscles. He stretched, as far as his plate allowed, and tried to hide the purse of his lips when Cailan offered Rosslyn his arm.  

He wants to marry you, actually, he had said, with a serpent of jealousy coiling black in his gut. As if she hadn’t already woken up beside him and confessed that she loved him. He put the feeling to the back of his mind, along with the realisation that they might have discussed telling Cailan, but they hadn’t expected to meet him so soon. How would they broach the subject? What would they say? The answer could wait for morning. For now, he was content to follow, and leave the nightmare behind.

[benningtonadmissions]

True Companions!

Being at Bennington gives you the chance to meet so many incredible people and pursue academic and creative interests that fulfill you as a student and overall human! However, one of the hardest things about being here is missing the sweet little creatures we couldn’t bring into our dorms...

Every year I debate bringing my two lil’ kitties into my dorm room debating whether it’s cruel to keep them where they can’t run around and be the hunters they are. There are a couple cats on campus and as much as I love visiting them, it’s not the same as my Seuki and Reecey!

My sweet little buddies!

This is Seuki, my beautiful lady! She is the best little companion, and likes to stand on your shoulder while you do things around the house. She is definitely far less domesticated than her brother, but that’s okay cause it means she kills all the little pests around the house (a perk I sometimes wish I had in my dorm)!

Reecey is a love bug. He’ll crawl up on anyone’s lap and gets very upset if you try to move. He has a little stuffed animal he thinks is his baby and if he likes you, he’ll bring it to your feet, and that is just one of the greatest joys in life. 

This is what they do when I have to go pack to go to Bennington and I wish I could just zip up the suitcase and take the little freaks with me!

I miss my babies every day! Thank god for the on campus pets!

- Clare ‘20 (resident cat lady)

Meet Gizmo! My family fostered kittens while I was growing up, sometimes a few litters a year. Out of all of those kittens the only one that we couldn’t let go of was Gizmo, 13 years ago. He’s my emotional support animal and stays with me at my apartment at Bennington, and he’s just the best face to come home to. He likes being the little spoon, and will lay against my in bed while I rub his belly. He’s a fierce hunter, and enjoys his time outside whenever we go home. He adores his companion cat, Meg, though she’s not his biggest fan.

Meg is the queen, the empress, the sun and moon, and she knows it.  At 15 she’s slowed down quite a bit, and now enjoys a simple pampered lifestyle at home, though I believe she can still take down a rodent with ease. Her attitude is as sharp as her claws, and you can pet her, as long as it on your terms. She’s the spunkiest cat- one time I was gardening and pulling weeds and she got so upset that my hands were moving and I wasn’t petting her that she hissed and batted at me. When Gizmo was being groomed to get some burrs out of his fur he made the mistake of growling at us, and Meg showed up out of no where to hiss and lunge at him, to say, “Hey, knock it off! No growling at family!” She may seem a little vicious in description, but she was our first pet that I was old enough to form a strong social bond with, and I miss her every day.

Goose is one of the best boys in the world. We adopted Goose three years ago when he was a puppy, and he has been one of the brightest lights in my life ever since. He’s a show dog and does agility, we even have a full agility course in my backyard that my mom built, jumps, a see-saw, platforms, all the fun stuff. He’s excitable, like any Aussie, but gentle, focused, and strong, too. When I need him, all I have to do is move to the ground, tell him to go get a toy, and pat my lap, and he walks around the living room sniffing at toys and ropes until he’s found his favorite. Then he comes over and moves his paws onto my lap, laying his body across my legs and calmly focusing on his toy, occasionally looking up and licking at my face when I ask him too. He knows lots of words and commands, and every month he earns more and more ribbons! He loves his little brother Maui with all his heart, and they play and cuddle together nonstop. Walking down the street with two gorgeous dogs always kinda feels like being a celebrity, with everyone stopping you and oohing and aahing. I love you, Goose.

Ah, Maui. The baby of the family. He’s about 5 months old, and still has a lot to figure out about the world, like, how to not run into everything all the time, or, how to not fall over when trying to scratch himself. I’ve never met a dog more interested in eye contact with their human companions. Sometimes it’s hard to get a picture of him because he just wants to look at your face. He’ll come up and sit down in front of you, gently rest one paw on your lap and just stare into your eyes with so much love and adoration that you absolutely melt. He’s won a few ribbons too, thought he has a long way to go and a lot more to grow. He worships his big brother, and the latest task is teaching him to not pounce on Goose every few steps when walking them together. I can’t wait to see how his personality grows and develops as he gets older, considering he has one of the best role models imaginable.

Z ‘20

Not all of us on the Wednesday afternoon shift can have pets so we find other sweet little things to take care of!

A wonderful alternative to having a pet in your room, are plants! They require care and love just like animals and Ivett ‘18.5 knows it!

As a child, I had severe asthma and was unable to have any pets with fur. Now that I am in college there aren't any four-legged companions that I miss back at home and have thus found myself in love with my plant babies. Every Summer or Winter break that I am away from Bennington I ask friends to watch my babies. This picture was taken after this past September and my friend who was watching them apologized for the scratches on them because a community of ants made their way onto them. They have all made a full recovery and have since been replanted. I enjoy having my plant companions that add life to my surroundings in my room during the gloomier days of college.

- Ivett 18.5

We love our pets!

[australiandentalschools]

How to make the most of “Winter” break in Australia

My name is Brittani and I study at Griffith University Dental School. If you are thinking of coming to Queensland for your schooling (whenever borders open!), then allow me to convince you why you should!

Queensland is a beautiful state with a million things to see and do, one of which is the trendy beach town, Noosa. Considering the average winter temperature in Noosa is about 20–22 Celsius, I don’t know why you wouldn’t want to spend your semester break anywhere else.

So, here’s my mini road trip to this beautiful place!

Day 1: Sunshine Coast, Noosa National Park, Noosa Leaving from Brisbane at the wonderful time of 5:30 a.m. was not as fun as I anticipated it might be—but it was worth it! Not only did I get to watch the sunrise as we drove, but weeks before I set out on my mini road trip, I came across a little café that sells the most delicious looking muffins ever, located in Sunshine Coast. Naturally, I decided I had to have one—even though they open at 7 a.m., are an hour and half from Brisbane, and sell out very quickly. Hence my early wake-up time! Their muffin flavours change daily and I was praying that the day I went, it would be a delicious flavor. I was not disappointed. Behold, the beauty of my butterscotch brownie raspberry muffin from The Velo Project Café.

After this delicious pitstop, I headed north up to Noosa Heads. First stop: Noosa National Park! This is a must-do for anyone visiting Noosa. The scenic nature walk has breathtaking views of glittering ocean, white sand beaches, and beautiful rock formations. A few kilometers in, you can stop by the famous Noosa fairy pools! These are small pools located in the rock formations that have become very popular for their picturesque waters. Between the fairy pools, beaches, and nature hiking paths, you can spend the entire day at Noosa National Park and feel like you didn’t see it all. 10/10 would recommend.

Once the sun goes down, it gets dark very quickly. This is the perfect time to have dinner on Hastings Street, Noosa’s main drag! Filled with tons of restaurants and cafes, clothing boutiques, gelaterias, and hotels, this street is always full of life. All the trees are lit up at nighttime as well, making it a beautiful evening activity!

Day 2: Whales, Laguna Lookout I had pre-booked an excursion for this day: Swimming with humpback whales! I can’t believe that’s even a thing, but it is! Unfortunately, I didn’t get to swim with the whales due to various circumstances (like the whales displaying aggressive behaviour that day), but I did get to see some beautiful humpbacks breaching off the coast of Mooloolaba (about a 30-minute drive from Noosa) and it was an unforgettable experience. Also, unfortunately, I did not manage to get any photos of these giant whales because I apparently am not fast enough with my camera… but I highly recommend this trip for anyone wanting a bit of an adventure!

After a long day of driving and seafaring, I thought it would be nice to wind down by watching the sunset. A popular place to do this is Laguna Lookout. You lookout over the waters of Noosa to see the sun set behind the mountains in the background. It was beautiful!

Day 3: Noosa Botanical Gardens, Beaches, Tinbeerwah I love picnics, so of course I had to find a good picnic spot to attend while in Noosa. I came across the Noosa Botanical Gardens located on Lake Macdonald, complete with a Greek-style amphitheater that looked like the perfect place for a picnic. And it was! I went in the morning around 9 a.m. and the sun was glistening off the lake. The amphitheater was empty and all you could hear was the birds chirping. I enjoyed my croissants and jam by the lake, and I don’t think life gets much better than that!

After that, the sun was starting to warm up, so I thought the obvious choice was to go to the beach. There are many beaches to choose from including Noosa Main Beach, Tea Tree Bay, and Alexandria Bay. If you want a beach close by with lots of amenities and restaurants, Noosa Main Beach is your best bet (although it can get a bit busy). Tea Tree Bay is quieter and more secluded, but even more beautiful in my opinion than Noosa Main Beach. You do have to do a short hike into the national park to get there though, but it is free! Alexandria Bay is much further to walk to than Tea Tree Bay, but it has very calm waters and is also beautiful. There really isn’t a bad beach you can go to in Noosa! The only thing that could have made the beaches better here is a nice cold Iced Capp from Tim Hortons.

Due to the previous night’s beautiful sunset, I wanted to see another. I had overheard some locals talking about Tinbeerwah lookout as being the place to go to watch it, so that’s where I headed! A little further off the main drag than Laguna Lookout, Tinbeerwah lookout is situated atop a mountain in Noosa which means a short hike is included in your sunset viewing! But the view is worth it. You get a complete 360-degree view of Noosa and its surrounding land and you can watch the sunset uninterrupted by any trees or hills.

So that pretty much sums up my trip! There were other things I wanted to do in Noosa such as strawberry picking and the Eumundi markets, but unfortunately due to COVID-19, these attractions were still closed.

That really just means I have to go back! If this hasn’t convinced you to come to Queensland I really am not sure what will… but, enjoy the summer while it lasts in Canada!

Follow Brittani on Instagram!

Studying at Griffith Dental School

Griffith Dental School has state-of-the-art, special-purpose dental facilities and modern laboratories, including a commercial dental lab in a new $150-million purpose-built Griffith Health Centre.

As a Griffith dentistry student, you’ll have the opportunity to undertake community placements in state schools, rural and remote communities and in Indigenous and aged care. Completing Griffith’s Bachelor of Dental Health Science and the two-year Master of Dentistry program provides the education and skills you need to apply for registration as a dentist!

Program: Bachelor of Dental Health Science/Master of Dentistry Location: Gold Coast, Queensland Duration: 3 years & 2 years

Entry Requirements for the Griffith University Dentistry Program

Entry into Griffith Dental School’s Bachelor of Dental Health Science (and Master of Dentistry) program is directly from high school. Students may also apply to the program during or at the completion of their undergraduate degree.

1. From high school

Average of 94+% from top Grade 12 subjects required. Grade 12 (or equivalent) English is required. Biological science, chemistry, physics, and maths B are strongly recommended as they are considered assumed knowledge.

2. From university

Cumulative GPA of 3.0+ / 4.0 (or equivalent).The DAT (Dental Aptitude Test) is not required when applying to the Griffith Bachelor of Dental Health Science / Master of Dentistry.

[orionwhispers]

Devil Like Me (Part IV)

(A/N So sorry for the wait guys, but this is the longest chapter I’ve done so far so I hope you enjoy. Any feedback is appreciated!)

Then

You didn't see him again for weeks, despite the niggling feeling telling you it was a bad idea; you began peering out of your window every night trying to catch a glimpse of the man in the shadows. That didn't mean you didn't feel his presence though, walking around town you could feel eyes on the back of your neck and driving late at night you swore you saw shadows in the dark, but every time you looked you were completely alone. You knew it was wrong, he was a monster, a demon. But part of you, deep down, wanted to see him again.

By now, the leaves that once clung to the trees in burning reds and yellows had faded and come tumbling to the ground in the winter wind. It was approaching the annual "Christmas Ball" an event held every year at the city hall intended to bring everyone together to turn on the lights strewn all over town. Cynthia, the Mayor's wife, was adamant in making the night extravagant, ensuring everyone was dressed to the nines and forcing the high school students to undergo ballroom lessons. It was a stupid tradition, but fun nonetheless, and a chance for the students to dress up and act like adults.

"What do you mean you're not going?" Aunt Jean screeched as you poured two cups of coffee. You hastily rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, it was far too early for this.

"I'm not really in the mood, besides I would rather spend time with you."

"It's that crap the doctor said isn't it?" Aunt Jean asked pulling an unimpressed face "Don't listen to him, I'm fine, I can take care of myself! You go have fun. I'm in the best condition of my life."

You rolled your eyes watching her shaking hands attempt to bring the cup to her mouth, the caramel coloured liquid spilling over the sides.

"You've been through a lot sweetheart," She began, slowly reaching over and intertwining her trembling fingers with yours, "You deserve a night off. Besides, what about that gorgeous dress you bought? You'll be the prettiest girl there."

You smiled and gave her a small kiss on the cheek, "Thanks, Auntie, I'll think about it." You sighed swinging your rucksack over your shoulder "I'm gonna be late for school, don't forget your meds!"

She grumbled and waved you off as you shut the door, converse pattering against the icy pavement, smiling to yourself, thankful you were finally distracted. Maybe a night out could be fun?

"Hold still!" Jasmine demanded as she grabbed the side of your head, jerking it to the side whilst wrapping a coil of hair around the silver curlers.

"I'm trying!" You protested, "But you're being so violent!"

"Pain is beauty," The redhead murmured, face etched in concentration as if she was painting a masterpiece rather than trying to tame your messy locks. "I'm almost done anyway, don't get your panties in a twist."

You chuckled, taking the moment to glance around your best friends bedroom. Memories of countless sleepovers curled in her pink bed, both of you staying up till sunrise, gorging on pizza and gossiping. It was like a museum of you both, photographs of you in middle school, hair in pigtails and mouth stuffed with braces. Posters of boy bands and TV shows you had both outgrown taped on the wall that held too much sentimental value to toss. She had persuaded you to come over that night, promising an evening of pampering and fun before the dance. And whilst you were reluctant at first, you were so grateful for your best friend and her attempts to make you feel better.

'And I'm done! I don't mean to brag but wow, I truly am an artist."

You scoffed, but hugged her anyway as she pushed you away squealing "Careful don't mess it up!" You glanced in the mirror, running your hands through the tousled waves and smiling at the reflection, it was nice to not have your hair strewn in a lifeless ponytail as it had been recently.

"Thanks, Jas." you grinned as she started working on her own updo, tangling her already gorgeous curls into an elegant bun.

"Dress is hanging up in the closet." she gurgled, mouth full of bobby pins. You giggled as you walked over, opening the pine doors and pulling out the dress you had spent way too much money on. It was long and champagne coloured, covered in gold sequins on the bodice before spiralling out into a full skirt.

You had originally spotted it in a vintage shop in the next town over when you were visiting. But the price tag was hefty and whilst the dress was beautiful your stomach twitched with embarrassment about wearing something so extravagant. But once Jasmine had spotted you pining for it she didn't stop pestering you until you finally gave in, trying it on and falling in love.  All those weekends you had spent babysitting the kids on your street rather than going out seemed worth it as you fondled the material in your fingers.

You slipped it on your underwear-clad frame and smoothed it down, before turning to your friend and striking a faux model pose. She gasped exaggeratedly clutching her heart in mock awe, "You look amazing," she squealed. 'So do you!" you enthused, heart swelling with love and pride for your beautiful best friend, gesturing to her ruched deep black cocktail dress. Although you were sure your elderly and rather conservative french teacher Mr Powell would have a heart attack once he saw the length of her skirt.

"Let's take a photo." She mused grabbing her phone from her bedside table and pulling you into her side, both of you smiling animatedly at the camera. You rested your head on hers and shot a toothy grin as the camera flashed, happiness warming your stomach and radiating through your skin. Nothing could ruin this night.

You raised the champagne flute to your red lips, smiling as you tasted the sparkling white grape juice that hit your tongue; a touch from the adults not wanting to allow the teens alcohol. Your back was pressed against the wall, observing your peers and fellow neighbours enjoying themselves. Cynthia had outdone herself this year, the hall was decorated beautifully, a traditional festive red and green theme all centred around an impressively large Christmas tree. You spotted Jasmine out of the corner of your eye, waving to you gleefully as an older boy wrapped his arm around her petite waist and spun her around the dance floor.

"Didn't think you'd come." You whirled around recognising the voice of a boy from your year, slightly older than you with a knack for getting in trouble.

"Oh, hi James," You said with a smile, distractedly clicking your nails, "Couldn't miss out, could I? The biggest night in town history" You mimicked Cynthia's sophisticated voice.

He scoffed and turned away, "Aren't you embarrassed?"

You gave him a questioning look, eyebrows furrowed as he rolled his eyes and he spoke slowly as if talking to a child.

"At the party? When you made that whole scene?"

"Scene?" You asked turning to face him, scouring his features for any traces of humour "I hardly think what happened was a scene."

"Really?" He took a confident swig of his drink, which you could tell had been spiked with some kind of alcohol. "You ruined the whole night, everyone was pissed."

You stood up straight, feeling your face growing hot with anger, "I found her, she was dead. You can't imagine the pain she must have gone through, would you have rather I left her?"

"I didn't say that," he began lowering his voice as a few faces had turned to you both now. "But c'mon, you acted like she had been mauled by a bear, she had a bad trip and died. Thanks to you the police came and raided everyone and now the guys and I are doing community service because they found some MDMA."

You glared at him, fuming at his utter lack of respect for the girl he once knew. She should be here enjoying the festivities but instead, she was laying in a coffin. Could he really be that selfish?

"You're vile." You spat staring at his relaxed frame leaning against the wall "Absolutely pathetic. I'm sorry that you and your ignorant friends got in trouble but I couldn't give less of a shit. Sarah died that night, in pain, and you wanted me to just leave her by herself? You disgust me."

His hands clutched your bare shoulders and he thrust you into the wall, slimy mouth inches from your face and you recoiled in horror. "Think carefully about what you say to me." He hissed, lips against your ear. Your eyes darted around the room wondering if anyone could see what was happening, but the party was still in full swing.

"Get off me." You snarled managing to shove him away, taking a second to regain your composure before you stumbled away from him heading towards the double doors leading to the garden. Your heart was in your chest as you leant on a large fountain, the distant thump of the party echoing in your ears as you turned back watching the lights flicker. You ran a hand through your hair, blinking back tears and you sank to the floor, breathing shaky and rapid.

A sound in the distance made your head snap up, you couldn't see anything but you knew it must have been him. You shakily got to your feet, trying to be silent as you smoothed out your dress with your hands and edged closer towards the back of the garden, where the trees had covered the patches of light leaving it in utter darkness.

You saw something. A shadow or silhouette or whatever it was, you were determined to not let him get away, not this time.

Heels crunching on the frost covered ground you marched forward, the cold was prickling your skin and leaving goosebumps down your arms but you didn't care. You needed to see him again, in the flesh. Your head was thumping in perfect rhythm with your steps, the bottom of your dress trailing across the muddy grass. You came closer, heart pumping in your ears as you saw the outline of his figure against the trees, adrenaline coursing through you making you appear more confident than you really were.

"Hey! Hey you!" Before you could stop them the words came tumbling out of your mouth, crashing into the dark silence. You so badly wanted to turn around but you stood your ground, waiting in dread as he stepped out of the shadows. The moon reflected off his face and you could see all of his features, there was no denying that he was beautiful, unlike anyone you had ever seen before, making your breath hitch in your throat despite you trying desperately to gulp it down. He gave you a smirk as he stepped forward, blue-green eyes trained on you cautiously watching your next move.

"I'm not scared of you, you know." You spit, gritting your teeth to stop your trembling voice from betraying you.

"I don't doubt that love." His thick voice laced with a British accent catches you off guard. He steps forward, blonde curls glowing gold in the moonlight, flushed lips almost grazing your face.

"Sorry about your friend."

You want to smack him, but fear is keeping you rooted to the spot. "You need to stay away from here." You plead not caring how weak you sound "I won't tell anyone what I saw, I promise." He glances at you, eyes flickering across your face as he reached towards you, grasping a loose curl between his fingers.

"I would leave, but I'm rather intrigued by this town, or rather, the people living in it." He murmurs eyes meeting yours, "You act like a mouse but I know you're not, I saw you waiting for me every night yet you pretend like you don't want to see me."

"You're a monster."

"Ah, like you wouldn't believe Darling."

You steady yourself, clenching your teeth together trying not to tremble at the contact of his hands against your skin.

"What are you?"

He ignores your question trailing a finger down the side of your jaw,  "The world is full of darkness, I'd hate to see it corrupt someone so light. But something tells me you wouldn't mind having your mind tainted...hm?"  

A sudden sting of strength comes over you as you smack his hands away, glaring him down despite the height difference between you both.

"You don't know anything about me."

He shrugs, not fazed by anything you do like he's always one step ahead. "With time." You watch as he confidently strides across the night, beginning to get enveloped by the black. Before he turns, staring you down. "You should be more careful Love," He states gesturing to the darkness you are both surrounded by, "You never know what lurks around in the night."  

Now

The tension in the air was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. You saw his jaw tighten and twitch, immediately drawing his eyes away from yours like he couldn't bear to look at you.

"Take her back upstairs."

"Niklaus-" You heard Elijah begin, stepping forward to consult his brother, but Klaus just waved him away.

"Enough. I have things to take care of," He glares at the man you recognise from this morning, the one who gave you the cereal. "Do try and make sure she stays locked up this time Sebastian."

Sebastian glances at you, offering a gentle smile as he attempts to take hold of your wrist but you shrug it off lurching towards Klaus.

"So that's it huh? You're just gonna keep me locked up. Is that my punishment?"

He continues walking, not once looking back, unfazed by your words and actions and you can't help the sting in your chest. Sebastian takes his time now, holding your wrist tenderly and guiding you out of the room despite your protests.

As soon as you are in the room, you flop on the bed. Biting your lip until its raw, not allowing the tears to flow. You won't let him win, not like this. And if he won't talk, you'll just have to make him listen.

[adhdoxford]

Your Visit to Newfoundland - Planned by A Newfoundlander

@comefromawayy So some of ye may be thinking about flying to the rock after seeing Come From Away. Which is amazing and we’d love to have you. Here are some tips in case you do decide to visit:

1. Itinerary - Depending on what kind of trip you’re looking for, there are a number of ways you can visit:

      a. Fly to St. John’s then drive around the island - I would recommend this route as St. John’s is the biggest “city” on the island and there is a lot to see and do here. (More on that later) Plus, your flight is much more likely to get in if the weather is crappy (and it always is.) You can rent a car at the airport and drive around the island though do take into consideration how big the place is. If you wanted to drive to, say, Gander, it would take you upwards of three hours on the Trans-Canada highway. There is a bus line that takes you across the island so if you want to take that route find out more here.

      b. Take the ferry - If you live on the East Coast, you can drive up to North Sydney, Nova Scotia and take the ferry to Channel Port-Aux-Basques and then drive to either St. John’s or wherever it is you want to go from there. We’ve done the road trip from Portland, ME to St. John’s and it takes about 36 hours door to door. More info here. That bus goes from Port-Aux-Basques to St. John’s so here’s the link again. 

      c. I think there are a few flights directly to Gander or Deer Lake but more on that later...

2. Visit during the summer - Summer in Newfoundland is stunning. Icebergs are in the harbour throughout May until July, the East Coast Trail and Gros Morne are ready for hiking, and there’s a ton of festivals as well as special tours during the summer. But for the love of Christ, don’t try and fly to Newfoundland during the winter months. And for the record, the winter months include the beginning of November until the middle of May. Visiting during the winter is a terrible idea because your flight will almost certainly be delayed or cancelled but even when you make it here, you won’t be able to do a friggin’ thing due to weather.

3. Dress for the weather - “It’s never nice above” - yeah they weren’t making that up. I guarantee you that the weather will get cold while you’re here so make sure you pack fleeces, wool sweaters, windbreakers, hats, mitts or just anything that you need to stay warm. That being said, if you’re planning on just hanging out in St. John’s area in the summer time, there’s really no need to break out the Canada Goose Jacket. The wind is also friggin’ insane so forget about bringing umbrellas.

4. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT visit Labrador - Labrador is simply not a place you can visit. Yes, there is an airport. Yes, there is some civilization and a severely unappreciated First Nations culture. Yes, there is miles and miles of untouched nature. But no, you do not want to be there. Unless you want an extreme nature adventure, I’d keep your visit to the island. 

5. The outport communities are definitely a place to visit but if you only want to see a few here are some suggestions:

a. Trinity/Port Rexton - Fischer’s Loft is a lovely (if a bit pricey) place to stay and it has some seriously incredible food grown right in the garden. There’s also Two Whales Café and Aunt Sarah’s Chocolate which are must visits. My high-school chemistry teacher gives walking tours of Trinity and he’s probably the most adorable and quintessentially Newfoundland person you’ll ever meet. Also, Skerwink trail was rated the best hiking trail in Canada and its fairly light if you’re not used to hiking. 

b. St. Pierre et Miquelon - Pardon my French but this place is fucking wild. So Newfoundland has this crazy long history of being a battle ground between the French and the British. St. Pierre et Miquelon switched hands multiple times but in 1816, it stopped switching and returned to France. Like, as a proper French colony which it still is today! They still use the Euro and speak Parisian French. They even voted in the recent French election. 

c. Gros-Morne doesn’t even need explanation.  Hikers/Kayakers, take note. 

6. Here’s the thing about Gander...it’s not much. You can visit Gander, the people are indeed lovely, and I believe they’re offering a bus tour of the different towns to which planes were diverted during 9/11. However, Gander is a small town. It’s definitely a place you can and should visit but not for as long as the “plane people.” The show did not lie about how little there is to do in Gander and how “on the edge” you will be. 

7. VISIT ST. JOHN’S- It’s the biggest “city” on the island, it’s gorgeous (see Jelly Bean Row houses) and there is just so much wicked stuff you can do that I’ve compiled an itemized list: 

St. John’s History and Nature - We’re the oldest city in North America (I think) so there’s a buttload of awesome history based mostly around cod fish. 

Whale Watching (Dress warm and bring a camera.) 

Stan Cook Sea Kayaking (We do this at the end of every semester. Such a good time) 

The Rooms (Great food in the café. Kids and seniors are free, student discount is $6.50, adults are $10. Most beautiful museum in Atlantic Canada. I volunteer there and you can literally just walk up to one of us and have a gab about CFA) 

Signal Hill/Cabot Tower (There’s cannons and a chocolate store at the top) 

East Coast Trail Hiking 

Johnson Geo Centre (This place is good if you have young kids, like geology/oil, or have an interest in the Titanic which sunk just offshore) 

The Basilica of St. John the Baptist (If you’re an architecture nerd, you’ll love this place. Gothic on the outside, Baroque-Classical on the inside) 

St. John’s Food - For some reason, we’re really good at food. 

Raymonds ($$$) - Canada’s No. 1 Restaurant for a few years now. Not even kidding. Traditional Newfoundland food combined with haute cuisine. 

Merchant Tavern ($$) - Affordable version of Raymond’s. Try the poutine. (See adorable Chef Jeremy Charles) 

Bacalao ($$) - Traditional Newfoundland food. Fast service. 

Fixed Coffee ($$) - If you like a strong brew, this is your place.

Piatto Pizza ($$) - Neapolitan Pizza. We met a couple from New York City in this restaurant and they told us it was the best pizza they had ever tasted. It’s hard to get a table and they don’t take reservations so come early. 

Rocket Bakery ($) - Good vegan food, good coffee, GREAT chicken burritos. Nice owners. If you meet Kelly or Mark, tell them Claire sent you!

Formosa Tea House - ($) Not even remotely close to Newfoundland style anything but they’re cheap, friendly, and delicious. 

Afghan Restaurant - ($) Again, not Newfoundland and it looks like a hole in the wall kind of place but trust me its fantastic. 

NOTE: - If you’re 19 and you feel like drinking in St. John’s, George Street has you covered but please be careful!

- If you want some decent food along with your booze, Loose Tie is a great place. This missus named Lor owns the place and bartends on Fridays and she’s best kind. Tell her Claire sent you! 

-The number for cabs is (709) 722-2222.

- Our public transit sucks but here’s the website

St. John’s Culture -

There’s always a million arts festival on so that’s all that’s left for you to find but I have one recommendation that you really can’t miss: 

SPIRIT OF NEWFOUNDLAND DINNER AND SHOW  - You know the whole “Screech In” part of Come From Away? That’s done there! You can get screeched in (if you’re 19) and they get you to kiss the cod as well. These guys are the whole Come From Away package. They’ll do “Heave Away,” bring you food, and will really make it feel like you’re a part of the show. 

Anyways that’s most of it! If there’s any other Newfoundlanders who want to add anything giv’er.

 Best of luck b’ys!

[nemesis-nexus]

Darkest Greetings and Salutations my Family how is everyone? I am doing well, it’s the first day of Autumn yet it’s in the upper 80’s with crazy humidity, go figure! It’s supposed to be like this for a couple more days and then Autumn (should) start to wander across the threshold! I hope everyone is enjoying their Mabon/Autumn Equinox, I am about to go take a walk in the early night Air myself but before I do, I will leave this here. Fair warning, this one is about 8 pages long so be pace yourselves!

Mabon/Autumn Equinox 2019

Not only is today the beginning of Autumn, it is a day to take some time to reflect on all the things that we have been blessed with this year; from the new friends we've made to the old friendships we've maintained, new jobs to new members of the Family!

There is so much going on in the world that we need to be thankful for the things that we have no matter how minor we may think they are; remember what is minor to us could be quite a big deal to another! Things such as clean water which we take for granted - turn on the faucet and there it is - is a major deal for those who don't have that luxury! Food to eat is another huge deal for those who are not privileged to have access to their own! A roof over our heads doesn't seem like it yields a whole lot to be grateful for until you meet someone who doesn't have even THAT much!

This Mabon while you are giving thanks for all these things, don't forget that there are others who don't have much and not for lack of want or trying but because they have simply fallen on hard times! Take a moment to take stock of your own life and realize how good you really have it even if you are going through tough times yourself! There are many things we can do to help out, donating to a charity in good standing, volunteering in a soup kitchen, handing out supplies to those who are living on the streets to help them get through the harsh Winter months are a few examples!

When you are gathering supplies for your Mabon feast consider picking up a few items to donate to your local food bank and donate some items that you no longer use such as: clothing, blankets, toys and books to your local shelter where they will be put to good use once again by those who need them! Remember that NOT all those who fall on hard times or are taking up residence in a shelter are adults and they too need a helping hand! Compassion for our fellow humans and the natural world should always be the norm, NEVER the exception and it should not require a holiday for it to take place, everyday someone out there is struggling to get by and while things may not be easy for us, we have it better than some!

On Mabon we light the Fires and we take some of what we acquired from the Harvest and we share with our own families and friends, we express our gratitude for all we have and we look to the future to see what we need to do to keep things moving forward! With all that is happening it is important that we do our part to improve our communities - keeping in mind that we live here too - so whatever we can do whether it's joining the school board, coaching a team, running for office or taking part in a protest - ALL of these things can help bring to the forefront the issues that are currently plaguing this country so that they can be addressed and resolved instead of left to fester and become even worse as time goes on!

Also while you are enjoying the company and festivities, take a moment to acknowledge all those who are not able to do the same because they are on active duty Stateside and around the world and give thanks for their service as they are the frontline of our defense no matter where they are stationed! It’s not easy for anyone to be away from their family especially during the holidays but they chose to shoulder this burden not for their benefit, but for OURS! RESPECT! I mentioned donating to food banks and homeless shelters, what is REALLY needed for our homeless Vets is access to psychiatric care ESPECIALLY those who are dealing with very real and very debilitating issues such as PTSD, depression, rage and suicide! Our Vets need to be taken care of by getting the medical attention they need and being given employment so they can bring in a paycheck and afford to buy basic essentials - it is the VERY least we can do for them for everything they were willing to sacrifice for the rest of us!

More than anything we should express our gratitude for everything we have that Nature provides from the Air in our lungs, to the Earth under our feet, to the Water of Life to the Fire that warms us and the planet itself because without these things we as a species would cease to exist - as would the rest of the natural world - which is why we need to start taking better care of our ecosystem!

Now is the time when the world begins to prepare itself for the Season of Death, when the leaves begin to change color and fall to the ground and the trees go into a state of suspended animation; when bears go into hibernation and the birds fly south; when the squirrels begin to gather nuts; when all those who live off the land Harvest their crops and hunt their meat to store it for the long Winter ahead! Mother Earth provides everyone, human and animal alike, everything they need to survive in any climate which is why we need to remember ourselves and treat her with the respect she deserves instead of taking for granted everything that is readily available! The more we waste things, the more we pollute things, the less there will be for future generations and what we do have will be completely useless because it'll be so toxic that consuming it or being anywhere near it would be deadly!

This Mabon I would like to wish everyone in my Family both Blood and Spiritual as well as their families, to my friends and their friends a very blessed holiday! May your tables never be barren, your cups never be empty! May you know prosperity as well as generosity! May your health always be on the uptick, may anything that is a source of stress be resolved! May your loved ones know peace and tranquility and may they never go without!

I would like to thank everyone for being a part of my life especially those of you who were around between 2012 - 2015 and are still here, your loyalty means more than you know because it reminds me that there are still people out there that won't just cut and run when times get tough! There have been those who I thought were loyal who turned out to be acting as double agents which I find to be pointless especially if the ones they keep running back to are only manipulating them and casting them aside when they are no longer useful until the next time they are, but better to know who the weeds in my Garden are so that they can be pulled rather than live in denial because I don’t want to accept that those I called Brother or Sister not only betrayed me but also tried their damndest to damage my reputation from behind closed doors because they for whatever reason thought I wouldn’t find out! I’m not worried, let’s just say that Karma has a way of sorting these things out…

I would like to thank all the members of the Temple of the Eternal Dragon, the Temple of the Ancient Dragon, the House of the Warrior Phenex and the Ancient Church of God, your presence is appreciated as without you neither my Temple nor House nor the ACoG would exist! While there have been some rough patches we have shown by example that so long as we stand together that nothing and no one can drive us apart! Loyalty in the face of adversity demonstrates the true strength of ANY bond whether it’s between two people, a group of people or an organization of any kind. This holds true especially if the group of people is all striving for a common goal in a sea of drama that constantly threatens to wash over anyone who isn’t paying attention!

The fact is that not everyone who smiles at us is our friend and a listening ear/reading eye can and oftentimes is also a running mouth especially when it comes to those who can’t hold a candle to you and yours and are so vindictively hateful that they will make up any story and tell anyone willing to listen in an effort to ruin your reputation and stop anyone else from having anything to do with you! We never need to concern ourselves with those who believe whatever they are told without question, however, if one (or more) of those people is in OUR House then it must be addressed and dealt with quickly lest this person become a liability by dispensing information revealed in private meetings or sharing personal information of other members with those outside the group! It’s a hard thing to accept to be sure but it makes ALL those who would never consider such actions shine that much brighter!

Most of all I would like to thank the Ancient Family who years ago reached out to me and never left my side even when I became an atheist in my teens and then back in December 2012 - go figure - reached out to me yet again when I began Walking the Gates of the Simon Necronomicon and showed themselves to me in various ways! We all start somewhere and even though the Necronomicon was overall a work of fiction, there are MANY seeds of truth sewn all throughout the pages! What I have learned since then is that no matter how lost we may get on our Path that the Ancient Family will always shine their Light to help us find our way, all we have to do is trust in ourselves and our Faith in them and let the Path reveal itself to us!

While there are always those who will read the stories and use that knowledge to present themselves as being superior, we know that no one who holds any real wisdom or power would use it to keep the rest of the people oppressed! We know this because for the last 2018 years those same stories were stolen and hidden away, their contents deliberately mistranslated and oftentimes outright misrepresented because those who chose the low road knew they were nothing special which is why they had to use violence and genocide to force their agenda on the rest of the people! Many of these people are the lowly decedents of Abraham, a reprehensible human being who embodies and represents the very worst of human nature! Through his thievery and deception he sought to make a name for himself by stealing and rewriting the stories of Sumer and other Cultures, casting down the ‘Pagan’ Gods until people were too afraid to remember them! I have news for that wretch and ALL his followers who demonstrate the same level of hatred and malfeasance towards the rest of us - YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED!

One of the things that enrages me about Abraham is the absolute DEMAND of SUBSERVIENCE towards women, in the Ancient World it was NOT like this! In fact in Ancient Sumer men and women spoke two separate languages and the men ONLY learned the language of the women - the keepers of all things Spiritual, whose wisdom and assistance was sought out by everyone including soldiers and politicians - if the women deemed them worthy enough to be granted such an honor! I absolutely exalt NINHURSAG on the HIGHEST of THRONES and thank her and the rest of the Grand Council PROFUSELY for making me the way I am no matter how difficult and isolating it has made my Path at times because at the end of the day I can honestly say that I would never harm a child and I would be the first in line to take down any person or institution that would! I will NEVER tell people they need to hate anyone for something as trite as sexual identity or preference, same sex marriage has been legal in many places for a while now and I don’t recall the world coming to an end because of it, go figure!

The fact is all one has to do is look at the track record of ALL THREE of the Abrahamic Religions and then at the track record of legitimately practicing Satanists and you will see where the true “evil” is not only cradled but nurtured and unleashed! Then go back even further to the Ancient World and realize that for all their theft, lies and violence that the ONLY hold they have over anyone is PSYCHOlogical! Once a person realizes the truth about what REALLY happened and HOW things came to be as they are, they no longer feel obligated to feed that delusion! The second they stop feeding the delusion and they claim their independence of such debauchery is the second they are no longer a slave to Abraham and they are able to find the Path back to the REAL Mother and Father and the rest of the Family!

This Mabon I give thanks to the Ancient Family who lets me know that I am NO ONE’S SLAVE! That being said I would like to share on this Mabon/Autumnal Equinox all that for which I am grateful:

1) First and foremost I am grateful to the Ancient Family for helping me to find my Path, I admit it took a while to figure it out and there were many obstacles I had to overcome, but at the end of the day I understand why it was necessary.

It needed to happen this way so that not only would I have an actual appreciation for everything I gained through my personal trials, including wisdom and insight, but so that I would see the world with eyes unclouded, meaning that I would accept the truth no matter how much it might hurt. Part of this is accepting any situation – especially personal situations – for what they are and to not deny it out of a misguided sense of loyalty or duty to anything or anyone. One of the harshest lessons that lead to being able to do this was seeing people for who they are and to stop helping those who don’t deserve it! Unfortunately this can apply to family as much as friends and co-workers. One thing a person needs to keep in mind is that there is a huge difference between trying to help someone who is being resistant because they might have issues in their past that makes it hard for them to trust anyone and someone who takes both you and EVERTHING you do for them for granted!

The first may be dismissive because they aren't used to ANYONE giving a damn, the second has become so accustomed to others doing things FOR them that they don't bother doing anything for themselves or they continuously ask you for favors and get mad if you say no! There are those that will never accept your help no matter how sincere you are and then there are those that will not only accept your help but will milk it for all they can until such time as you cut them off, in both cases you have to let them go and move on!

2) I am grateful for my Family both Blood and Spiritual.

There are two forms of Family, our Blood Family whom we are connected to through biology and our Spiritual Family with whom we share a common Path and Belief. We may not always agree with our either one on everything especially religion, but we will go through the fire for them! Our Spiritual Family are the ones who offer us the kind of support that repairs most past damage that has been inflicted by those we have met all along the road called life and as such we in turn are able to help others through their difficult times. I am grateful for both because I know who I am and where I came from due to my Blood and Spirit; that is a privilege that many people are denied! I am grateful for my Spiritual Family because not only do we share a common bond through our beliefs but we also stand together regardless of where we come from or where we are going!

3) I am grateful for my Friends online and offline.

There are people that we meet in life who stay with us no matter what happens and these people may be physically present or they may be communicated with via the internet. While we may be able to hang out with our offline friends, go to the movies, have private conversations that can’t be hacked and go through the motions of life, our online friends are also a source of support especially in a social media forum where it can get so bad that it’s literally a free for all where it’s no holds barred. Online friends are also in many cases the only people that some have to talk to either because a person is deathly shy or because they need to talk to someone about something they feel they can’t speak to anyone in their immediate area about out of fear something may be overheard or that they might be betrayed by that person.

In essence online friends are something of a safe harbor because when we are in dire straits and there is no one else around to talk to, we can go online and talk to them. We must ALWAYS however be very careful who we trust because online friends CAN be a double edge sword, because unlike offline friends we can never be certain who we are talking to at first, however as time goes on and we become more and more familiar we can usually tell who is legit and who isn’t. Sad to say but people we know offline can be even shadier than those we meet online. It’s all a matter of paying attention and never taking anything at face value.

I am grateful to my offline friends because I have people I am able to physically be with and confide in and I am grateful to my online friends because no matter where I am (for example on a train for 24+ hours) I always have people to talk to! I am MOST grateful for those who start out as online friends and eventually become offline friends and in some cases Spiritual Family! Nobody crosses our paths for no reason, they are either there to become someone of importance to us personally or they are there to be a lesson to remind us that not everyone who enters our lives should be trusted and as such are not meant to stay.

4) I am grateful for my Temple as well as each and every member in it.

When I formed the Temple of the Eternal Dragon, it came on the heels of a VERY stressful time where I had to make a choice; either continue to be used by an ungrateful man child who felt he was entitled to have other people do his work for him while he took the credit and simultaneously disrespected me behind closed doors every chance he got, or lead by example and show the congregation that I had told many times to never be afraid to walk away from a bad situation and an equally toxic person.

I chose the latter and when I did that bad situation got even worse because not only was I accused of ruining the church while I was still running it, after I left I was accused of being a member of a terrorist group that exploited children and people were told to not trust me. There was so much more vitriolic and hateful things said but you get the idea. When I formed the TotED I vowed to not bring the drama into it and to also NEVER “recruit” members or otherwise bribe people into joining by offering automatic ordainments just for joining. In my opinion ANY rank or titled NOT EARNED is not only superficial, it is completely meaningless!

Ordainments should ONLY be offered if a person has demonstrated knowledge of the Path itself, the ability to think for themselves and not be lead by the nose and also has been a member of the Path long enough to prove their loyalty and that they are NOT just getting ordained because they can! There are too many people who claim all sorts of ranks and titles yet they have NO background in the Path and they don’t know anything other than what was dictated to them AFTER they joined the organization!

Mind you we all start somewhere and there is nothing wrong with learning about the Path after you join an organization, the problem is when the ONLY knowledge you possess is what is dictated to you and you demonstrate absolutely NO desire to learn anything else. This is dangerous because ALL cult leaders rely on their members to rely SOLELY on what they are told and to NEVER look things up for themselves. This shows a clear lack of personal application and NO ONE who lacks the desire to take part in their education or Spiritual awareness should ever be ordained because they have no more to offer someone else than the one who dictated copy and paste garbage had to offer them. In fact a person in that position stands to be more of a hindrance to someone else’s Spiritual growth and personal evolution than anything else. Not only this, but a person who cannot think for themselves or do their own research is someone who stands to MISREPRESENT the Deities rather than uphold his/her honor! This is an insult to the Deities primarily but also to the individual themselves as it insinuates that they are unable to stand on their own without the man behind the curtain feeding them their lines!

Enki, Ninhursag and Ningizheda created us to be able to stand together or alone, whichever the situation calls for, neither they nor the rest of the Ancient Family intended for us to ever become so dependent on another human - or THEM for that matter - that we are unable to function without them or to ever be so easily won over with empty titles and meaningless ranks that we would be willing to claim belief in something ONLY to hold said meaningless rank and titles!

There are few things I have and will ever ask from those looking to join or are currently in my Temple; one is that you join of your own accord as you will not be given anything except respect and support by myself as well as resources to begin your own personal journey on the Path. Your connection to the Family is your own, I cannot make it for you and despite what you may hear from other groups NO AMOUNT of contract writing in blood or any other medium will establish this connection. You need to approach the Family with respect and humbleness.

Two is that you are respectful of the other members keeping in mind that while you may possess advanced knowledge or at the very least MORE knowledge than some, that there are others who are just starting out and therefore there is no such thing as a stupid question. I would rather have someone ask me a question that has been asked 10,000 times before so that THEY know the answer than EVER have a member who is to afraid of retaliation in the form of harassment or flaming to even pose it in the first place! A person who is denied access to the same knowledge everyone else possesses is a person who will never know more than they previously did and that doesn’t help ANYONE trying to advance on their Path! Remember we ALL had our “first day” and we knew just as much then as the newbies know now, so for all intents and purposes we are not above them when it comes to following the Path!

Three is that you do NOT mindlessly attack ANYONE else regardless of their faith. If a person wants to be a Christian, Buddhist or Pastafarian that is entirely at THEIR discretion NOT YOURS and you have no more right or business to mock them than they do to mock us! If you emulate the behavior of your so called enemy then you are really no better than your so called enemy! Keep in mind if you want Satanism/Aasarism to be respected as a religion or Path then you need to ACT like you do! Also whenever you are out and about keep in mind that it is NOT just you or this Temple that you are representing when you talk to people, it is the entire Ancient Family and if you behave in a manner that reflects THEIR preconceived notions as to what Satanism/Aasarism is about or how Satanists/Aasarists behave then all you are doing is proving THEM right!

Words can never express fully how grateful I am to those who joined in the beginning - especially those who followed me from my old church - and stayed no matter how much drama was going on at the time! I am grateful that this Temple is 4.75 years strong with no signs of slowing down! I am grateful that people continue to join every day and while not everyone sticks around I take pride in the fact that they came in the first place! It shows that they were curious enough to want to know more and even though they decided this wasn’t for them, they could have just dismissed me completely as someone not worth their time!

There is so much more I am grateful for but at the end of the day but I think the thing I am most grateful for, aside from the afore mentioned, is that no matter how arduous the road that led me here has been, I kept moving forward and because I did I found my way back Home and even though new challenges arise every day in various forms, I know we will NEVER back up, we will NEVER back down! We will NEVER give up! We will NEVER give in! That so long as the Ancient Family is by our side, we can handle anything! It is my fervent hope that I convey all the lessons I have learned through my own experiences to every member of the Temple of the Eternal Dragon so that they may glean a little something from them and even avoid certain situations altogether so as to not have to go through what I did!

I would like to take this opportunity to say a resounding THANK YOU to the members of the Temple of the Eternal Dragon, to my Sister Cindy who has helped me and continues to help me with various aspects of my Path, to my Blood Family for putting up with me, to my Spiritual Family for their continued support, to my Friends online and off for not abandoning me and especially to my Blessed and Most Exalted Father and Mother for showing me the way and for helping me to remain strong during the very worst of times - THANK YOU ALL! HAVE A MAGICKAL MABON AND A VERY BLESSED AUTUMN EQUINOX!

“O now is the time of the Harvest,

As we draw near to the years end

Now is the time of Mabon

Autumn is the time to descend

Old Woman waits patiently for us

At the threshold of the labyrinth within

She offers her hand that we may understand

The treasures that await at journeys end

O Great Mother has given of Her body,

We give thanks for Her fruit and Her grain

We then clear the fields so that next harvests yields

Will be full and abundant again.

Old Woman leads us through the darkness

Our most ancient and trusted of friends

She carries the light of spiritual insight

And leads us to our wisdom once again

And as we journey through the darkness

And as we continue to descend

We learn to let go of what obscures our soul

And re-discover our true being in the end

- Lisa Thiel (“Mabon/Autumn Equinox”)

---

“In the Darkness we ignite the fire

And we dance in the light,

We feast, we drink, we laugh

We enjoy the company this Mabon night!

We work the Web that connects us all

Our focus we shall maintain,

We gather up all the energy

And send it into the Astral Plane!

We are thankful for everyone

All those who decorate our life,

We stand together in full support

No matter how severe the strife!

No matter where we are

No matter what we do,

We know we can count on Family

To always come shining through!

To the Ancient Family who stands tall

Their Honor tried and true,

You are the reason why we are still here

And tonight we revere you with endless gratitude!

-HPS Meg ”Nemesis Nexus” Prentiss”

ZI ANA KANPA! ZI KIA KANPA!

MAY THE DEAD RISE AND SMELL THE INCENSE!

Etiamsi MULTA Et Nos UNUM Sumus Nos Sto Validus Ut Nos Sto Una!

Semper Veritas, Semper Fideles, In NINHURSAG'S Nomen Nos Fides! AVE NINHURSAG!

(We Are ONE Even Though We Are MANY And We Stand STRONGEST When We Stand TOGETHER!

Always TRUTHFUL, Always FAITHFUL, In NINHURSAG'S Name We Trust! HAIL NINHURSAG!)

AVÉ IGIGGI!

AVÉ ANUNNA!

AVÉ DRACONIS!

HAIL THE GREAT SERPENT!

HAIL THE ANCIENT FAMILY!

HPS Meg "Nemesis Nexus" Prentiss

[jccamus]

Emmett Till’s Murder, and How America Remembers Its Darkest Moments

Emmett Till’s Murder, and How America Remembers Its Darkest Moments https://ift.tt/2SeMIif

We're using augmented reality, a new approach to digital storytelling. Read about how to use it on your phone or tablet here. If you want to skip it for now, you can view an alternate immersive experience instead.

MONEY, Miss. — Along the edge of Money Road, across from the railroad tracks, an old grocery store rots.

In August 1955, a 14-year-old black boy visiting from Chicago walked in to buy candy. After being accused of whistling at the white woman behind the counter, he was later kidnapped, tortured, lynched and dumped in the Tallahatchie River.

The murder of Emmett Till is remembered as one of the most hideous hate crimes of the 20th century, a brutal episode in American history that helped kindle the civil rights movement. And the place where it all began, Bryant’s Grocery & Meat Market, is still standing. Barely.

Today, the store is crumbling, roofless and covered in vines. On several occasions, preservationists, politicians and business leaders — even the State of Mississippi — have tried to save its remaining four walls. But no consensus has been reached.

Some residents in the area have looked on the store as a stain on the community that should be razed and forgotten. Others have said it should be restored as a tribute to Emmett and a reminder of the hate that took his life.

As the debate has played out over the decades, the store has continued to deteriorate and collapse, even amid frequent cultural and racial reckonings across the nation on the fate of Confederate monuments. At stake in Money and other communities across the country is the question of how Americans choose to acknowledge the country’s past.

“It’s part of this bigger story, part of a history that we can learn from,” said the Rev. Wheeler Parker, 79, a pastor in suburban Chicago and a cousin of Emmett’s who went with him to Bryant’s Grocery that day. “The store should be one of the places we share Emmett’s story.”

(The Justice Department quietly reopened the Emmett Till case last year after Carolyn Bryant Donham, the white shopkeeper, recanted parts of her story.)

In and around the Delta, the memory of Emmett’s murder lingers.

The cotton gin from which the 75-pound fan that was tethered to his neck with barbed wire was stolen is now a small museum. There are informal tours of the abandoned bridge where his body was likely tossed into the river. The barn where he was brutally beaten is unmarked, but its owner allows the occasional visitor.

Emmett Till with his mother, Mamie Till Mobley, circa 1950. Everett Collection, via Alamy

And, on a larger stage, his story is the subject of upcoming feature films and books.

But not everybody sees the memorials the same way. Several historical markers put up to commemorate Emmett have repeatedly been vandalized, shot down and replaced.

To nurture racial reconciliation in the area, the Emmett Till Memorial Commission was founded in 2006. It restored the courtroom in Sumner where Emmett’s killers — Roy Bryant, the owner of the store in the 1950s, and his half brother, J.W. Milam — were acquitted. Outside, a marker commemorating Emmett stands steps from a monument honoring Confederate soldiers.

Ray Tribble, who sat on the jury of all-white men who acquitted Mr. Bryant and Mr. Milam, purchased the building that was once Bryant’s Grocery in the 1980s. He died in 1998. The store has been in the Tribble family ever since.

The family has all but refused to restore or sell the property. And it continues to wither away.

Drag image to explore

The remnants of Bryant’s Grocery & Meat Market, in Money, Miss.

‘Tear Off the Scab’

Willie Williams and Donna Spell grew up about eight miles from each other in the Delta. They are 10 years apart in age. He learned about Emmett Till as a child. She learned about him as an adult. Mr. Williams is black. Ms. Spell is white.

Mr. Williams said his parents told him about Emmett’s story “as a way of being careful.” Ms. Spell said Emmett’s horrific death was not a story “my parents would have told their children.”

The two first met at a church event. Today, they both sit on the Emmett Till Memorial Commission, where they have since become friends.

“I did a lot of listening. And what I heard was a lot of pain,” said Ms. Spell, a longtime English teacher. “To move forward we’ve got to tell the story. We’ve got to tear off the scab and keep telling it.”

In 2006, the Emmett Till Memorial Highway was dedicated along a 32-mile stretch of U.S. 49 East. A year later, the commission presented an official apology to the Till family in the courthouse where the killers were acquitted.

Drag image to explore

The Emmett Till Memorial Commission restored the courtroom in Sumner where Emmett’s killers were acquitted. The courtroom was segregated during the trial in 1955.

“Our community had been running from this since 1955,” said Patrick Weems, co-founder of the Emmett Till Interpretive Center, a museum across from the courthouse that was started by the group.

The commission has since placed 11 historical markers at sites related to Emmett’s murder. One of them sits on a lonely dirt road next to rows and rows of cotton fields near Glendora, Miss. It’s a purple sign marking the nearby riverbank where Emmett’s body was recovered.

The sign has had to be replaced three times because of bullet holes and vandalism. Other civil rights markers in Mississippi have also been targeted — two years ago, vandals scraped the words and text off the Bryant’s Grocery marker, and “KKK” was once scrawled across the highway sign.

Several historical markers have been erected to honor Emmett. One of them, a purple sign marking the nearby riverbank where his body was recovered, has been repeatedly vandalized.

On a recent afternoon, one of the commission’s damaged signs rested on the floor of the museum. Mr. Weems leaned over it as he ran his fingers across the jagged holes.

“It’s been a struggle to keep those signs up,“ Mr. Weems said, “but we think it’s part of the front line of this tug of war between memory and how we negotiate our past and future.”

[For more coverage of race, sign up here to have our Race/Related newsletter delivered weekly to your inbox.]

Drag image to explore

The riverbank where Emmett’s body was recovered.

Confronting History

Susan Glisson has worked with a half-dozen Mississippi towns on racial healing, including in Sumner with the Emmett Till Memorial Commission. After she retired as director of the University of Mississippi’s William Winter Institute for Racial Reconciliation, she founded Sustainable Equity, a consulting firm focused on facilitating racial dialogue at universities, police departments, corporations and municipalities.

“When it works, we are able to get past the perspective of ‘I didn’t do it, I don’t know anybody that did it,’ and find the ways to honor the victims,” Ms. Glisson said.

When it doesn’t work, she went on, the resistance is stark: communities fracture, landmarks are neglected, significant events are lost or forgotten. These moments of tension and reckoning have buckled across America as small towns confront their racist histories.

In northwest Florida, an all-black town was wiped off the map by racial violence during the Rosewood massacre in 1923. The one house that survived — where black residents hid to escape the slaughter — is now owned by an 85-year-old Japanese widow, Fujiko Scoggins. Her daughter and son-in-law, both real estate agents, are selling the home.

A small heritage group wants to convert it into a Rosewood museum and garden, but hasn’t secured funding. Neighbors warned Ms. Scoggins’s son-in-law not to sell the house to black buyers, presumably to stop any commemoration of the massacre.

The historical marker and road sign have been repeatedly vandalized. “The message is they don’t want Rosewood or the massacre to be remembered,” said Sherry Dupree, founder of the Rosewood Heritage Foundation and a tour guide.

In Monroe, Ga., a racially violent chapter is commemorated annually. Two African-American married couples were murdered by a white mob near the Moore’s Ford Bridge, after a dispute with a farmer in 1946.

Since 2005, a group of actors and activists have gathered each year to re-enact what happened that July night. “The people in town pretty much ignore it now every year,” said Cassandra Greene, who directs the performances. “But it’s important to keep doing it as a reminder of racial injustices.”

Memorials have the power to invite meaningful race conversations, Ms. Glisson added, but the key is addressing stubborn attitudes, stereotypes and assumptions that have been hardened and passed down over generations. The difficulty is getting beyond feelings of recrimination and guilt.

‘Remembering Emmett Till: The Legacy of a Lynching’ in Virtual Reality

‘It’s Been Complicated’

The price of Bryant’s Grocery & Meat Market, according to one Mississippi newspaper, is $4 million, but it’s hard to know more because the family has largely refused to talk publicly about it. Numerous messages and emails sent to the Tribbles for this story went unreturned.

In 2011, the family was awarded a $206,000 state civil rights grant to restore a gas station next to the store. At the time, the project’s architect described the store restoration as the next phase. Since 2015, Mr. Weems has negotiated with family members, to no avail.

There’s talk in town of a replica being built on state property across the street by one of the production companies filming movies about the Emmett Till case. That may be the only solution.

“It’s been complicated working with the family,” Mr. Weems said. “We have had off and on discussions with the Tribbles for about three years and it seems as if every time we get close, they move the goal post.

“And I still don’t know what they want,” he added. “I don’t know if it’s money or they want control of the story that’s told, which has direct legacy implications for their father. I am hopeful that one day they can see a positive legacy by reclaiming the past.”

Today, fewer than 100 people live in Money and most of the property, including the old Bryant’s Grocery store, is owned by the children of Ray Tribble.

Drag image to explore

The barn where Emmett was brutally beaten is unmarked, but the owner allows the occasional visitor.

As early as 2004, local business and civic leaders reached out to the Tribble family in hopes of turning the store into a museum dedicated to Emmett or civil rights, or both, even in its current state of disrepair.

That same year, the roof caved in. Then Hurricane Katrina rumbled through in 2005, destroying much of what remained. Back then, the Tribble family agreed to work to rebuild the store. “We want to restore it,” Mr. Tribble’s son, Harold Ray Jr., told The Clarion Ledger in 2007. “It’s a part of history and it’s about to fall down.”

Nothing has been done. And every day, the store slips closer toward oblivion.

“Here is this ruin that a storm could blow over, and yet it’s still here,” said Dave Tell, an author and professor working on a new book about the Emmett Till case.

“The store is this great analogy to the story of Emmett Till, both long neglected, but both refuse to go away.”

CREDITS

Written by Audra D.S. Burch.

Produced by Veda Shastri.

Drone Video and Photos by Tim Chaffee.

Archival Images: Everett Collection via Alamy, Ed Clark/Time & Life Pictures via Getty Images, Associated Press

Graphics and Design by Nicole Fineman, Jon Huang, and Karthik Patanjali.

Research by Susan C. Beachy

Senior Producer: Maureen Towey

Executive Producers: Lauretta Charlton, Marcelle Hopkins and Graham Roberts

A Grocery, a Barn, a Bridge: Returning to the Scenes of a Hate Crime

Emmett Till’s Murder: What Really Happened That Day in the Store?

In Texas, a Decades-Old Hate Crime, Forgiven but Never Forgotten

Talking to a Man Named Mr. Cotton About Slavery and Confederate Monuments

Veda Shastri contributed reporting, andSusan C. Beachy contributed research.

Advertisement

https://ift.tt/301mY0P via The New York Times September 15, 2019 at 06:51PM

[tenyearsapeasant]

Appendix 1: The Down to the Countryside Movement During the Cultural Revolution - The Shanghai Local Records Office

1. One million high school and middle school students are sent-down

Two years into the Cultural Revolution, the students who should have graduated in 1966 and 1967 were still in school. Beginning in 1968, the city began to allocate these students.

On July 2, 1968, the city's Revolutionary Committee held a "City of Shanghai Convention For Sending the Class of 1966 Down to the Countryside." The records of the time show that there were 149,669 students who were to have graduated from middle school in 1966, and 30,970 students who were to have graduated from high school. On July 8, the city established an office of the Down to the Countryside movement (which came under control of the Revolutionary Committee in September). Each district, street, and town followed suit, and they began to mobilize "educated youth" to go to the countryside en masse. On July 27, the first group of Red Guards left Shanghai for villages in neighboring Anhui province. On August 9, the first group to go to Heilongjiang province left. There were about 445,000 students in these two graduating classes, and over 220,000 were sent to the countryside. But the 1966 and 1967 graduating classes were still under the "Four Directions" policy, and many entered industrial work.

On December 21, 1968, the People's Daily published Mao Zedong's famous quote, "It is imperative that educated youth go to farming villages and be re-educated by the peasants." Hundreds of thousands of Shanghainese took to the streets overnight, cheering, "Chairman Mao waves us forward to live in the villages for the revolution! We'll charge into the mountains and the countryside, and continue to serve the revolution!" Many workers' communications groups were stationed in schools, and they took this opportunity to publicize and prepare for the Down to the Countryside movement. The Shanghai branch of the Chinese Communist Party and the Shanghai Revolutionary Committee decided to send the three accumulated graduating classes to the countryside. They also decided the that 460,000 students of the 1968 and 1969 graduating classes would be combined with the 1966 and 1967 classes and sent to the countryside, with few exceptions. This totaled 507,000 students and enacted the "Red Nation" policy.

On November 7, 1970, the Shanghai government followed other cities' examples and changed their policy of sending all the students to the countryside. AT the time, the manufacturing and mining sectors were in need of labor as well. The graduating class of 1970 were assigned posts according to the old "Four Directions." Where one's elder siblings were assigned determined where one would work and what sector that work would be in. This class contained 210,000 students, of which 115,000 were sent to rural villages and 95,000 entered the industrial workforce. This policy lasted until 1978.

On August 17, 1971, Shanghai sent seventy thousand students to other provinces as industrial apprentices. There were two main forms of being sent to the countryside from Shanghai. One was to go to a large state-run farm in Heilongjiang, Neimenggu, Yunnan, or other border provinces. These sent-down youth had set wages, state-provided medical care, paid time off to visit family, and other benefits. They lived an organized communal life. According to records from 1968 to 1970, over 256,000 students were sent to such farms. The other form was to be sent to rural villages in Jiangxi, Anhui, Jilin, Yunnan, Guizhou, Neimenggu, Heilongjian, Liaoning, Zhejiang, Jiangsu, and other provinces. Each village usually had four to ten students as a "sent-down youth corps." They were to labor with the locals and earn their own living. These places were quite poor and already had an excess of labor. As a result, work credits were scarce and the standard of living was quite low. 318,000 students followed this path. According to the Shanghai Department of Labor, between 1968 and 1978 there were 1,112,952 people sent down. They had ended up in ten provinces including Heilongjiang, Neimenggu, Yunnan, Guizhou, and others. Starting in 1968, many parents wanted to make sure their children were looked after. They asked their friends and relatives in rural villages to find a way to bring them to their families' ancestral homes. Between 1968 and 1972, over 83,000 people were sent down to neighboring provinces like Jiangsu and Zhejiang to live in their distant relatives.

There were 156,000 (93,000 in the class of 1968 and 63,000 in the class of 1969) students from local villages in Shanghai. They went back to their homes to farm, and were not counted in the sent-down youth tally.

In April 1974, the Shanghai Down to the Countryside Office reported to the Shanghai branch of the Chinese Communist Party and the Shanghai Revolutionary Committee. They said that there were 398,908 people from Shanghai sent down across the nation at the time.

When the "A Nation of Red" policy was in effect, many youths and their parents were opposed. As a result, various communities such as schools, neighborhoods, and workplaces were leveraged to create political pressure to conform. This took the form of classes, "criticism meetings," and even drastic measures such as cutting off rations and deregistering residency. The party leaders led the way in sending their children away. The railroad department scheduled three new routes to ferry students from the city. Even the navy was involved in shipping students from Shanghai to Dalian; from there they would head to Jilin or Heilongjiang.

Starting in 1970, middle and high schools in China reinstated the "Four Directions" policy, though mobilizing youths to go to the countryside was still the highest "political priority." This upset some already sent-down youths and their parents.

On August 29, 1972, the city's Down to the Countryside office met with the Shanghai City Council and Revolutionary Committee. They reported that more people were coming to the office - over a hundred a day. They were parents who had only one child, or whose children had all been sent down. Or they were families where the parents had fallen ill or died or suffered some other disaster. At the same time, rumors spread that only children from other cities had already returned home. Some parents felt that it was unfair that the policies had changed so much in one year - had their child been just a little younger they might have been spared. Others rallied behind the call, "Return my only child!" But because the Down to the Countryside Movement had great political implications, and affected the grand plan of "Strengthening the proletariat and preventing the restoration of the capitalist class." As a a result, these complaints were largely ignored.

On March 31, 1973, over 800 students were sent to the border province Heilongjiang, and the city organized a sending-away party of over 100,000.

On December 29, 1975, the city's Red Representatives Council organized a "Swearing-in of Red Guards Going Down to the Countryside Convention." There, the 1975 class of Red Guards was exhorted to "Strike back against the critics of the Cultural Revolution with actions, and ignite a new surge of going to the countryside." In the later phases of the Down to the Countryside movement, there were always sent-down youth who returned to the city permanently at the end of the year. At the end of 1974, 91,241 sent-down youth returned to Shanghai to visit their families. On April 26, 1975, the Revolutionary Committee held a meeting to mobilize the sent-down youth to return to the villages to "bolster the revolution and spur production." According to central records, Shanghai's trade school and work-study graduates were being assignd according to the original "Four Directions" principles at the time. These graduates were fully processed by the end of 1972, by which time 21,220 had been assigned positions.

2. Sent-down youth settlement policy and its evolution

Everyone sent down to a local rural village during the Cultural Revolution, excepting those who were staying with their relatives, was entitled to a resettlement fee from the government. This fee was to be used for building houses, buying essential tools, transport to the village, and emergencies in the first year. Their rice rations were under the jurisdiction of the local authorities in the first season. Starting in the second season, the rations would be assigned in the same way as the others in the production team. For vegetables, each production team was to apportion a garden for each sent-down youth. Medical fees were paid with the communal insurance policy; for certain serious illnesses, the sent-down youth paid from a variety of sources - their own income, the insurance, their parents' workplaces, discounts from the hospital, their resettlement fee, etc.

The students who were sent to villages in other provinces also received between an additional 25 and 35 renminbi for travel gear. They also received cloth rations, cotton rations, and a mosquito net. Those headed to Neimenggu, Heilongjiang, Jilin, and other cold provinces were also provided with green army jackets, cotton parkas, cotton hats, and warm shoes. Starting in 1973 they were also provided with 40 renminbi for additional winter wear. The one-way tickets were reimbursable. During the first year of being sent-down the national government would supply rice and the local government would supply fuel and gardening space. After the first year the sent-down youth were treated as normal community members. These sent-down youth were usually enrolled in the local health insurance as well; payment for serious illnesses were supported for by the settlement department. Those sent down to distant regions such as Neimenggu, Heilongjiang, Jilin, Yunnan, Guizhou, Shanxi, Gansu, NingXia, and Xinjiang enjoyed two reimbursed trips home over the course of their stay. Those who were assigned to the Production and Construction Corps, or government-run production facilities (farms, lumberyards, ranches, tea orchards) were provided for by the national government.

The Shanghai sent-down youth set to work passionately after arriving the in the villages. They wanted to transform the villages with their hard work. However, China has a high population and low amount of arable land. Coupled with the poverty in many rural areas and the influx of sent-down youth, this gave rise to conflicts between sent-down youth and villagers for rations and wages. Further problems arose, including the excessive drain on the resources of the sent-down youths' families, what to do about marriage, and even how to deal with forced marriage or rape. This caused many sent-down youth and their families to be disillusioned with the policy, especially after the death of Lin Biao.

In 1973, one parent wrote a letter to Chairman Mao in desperation. It described the struggles of sent-down youth, including those of this own son. On April 26, Mao Zedong replied, "I have attached 300 yuan as reparations for the lack of rice. There are many such incidents in the country, and it should be dealt with at a high level." After this reply, the central party organization released the [1973]21 document on June 21. The State Department also hosted a working meeting from June 20 to August 7, to consider methods of "dealing with the problem at a high level." After this, a group of criminals who had harmed sent-down youth were convicted. This improved conditions somewhat. Starting in 1973 many such "reparations" were paid out to sent-down youth and their families, especially from the parents' work-places. There were also many sent-down youth who still required financial assistance from their parents. In the second half of 1973, workplaces organized to pay out reparations to their workers whose children were sent-down. They conducted a semiannual survey to determine which families needed help. About 30% of the families were found eligible, and each was paid an average of thirty renminbi. Over 1973 and 1974, over 23 million renminbi was paid out in such reparations. Between 1975 and 1977, an average of 15 million was paid each year.

In 1974, The Shanghai Revolutionary Committee approved the Down to the Countryside Office's proposal, "Draft of Policies Regarding Various Problems Facing Shanghai Sent-Down Youth." This raised the one-time aid to youth sent to local villages from 230 renminbi to 480 renminbi. Those who were sent to state-run production facilities received 400 renminbi. Sent-down youth were assigned rations at the level of normal city residents. There were also improvements to healthcare payments, and everyday tools were to be bought and apportioned by the local government.

After Deng Xiaoping's re-emergence in 1973, his first task was reorganizing the education system. He reinstated the college entrance exams for workers, farmers, and soldiers. In early 1974 the Shanghai Department of Education created an organization of sixteen trade schools. These were to try providing night classes in Anhui's Fuyang, Jiangxi's Shangrao, Heilongjiang's Heihe, Jilin's Yanbian, and Yunnan's Xishuangbanna. There were twenty-three majors, including political science, Chinese literature, history, agricultural production, agricultural engineering, and healthcare. Over twenty-eight thousand students were enrolled, and about 50% of these were sent-down youth from Shanghai. In 1975, this expanded to the Daxingan Mountains, Mount Jinggang, Suxian, Chuxian, and other regions, and enrollment expanded to sixty thousand students. Additionally a small group of Shanghai sent-down youth participated in the national college admissions process and became "Worker/Farmer/Soldier college students."

Between 1974 and 1975, neighborhoods worked together with various companies to hold short training courses for sent-down youth home on a family visit. These courses included lessons in over 560 subjects including electrical wiring, carpentry, masonry, agricultural machinery, pesticide usage, medicine, sewing, hairdressing, and more. This program reached over sixteen thousand students. Between 1968 and 1975, the Down to the Countryside Office published 43 Up to the Mountains and Down to the Countryside pamphlets. There were over 6 million copies and they reflected the experiences of the sent-down youth. The Shanghai People's Publishing House organized a group of nearly one thousand people to write over twenty types of self-study materials, as well as publishing 36 other books relevant to rural village life. They published a total of 2.8 million copies. The city gave these books to sent-down youth. Those close to Shanghai received four sets and 51 different books; those far from Shanghai received four sets and 41 different books. In total, over four million books were given out.

Starting in June of 1975, the Shanghai government began to set up small factories and workshops for sent-down youth. They focused on poor areas in Jiangxi, Anhui, and Jilin which had high densities of sent-down youth. In the end there were over 550 of these workshops, with 335 in Jiangxi, 187 in Anhui, and 28 in Jilin. Later, the Shanghai government created another 257 workshops in Heilongjiang, Liaoning, Neimenggu, Yunnan, Guizhou, and other provinces. These workshops had such diverse purposes as machinery repair, processing agricultural byproducts, bamboo and wood crafts, pot making, brick making, sewing, fixing shoes, and many others. These stimulated the local economy and helped sent-down youth overcome some of their personal economic troubles. This initiative eventually employed over ten thousand sent-down youth who were struggling with agricultural labor and allowed them to support themselves economically. According to the Shanghai Labor Department, between 1968 and 1973 the city paid over sixteen million renminbi in aid to various sent-down youth areas.

In 1975, Shanghai provided over seven thousand tractors, eight hundred tractor trailers, fifty cars and trucks, and other supplies such as kerosene engines, generators, electric motors, transformers, water pumps, and construction materials. This all cost over fifty five million renminbi. The city also provided no-interest loans worth five million renminbi. In the end all these debts were forgiven.

3. Learning Care Teams

In the beginning of 1969, the head of the Shanghai Revolutionary Committee, Zhang Chunqiao, proposed sending party members in the Four Directions (to the border regions, farming villages, mines, and grass-roots education systems). On August 27, the Revolutionary Committee held a mobilization meeting, and assigned tasks to each member. The slogans at the time included "the Four Directions lead us down Chairman Mao's revolutionary path." Eventually, over two thousand party members constitued the "Learning Care Teams" that were distributed across Heilongjiang, Yunnan, and other regions with sent-down Shanghai youth. Their charge was to boost morale as well as help the sent-down youth with some practical matters. At the same time, the Shanghai Revolutionary Committee entered into an agreement with the Heilongjiang Revolutionary Committee. They would send seventeen hundred party members, with their residencies, their connections, and a hundred and sixty thousand sent-down youth to Heilongjiang.

In October of 1969, the Shanghai Office of Sent-down Youth was officially established. Zhang Fangxin, from the military's media department, was its head. It was dissolved on January 1, 1981, and its functions merged into those of the labor department. On November 2, 1973, the Shanghai representative of the Chinese Communist party officially announced the creation of a leadership group for the administration of the sent-down youth of Shanghai.

On November 10, 1973, this leadership group held its first meeting, led by Wang Yiping. The meeting produced three suggestions: First, to send 670 "care teams" of party officials to various other provinces. These would help the sent-down youths in the different provinces they had been sent to. Second, to hold a second annual meeting of the parents who had sent children away. Third, to add another group to the Office of Sent-down youth, which had subgroups regarding mobilization, communication between the city and the villages, taking care of and sending ambassadors, and organizational operations. On December 16, 1973, this leadership group had their second meeting, discussing the work being done around the sent-down youth. Many party officials in neighboring Anhui province also attended this meeting. They decided to send representatives to Guizhou to investigate the real situation with sent-down youth.

In the first half of 1974 the city representatives held another meeting to discuss the "learning and care teams" initiative and report on their findings to the central leadership and state department. At the time, over two thousand party officials had been mobilized throughout the city, forming eight "learning and care teams." They were dispatched to nine different provinces, which at various levels consisted of 265 counties, 3782 communes, and 549,000 production teams (including military units and other production facilities). They had worked with 468,000 sent-down youth. These party officials were rotated out in 1975; until then, they were distributed in the following way: over 540 from the public transportation department were sent to Jiangxi and Anhui, with a small minority sent to Yunnan; over 50 were sent from the technical systems department to Neimenggu and Heilongjiang; over 50 were sent from the suburban administration to Yunnan; over 90 from the finance and business administration were sent to Guizhou; over 100 from the cultural and educational sector were sent to Jilin; and over 130 from the revolutionary committee and the public safety department were sent to Heilongjiang. At the same time, the representatives decided that the "learning and care teams" were no longer allotted vacations to return home for Chinese New Year. The new policy was one vacation every two years, for up to twenty days. The reasoning was that the learning and care teams were not only "useful measures for educating and exercising our party officials, they are critical to maintaining the direction of the Down to the Countryside movement and limiting capitalist thought." This work naturally ended after the sent-down youth returned to Shanghai. It is worth noting that the party officials in Heilongjiang were not able to be re-accommodated in Shanghai. They had to be re-assigned to the Tonglin Xingqiao mine in Anhui, and Datun and Zhangjiawa in Jiangsu. Only later, after the Third Plenary Session of the 11th Central Committee of the Communist Party of China, were they able to slowly return to Shanghai.

The Sent-down Youth Return

Sent-down youth were allowed to return home in the event of serious health issues. In the spring of 1978, the State Department released a document that relaxed these requirements. Some healthy sent-down youths were able to return because their families were in particularly difficult circumstances. Many other healthy sent-down youths were able to receive fake medical histories from doctors they knew in Shanghai. The hospitals, out of sympathy, would provide evidence of their ill health to let them return. Between October and December of 1978, the various offices of sent-down youth across the nation began to make adjustments. They stopped sending more people from the cities away, and prioritized reintegrating sent-down youth into city life. During this time, some sent-down youth in Shanghai requested a parade to celebrate the return. Wang Yiping, the CCP representative, met with the sent-down youth to understand their situation. Other party officials were sent to the front lines to boost morale. At the same time, on December 4, 1978, the fourth subdivision of the Jinghong Dongfeng farm in Yunnan sent a telegram to the city government. They asked, in the name of all Shanghai sent-down youth, to be rehabilitated and included in working towards the Four Modernizations. They also requested a special investigative group to be dispatched to Yunnan.

On January 3, 1979, the Shanghai party representatives called a meeting to determine the general strategy around the sent-down youth. They agreed on the direction of "mobilize the whole party, broaden opportunities, consider the big picture, and preferentially hire the best candidates." At the time, there was not enough demand to drive hiring. As a result, much employment was generated through the "substitution" system, where children replaced their parents in the workforce, or through various make-work programs. Those sent-down youth who had been approved for return were, on principle, guaranteed work in this way. The records show that in 1979 alone, three hundred and three thousand people were re-absorbed into the city's workforce.

By the end of 1983, the sent-down youth who had not permanently settled in their new homes had largely returned to work in Shanghai. At the same time, there were still some remaining problems that were being dealt with appropriately.

One such problem was how to treat the children of these sent-down youth fairly. The city government, including the labor department, the education department, the public safety department, and the food department announced their solution on March 21 of 1989. They ruled that every sent-down youth who had not returned was allowed so send one of their children back to school in Shanghai. The child had to be between the ages of one and sixteen, or had to have completed middle school but be unwed and never employed. They needed to have close relatives to stay with - the sent-down youth's immediate family members would be their guardians. The children of sent-down youth who qualified would be able to move their residency back to their parents' original locations. That year, 35,955 people were approved through this program. In 1990, 15,205 were approved.

[frostmarris]

Sutures

pairing: Gaara/Sakura with some Neji/Sakura

summary: ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ But just about everything is a possible enemy in a zombie apocalypse. Sakura crosses paths with a particular thief once more and has an unexpectedly pleasant night, trapped in a condemned building’s basement. 

notes: i’m like 3 hours late for @vesperlionheart and @thefreckledone fluff friday, enemy prompt, but eeeeyyyy better late than never. some fluff in a pretty grim setting hello did you know i have a zombie apocalypse au (i have a couple other drabbles set in this universe that i wanna write one day)

Konoha had been more of a tourist destination – a vacation retreat – than an actual town. With the large fortress and temple, the meticulously cared for gardens, hot spring, multitude of places to eat, and the tall, sturdy, stone wall that encircled the village, tucked away in the middle of the forest, it all seemed like something out of a folk tale.

In the end, it was the wall that saved them.

When people first started to get sick, the townsfolk didn’t think much of it and simply cared for their ill as best as they could, slowly becoming more worried as they listened to the news that an epidemic had spread across Japan.

Had spread across the world.

When communications to the outside went down and those who had fallen ill began to... react, there was mass panic throughout the country.

It was that tall wall - strong and stone and unrelenting - that kept the walking corpses out and the people of Konoha safe.

The months passed and the townsfolk began to adjust to their new, dangerous, lives, reinforcing the wall with steel plates and chain-link fences and wooden spikes around the outer perimeter, posting guards up on the wall to watch the outside and keep the things out. They paid closer attention to their rations and supplies, learned how to defend themselves, and made sure none of the dead got in.

They sent out groups for supply runs, scavenging through nearby, abandoned towns – villages that hadn’t been quite so lucky, that had fallen victim to the virus – and bringing back what they found.

Within the wall, they were safe. There had only been a handful of outbreaks, but they were all handled quickly and efficiently, removing the corpses head’s and burning the bodies. They treated those who were injured as they began to learn more about the mysterious virus.

Those who hadn’t fallen sick were still susceptible to the bite of the zombies but, if you were fast enough and the bite was somewhere... removeable, those bitten didn’t always turn.

Sakura remembered when her childhood friend, that blond goof, Naruto, had been rushed into the clinic, his right hand bleeding and already beginning to turn that odd shade of ashen grey, streaked with purple and green and black veins, and the blood running from the bite darkening and oozing as the scent of death filled her senses.

She’d only started her apprenticeship under the clinic’s head doctor earlier that month – had only witnessed one other amputation before that day.

Tsunade, her mentor, had worked quickly, barking out orders to her assistant, Shizune, and Sakura, who worked together to hold Naruto down – no time to administer any sort of anesthetic, no time to do much more than nod grimly at his gasped consent to the procedure, the pain wracking his body and the dark veins creeping further up his arm.

The head doctor amputated just above his elbow, where the infection hadn’t yet managed to reach.

It was a grisly, gut-wrenching experience, for all parties – Naruto more-so, of course – but he was saved. He lived.

And Sakura decided she would do whatever she could to keep her home alive. She studied, she trained, she learned all she could from Tsunade and Shizune, having already been well on her way to pursuing a medical career before the world went to shit.

And the months passed, the town settled and the villagers kept mostly to themselves. They rarely saw other survivors, but, when refugees did happen to pass through the forest and stumble upon the village, they were taken in – cautiously, carefully, the appointed guards keeping an eye on the newcomers – if they asked for shelter. Some stayed, others simply accepted the respite before moving on, too distrusting of the village, of strangers in this apocalyptic world, to stick around.

And life was relatively peaceful.

::

It was early in the morning when they crossed paths.

Sakura was in the greenhouse, checking on a few of the plants she used for the home remedies, when she heard the door open behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, surprised to see the red-haired young man that they’d taken in a few days ago.

He and his two older siblings had arrived seeking temporary shelter and medical aid for the middle sibling – the elder of the two boys – and had been permitted into the village after some discussion from the town leaders. They’d kept an eye on them, lest the siblings turned out to be dangerous, but the three hadn’t caused any trouble, more concerned with the gunshot wound in the middle brother’s forearm – they’d run into a group of aggressive survivors earlier that week, they explained, and had luckily managed to escape mostly unharmed.

The redhead – Gaara, if she remembered correctly – looked just as shocked to see her and continued to stare, frozen in his spot by the entrance to the greenhouse, before she flashed him a smile, grabbing one of the misters for the plants.

“Mornin’, how’s your brother doing? His wound was healing up nicely when I checked him yesterday.”

“Doctor.” He greeted carefully, almost unsurely, as he took a quick glance around, expression blank with just an edge of uncomfortable.

“He’s... fine.”

She nodded, checking the Aloe Vera buddings before shooting him another glance over her shoulder. He as looking a little nervous, a little unnerved... Shrugging to herself, Sakura moved over to the lone apple tree in the greenhouse – it was supposed to have been moved to the nursery weeks ago, but one of the gardeners decided it might be nice to keep it in the greenhouse – picking an apple that looked ripe before tossing it to Gaara.

He fumbled with it for a moment, sending her a confused look. She smiled again, stuffing her hands into her lab coat after waving him off.

“’Apple a day keeps the doctor away’ and all. You look pretty hungry and communal breakfast isn’t until 8 AM.”

Gaara gave a slow nod, holding the apple hesitantly and looking anxious about something. She noticed, of course, and was about to ask him if he was okay when the intercom system in the greenhouse buzzed to life.

It emitted three short honks – like that of an airhorn – and Sakura spun around, rushing to the southern window of the greenhouse.

Konoha’s emergency warning system was fairly simple. Alarm bell rings for a breech in the outer wall, airhorn honks for other, less dire, emergencies. The number signaled which portion of the village the emergency was – which direction to head. One for North, two for East, three for South, and four for West. The intercom system was wired through the main buildings – the town hall, the clinic, the fortress, the temple, the greenhouse, the cafeteria, etc. – and there were speakers out in the streets, all loud enough for basically the entirety of the village to hear. The alarms only sounded once – a precautionary measure so as to not draw the attention of any wandering corpses nearby – but once was all Sakura needed to rush to action.

Through the window she could see smoke in the distance and, cursing under her breath, she rushed out of the greenhouse, forgetting all about Gaara and leaving him behind, much to his relief.

::

When the situation was handled and the fire was put out – a freak accident, no one could figure out what had exactly started it but, luckily, it hadn’t been too big of a problem – the villagers of Konoha quickly realized that something else was wrong.

The storerooms had been broken into – several of the shelves of canned food missing large, noticeable chunks of rations, an obvious amount of water bottles gone, extra clothing removed from the winter storage, etc. – and the door to the clinic was busted open. Sakura found a few of her cabinets still open, bottles of pain-killers and pain relievers, general cold and flu medicine, and a couple of the First Aid kits missing.

They’d been robbed.

And the three sibling refugees were nowhere to be found, one of the few automobiles that were supposed to be locked up in the communal garage gone as well.

Sakura was furious.

::

“Absolutely not.”

A week had passed and, when Sakura heard that a new scouting party would set out that Friday for a supply run and to finish scouring one of the larger towns fairly close by, she’d approached Neji, the lead of this particular expedition, with the intention of being added to the list of scouting volunteers.

“Why the hell not? I thought you guys didn’t turn down volunteers for supply runs unless they were kids or injured or something.”

Neji scoffed, replacing the batteries on one of the walkie-talkies before testing it out.

“Our admission process is a lot more thorough than that. Have you ever even killed a corpse before?”

Shooting him a glare, Sakura crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips for a moment before replying.

“You know I have, Neji. I used to go out with you guys on runs all the time.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

Neji passed the radio to one of the other volunteers before heading over to a table to grab a clipboard, inspecting the list of Priority Needs and frowning to himself when Sakura stubbornly followed after him.

“Well?” She persisted.

“Before you became a doctor.”

“So? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“You’re much more valuable now.” He sent her a serious look here, expression firm as his eyes met hers. “You’re not expendable.”

Sakura might have been flattered – okay, she had to kind of suppress a smile at his comment, resisting the urge to flutter her lashes at him – if Neji hadn’t just implied that he and the other volunteers were expendable.

Planting her hands on her hips, she narrowed her eyes at him, frown deepening.

“And you guys are?”

He ignored her, brushing past to give a few orders to some of the other villagers hanging around – most of whom were trying to hide their smiles as they watched, amused at the doctor and the team leader’s exchange. Groaning, Sakura moved back into Neji’s line of sight, shooting him a slightly pleading look.

“C’mon, Neji. Please? Just one supply run? I can go as a field medic and stay out of combat, if that’s what you want.”

Eventually, after a few more minutes of her pestering and pleading, Neji finally seemed to break, sighing as his shoulders slumped and he sent her a long-suffering look.

“Why, Sakura?”

She hid her smile – victory! – but did bat her eyelashes at him, this time.

“I’m tired of being cooped up. I just want some fresh air and to make sure I’m not getting rusty with a blade.”

“Scalpels are blades.”

Sakura sent him an unimpressed look, unable to tell if he was being serious or if this was ever-stoic Hyuuga Neji’s attempt at making a joke.

“I need to restock the clinic too.”

“You can make a list; I’ll take care of it personally.”

“Neji.”

“Hn.”

She was just about ready to start arguing with him – demand that he allowed her to go. She wanted a little break from the clinic, that’s all! It’s not like she even had much to do besides reorganize the storeroom and administer band-aids to kids with skinned knees – when their attention was caught by two of the other volunteers in the scouting base.

“Oh, wouldn’t it be great if we had a medic accompany us on this run?” Said Tenten, her voice obviously forced loud enough for them to hear as she stood several feet away with Kiba, very pointedly not looking at Sakura or Neji.

Kiba nodded sagely, rubbing his chin before reaching down to give his hound, Akamaru, a pat. “Definitely. I’d feel so much safer if someone with some medical knowledge were to join us, just in case someone was to, maybe, get injured.”

Tenten nodded in return, feigning a thoughtful look for a moment before throwing her arms up in exasperation. “Oh, darn! But, I don’t think either Dr. Tsunade or Dr. Shizune have ever been on supply runs before! If only there was someone else we could ask to assist us!”

“Someone that knew how to kill zombies!” Kiba added, almost failing to smother his grin. “But just who could that possibly be?”

Neji shot them both a glare, eyes narrowed and arms crossed over his chest. But he was obviously fighting a losing battle and, after a moment, he looked back to Sakura, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighed.

“Fine. You can come.”

He missed the pair of conspiring winks Tenten and Kiba sent Sakura from behind him, glancing away as the doctor grinned.

“If we get split into teams or the group gets separated,” Neji continued, glowering down at her, “Stick with me. Dr. Tsunade will have my head if you lose yours.”

“I can take care of myself, you know.” But, Sakura couldn’t keep herself from smiling up at him, excitement bubbling up. “But, got it. Thanks, Neji.”

He stormed off after that, aiming to finish setting up the preparations for the trip, but Sakura didn’t miss that slight quirk to his lips as he walked away.

::

They’d only been searching through the remains of the town for about twenty minutes when the horde passed through.

There had been a brief amount of panic amongst the group – six, including Sakura – but Neji had, of course, taken control, hissing out orders while the large mass of shambling corpses approached. And it all kind of blended together. Stabbing zombies in the head with daggers and larger blades – guns were a rare find in such a rural area but, luckily, Konoha’s stock of swords and knives that had originally been only for show for tourists, weren’t just cheap knock-offs and fake metal – and dodging rotting mouths, making her way back with the group before things went to shit.

She’d seen Tenten slicing a head off one corpse with her katana before she realized that a new horde was rounding one of the street corners, attracted by the sound of combat and snarls.

The group had scattered at Neij’s command to retreat, darting off down the remaining empty streets and away from the converging horde. Sakura had seen Neji to her left, running alongside her down the street as they were separated from the rest of the group and, inwardly, she was relieved.

He sent her a meaningful look before nodding, grabbing her wrist and leading her through the twists of the small city’s downtown – he’d been here before on other runs, he knew the layout of the town better than she did – before they passed by what looked like a run-down school (more-so than the rest of the buildings).

Neji shoved her towards the entrance as they passed a wall of overgrown hedges, tugging her down out of sight and crouching next to her for a moment before hissing out a reply when she sent him a confused look.

“We cleared it out two weeks ago, the front door is the only entrance that isn’t locked.” He nodded up at the short set of steps leading to the double doors of the school. “They’re still closed, so it should still be clear.”

Sakura nodded before sending him a slightly panicked look when he stood, backing away from the school.

“Where are you going?!” She kept her voice down, very much aware of the sound of the horde coming down the street.

“I’ll lead them away and circle back to pick you up after the horde has passed. Just stay inside until I get back.”

“But-”

“Now, Sakura.”

Lips pursed, she gave him a curt nod and rushed up the steps, the hedge-wall luckily keeping her out of the mass of corpses’ lines of sight as she hopped over the strip of police tape and tugged a door open to slip into the building, quickly pulling it closed behind her and catching sight of Neji racing back down the street outside.

Sighing, Sakura turned to face the interior of the old school, her frown deepening.

Those ‘CONDEMNED’ signs did not look very welcoming.

::

The school must have been abandoned long before the apocalypse came about, Sakura realized as she wandered through the building. Many of the walls looked rotted and there were a few holes in the flooring where the wood-work had given out. Just as Neji had said, there were plenty of decapitated corpses laying around, obviously disposed of by the scouting party that had checked out the school last time.

Still, Sakura decided to explore. Maybe she’d find something useful that the last group had missed.

Plus, it was a good distraction from her worry for the rest of her group.

She occasionally dropped her hand to the walkie-talkie strapped to her belt, resisting the urge to try to call one of the others. There was a chance that they were in a place that required them to be quiet and the sudden crackle of the radio coming to life could very well lead to someone’s death.

So, she’d just wait until someone else tried to contact her or for Neji to return.

The school was a lot bigger than she had initially thought and she spent a good fifteen minutes walking down the main halls, popping into random rooms to give them a cursory glance before continuing. She’d found a stick of chalk in one of the first classrooms and had quickly snatched it up, dragging the chalk along the wall as she walked to both guide her back if she happened to get lost and to give Neji a path to follow.

She’d yet to find the nurse’s office – her main goal – but did happen to come across what she guessed was originally the cafeteria. Picking her way over the discarded zombie bodies, Sakura headed towards the back of the large room, pushing through the doors into the back. The storeroom had been thoroughly raided but, nonetheless, she continued to search, only to jump in surprise when she heard a muffled thud somewhere in the distance.

She froze, ears straining to identify what the sound was and its possible source.

It’d sounded kind of like a door slamming shut, but she wasn’t about to just race back the way she’d come and hope it was Neji.

Instead, she exited the cafeteria, making her way back into the hallway and continuing down the way she was originally headed, listening carefully for any other suspicious sounds.

At some point, she swore she heard the sound of glass shattering.

::

Almost another ten minutes passed and Sakura had seen no sign of life – or of the undead – but she’s still on edge, glancing over her shoulder every few moments and rounding corners with a held breath. She’d yet to find anything useful and her radio was still silent at her side, the anxiety eating away at her nerves.

The main building of the school apparently connected with both an East and West wing and Sakura had come to the realization that this was probably more of a small University than a regular school, what with the crisscrossing hallways and large lecture halls.

She found the library before the nurse’s office and she popped her head inside for a quick look, itching to explore but well aware that there were too many opportunities for something to sneak up on her between the aisles of books. Sakura took a moment to frown to herself, however, when she realized that a great number of the shelves that she could see were empty, before she remembered that the building had been condemned before it was abandoned.

So, she pressed on, still leaving her chalk trail on the walls until eventually – finally – she found the infirmary. Grinning, Sakura slipped inside, bee-lining for the storage cabinets and hoping to find something useful that the original search party had overlooked.

::

Expression smug, Sakura left the nurse’s office with a few new rolls of forgotten gauze, a couple unopened packets of cotton balls, unused tongue compressors, some adhesive bandages, and three bottles of in-date rubbing alcohol. Sterile supplies were hard to come by, but she could understand why the original group might have passed over such unassuming items (the bottles of rubbing alcohol had actually been in one of the desk-drawers, so they might have just missed them entirely).

All in all, Sakura was fairly pleased with herself, patting her filled bag.

That is, until she realized she wasn’t alone.

Movement to her right caught her eye as she exited the infirmary and Sakura immediately froze, head snapping over to catch sight of a figure moving down the hall, away from her and towards the area she hadn’t yet explored.

They obviously weren’t a corpse – they walked carefully, gracefully – but she didn’t recognize their clothes, so they weren’t from her group. The hood of their jacket – black and worn with use, duct tape wrapped around the sleeves for added protection – was pulled up, blocking any details of their face, but Sakura kept her eye on the stranger, stepping backwards carefully. They hadn’t seemed to hear her yet and she had to keep her breathing quiet, uncertain whether they were friend or foe.

She’d only made it about seven steps back when she heard a snarl over her shoulder.

Sakura spun around, hand instantly dropping to the knife holstered on her hip, and slipping it out of its strap in one smooth move as she found a zombie shambling towards her, almost close enough to touch. Moving on instinct, she dodged its reach for her and jammed her blade into its forehead.

The corpse went limp almost instantly and she breathed a sigh of relief, retrieving her knife with a sharp tug as the body fell. Her relief was short-lived, however, as she heard movement behind her once more.

The noise of her brief scuffle had definitely caught the attention of the stranger, as they have spun around in surprise and are now facing her, the hood of their jacket fallen back to expose their face.

Sakura eyed the red hair and familiar face with a quickly deepening frown, dropping into a defensive stance as she recognized them – him.

“You!”

“Doctor.” Gaara greeted, looking uncomfortable and vaguely shocked.

Definitely foe.

She nearly growled under her breath, just about ready to start shouting at him for robbing her home after they offered him and his siblings shelter and help – she’d been taking care of his brother! – but, glancing down at the fully-dead zombie next to her, decided that making noise would be a bad idea.

He had a knife in his hand as well, watching her warily as his body tensed defensively. Blade at the ready, raised threateningly, Sakura glanced back over her shoulder once more before beginning to back away.

If one corpse had made it in somehow, there were bound to be others. And, though it had come from somewhere behind her, going forward – towards Gaara – was not an option.

It was time to leave the school.

They’re both silent, watching each other carefully, and, the moment Sakura made it past the edge of the corner of the hall and saw it continue to her left, she ran.

Paying close attention to the empty hallway in front of her, lest another corpse appear, and listening carefully for the sound of footsteps racing after her – she heard none, but her heart was still pounding with worry – Sakura continued back the way she’d originally come, skidding to a halt when she passed the double doors of the library.

Biting her lip, she quickly pushed past the doors, deciding that, if Gaara decided to chase her down, she could probably give him the slip amongst the rows of shelves.

She headed for the back of the library, past a few front-facing rows of bookshelves and into a lounging area and-

-And immediately regretted her decision.

There was a large bay window here at the back, facing out into a communal outside-area, with several lounge chairs and couches set up, a few tables and more simple chairs for studying nearby. The chairs and couches look to be in fairly good condition, though covered in dust.

The window, however, has been shattered, broken glass scattered inwards, away from the outside. Sakura might have taken this for a fortunate, quick exit, had there not been a pair of zombies shambling over windowsill.

The shards still in the frame of the window were slicing at their rotting skin, sending that vile, dead blood dripping out in near-coagulated globs as they groaned and snarled, their movement more invigorated at the sight of her.

Sakura made a quick move backwards, nearly shrieking as she heard another series of grunts behind her, and almost ran into another reanimated corpse. She swung her knife, missed, and quickly dodged out of its reach, running for the rows of bookshelves to hopefully lose the zombies.

She took a zig-zagging path through the rows, listening for the sounds of the corpses and quickly altering her path as new ones appeared as she ran. The library was bigger than she had anticipated but the worry of getting lost was overpowered by her burning goal of losing the undead that were undoubtedly following her.

They’re not fast, but they were relentless.

Sakura stumbled to a halt when she came across a fallen bookshelf, eyeing the broken wood under it – the floor had given out from the weight, it seemed – before simply leaping over it. The bookshelf itself covered the hole in the floor, the few books having long-since fallen into the darkness below, but she didn’t want to take the risk of it all collapsing under her added weight.

Three more sharp turns – only moments had passed since she’d started running, but it felt like forever – and Sakura stopped once more, breath caught in her throat as she found her path blocked by zombies. She cut left, doubling back and only vaguely aware of the sound of the corpses thudding against the shelving as they followed after her, walking into the bookshelves.

She heard the groan of the wood, mingling with the moans of the undead, before she saw the bookshelves begin to domino.

Sakura made another snap-decision to move left once more as another pair of zombies appeared in front of her, reaching out for her, and, a moment too late, she realized she’d made a mistake.

The bookshelf to her left was mid-fall, dropping towards her and she hesitated when she saw another wall of shelving in front of her, perpendicular to the shelves that were caught in a domino effect.

Moments, seconds, she spun around and saw corpses rounding the corner behind her for the briefest moment before a flash of red rushed towards her, someone tackling her to the ground – away from the zombies and out of the path of the falling bookshelf.

They both let out pained grunts as they hit the perpendicular shelving, which swayed dangerously from the impact, before they were aware of the sound of crumbling wood and the ground seemed to give out from under them.

Sakura was distinctly aware of the feeling of weightlessness and someone pulling her close before everything went dark.

::

She hadn’t passed out or anything, of course, but the fall had certainly left Sakura stunned for a few moments, coughing through the dust and rotten wood when she managed to sit up, collapsed on a pile of broken, old wood. Tugging the collar of her shirt up and over her mouth, Sakura tried to wave away the dust, groaning and coughing to herself as she tried to move.

She quickly realized that it was pitch-black down here – wherever here was – and her hand dropped to her bag, blindly searching around for the flashlight she had packed. After finding it, Sakura clicked it on and panned the light up, squinting up through the clouds of dust to make sense of her situation.

The would-be gaping hole above her – she wasn’t a very good judge of height, but that had to be at least eight feet – was covered by what she guessed was that perpendicular shelving, having apparently fallen towards the rest of the chaos when the floor had opened up, blocking both what could have been an exit but an entrance for corpses as well.

She sighed, unsure whether she should feel relieved or not, and moved to stand.

Only to scramble away, tumbling down the pile of broken wood, as her hand made contact with something soft and squishy.

Sakura fumbled with her flashlight, suddenly aware that her knife was missing, and pointed the beam at her previous spot.

She saw the red-hair first and came to the realization that, yes, someone had indeed tackled her out of the way.

Gaara was lying in a heap on the pile of rotten lumber, eyes closed and a small trail of blood dripping down from somewhere beyond his hairline. Sakura jumped to her feet, quickly regretting her decision as pain shot up her left leg, and backed away.

She watched the redhead’s still form for a few moments, conflicted as to whether she should keep an eye on him and wait for movement or check herself over for injuries. When Gaara made no move besides the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he laid on his back, she let out a shaky sigh, scanning the light over her limbs to check for blood.

Besides a few scrapes and splinters, she looked okay, though her left knee was sore – she must have landed on her leg oddly. Rubbing her forehead, she moved the beam back to the obviously unconscious man. Sakura watched him for a few moments more, biting her lip in worry, before she realized that the fabric of his jacket was darkening slightly near his right shoulder.

She hesitated only the briefest moment before cursing under her breath and rushing towards him, checking him over with a worried expression.

And that was when she found her knife.

It wasn’t embedded in his arm or anything, luckily, but it was under him, near his shoulder and obviously the source of the nasty gash on his upper arm.

The guilt hit her almost instantly.

Sakura quickly returned her knife to its holster on her hip and grabbed her bag before beginning to remove his jacket.

Enemy or not, she was a doctor.

::

Barely a minute after Sakura had finished wrapping up Gaara’s shoulder – there went all of that nice, new gauze – and moved him off of the rubble pile, the crackle and static of her radio coming to life pierced the silence, making her nearly jump out of her skin.

“-ello, Sakura? Are you there?”

She fumbled with the walkie-talkie for a moment, unclipping it from her belt as she quickly brought it up.

“Neji? Neji, is that you?”

She heard a sigh of relief come from the other end of the radio and she dropped to sit, shoulders slumping.

“Yes, it’s me. Are you alright? Are you still in the school?”

Sakura paused, glancing around the dark room before hesitantly replying.

“...Yes?”

“Sakura? What’s your status?”

She groaned, rubbing the back of her neck and glancing over at the still-unconscious Gaara.

“There was... an incident-“

“Are you alright?” Came Neji’s reply before she could finish, sounding more concerned than she would have expected. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no I’m fine.” Massaging her forehead, she decided to skip the specifics. “Zombies got in, floor collapsed, I’m under the library.”

A pause.

“...Under the library.”

“Yes. The ground collapsed but – luckily? – there’s shelving that’s blocking the way in.”

“And your way out.”

“Yup...”

She heard Neji sigh again, the muffled sound of movement, and a grunt.

“I’m going to need you to hang tight, Sakura, and wait there.”

“What.”

“It’s dark out already. I won’t be able to make it to you safely – I won’t be able to find you – until morning. Try to find an exit if you can, but stay in the school until I come and get you, got it? That initial horde was bigger than we thought; the streets aren’t safe right now.”

Sakura buried her face in her hands as she let out a groan of frustration, trying to ignore the fear starting to set in.

“Are... are the others okay?”

She could almost hear the near-smile in his voice – whether it was at her not arguing with him or some sort of unforeseen fondness, she didn’t know – when he replied.

“I made contact a little while ago. They found shelter and are camping out until morning.”

“You’re not with them?”

“Hn. I’m holed up in...” He trailed off, probably glancing around his surroundings. “I think it was a daycare. I managed to lose that horde but I’ve got the entrance barricaded and my eye on another escape route.”

“Alright...” Leaning back against the wall, Sakura tried to make herself relax, running her fingers through her short hair. “Stay safe.”

“You too. Get some rest, but keep an eye out. If anything happens, let me know.”

“Got it. See you in the morning?”

“The moment it’s light out, I’ll come get you.”

Sakura didn’t bother to hide her smile, sitting back and dropping the radio to her side as the connection cut off. Letting out a steadying breath, she glanced around the room, her flashlight turned off in an attempt to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. When that didn’t seem to do much, she flicked the light back on, setting it next to her and facing upwards to cast the light throughout the room.

She was in some sort of storeroom, it looked like – a basement for the library. There were more empty shelves down here, though a few had collapsed, and she was sure she’d be able to find a way out if she looked, but, for now, she just wanted to rest.

Her gaze dropped to Gaara, who she’d laid a few feet away, his folded up jacket under his head, and nearly shrieked in surprise.

The redhead was very much awake now, his steady, wary gaze on her as he laid there.

“How long were you listening?” She asked, a little unnerved – and flustered, embarrassed. Gosh, did he hear all of that?

He ignored her question, staring back at her long enough for her to sigh and look away, dropping the conversation.

“Doctor.” He greeted after a moment, in the way that Sakura was steadily beginning to grow used to.

“Gaara.”

He seemed a little surprised at that.

“...You remember my name.”

A statement, more than a question.

She shrugged, crossing her legs and trying to make herself comfortable.

After a few moments of awkward silence, he addressed her again, expression twisted slightly.

“Sa... Sakura?”

“Yup.”

“Ah.”

And the conversation died again until Gaara decided to try and sit up, letting out a slight wheeze as he accidentally put pressure on his injured arm. He managed to move into a sitting position and Sakura had to resist the urge to move to his side, fighting her instincts to check him over again. The redhead seemed to realize that his jacket had been removed and he was just wearing his grey T-shirt, eyeing the bandages wrapped around his shoulder.

“You, uhm...” Sakura paused slightly when he glanced up at her, his expression nearly blank now. Rubbing the back of her neck, she tried not to look too guilty. “You fell on my knife. Like, literally.”

Gaara was silent and she sighed before stiffening as she saw him reach for the strap on his belt that would have housed his own knife. When he found it missing, he looked back up at her, eyes narrowed questioningly. Lips pursed, she held his blade up, her knife strapped back in its place on her hip, before setting it down beside her, obviously not intending to give it back.

Letting out a barely noticeable grunt, Gaara moved to lean against the shelving behind him, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair before wincing, fingers brushing over the cut on his scalp. Sakura had cleaned it up, of course, but it’d been too shallow to really need any sort of wrapping and a bandage wouldn’t have really worked.

They sat in silence for a few moments before Sakrua let out an exasperated sigh, pulling her bag over and reaching around inside, not noticing how Gaara stiffened.

“Look, okay, I’m going to-“

“Kill me.”

Sakura’s head snapped up as she balked at him, expression horrified.

“What? No! God, no. I’m- I’m a doctor! I don’t-“

Gaara tilted his head back and closed his eyes, resting his head on the empty shelving as he seemed oddly relaxed, as if he’d accepted the thought that she was going to kill him and had already come to terms with it. And Sakura was at a loss, her hand still wrapped around the water bottle in her bag.

“Why the hell would I murder you, Gaara?”

“Justice is paid with blood, in this world.”

Sakura stared at him, wondering if she’d missed some other headwound of his.

“Why would I be seeking justice?” She spoke slowly, calmly, trying to make sense of what he was saying.

He opened his eyes slightly to look at her, his expression blank.

“We started a fire and robbed your town when you were all distracted.”

He had a point, Sakura realized.

Nonetheless, she reached up to rub her temples, tossing the plastic water bottle towards him.

“I’m trying to put that behind me. I’m not going to kill you – I’m not going to hurt you, Gaara.”

He considered the water for a moment before picking it up, watching her carefully.

“Why?”

Shrugging, Sakura gestured offhandedly, pulling out her other water bottle and quickly twisting off the cap.

“’The enemy of my enemy is my friend’ and all that jazz.”

At his blank look, she shot him a frown, her lips pursed as she squinted at him.

“Why did you save me, then?”

That seemed to draw a reaction from him and Gaara quickly looked away, his lips turned down in a frown as he glanced away from her, absentmindedly opening his water bottle before taking a sip.

Sighing, Sakura drew her legs up to her chest and laid her head back, letting her eyes close as she tried to think through her current situation. It was mere moments later when she heard the crinkle of plastic and something hit her knee. Cracking an eye open, she saw Gaara very pointedly ignoring her and a granola bar resting next to her foot. She smiled to herself and grabbed the bar, noticing the way he seemed to relax slightly at the sound of her opening the treat.

“So, Gaara, tell me about yourself.”

::

“You and your siblings have been on your own this entire time?”

“Ah.”

She let out a low whistle, undoing her wrapping on his shoulder since, apparently, the knife wound had been deeper than she realized and he’d bled through the gauze.

He gave the barest flinch and she muttered a soft apology, moving a little more carefully.

“We...” He paused, eyes on the ground as he let her do her work. “We joined a group for a while, but they were...”

She caught the way his fists clenched – not a reaction to what she was doing.

Shaking his head, Gaara sat back slightly, eyeing the First Aid kit she’d pulled out of her bag before finally glancing up at her.

“How long have you been a doctor, Doctor?”

Lips pursed, Sakura moved away to wash off her hands with the last of her water before splashing rubbing alcohol onto her hands and pulling on the medical gloves in her kit. Swabbed the suture needle with some of the disinfectant, she returned to Gaara’s side and swabbed his wound as well.

“I’m not officially a doctor – hang tight, this is gonna hurt – but I was studying medicine before the world ended.” She started the first of the stitches, biting her lip sympathetically at Gaara’s hisses, before continuing. “I was going to pursue a medical career anyways, so I went to the clinic and asked our head doctor to train me.”

She fell silent for a moment before realizing she hadn’t really answered his question.

“It’s been almost a year, I think. I started my apprenticeship pretty early on.”

Gaara gave a curt nod and they made idle chit-chat while she stitched him up – the conversation tense only because he was tense from the stitches – until she finally finished, swabbing the sutures and surrounding skin carefully to clean him up.

Hopefully the scent of the rubbing alcohol would overpower the smell of blood for any nearby zombies.

“All done.” Sakura said as she tugged off the gloves and stuffed the used cotton balls and gauze inside, tying them off. “Sorry that I don’t have any candy to offer you.”

Gaara surprised her by replying with the softest chuckle.

But then he seemed to realize what he was doing as well and quickly sobered up, grunting in thanks before allowing her to help him get his shirt back on.

Still, that looked kind of like a smile.

::

“It’s all about the trajectory.”

“Like this?”

Sakura sized up her target – a crude circle drawn on the wall with her bit of chalk – and aimed carefully before throwing her knife, frowning when it didn’t stick in the wood and simply bounced off into the dust.

“You’ve almost got it.” Gaara replied, holding his own knife in his hand – the uninjured arm, of course – and aiming at the target as well. “You just have to...”

He threw and it stuck about four inches deep into the wood.

She sent him a frown, eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“You told me you were right-handed. How the hell did you do that with your left?”

His smirk looked almost teasing.

::

“Uuuh, truth.”

Gaara didn’t look very impressed, but sighed.

“Biggest thing you’ve ever stolen and gotten away with.”

Sakura’s lips pursed at his question, finger at her chin.

“Before or after the apocalypse?”

She couldn’t help but laugh at his deadpan expression, sending him a grin before she shrugged, hands held up helplessly.

“I’ve never stolen anything in my life.”

Gaara looked a little disbelieving but, after sizing her up for a moment, decided that she probably was telling the truth.

“Right, fine, sure.”

“Truth or dare, Gaara?” She was still grinning, picking out the crumbs from inside the granola wrapper.

“Truth.”

Her grin dropped.

Right, okay. He was going to play that game.

“Fineee. What was your first date like? Did it end horribly? Most do, you know – well, except Ino’s. She’s got a track record of amazing first dates.”

Gaara simply shrugged.

“Never been on one.”

Lips pursed, Sakura crossed her arms, eyeing him with a frown. “That doesn’t count, I get another question.”

“What, that’s not fa-“

“First time you were ever asked out. You probably rejected them but, I wanna know what kind of person you usually attract. Or! Your first crush. Your pick; I want all of those juicy details.”

Gaara crossed his arms right back, eyeing her with another unamused look.

“No.”

Sakura wouldn’t admit to whining, but she definitely did, nudging his uninjured arm as she scooted closer. “Awww, c’mon. It’s so boring down here, entertain me with a story. First kiss?”

He looked away and pointedly ignored her and it took Sakura a moment to realize that vaguely uncomfortable expression of his was him being embarrassed – he was even pouting.

She gave his shoulder a sympathetic pat and he shrugged her off, shooting her a glower.

“It’s okay, buddy. It’s not that uncommon for people in their twenties to not have had their first kiss yet!”

His eyes narrowed and she had to stifle her smile, inwardly deciding that teasing him would be a little more fun.

“I mean, it is the apocalypse and all. Unless you wanna lock-lips with a corpse, you don’t tend to come across people you wanna smooch all that often.”

His expressions were cute and she teased him for a few moments longer, obviously not going to admit that she’d only been kissed, like, twice in her life. Eventually, she backed off, giggling to herself before sobering up as he turned to face her, eyes narrowed in a rather intimidating glare.

“Truth or dare, Sakura.”

A challenge.

“Dare.”

Why was he smirking now?

“Kiss me.”

Her smile dropped and she regarded him with a surprised look – why hadn’t she considered this possibility?

“Excuse me?’

Gaara was looking smug now and he shrugged, uncrossing and crossing his arms again.

“You heard me.”

They held each other’s gazes for a few moments longer, Sakura trying to calm her suddenly racing heart and Gaara looking smugger than she could have ever imagined. Finally, he broke the moment, sitting back as he stifled his chuckles into his fist, eyeing her with unveiled amusement.

“What. What.”

“Your expression was great, thanks. That’s what you get for trying to tease me.”

He continued to laugh to himself for another minute or so before Sakura sat up, lips pursed and expression challenging. Gaara’s chuckles died off when he realized that she was kneeling in front of him now, her face determined as she reached up to cup his steadily warming cheeks.

He looked more frightened – panicked, even – than amused now.

Gaara’s hands dropped to his side as Sakura drew closer, taller slightly as she kneeled and he sat, and guided his face up towards her, dipping down to brush her lips over his.

It was a soft kiss, barely a moment of contact before she pulled back and smiled down at him, inwardly smug at his shocked expression.

And then his hands rose to rest on her hips and he sat up, their lips meeting once again as he fought to keep down his grin.

::

Sakura wasn’t sure exactly how many kisses they shared, but it was a pleasant experience – something light and enjoyable to forget the fact that the world was dying and decaying around them, if for a few sweet minutes.

And, eventually, they decided to rest, hesitant at first to do anything more than lay next to each other. But it was cold down in the library’s basement and, of course, they resorted to sharing body heat as they slept. While the pair did no more than share a few kisses – and maybe a few more before they settled down to sleep-

(Gaara blushed so cutely when she pecked his forehead, she couldn’t get enough of it, and he retaliated with kissing her hands, smirking smugly when she grew flustered.)

-and cuddling up together more easily than they would admit in the morning – the night passed in comfortable, casual intimacy.

When the morning came, however, Sakura was met with a very obvious lack of her new companion, the space next to her empty. In a panicked flurry that she would later be ashamed to remember, she checked her belongings, but found them just as she’d left them, nothing missing or out of place.

Except that piece of chalk.

Standing and stretching, a little forlorn to find Gaara missing, Sakura glanced around and noticed the chalk trail drawn over a nearby wall. She gave a slight smile and followed the path, fingers brushing over the chalk line as it led her to a door, which was closed securely but unlocked.

Following the chalk, she traveled up a short set of stairs, through another closed door, and out into one of the school’s hallways. There were a few corpses lying around, some of which looked pretty freshly killed, and Sakura ran her fingers through her hair, glancing down when her radio crackled to life.

“I’m at the school’s entrance, are you still okay?” Came Neji’s voice, determined with an edge of concern.

Glancing down at herself, Sakura shrugged before smiling and retrieving the radio. There was no sign of Gaara, and she doubted she’d see him on her way out, but, she had a good feeling that she’d see him again, one day.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

[dulwichdiverter]

Common people

The story of Peckham Rye Park and Common is a rich mix of legend, folklore and real-life events. Our writer sorts the fact from the fiction  

By Baruch Solomon; Photo © Steve Keiretsu

“Who’ll buy our rye? Who’ll buy? Who’ll buy?”

The pretty girls of Peckham cry.

“The ears are full as they can hold

And heavy as a purse of gold.

Sweeter corn you will not find

For the London mills to grind.

Come buy, come buy,

Our Peckham rye!”

This almost forgotten nursery rhyme was brought to the attention of the Peckham Society by Linda G Wood in 2001.

While the poem refers to the grain, it is the Old English word “rye” – meaning watercourse – from which Peckham Rye derives its name. Rye is almost certainly a reference to the River Peck, which still flows through the park today.

The expansive and much-loved green space, which is bordered by East Dulwich, Nunhead and Peckham, is steeped in history and folklore. Legend has it that Boudicca, the Iceni warrior queen, fought her final battle on the common, but this is highly unlikely.

In fact, after destroying London, Boudicca’s army headed northwards and laid waste to St Albans. Her crushing defeat by Roman governor Suetonius at the Battle of Watling Street probably took place somewhere in the Midlands.  

There is also scant evidence for Brockley Jack, a local highwayman after whom the Brockley Jack pub is supposedly named. That being said, highwaymen probably did target travellers on the common, perhaps using One Tree Hill to scope out their prey.  

Peckham Rye Common has been a place for recreation since at least the 14th century, when it was mentioned in connection with sports and stag hunting. By the late 1700s, landowners across the country were fencing off areas that had been public land for hundreds of years.

This led to protests at Peckham Rye in 1766 and 1789, when a popular rhyme expressed the outrage felt by many: “The fault is great in man or woman, who steals a goose from off a common. But what can plead that man’s excuse, who steals a common from a goose?”

Around 1767, a different type of radical was taking a walk through the area. Poet William Blake, who was then about nine years old, saw an oak tree “filled with angels, bright angelic wings bespangling every bough like stars”.

A Romantic and a passionate advocate of social justice, Blake used his poetry and art to elicit humanity and inspiration amid the worst horrors of the industrial revolution. There is a mural commemorating his “vision of angels” behind the playground at Goose Green.

In 1864 trouble flared up again. Landowner Sir Edward Bowyer Smith allowed 32 horse-drawn vans onto the common filled with wild animals, including lions, tigers and possibly a rhinoceros or two.

The animals belonged to Wombwell’s Wild Beast Show, a travelling menagerie that was a household name in Victorian England and performed for Queen Victoria and her family three times.

Sir Edward’s unlikely new tenants were welcomed onto the common for a reason – he wanted to sell the land to developers. In response to his proposals, local people took their grievance to parliament in 1865.

It was rejected, but a year later the government passed the Metropolitan Commons Act, enabling Camberwell Vestry to buy the common, together with Goose Green and Nunhead Green, to be used as public space.

Peckham Rye Park was opened  on May 14, 1894 and this early description by JJ Sexby is still recognisable today: “In a secluded hollow delightfully shaded with trees a lake has been made. It has an island      in the centre and is fed by a small watercourse running though the grounds, which has been formed into a number of pools by artificial dams.”

Meanwhile the common had lost none of its anarchic edge. Dorothea Teayne recalled her mother’s memoirs in a letter to the Peckham Society: “One Sunday afternoon there was a pro-Boer meeting (1899 or 1900).

“There was an enormous crowd, and feeling ran so high that the mob made a rush for the speakers and threw them into the pond. I can remember clearly how terrified I was, hanging on to Dad and being unable to keep my feet on the ground, just being dragged along with the crowd.”

When Alfred Stevens of Homestall Farm died in 1907, what remained of his farm was incorporated into the park. It was used to create the bowling green and the Sexby, American and Japanese gardens.

The Japanese Garden was inspired by a major Japanese-English exhibition held at White City in 1910. The original shelter and many of the plants were gifts from the municipality of Tokyo.

Over the years, numerous attractions have come and gone. They include a bandstand, a dog’s paddling pool, a putting green and a model boat pond.

To the north of East Dulwich Road is the remains of a blue Art Deco fountain. This belonged to an open air swimming pool that once stood on the common, and plans to build a new lido are currently under discussion.

There were also three whalebone arches in the park, one of which spanned the rustic bridge near the lake. It was considered good luck to walk under the arches, possibly because they looked like wishbones. Lovers also liked to carve their initials on them, which may explain why they eventually fell to pieces.

Peacocks strutted freely about the park but a more unconventional attraction was the “rats’ dining room” near the bowling green. “The rats are most friendly,” one park keeper told the Daily Chronicle.

“They don’t care for crowds, but on a quiet day they like to see the children and the children love coming here to feed them.” He added, rather dubiously, that he’d “never seen anyone run away from a rat”.

Both common and park saw activity during World War Two. A German bomb destroyed the King’s Arms pub that overlooked the common, killing 11 people. Rebuilt after the war, it was turned into the infamous “Kings on the Rye” nightclub and is now flats.

According to bombsight.org, 78 bombs were dropped in the Peckham Rye area between October 1940 and June 1941. Underground air raid shelters were built in the northwest part of the common in 1939 with enough room for 672 people.

From 1943, Italian prisoners were housed on the common. They were not considered hostile and had considerable freedom to come and go. Only one POW hut still remains. It has been used for many years by the One O’Clock Club for mothers and toddlers but is due for demolition in early 2018.

In 1953 the Oval Garden, with its closely cropped lawn, formal flowerbeds and patriotic looking flagpole was laid out to celebrate the coronation of Queen Elizabeth. No doubt a Union Jack flew from the mast in place of today’s Green Flag Award.

In the decades that followed, parks and open spaces across the country began suffering from vandalism and neglect. In 1975 a rather snooty journalist from the South London Press had this to say about the common:

“It stands like an island surrounded by the roar of the traffic, occasionally visited by ‘castaways’ like the meths drinkers and groups of jobless youngsters who bask in the summer sunshine or simply sleep it off until the next bottle.”

The year of 1987 was an especially difficult one for Peckham Rye Park and Common. The lido finally closed. During a summer heatwave, the lake was starved of oxygen and hundreds of dead fish were found floating on the surface.

Then in October, the “Great Storm” that weatherman Michael Fish famously failed to predict brought down several trees. They lay piled on the common for several months before they were finally removed.

The Friends of Peckham Rye Park came into existence in 1995. Since then – largely due to their efforts – the park has undergone a renaissance, and their pièce de résistance is the Community Wildlife Garden.

The spot includes a beehive, insect towers, meadows and a wetland area. Ablaze with colour in summer, the dogwoods in the winter garden give a sense of warmth even in the bleakest months of the year.

It’s easy to drive past the common without noticing anything special; save perhaps the daffodils that line the roadside in early spring. It’s only when you step inside the park that you experience its beauty and variety; how it responds to the seasons and alters its mood with every kind of weather.

There are plenty of unexpected surprises, like the intricately carved totem pole that overlooks East Dulwich Road. Then there’s the strange blue water that comes out of the fountain in the Sexby Garden. An unconfirmed explanation is that it’s a vegetable dye to prevent dogs getting infections.

Talking of surprises, I recently saw an online post claiming that there were remains of a chimney stack behind the Japanese Garden. I never found the chimney stack but while searching, I nearly tripped over a memorial stone dedicated to a William H Shackleton. Further investigation confirmed that Mr Shackleton was of the canine persuasion, but the inscription “Ob Ob ZENA” remains a mystery.

One of my most inspirational experiences happened early in 2009. Unusually for London, there had been a heavy snowfall the previous night. I came into the park to find lots of lovingly created snow sculptures, some of them full of detail.

Parents and children must have come out early in the freezing cold to create these works of art, knowing full well they would melt in a day or two. That for me is what places like Peckham Rye are all about. The enjoyment of nature, a bit of healthy exercise and the spontaneity of creativity for creativity’s sake.

[arplis]

Arplis - News: 8 Reasons to Visit Astoria, Queens

If youre in New York City, Astoria, Queens should definitely be on your radar. Heres why.

Im not sure how scientifically sound such a statistic is, but in a September 2019 feature by Time Out, Astoria, Queens was ranked 8th in an article entitled The 50 Coolest Neighborhoods in the World, making it number one in New York City and second in the United States at large. For many of us who call Astoria home, a first response to such a claim was perhaps, Well, DUH, followed immediately by, Hey, SHUT UP Time Out!

No but really, we residents of Western Queens are happy to share what makes our neighborhood great, or rather, cool, especially if it means we get to lord it over all of Brooklyn, who has gotten the lions share of that reputation for far too long.

Located just 15 minutes from midtown Manhattan, Astoria is a vibrant neighborhood worth a detour during your trip to New York, worthy of being a travel destination unto itself, or frankly, worth moving to, in my humble opinion. Here are 8 ways in which Astoria is every bit as cool as Time Out says it is.

Old World Vibes

!doctype>

View this post on Instagram

Spread the love today. #tzatziki #skordalia #tarama #tyrokafteri #spreads #tavernakyclades #tavernakycladesbayside #tavernakycladeseastvillage Photo Credit @costapetrovas

A post shared by tavernakyclades (@tavernakyclades) on Aug 18, 2019 at 11:09am PDT

While incorporating the young creative types that started calling the neighborhood home over the last decade, Astoria gracefully did something that few New York neighborhoods have managed to do, which is to maintain the immigrant community that gave it personality in the first place.

Largely influenced by the Greek population, you can find frothy frapps and spirited, gesticulated debate at any time of day at cafes such as The Grand, Avenue Cafe, or Omonia. (Insider tip: check out the proud poster at the bakery next door to Omonia that had the distinction of making the wedding cake for My Big Fat Greek Wedding.) Certainly a cure for any winter malaise that ails you, steep yourself in garlic at exemplary Greek eateries like Taverna Kyclades or Bahari Estiatorio.

Even new restaurants promoting old world flavors find success in Astoria, with newcomers Akrotiri, and Lokanta, catching the attention of The New York Times and the Michelin Guide respectively, right out of the gate.

Really Old World Vibes

!doctype>

Inhale. Exhale.

Posted by Layaly Cafe onFriday, January 25, 2019

In a stretch of Steinway Street known as Little Egypt you can find Middle Eastern dining and shopping, and better yet, the highest concentration of hookah bars this side of the Atlantic.

(Oh, right, Steinway Street. Yeah, all of their world class pianos for the Western Hemisphere are made in Astoria, so we also have that. No big deal.)

Its hit or miss as to whether or not you find yourself in a more traditional, cultural club that doesnt serve alcohol, or one of the contemporary spots that feature rebirthed, kitschy 80s cocktail classics, but figuring it out is part of the fun. If youd like your puff with some of the stronger stuff try Fayrooz or Layaly. For the tea and smoothie approach try Rotana or Jasmin.

Music: Its Alive!

!doctype>

View this post on Instagram

#tonight AND #everythursday #thursdaynight #livemusic #openmic @thequaysastoria / signup 8:30 / #music 9pm / 2 #complimentarybeverages per #performer #nocover hosted by @notoriousmignyc of @astoriamusiccollectivenyc #astoriaopenmic #astorianewyork #astoriamusicnow #astorianightlife #astoriaqueens #thirstythursday

A post shared by Astoria Music Collective (@astoriamusiccollectivenyc) on Jun 6, 2019 at 8:23am PDT

In an era when gritty, iconic music venues seem to be closing their doors on the daily, Astoria managed to build a grassroots music scene from scratch to showcase the incredible talent that had moved into the area. Built largely on the wherewithal of Astoria resident Miguel Hernandez, who went door to door convincing bars to host music nights and pay musicians, a diverse lineup of live music is available every night of the week in Astoria, with a couple of yearly festivals thrown in for good measure, care of Hernandezs Astoria Music Collective.

You can get your live band fix with a side of suds at breweries such as Singlecut and LIC Beer Project; with cocktails at cozy, modern bars like The Bonnie and Sweet Afton; with a proper Guinness draught at classic pubs such as The Shillelagh and The Quays; or simply with personality at old school venues like The Letlove Inn and Q.E.D.

Arts and Crafts

!doctype>

View this post on Instagram

Museum admission is free today for the final day of #OHNYwknd. No RSVP required; just come on by. Today at the Museum . 2 pm: Educator-led tour with an introduction to the life and vision of Isamu Noguchi, exploring select works in the Museums collection and exhibitions. . 3 pm: Curators Tour Dakin Hart, Noguchi Museum Senior Curator, leads a tour of the Museum and special exhibitions. Photo @nicholasknightstudio The Isamu Noguchi Foundation and Garden Museum/Artists Rights Society (ARS) #IsamuNoguchi # #NoguchiMuseum #NoguchiGarden @openhousenewyork

A post shared by The Noguchi Museum (@noguchimuseum) on Oct 20, 2019 at 6:55am PDT

You dont need to traipse up and down 5th Avenue with the rest of humanity during your trip to New York in order to get your visual arts fix. Astoria also has you covered in that department.

The Museum of the Moving Image is a tribute to the film and television industry, something that Astoria has just a little claim to, being the location of Kaufman Astoria Studios, NYCs only production studio with a backlot, and the filming location for none other than Sesame Street. (Who are the people in YOUR neighborhood?)

The Noguchi Museum is a building designed by the artist himself to showcase his work, and the result is a serene, austere space that takes the traveler out of the New York bustle for a moment to immerse her or him in sculpture and light, and a peaceful, courtyard garden. For some art out of doors of a more peculiar persuasion, you can go from your Noguchi visit right across the street for a riverside stroll in the quirky Socrates Sculpture Park.

Beer Culture

!doctype>

View this post on Instagram

Our beer & cheese pairing combo matches a beer flight with a mixed cheese plate. Pro-tip: Its a great way to start off a date night! by @davidavisuals. #beerandcheese #beerpairing #datenight #astoriaqueens #weloveastoria

A post shared by Astoria Bier & Cheese Broadway (@abcbroadway) on Sep 6, 2019 at 7:41am PDT

Proof positive that the universal divine favors Queens over Brooklyn: Astoria Bier and Cheese. Full stop. No but really, this combination bar, cheesemonger, and bottle shop is as close to perfect an eating and drinking establishment as I have ever found, with its suds and curds-forward menu, and airy market vibe.

In addition to the aforementioned breweries Singlecut and LIC Beer Project, no beer tour of Astoria would be complete without a visit to Bohemian Hall and Beer Garden, a Czech cultural club complete with the requisite sausages and liter draughts. Grabbing a table in its expansive, tree-lined backyard will have you wondering whether youve somehow entered a portal to the Bohemian countryside, but the friendly rattle of the subway just a few blocks away will remind you that youre still in New York City.

Sweet Tooth Satisfaction

!doctype>

View this post on Instagram

Rainy days & cookie dates Snickersdoodle is on the menu TODAY chocolate peanuts caramel yum

A post shared by Chip NYC (@chipnewyorkcity) on Dec 9, 2019 at 9:09am PST

Along with a robust Greek and Italian population comes bakeries of the pay-by-the-pound variety. Baklava seekers should visit Marthas Country Bakery or Omonia Cafe Next Door, whereas disciples of the cannoli can find refuge at Gianpiero or Rose and Joes.

An eight-block stretch of Astorias 30th Avenue has seen such a recent emergence of sweet eateries to have earned the unofficial nickname of Dessert Row. (If youre not convinced by this, alone, I cant understand what moves you.) Feed your sugar need at Chip for cookies, Ample Hills for ice cream, T-Swirl for crepes, No for cakes, or Paris Oven for getting your French on.

Lo-Fi Shopping

!doctype>

View this post on Instagram

Tbt to Record Store Day earlier this year. When the sun was out and the only thing you had to worry about was your vinyl melting on the train ride home. Ah yes, a simple time.

A post shared by HiFi Records & Cafe (@hifirecordsastoria) on Dec 9, 2019 at 7:09am PST

Who other than the coolest neighborhood on earthsorry, I mean coolest in New Yorkcould support opening a record store in the past decade? Well, Astoria did. And not only that, but in a culture where all kinds of single concept stores have gotten bulldozed by big box establishments, Astoria has birthed not only Hi-Fi Records, but Gamestoriafor gamers, Astoria Bookshop for literary types, and Lockwood Paper forother literary types. Theres apparently even enough business to support Uke Hut: a damn ukulele store. I mean, how cool is that?

Not to mention the European-style food shopping where meats, seafood, baked goods, and cheeses all have their expert, specialty purveyors, for those who choose their New York City AirBnbs on the basis of the kitchen.

Not Trying to Be Cool, or Rather, Trying to Be Not Cool

!doctype>

View this post on Instagram

Come enjoy a cold beer or Rum Punches @ outdoor seating. Its Off the Hook!

A post shared by Off the Hook Raw Bar Astoria (@offthehookrawbar) on Jun 21, 2018 at 2:01pm PDT

I have long held the belief that Astoria is the coolest precisely because it isnt trying to be cool. (See, ukelele store, above.) On the contrary, one of its peculiar delights is noticing the prevalence of puns and dad jokes in businesses whose mission seems to advancing the antithesis of cool. Maybe its just me, because I live here and I notice these, but I salute them for their unapologetic wordplay: Off The Hook, The Teapsy, Enthaice, and Something Catchy. With you in our corner, Astoria will never become too cool for school, thereby earning the right to stay cool forever.

(function(){if(window.instgrm)window.instgrm.Embeds.process()})() Arplis - News source https://arplis.com/blogs/news/8-reasons-to-visit-astoria-queens