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mossy-thing · 3 months ago

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I wrote a new chapter!! Read it here or on AO3!

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And why it was Tomorrow came (and with his grey hand led us back)

Chapter 3

In which there is foreshadowing, a star, a revelation, and a lot of mistrust.

They had not slept like this for long years. They often slept in the same room, of course, a luxury like the small tower they had left behind now was not often among their finds, but usually, Maglor slept on the other side of the room, curled up like a cat beside his ever waking brother. Elrond and Elros nearly always slept together, in the same bed. Maglor only joined them when he had to, and Maedhros never did.

Not when one didn’t count the first few nights, that was, in the foggy beginning. Back when the air had still smelled of salt, when they still had others to fight orcs with, and when he and his twin had feared the Fëanorians like sheep feared a pack of wolves. Maedhros had held his brother, then, while he had held the twins, and sometimes, when the night had been the blackest, none of them would have been able to say who held whom captive anymore. Much had changed since, if course. But even though Elrond was taller, and stronger, and, or so at least he liked to think, a little wiser than on the day they had been pulled out from under his mother’s bed by callused hands and thrown onto a horse, the feeling of falling into a mattress, or a cot, or even a hammock at the end of a long day with little to do but ride and recite quenya poems as part of the education Maedhros gave them nearly resentfully had stayed the exact same. A boneless exhaustion, that had been kept at bay over the long stretch of hours as the sun sailed over the sky, singeing leaves and grass blades, and that had grown even stronger as they laid down long after Arien’s ship had vanished and Tilion’s began to sail.

Some nights, Elrond felt sure he would not find the strength to get up again in the morning.

He was not sure why Maedhros was sleeping with them now, why he was clutching his brother so tightly. Perhaps something had happened in that last battle. Something frightening. Elrond’s eyes slipped shut, and he wandered down the Path of Dreams before he had any chance to wonder what.

“She was here?” Elrond nodded, and Elros crouched down to frown at the sand like he expected it to spell out the woman’s full name and post address in black pebbles. Elrond was nervously rocking on his feet, glancing around. This felt wrong, like they would be discovered any moment now and dragged into a cold cellar, where the walls were slimy and the air tasted of mold. Elros, having caught his dread, stood, and crooked his head at him.

“Come now, nothing bad is gonna happen. This is a safe haven, remember?” He suddenly stood up straight and added, in a perplexingly good imitation of one of the few Maiar watching over the cottage, “Nothing will harm you here, children. You may run as you please.”

Elrond smiled, despite himself. “You even got the sorrowful tone right.”

Elros grinned. “That, I did. I will be an amazing actor one day. People will travel far to see me perform, and cry uncontrollably as I do.”

Elrond rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure.”

His brother’s plans for the future changed nearly daily, and one was as absurd as the next. When they had been very young, Elros had sworn up and down for nearly two weeks, which was the longest such a plan had ever lasted, that he would be the king of a powerful people one day, that he would wear a crown of seashells and be clad in robes lined with golden embroidered hems.

“And you will always come and visit me, right?” he had pleaded once, late at night, and for the first time Elrond had thought he might really mean it. “It would be so lonely if you didn’t!”

But the next day, he had seen one of the soldiers traveling with them carving a bone into the shape of a small duck, and had started claiming, with stars in his eyes, that he would be a whittling nomad one day, who sold otters of wood and smiling cats of ivory. “It’s true,” he had grinned. “I saw it in a dream.”

Now, he frowned at the sand, before giving it a kick and stretching. “What direction did she come from?” He looked down the seemingly endless dunes that stretched out on both sides, narrowing his eyes. “If we go there, we might be able to find her tracks.”

“She came from that side,” Elrond said and pointed down the beach. “And she was carrying a basket of vegetables, like she had been at a market.” He frowned thoughtfully. “If we go down that way instead,” he said, pointing down the opposite way, “We could find out where she was going, before she met me.”

“And where she went after.” There was a strain in Elros' voice, a tension in his movements. He did not sound excited at all. Elrond stepped closer and softly took his twin’s hand.

“It’s alright,” he said, when Elros looked at him. “We don’t have to go, if you don’t want to. We can forget this and head to the Cottage, and we’ll never mention it again.”

Elros tilted his head for a moment, like he was actually considering it, but then he shook it, and Elrond’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

“No,” Elros muttered, squeezed Elrond’s hand and added, a little more surely, “No, I want to find out who that lady is just as much as you do. So let’s go already, we have only so long before we wake up again, and then it might take weeks before we can go on together.”

They smiled at each other, though it still looked a little forced on Elros' part, and started walking.

Elros was right, of course, Elrond thought, watching the sky. It was nearing dusk, and the waves rolled softly over the fairy sand, making calming, rumbling noises as they went. He had always liked it best when he woke up at the beach. It calmed him, though he did not wish to visit it in the waking world, not for many years, at least, if he would make it that far. And even if he did, he most certainly did not want to see a beach with a Fëanorian at his side. There was something dark in his mind, something that stirred awake when a big hand gripped his arm or when heavy footsteps echoed outside of his view, and though he chose not to name it, he knew exactly what it was. And he could guess what would happen if he visited a beach with the ones who had taken him and Elros away from it.

Elros gasped, long after the sky had grown dark and stars had begun to appear, like careless paint strokes in the heavens, and the hand not already intertwined with Elrond’s pointed up. Elrond lifted his gaze and started. In the sky, like it had always been there, hung a ship. It took Elrond a second to realize what he was looking at.

They had seen Gil-Estel before, of course, but never so closely. In Beleriand, it was naught but a shining, wandering star, and it had taken some time until they had understood what – who it was that was moving it. Maglor and Maedhros did not mention it, not after the first night it had appeared at least, when the cold wind had nearly blown through them and Maedhros had said, rasping and dryly, “Surely that is a Silmaril, that shines now in the west?”

Maglor had only squeezed his hand, his hollow eyes fixed on the new star. For once, the minstrel had been utterly silent.

Only when they had begun wandering the Path of Dreams to the Cottage had they realized it was a ship. One of the Maiar at the cottage had taken all of the children by the hand one night, had floated with them up into the sky and let them watch as Gil-Estel sailed. Vingilot, they had called it smilingly. The enchanted ship of Eärendil the Mariner. Each night he sets sail and flies over the Sundering Seas, and each night the light of the Silmaril atop his brow pierces the stormclouds of your home country.

“Can we go and visit him?” a boy with fair curls holding Elrond’s right hand had asked.

That you cannot, the Maia had replied. For he is of the waking world, and would neither hear nor see you. But know that his arrival is a sign of the Valar. Know that his light is a sign of Hope.

They had seen Vingilot from afar then, a ring of dreaming children in the air, held aloft by a force older than Ëa itself. This was different. Far different. The ship was close, so close Elrond thought he could reach out and touch the silver wood, should he want to. The white sails were blowing in the night wind and the light of the Stone let clouds and waves glimmer and shine in colours Elrond had never seen before. How had he not noticed it? Had he been this deep in thoughts? Perhaps the sky had darkened and the ship had risen, and Elrond had not felt the change in the light.

Though, he thought, it was one thing to see his father’s ship from afar, to see it through the narrow windows when he awoke at night and blindly grasped for his skin of water by his cot, but to do so here? To be so close, achingly close, to the man who had loved their mother, who had given two pieces of his soul to gift him and his brother life, and be unable to touch him? Unable to speak to him?

This was agonizing. It was more painful than the Battle Song of their foster father, more tortuous than the cold glares Maedhros threw their way each day for stealing his brother’s love.

His hand ached, he noticed suddenly, and when he looked down, he realized Elros was gripping it so tightly that pain shot up his arms and bundled up right behind his eyes, he felt tears well up and slide down his cheeks. He pulled his brother closer, and they watched as the ship floated higher and higher into the sky, as it grew smaller, smaller, and at last became a star, of roughly the same size as it appeared in Beleriand.

“We should go on,” Elros was saying, his voice as quiet and small as Elrond felt. “Or we won’t find her.”

“I don’t want to go yet,” Elrond murmured, pressing closer, and Elros hummed in agreement. So they stood, their bare toes in the sand, still warm from the evening sun, holding each other and watching that distant star.

And then, Elrond saw the bird flying away from it.

It was not a very big bird, a seagull, maybe, though it was silent as it came closer, and circled slowly over the beach, down in a mesmerizing spiral of white feathers, until it settled onto the sand, stepped from foot to foot — and melted away. Elrond gasped as he stared at the being in front of him, watching as it grew taller, darker, and had at last turned into a woman. She was tall, dark skinned, with long, curly hair, and wore the same white dress she had when Elrond had last seen her. She seemed so familiar. There was just something in the way her brows knit together in worry, in the way her hands grasped at the fabric of her dress at her sides.

She was staring at them.

Elros took a step back, pulling his brother with him. “Well,” he hissed, “There’s your answer. She is a Maia. How else could she see us? How else could she turn into a bird and fly?”

Elrond only stared at her. She had not moved, only to stretch out a hand towards them, but now it fell at her side, limp, with an ever so slight tremor, and there was neither the hum of Song that was usually so evident around a Maia, nor a shake in the Air when she moved. She seemed, to him, like an entirely ordinary elven woman. And she had known their names.

Elrond took a careful step towards her, ignoring his brother’s gasp. It made sense that Elros was scared, of course. They both knew that Maiar who were not used to them, like those at the Cottage, could be a little unsure of what the Children’s bodies could endure, that their bodies could be too hot for touch, that they could twist the bones inside ones skin without a malicious thought, and even though Elrond was fairly certain Elros and he did not actually have bodies right now, he could understand that Elros was not keen on finding out to what degree they could still feel pain. There was just something about her…

“Will you disappear again?” she asked. Her words were quiet, but they still pierced through the air clearly, and Elrond had no problem understanding what she said. He looked at the sky. The night was nearing its blackest, and he knew Arien set sail here long before she woke them in Beleriand.

“Not yet,” he said.

“Elrond, come on,” Elros whispered, and pulled at his arm again. I don’t think she is a Maia, Elrond thought, and Elros answered, Does it matter?

Elrond frowned, but he had no time to think on it.

“How are you here?” She paused. “Are you here? Are you real?”

“We are real,” Elrond assured her, and frowned. “But… I’m not sure if we are here? We are –” He turned to his twin for support, but Elros was only staring past him, pressing his lips together so tightly they turned grey. “We’re dreaming,” Elrond settled on.

“So the question we should be asking is,” Elros said, “Are you real?”

Elrond looked at his brother again, surprised to hear him speak, but Elros was still staring at the woman, not paying him any mind.

“Of course I am,” she said shakily in the same moment Elrond thought, Of course she is.

Elros was confusing him. They had spoken about this decades ago, after all. These dreams were real. There really was this beach, there really was the little path through the woods, and there really was the little Cottage at the end of it. The other children in their white nightgowns were real, and they returned to Beleriand when they awoke, just as he and Elros did. For Elros to suddenly question the reality of their situation, of the woman standing right before them, who had grasped Elrond’s hands and wept at the sight of his braids, made no sense. Suddenly, he remembered their conversation in the little closet in the tower. Elros had known he had been speaking to a woman. Why had he not questioned it until now? Why had he not remembered?

“My name is Elwing,” she said suddenly, desperately. Her eyes were full of tears when he turned to her, shocked. He knew that name, of course he did. Maglor had made sure he and Elros knew where they came from. Family is everything, he used to say. Elwing was grasping at the frills of her white dress like they would give her the strength she needed to keep her voice from breaking. They did not, of course.

She wiped her eyes, looked at them, smiled. It was Elros’ smile, the one he wore when he fell and skinned his knees, but tried to convince Elrond he was alright regardless of his pain. “I am your mother.”

Comments are greatly appreciated. Whenever I have a rough day, I look at them. I know I have a hard time replying, but I read every single one and I am incredibly happy about your feedback.

#my writing #and why it was tomorrow came #elrond #elros #elwing #maedhros #maglor #silmarillion #silm fic

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casicroaks · 1 year ago

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At the insistence of his new friends, Woody finally opens up about his life previous to Andy. Meanwhile, as Bo discovers there was so much that was left unsaid between them, she resolves to follow his example -and tell him what she truly went through, between being taken to a new family and finding her own capacity for independence.

CHAPTER 1

[ CHAPTER 1 // CHAPTER 2 // CHAPTER 3 // CHAPTER 4 // CHAPTER 5 // CHAPTER 6 // CHAPTER 7 // CHAPTER 8 // CHAPTER 9 // CHAPTER 10 // CHAPTER 11 // CHAPTER 12 ]

The carnival was moving to a new town. The toys were staying at one of the carts –one where the main pieces of machinery were kept, filling the place with nice little nooks and corners to sleep and sit and lean onto. Bo, having parked her skunk-cycle safely against a couple of iron beams, lit a small lantern she carried for these opportunities, and so her gang gathered around the light. Ducky and Bunny were trying to play cards without letting the other see theirs (which, being joined at the hands, was not an easy task) while Duke Caboom, who had found a little forgotten tube of lipstick, was attempting to repaint some parts of his motorbike. In the meantime, Bo and Giggle talked excitedly about what the new town would offer, what type of children would be there –and new emergency plans in case of dogs, which were much more common than cats and, if they swallowed Giggle or found Bo Peep, could start a whole situation that could easily end up in disaster.

As they did all this, Woody kept his distance, staying against the wall, gazing through a crack in the wood of the cart walls at the clear night sky. Despite the speed of the train the stars could be seen perfectly, twinkling bright against the pure dark blue. The trees raced along them, their leaves lit silver by a beautiful full moon. He moved away from the wall and wandered around, lost in thought. Bo noticed, and walked up to him, her sheep following her close by.

"Hey… You okay?"

"What?" Woody snapped out of his daze. "Oh, yeah, I'm okay. I'm doing okay. You okay?"

Bo chuckled. "What's on your mind, cowboy?"

"Nothing, I was just…" Woody let out a little laugh, petting Goat (or was that Gruff?), knowing how corny he would sound. But with Bo, he was never really afraid of being a bit corny once in a while. "I was thinking of Andy again. When I went on car rides with him, I never looked out the window. I didn't care what was outside. But now, out here… The trees are so beautiful in the moonlight, and so is the lake… I don't know," he sighed. "I guess I'm noticing all I've been missing out on."

Bo rubbed the back of his neck. "You sure you're okay, honey?"

"Yeah," Woody said, smiling at her. "Don't worry about me."

"Okay, alright then. Hey everybody, gather up!" said Bo, and her sheep bounced back to her side. "Let's plan for tomorrow, shall we?"

"Yeah, there's no fun in this. Ducky's a serial cheater," said Bunny, throwing his cards down.

"Don't you dare call me that!" cried Ducky. "My eyes just happened to set on your hand! It looks a lot like my hand!"

"Sure –main difference being that my hand's looking a lot better than your hand!"

"Guys, c'mon," said Giggle. "That's a silly thing to argue about."

"Silly? Imagine your partner being a serial cheater, then tell me if that seems silly to you."

"I have never cheated! In my life! I am absolutely honest and… Hey, wait a minute. How did you know your hand's a lot better than my hand?" said Ducky, and gasped. "You've been the cheater all along!"

"How dare you!"

"Guys!" said Giggle. "Please!"

They both left their cards and hung their head in shame. Bunny sighed. "She's right. I'm sorry, Ducky. I never meant to hurt you. You know I love playing with you. No matter how hard it gets."

"No, I'm sorry, Bunny," said Ducky. "I shouldn't have been taking cards out the deck each time you looked at your deck. That's too close to actual cheating, you know. And I'd never do something like that."

"What are we gonna do, Peep?" asked Duke. "Plan the next playtime?"

"I've thought so…" Bo looked at Woody, who had sat on the floor around the lantern, staring at her. Bo then had an idea. "But I'd also like to do something different tonight. You all know Woody, of course."

"The ex-sheriff," said Ducky.

"Were proud of you for leaving the pigs, comrade," said Bunny.

"Hey!" cried Giggle. "You know I'm head of pet patrol!"

"Aw, you know you're different, Dimples," said Ducky.

"Yeah," said Bunny. "You're like a vet –a pet cop –a vop –a pop –copet –vetpetcop –pet enforcer..."

"No," said Giggle in a deadpan. "That's even worse."

"What would you prefer, then?" asked Bunny. "Animal catcher?"

"I thought copet was the best one," commented Ducky.

"What I mean to say," continued Bo. "Is that we all know each other pretty well –but I bet you still have some questions about Woody."

"Yes, I have one –what is Woody short for?" asked Duke. "Woodrow? Woodbert? Woodinson? Woodpecker?"

"How did you get to be a sheriff?" asked Ducky.

"Have you ever jailed anyone?" asked Bunny.

"How many years have you on the job?" asked Giggle.

"I meant more like questions of who he is," said Bo, trying to stop the flurry of inquiries. "Many of us spent a long, long time not being played with, but for Woody playtime comes natural."

"Well," smiled Woody, quite flattered. "I wouldn't say natural..."

"Hey –hey –I still have a question," said Ducky. "How did you get to be a sheriff?"

Woody sighed, but it was at least a question he could answer. "I was made as a sheriff. I've had the role and my badge for as long as I can remember."

"I knew it," said Ducky to Bunny, lowering his voice. "He's inherited the job. Dang nepotism..."

"What else can you remember?" asked Giggle.

"Huh?"

"Yeah, what's your real story, cowboy?" she insisted.

"I already told you," smiled Woody. "And I've made my best to add as much detail as I could recall."

"No, I don't mean that… I mean the before. How did you get to Andy's room in the first place?"

Woody, still smiling, looked up at Bo. She looked back, with a questioning glance and a slightly worried look on her face. Woody took a deep breath.

"I don't think… It's not a very interesting story. It's long, and tedious, and boring, and long…"

"Come on!" said Giggle. "How long could it really be?"

"Yeah, sheriff," added Duke. "I mean, look at me! I'm an old boy like you, made for the Great Christmas Demand of 1975—"

"I was made in 1952," said Woody quietly.

Everyone turned at him in surprise. Woody wished he had kept his mouth shut.

Giggle let out a nervous chuckle. "Oh my," she said. "In that case it's truly crazy that you've gone so long without some real wear and tear. Am I right, Bo?"

"Why don't I know that?" blinked Bo, confused. "Did you… Did you ever tell me, Woody? Have I just forgotten…?"

"Well –Jessie and I told you, we and Bullseye were originally characters from a TV show..."

"Yes, but I thought you were reproductions," said Bo. "You know, newer toys made to look just like the originals…."

"Oh, yeah," said Duke proudly. "Beware the knockoffs. Marge had to send me to a specialist historian to make sure that I was the real deal."

"But –did you ever tell us you were made so long ago?" Bo asked Woody.

"No, no, it's just…! I never told anyone."

Giggle glanced at Bo. She didn't return the glance.

"Alright. I mean, it's not like we haven't seen some serious elderly folk at Second Chance…" said Giggle.

"Yes, Woody," said Duke sympathetically. "No prejudices here. We won't judge you on your age."

"Thanks, guys," said Woody. "Well… Do you really want to know? I'm more interested in what you all did before getting into Second Chance –like, what about you, Duke? How did you get here all the way from Canada? And you, Giggle? I bet you've got quite a story—"

"Just tell us, Woody!" said Bo. "We got time. If we get bored, we'll tell you."

"Yeah, don't worry about that," grinned Giggle.

"Alright. Alright," said Woody. "I… Gosh, it's been a while since I haven't… It was a very long time ago…"

Sunlight streaming through clear windows, specks of dust floating around –that was the first thing Woody remembered. There was the gentle twang of guitar music from a radio, and an old man wearing a striped shirt by the cash register was reading a newspaper. There was an assortment of blurry colors in the store, of brightly painted dolls, cars, guns and soldiers, all type of figures and shapes, made irregular by the layer of slightly-crumpled, see-through plastic between him and the outside. He was still, in his box, watching everything silently. As the sun left and the store went dark, the old man left too and locked the door, and some toys –those who were not firmly packed in their respective boxes –ran across the checkered floor, chatted among them, went to the window and gazed out of it, to the twinkling world outside, just like Woody –just like the other toys still in their packaging. And then morning came –everyone went back to their places –and the old man would unlock the door and the store would open.

And every day, like clockwork, just by the time the shadows in the store became long and the sunlight was particularly yellow, children –shorter, smoother-skinned versions of the old man that guarded the store –pressed their faces against the window glass, watching in, excitedly. Some of them pointed at the dolls, at the hula hoops, at the toy guns –and some, several in fact, pointed at Woody –and he felt a twinge of pride, of satisfaction. For some reason, those children seemed so happy to see him. And he realized how happy that made him –their glee felt contagious. Sometimes children would rush inside, making the little bell by the door ring relentlessly, and they grabbed at everything, and crowded around the brighter, more colorful toys, and looked around and called each other's attention; and many gazed at him longingly, and Woody felt like a million bucks.

A few weeks went on like this. People –truly, mostly adults –came and purchased boxes of Woodys that looked exactly like him, and they were put into a bag and left through the ringing door, hopefully to some loving home. Finally a tall man in a suit came into the store, glanced around, and as he came across Woody he smiled. He asked the striped-shirt man to pack and wrap it for a present, and so Woody's box was taken from the shelf, was wrapped in darkness and taken on a bumpy ride somewhere that would become his new place.

The box was opened by a short, stout freckled boy, and as soon as his gaze fell on Woody, his face lit up and he let out a delighted gasp.

"Sheriff Woody! He looks just like he does in the show! Aw, thanks Pops!"

The boy gave his father a big hug, as the mother laughed.

"Now, Davy, there's one more gift for you..."

But the boy, Davy, only had eyes for Woody. As soon as he was excused he went to his room, clicking his tongue to make the sound of a galloping horse. He pulled Woody's string to hear him say in a clear, resolute voice, You're my favorite deputy!

The following years were some of the happiest in the young pair's life. Davy didn't have the whole set of Woody's Round Up toys, but he did have a tin toy horse named Applebite, which became Woody's new steed. Davy also had several small papier-mache figurines he made himself, of different little critters Woody was often saving from some dastardly plan concocted by the evil Professor Atom –an old, flaky wooden puppet covered in shiny crumpled tin foil. And, of course, Davy also made amazingly detailed sets of cardboard locations for playtime: a saloon with a working door, several tables and stools made of real balsa wood, a bar with tiny cups and bottles, and a functioning toy piano on the end of the room, next to a set of stairs leading nowhere; a lair for the villain, full of shelves where he kept his weapons –all made with papier-mache as well; and he painted them all with careful strokes of leftover chalk paint.

Davy always took Woody with him when he watched TV, always at the announced airing time, each week, to catch the latest episode of Woody's Round Up or The Lone Ranger. Mom didn't allow him to watch too much TV, "it'll rot your brain into mush", she always said, and when he was alone Davy repeated the phrase, and even made it the concept behind one of Doctor Atom's super-rays. As Mom didn't have a job like Pops did she stayed almost exclusively at home, doing at least two of her usual activities, which would include cleaning, washing, vacuuming, ironing, cooking, talking through the phone, sitting by the window, staring at the wallpaper, drinking, and giving orders to Davy. Davy would read his Frontiersman comics strips, trying to ignore his mother, receiving the orders in silence. And this would make Mom even angrier.

"Wash your teeth, stand up straight, chew with your mouth closed! Stop mumbling, stop running around, stop complaining all the time!" mocked Davy when her mother wasn't nearby, when he came home from school and was playing with his toys. "You should be happy you don't have a mother, Woody…"

And Davy always talked to Woody as if, for some reason, he knew Woody could listen. He commented on his friends and parents' behavior and told him about his day almost as if they were lifelong friends. When he had nightmares and couldn't go back to sleep, late into the night, Davy told Woody about his fears and held him tightly, either until his tears dried or until he fell asleep again.

The other toys –Applebite and Professor Atom, especially –were the most helpful at understanding how to be there for Davy. Applebite had been around since Davy was a baby, and knew exactly what comforted him and what made him anxious. Usually, as Woody found out, Davy liked having something soft to hold on to when he was nervous, angry or scared, whether it be a pillow, a piece of cloth or even Woody's own soft ragdoll body. When Davy was happy, he liked having everything in sight, easy to spot and move as he saw fit. He became distressed when his room was too messy, and Woody never discovered whether it was because of his own desire for order or because of a fear of being punished by Mom. Not even Applebite knew.

Professor Atom, on the other hand, hadn't been around for so long, but he was incredibly attentive and had a good ear and eye (metaphorically speaking; both features' factory paint was peeling quickly) to detect things not even Applebite could notice. Professor Atom was an old puppet that Davy had fished out of a garbage bin on the street; he used to be called Marvelous Merlin, a wizard for a puppet show depicting King Arthur's adventures. Time had not been kind to him, but his naturally chipped and rotting wood were perfect for a supervillain; Davy had only needed to wrap him up with tin foil and repaint some of his features to have a terrifying puppet to serve as the antagonist to Sheriff Woody's heroics. Despite the absolute change of his identity, Professor Atom was grateful for his second chance at being played with; as he laid on that garbage tin, wet by rain and eaten by bugs, he told Woody, he had truly expected it to be his end. And even if he could be rather noisy when trying to spy on the family's exchanges (wood limbs are not nearly as quiet as plastic nor rag), he had a worldliness that made Woody deeply admire him.

"Mom has some deep underlying issues," Professor Atom used to say, perched on Davy's bedroom window, watching the street. "Look at her. Look how she's staring down the road."

"Is she missing Pops?" asked Woody, sitting beside him. He knew Davy often missed his father; as soon as he arrived from work, Davy would run up to him and tell him everything Woody already knew, how class had gone, what games he played, what happened in the latest TV episode.

"Pff. Of course not," said Professor Atom. "Look how she keeps glancing at her watch. Look how she taps her heel. She's gonna whoop his ass as soon as he brings it home."

"Oh, that's bad news," said Woody. Davy was very sensitive to when his parents argued –which was pretty often. All toys could hear the rumble going down in the kitchen, the yelling and the cursing, and Davy would try to cover his ears and shut his eyes as hard as he could. In these moments, the need to silence the world was so strong that he couldn't even hold Woody for comfort. "But why is Mom so angry at him? What did Pops do wrong?" he asked. "Or is it like with Davy –she just likes nagging for nagging's sake?"

"Beats me. But I do have a theory," said Professor Atom. Mom was now lighting a cigarette, as the light faded and the street turned dark. "I think Mom's not happy here. I daresay she doesn't even love Pops."

"But why wouldn't she?" insisted Woody. In the TV shows, Moms and Pops usually loved each other. Yes, they often squabbled, but by the end of the episodes they usually made up. "Pops' the best, Davy says so. He's smart, he's strong, he's crafty, he's a hard worker…"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean he's a good partner," said Professor Atom. "Listen, sheriff: I remember clearly, King Arthur and Guinevere. On stage, they were as lovey-dovey as can be. But off the stage… Whoo, these two were impossible. King Arthur was a complete diva; it was as if everyone else was there to serve him. Jeez, he treated me like a damn butler," he grunted. "But with Guinevere… It was different with her. He actively tried to sabotage her, to win the affections of children. You see, Guinevere was one of the most beautiful puppets ever, even prettier than Iseult. And she knew it. When she appeared on stage, accompanied by this enchanting flute theme, all the kids had eyes only for her. And Arthur was green with envy. He wrecked Guinevere's dress, forcing her to sleep outside the box, prey to the moths. He insulted her every time the show ended, criticizing her performance, telling her how she had overacted, how she was barely fit for her melodramas. And once, in pure anger, Guinevere shattered Arthur's crown."

Woody stared at Professor Atom, holding his breath. Besides being quite knowledgeable, Professor Atom was also really good at keeping others on the edge of their seats.

"Arthur almost destroyed Guinevere after that. And I don't mean destroyed in a symbolic way. He destroyed her in the only way he could ensure he would stay the star of the show; he grabbed a thick branch, while our owners were sleeping. He went to Guinevere… And smashed her head until she was nothing but a bunch of splinters. Her body remained, but her head, her beauty… There was nothing left. In the end, our owners had to cut out her character completely. And Guinevere… Who knows where and in what state she is now."

Woody tried to imagine it, but he couldn't. The process from puppet to nothing… It was something that his mind couldn't fathom yet. "So do you think…? Do you think Mom's going to destroy Pops?"

"No, that would be illegal. You know, like in the TV? No, she won't bash his head into tiny pieces, but Mom's gonna try to do something similar –destroy him in a symbolic way. She'll make sure Davy doesn't like Pops any longer –she knows how Pops wants Davy to like him. And if Davy doesn't like her, well…"

"Woody, look what I've bought!" Davy's voice reached them from the hall.

Professor Atom and Woody went limp. Davy picked Woody up, a huge grin on his face, and showed him his purchase. "Look, it's a little guitar I saw on discount at the store today. Isn't it perfect? It's just like the one in the show –now you can play and sing us your songs –and look!" Davy strummed the little strings. "It sounds like a real guitar too!"

Davy sat on his bed, put Woody on his lap and the small guitar on Woody's lap. Davy let out a chuckle. "It's… A little bigger than what it should be, but I think it'll work just fine. So, why don't you sing us a song, sheriff?" Davy pulled the string, and Woody said I'd like to join your posse, boys, but first I'm gonna sing a little song…

Instead of a song, though, there was the sound of heeled footsteps approaching. Davy looked up, and his mother was there, looking tired, with a cigarette between her fingers.

"Well, bucko, looks like you father's not coming for dinner tonight –again," muttered Mom, dropping the ashes on Davy's room floor. "Come on now, before the stew gets cold."

"But –I wanted to tell Pops all about how I won today as baseball –and about Johnny's trip to Hawaii –and –and…!"

"He don't care about any of that, David," said Mom. Davy's excitement went out like a candle. "If he cared about anything you do, about anything I do, then he'd have the decency to come at the time he is supposed to come home, to eat the meal I prepare for him. Of course, if I'm the one who's late on the dinner roast I'm the lazy one, I'm the one who's done nothing for this family, despite—"

Davy stared at his mother. Mom sighed.

"Just… Come have dinner," she said. "And wash your hands. I'll know if you haven't."

Davy looked down at Woody. He sighed, and followed his mother out of the room.

"See? I told you," said Professor Atom to Woody from the windowsill. "Divide and conquer."

Situations like these were common, and became even more frequent as Davy grew older and Mom and Pops' patient grew thinner and thinner over the years. They began arguing in front of Davy, something they didn't dare do before. Broken dishes, flying insults and slamming doors were something to be expected nightly.

Davy, despite how excitedly he played with his toys and how jolly he seemed, was truly a very sad boy. He would sit on his carpet quietly, listening to the hurtful words his parents hurled at each other. He couldn't focus on playtime. Sometimes Davy told Woody about how the other kids would tease him for being short and chubby; he told him how he wished he was a strong leader like Woody was, unafraid of facing adversities, of putting his life on the line for others. He wished to be heroic, but there was no chance for him to try to be so. He was not as confident as he wanted to be, and the kids at school knew that and took advantage of that; he wasn't as strong nor as bold to dare confront his bullies.

"I wish I could take you to class with me, sheriff," Davy told him, before leaving him to catch the school bus. "Then you might help me be a bit braver."

Woody wasn't allowed to be taken to school with him; and so he stayed home, like Mom, and could easily listen to her talking to her friends, complaining about the boy and the hubby, as she sometimes called Pops in a scornful tone. And other times, paying no attention to Applebite and Doctor Atom's warnings, Woody climbed down the stairs, out of pure curiosity. More than once he saw nothing truly interesting, besides Mom sitting on the couch, completely still. Woody was then reminded of one occasion in which Davy went to a carnival for his birthday, and among many prizes there were some very pretty dolls that he asked Mom for –Woody wondered at the time if he had the intention for the doll to be his "damsel in distress", like pretty girls were often in the TV shows. Mom said certainly no, very angrily, but then Davy took Woody closer to his chest and muttered, just low enough so Mom couldn't hear him:

"Mom looks just like one of those dolls though, doesn't she? All pretty-looking but with nothing to say… With those glassy, empty eyes…"

Woody hadn't understand what he had meant then until he had seen Mom alone, in the kitchen, meaning to finish frosting a cake but having dozed off, lost in her thoughts. Sometimes she just stayed like that for almost an hour, petrified, barely blinking. Woody recognized this same strange sort of trance that Davy sometimes slipped into. He wondered why they did that: he knew he simply had to keep still sometimes, like the rest of the toys, when there was a person nearby. But why, exactly, Mom and Davy had to do that was still a mystery.

Once, Woody remembered quite clearly, Davy had been playing on the living room. It was a rainy Saturday, and as such everyone was inside. Mom was fixing supper and Pops was watching TV, a show Davy didn't care for. So Davy had been playing with Woody, sitting him on Applebite, humming the Lone Ranger theme as they explored the cupboard, the coffee table, the carpet, the mantel, whistling as Applebite galloped next to the ornamental porcelain birds that hang from the wall. Both Mom and Pops glanced at Davy from time to time, but neither wanted to be the one to start the scolding. So they let Davy go on playing.

"Look, Pops! Look what Woody can do!" cried Davy. He had found a piece of cord he had practiced using as a lasso for Woody to brand. Davy tied the knot, put the end of the cord on Woody's hand, and began swaying it around, over his head. "Look! It's like a real lasso! Johnny taught me how to do it…"

"That's nice, bucko," said Pops, glancing at him briefly, then looking back at the TV.

"No –Pops –you missed it!" said Davy, as the knot had slipped. "I'll try again –but please, look! Look –now, Woody's got it, and he's gonna catch something, just you see…!"

"Don't shout, Davy," said Mom, whisking something blueish in a bowl, making an annoying little noise.

"Leave the kid alone, Doreen," groaned Pops. "Let him play…"

"Look, Pops, look!" Davy threw the lasso and, by a stroke of luck –Woody liked to think it was due to their shared lassoing skills –the cord wrapped around the glass figurine of a swan with wide open wings, that rested on a shelf next to the old family photos. "I've caught something…!"

"Good, well done," said Pops in a monotone.

"Pops, you're not looking…!" insisted Davy, and he pulled the cord –and the swan came down its doily –and made an awful, high-pitched crashing sound as it shattered on the floor. Davy gasped and jumped back. Pops immediately raised his head to see what had happened, and Mom brought a hand to her mouth. Davy looked at both of them, still, in shock. He looked down at the tiny sparkling shards of the glass swan. Its long neck was still hanging from the lasso in Woody's plastic hand.

"David, come here," said Pops. "Now."

"I… I'm sorry –I didn't mean to—"

"I'm not gonna repeat myself, David," said Pops, now in a threatening tone. For some reason, he began unbuckling his belt.

Davy gulped. He left Woody on the couch and walked to his father, avoiding stepping on the broken glass. Mom hurried and brought a broom and a dustpan to clean the mess. While she swept the tiny pieces, making a soft clinking sound as they hit one another, Woody could barely see where Davy was going. From the sound of their footsteps, and by the sound of the closing door, Woody assumed they were in Pops' studio. And then, as Mom threw the remains of the glass swan into the bin, there was a loud noise –like something soft being slapped hard –and a quiet sob. It repeated over and over, and Woody became nervous. After a while the footsteps were heard again, and Davy picked Woody up from the couch pillows. His eyes were red, his nose wet with tears. Woody's heart broke at the sight of his boy in such a state of despair.

"You better think about what you did, David," said Pops, behind their back.

With his head hanging, Davy went to his room and closed the door. Outside the rain was still pounding against the windows. He pulled the sheets of his bed aside and crawled in, and covered his head, and cried, hugging Woody tightly. Woody wished he could hug him back, find some way to comfort him better, to let him know everything would be alright. But in the end, he knew well, the best thing was to let him cry it out.

"I'm… I'm such a knucklehead," sobbed Davy. "Pops was right, I shouldn't be playing around with fragile things… Mom will never forgive me. I'll be grounded til Christmastime, and who knows if not for even longer…"

Davy looked down at Woody's smiling, unwavering face. The boy smiled, straightening his toy's cowboy hat.

"Y'know? We could make it on our own. We don't need no one else. I could pick some cheese, some bread, some wieners… A few Rocky Roads… Pack my lunchbox and never look back. We could go west. Whaddya say, partner?" he asked Woody, pulling his string, and he said Yee-haw! Giddy-up partner! We've got to get this wagon train a-movin'!

Davy let out a small chuckle, wiping his eyes.

"It's still raining, though… Bad weather for journeying through the desert," said Davy. "But tomorrow's when the sun'll come out, surely. Tomorrow, then. Is that alright by you, sheriff?"

Woody, as usual, didn't answer. It was alright. Davy was smiling now.

"Tomorrow'll be a new day."

And tomorrow came indeed, and the next day, and the next.

One golden autumn day Mom left home, for some reason Davy wasn't made aware of. When he came back from school, she simply wasn't there, not in the living room, nor in the kitchen, nor in the bathroom, nor in her bedroom. Next day she wasn't there either, and to confirm what was already obvious, Pops quickly told Davy that Mom wouldn't come back. Professor Atom had his theories, but Woody only knew that Davy, while being annoyed that he had to do even more chores than before and had to learn to cook for him and his father, didn't miss his mother very much.

"Do you think she had another family?" Davy asked Woody, as he laid awake in his bed. "I heard something like that in the news. Some woman had two families: two husbands and two sons. Imagine having to clean and cook for so many people," he chuckled. "It's weird, though. Now I kind of realize how much she did. You know, Pops always called her lazy. And yeah, she'd be stuck yammering on the phone all afternoon, but… I keep my room clean, because I like it that way, but…" And he lowered his voice. "Pops isn't very much like that. He kind of expects someone else to take care of his mess."

Davy sighed. He took Woody's hat off, left it neatly on his nightstand and turned off his bedside lamp.

"When I marry, Woody, I'm not gonna leave all the messes to my wife," he said, quietly, in the dark. "I'll be a good husband. Heck –I'm learning to cook already. Good thing Mom left her recipes on the cupboard."

Woody, wrapped by Davy's arms, could feel the boy's racing heartbeat.

"I hope I can be a good husband," said Davy. "Otherwise… I guess my wife'll get someone else to be a wife to. Don't you think?"

Davy looked down at Woody, and let out a little laugh. "Of course, you don't have to worry about it. You're a sheriff –a cowboy –a lone ranger. Nothing ties you down. You don't have to worry about things like wives and cooking and cleaning and taking care of someone… Dang," said Davy, taking a deep breath. "Wish I was as free as you are."

Woody didn't feel as free as the boy believed he was. It was undeniable that, when Davy felt sad, he couldn't help but feel sad, too, and a strong desire to make it all better. Sometimes, even though Davy often insisted that Pops was the best, Woody thought that if Pops was really as good as his son claimed then he wouldn't make his boy cry; Woody was certain that, if he was a father, if he was Davy's Pops, he'd always keep him happy, and tell him what a great, creative and funny kid he was.

Since Mom was no longer around, evenings became awfully quiet. When Pops came home from work, he didn't need to tell Davy to be quiet; Davy knew what would happen to him if he raised a ruckus. So he'd take Woody to the living room, sit beside his father and watch TV. Then they'd had dinner, and sometimes, if Pops was in a good mood, he'd complain about something from the office that Davy usually didn't understand very well, and then Davy would carefully choose which daily occurrence he'd share. Woody didn't miss the arguing at all, and yet something was clearly missing in the Oakley house. Davy complained much less, even to him; and since a good portion of his conversation was venting and voicing his fears and feelings of anger, Davy became a much quieter boy. Pops had caught Davy talking to Woody more than once, and he had told Davy that he seemed positively bonkers, talking to his ragdoll, and that he was too big to keep doing stuff like that. And so, as the days went by, Davy talked to Woody less and less, until he only talked to him –or more precisely, talked for him –during playtime, which was also becoming more and more infrequent.

Playtime altogether soon was a thing of the past, as Davy finished elementary school and was close to beginning high school. It surprised Woody, how long it had been since he had first arrived to Davy Oakley's life –and how quick time had gone by, to the point the short freckled boy that had been so happy to have him was now a studious, serious young man. Since Davy had stopped playing with him and with his other toys, everything had subtly changed: Davy had gotten a part-time job, and spent less time in his house; he got himself a girlfriend, which was also something that kept him away from home; and then the girlfriend left him, so he tried to keep himself as busy as possible as to not think of her and to not feel how his heart was aching. The cardboard saloon and the evil lair, with all the hand-made balsa wood furniture, were thrown in the garbage. Professor Atom was left in the bottom of a drawer, along with a bunch of children's storybooks and Davy's paintbrushes and sketchpads. Applebite remained untouched, gathering dust, in a dark corner of the bedroom, almost hidden behind the bookshelves. Woody was the only toy that was still more or less present, if only because Davy had moved the cowboy from sleeping in his bed to sitting on his nightstand –and, in the few opportunities Davy had friends over, a shelf that kept Woody out of sight.

Since Davy was no longer in the house so often –and his father had become almost a ghost –Woody and Applebite spent some time talking, wondering what Davy was doing in high school, and playing poker –Woody had found a set of cards in Davy's backpack, and for some reason Applebite knew how to play. Whole afternoons passed like this, with Applebite often talking about what he thought about what little he could manage to see through the bedroom window. Woody, being a bit more mobile, began venturing more often into the living room, and a few times even dared to watch TV without Davy. There were new shows –a lot of them –that Woody really enjoyed, like Zorro, Gunsmoke, Rawhide, Lassie, Mister Ed, The Phil Silvers Show and I Love Lucy –and afterwards he'd go back to Davy's room and tell Applebite all about the latest episode, running gag, cliffhanger and plot twist. Once he had opened Professor Atom's drawer, and asked him if he'd like to go down and watch TV with him; but Professor Atom, as a respected thespian, thought that television was a low form of entertainment and insisted that, for some unexplained reason, he preferred to stay locked up in that dark drawer. Woody thought at first that Professor Atom was just bitter because Davy had put him in there, but Applebite told him that he thought it was because Professor Atom simply didn't find a reason to stay out of it, since the result was the same. Davy simply was not going to play with them.

Woody felt bad for Professor Atom, of course, and for Applebite and especially for all the papier-mache critters that were also dumped some months ago. But no matter how it embarrassed him to admit it, there was a sense of pride on being still kept on Davy's nightstand, and even on his shelf. He felt like Davy wasn't ashamed of having Woody, and that even if he was probably not going to play with him –and Woody did really want to have one more opportunity to be played with, as unlikely as that seemed –just by keeping him around, available, Davy might just pick him up, one fine day, and be Woody's favorite deputy one last time.

But that was a wish Woody held deep inside, and while nothing could stop him from hoping, even against his better judgement, the truth was evident. Davy was no longer a child.

David Oakley, a teenager now, spent his last few days of high school cleaning his room and choosing what he'd keep and what he'd throw, as he entered adulthood and was expected to behave as such, and do away with any useless things. He'd gotten brand new sheets, painted his bedroom walls white, got a few different pieces of furniture that he considered more proper to a fella his age. Davy was getting rid of the books he no longer wanted, when he happened to open that forgotten drawer where Professor Atom had been for these last few years. And when Davy saw him, making a little grimace at noting how damaged the old puppet was, he brought a bigger cardboard box and put Professor Atom and Applebite in it. He threw some storybooks and a couple children's encyclopedias in there, too, but kept the Frontiersman comic strips, and saved them in another drawer, where he would surely forget about them for the next few years.

Davy left the room for a moment. As soon as he disappeared behind the doorframe, Woody jumped to the bed and peeked into the cardboard box. Among all the old junk and dusty books, Professor Atom and Applebite sat and looked up at the cowboy.

"What's happening?" asked Woody. "Why did Davy put you here?"

"We're leaving Davy, sheriff," said Applebite. "And it seems like this is when we say goodbye."

"But… Why? Why are we…?"

"No, Woody, we," said Professor Atom. "Applebite and I. You're a lucky one. It seems Davy's got a soft spot for you."

"What do you mean?"

"Children grow up… They grow less interested in their toys."

"I know –Davy doesn't play with us anymore," said Woody. "But that doesn't mean you should be taken away!"

"That's just the way it is," said Applebite, giving a strange horse version of a shrug. "This moment was to come, sooner or later. We've come to terms with it some time ago."

"That doesn't mean you'll never be played with again," said Professor Atom. "Nor Applebite. You two are still in mint condition; you'll stay with Davy, Woody, and Applebite will probably be sent to a charity shop or to a garage sale."

"A garage sale?"

"I'll be given a new life, with a new child!" said Applebite, excitedly. "And I'm gonna be played with again. I just can't wait."

"As for me…"

Woody gazed at Professor Atom's ancient eyes. Just then did he notice how long it had been since Davy had given him a fresh coat of paint, or wrap him in new tin foil. Professor Atom now looked more like a pile of driftwood than like a puppet. Woody realized what this meant.

"No. Please, Professor Atom…"

"That's just the way it is," sighed the old puppet. "I was living on borrowed time, ever since Davy found me and took me in. But now… I've been a piece of trash for several years. It's time I leave and be gone forever."

"You're just being dramatic," said Applebite, but Woody knew when Professor Atom delved into theatrics, and when he was deadly serious. "You're just going to be alright, probably in a new puppet company…"

"Look at me, you silly horse!" cried Professor Atom. "Look at me and tell me if you could see me, in this state, on a stage."

Applebite lowered his head. "Well… Perhaps with some paint and a new arm…"

"Cheaper to be thrown away than to be rebuilt," muttered Professor Atom. "Cheaper to be replaced."

Woody gulped. Would Davy ever replace him? Would he ever be so damaged that it would be easier to be thrown in the garbage?

"But don't worry, sheriff," Applebite hurried to say. "That's not gonna happen to you…"

"At least not soon," added Professor Atom. "So enjoy every playtime like it's your last. You never know when it could be, after all…"

Applebite neighed in frustration. "Why you gotta be so intense? Woody's the chosen one. We should be happy for him. You should be glad Davy's gonna keep you!"

"I don't feel glad," said Woody miserly.

"Imagine, you'll get to play with Davy's kids…" said Applebite. "And Davy's grandkids… And Davy's grandkids' kids… And Davy's grandkids' grandkids…"

Footsteps. Applebite gasped.

"So long, sheriff! The best of luck to ya," said Applebite, disappearing into the box. Professor Atom reached out his crumbling carved hand for Woody to shake.

"Goodbye, Woody Pride," said Professor Atom. "It was an honor to play your villain."

Woody nodded. He had to be glad. He had to be strong. "It was an honor to play your hero, sir," he said. "Thank you for everything."

Professor Atom gifted him a small smile, and went inside the box. Davy came into the room and without giving it a second look he closed the cardboard box and taped it shut. For a moment, his gaze lingered on Woody. He picked him up, turned him around, as if it was the first time he saw him. Davy pulled his string, and Woody said Reach for the sky!

Davy smiled. "Yeah, pictured you'd say something of the sort."

It turned out that Davy had been planning to turn his father's old office into his very own studio. There, on a shelf just above his desk, Woody was carefully seated with his hands on his knees, his polished sheriff badge and his hat firmly set on his plastic head. From that vantage point, Woody could see clearly how Davy spent every afternoon working of house designs. Friends came over to see his sketches, said he was going to be a great architect, and Davy smiled, and Woody felt happy for him. Every few weeks Davy would dust his studio, vacuum the carpet, clean the small window, and in that moment he'd pick Woody up for a moment and clean the spot where he was seated, he'd clean the dust on his hat and nose and hands, made sure the badge was properly pinned and he would sit Woody again on the shelf, and he'd go back to ignoring him until the next time. As much as Woody wished for it, for one more chance, that brief moment of contact awoke nothing in Davy. Sometimes he would let out a little smile, possibly remembering how they used to play. But most of the time he'd be with his eyes on his work, on the girlfriend that occasionally entered the studio, on letters and homework and essays and books, on the things that adults had to be focused on. Years passed like this, having a brief moment of Davy's acknowledgement, then going back to the shelf, left to watch his boy as he grew older and taller and more tired.

But one day, one marvelous, special day, Davy's girl –whose name was Lillian, if Woody's memory was to be trusted –walked into the studio with an unmistakable bump on her belly. At the sight of it Woody felt his hopes rise in a way they haven't been for what felt like centuries. TV had taught him that if a lady had a bump in the belly, that meant a baby was on the way. A baby meant someone who would have to be distracted, played with, and comforted. Woody thought of what Applebite had told him before leaving, about him having the chance to stay and get to play with Davy's children…

"How're my two darlings?" Davy asked Lillian, kissing her cheek and placing a hand on her belly. Lillian smiled.

"Kicking already. I tell you, it's a rowdy one," she said, resting her head on his shoulder, trying to see what he was working on. "How's that coming?"

"A bit late… But hey, better late than never, I guess," sighed Davy, scratching his head.

"It's gonna turn out great, dear," she said, and kissed his temple. "Don't worry so much."

Lillian looked up and around the studio. Davy glanced at her. "What're you thinking?"

"This could be the baby's room, right? When they grow up enough to be in a room of their own…"

"Yeah, it's a bit small…" said Davy, embracing her girl –her wife, more precisely, as Woody could see a wedding ring on Lillian's hand. "But if it's a small child…"

"They're not staying in our room forever," smiled Lillian. "Just promise me that."

Davy laughed. "Yeah, just the first few years…"

"Years?"

Davy and Lillian left the studio. It was nice to see them so happy together –compared to Pops and Mom, Davy and Lillian seemed like the most loving relationship there could be –and Woody was of course very happy to learn –albeit probably a bit late –that Davy had married, but nothing could really distract him from the fact that a baby was coming, and that his days on the shelf would soon be over, and he would be played again, loved again, and so he began to imagine how this new child would be, whether they'd be a boy or a girl, what games they'd like to play, whether he'd stay a cowboy or he'd go through a transformation like Professor Atom did –this was the only thing that rather unnerved him –and this pondering and dreaming became his new favorite distraction.

Every time from then on that Lillian came to the studio, either to call him to dinner or to just have a chat with him, the bump got bigger, to the point she had to walk with a hand on it just to keep balance. Woody wondered when the baby would finally come, and so he listened more closely –he had become used to keeping an open ear, either to listen to the TV or to the radio as a way to amuse himself –and finally –finally –he heard gasping and groaning, and a rush through the stairs, and the car starting, and soon they left the house.

They returned home some time later with a swaddled bunch of soft blankets in Lillian's arms, what Woody guessed was the baby. They weren't allowed in the studio yet, so all Woody knew about them was that their name was Jenny and that she loved to scream and cry to the top of her little but powerful lungs. The fifth or sixth night that the baby was already home, and by the joined efforts of Davy and Lillian their daughter had been put to sleep, Woody decided he needed to see the baby for himself. Of course, it was dark in the studio and while Davy was still very neat that didn't make climbing down the shelf any easier. There were many papers, books, pencils, all carefully aligned and prepared –but so many things could go wrong, he worried. Even a little tumble may wake Jenny up. Woody took a deep breath and, grabbing onto the edge of the shelf, dangled his legs down until he could be sure he was stepping on something sturdy. Then, it was a matter of grabbing the next shelf down from him, descending slowly, and then finding something else to step on that wouldn't fall and make enough noise to wake either the parents or the baby. It took him a while, but luckily he managed to get onto the desk, and from there to the chair, and from there to the floor.

He went to the living room, which under the dim moonlight seemed so different from when Davy was a little boy. The lamps had a strange shape, there were new paintings framed on the walls, and the TV was new and slightly bigger; there were no photos of little Davy on the mantel, as they were replaced by smiling pictures of older Davy and Lillian together, including one where she was dressed all in white and he was dressed all in black. The radio was also new, and very different than before. There was a record player now, too, also much more modern than the one Pops had that Davy wasn't allowed to touch as a boy. And the magazines on the coffee table showed people dressed in extravagant fashions –colorful stripes, circles, flowers, plaid and checkers. Woody wondered how many years he had been stuck in that studio.

Woody climbed the stairs as quietly as he could. He reached the first floor, and heard the snoring from the bedroom, and stepped into the dark bedroom, which was still and silent beyond the snoring. There was another sound, though. A soft low music, coming from a device suspended over the baby's crib. The cowboy looked up. From the device dangled yellow felt stars and blue and white felt clouds, which turned around in a slow-moving circle. It was a hypnotic, gentle sight.

Woody reminded himself what he was doing there. He approached the baby's crib and peeked at her through the bars.

Jenny was a big-headed pale creature, chubby and rosy, her small hands closed in little tight fists. Woody gazed at her, holding his breath, wondering what she was like, who she would become. So far she seemed like all the babies he had seen on TV or through the window –small, slightly smelly, a bit weird looking compared to adults or children. Her round, almost bald head appeared to be so heavy, and she was so plump that she was surely quite heavy, and yet Jenny also appeared terribly fragile. Davy, and probably Lillian too, had looked like this someday. Woody certainly didn't; a baby was a curiosity to him, as were many things that often seemed like they belonged to the world of the comic strips and television shows, things that just didn't happen to him or to any other toy. Woody stretched his hand to touch little Jenny's hand. She let out a little whimper but continued sleeping, to Woody's great relief. Her fingers wrapped around his plastic hand, squeezing tightly. It reminded him so much of when Davy held him, so long ago, for comfort. He smiled. That little baby would soon be his world.

Just then he noticed a small fluffy thing set by the other side of the crib. Woody frowned. The fluffy thing produced a pair of black eyes, which stared at him in horror. Woody gasped –as the fluff ball swiftly climbed over Jenny and frowned at him.

"What on Earth you think you're doing, cowboy?" hissed the fluffy thing, that just then Woody could see was a pink puppy plush toy, with black beady eyes and a little red felt tongue just peeking out of her furry mouth. "This is my turf. Why don't you go back to your ranch?"

"What?" said Woody. He thought the baby wouldn't have a toy yet –if she did, he would be that toy. "I'm just –I wanted to see Jenny."

"You've seen her, alright," said the pink puppy, climbing down from Jenny's chest and putting her paws on the baby's hand. "Now leave! This is my baby…"

"She's not yours!" cried Woody in a whisper. "At least, not only yours!"

"I'm here in her crib! You're probably some old forgotten thing that saw an opportunity, and tried to take it from a hard-working toy like me. You surely heard the cries and thought you had a chance. But look at you! You'd poke a baby's eye out with that nose."

"Hey!"

"Mom and Dad made their choice," said the pink puppy. "This is my baby, and my place is with her. Your place is wherever you came from –so go back there."

Woody knew that the puppy was right, and slipped his hand out of Jenny's grip. But the plush toy had been incredibly rude, and as an older toy –Davy's favorite, no less! –he thought he deserved some respect.

"Listen here, you…" Woody interrupted himself. "What's…? What's your name?"

"What do you care?" said the pink puppy. "I don't have one. I don't need one. Babies don't speak, you dunce!"

"Who do you think you are?" said Woody, growing angrier. "Listen here, pup, I'm not arguing that you are Jenny's current toy. But what do you have against me also being played with?"

"What do you think? You think you can replace me –yeah, I can see it in your greedy bug eyes," said the puppy. "You want the baby all for yourself. You want to take the playtime away from me… But I have it now!" And then the puppy grinned –or seemed to grin –it wasn't easy to know under all that pink fur. "If you even think of staying here in the crib, I'll wake Jenny up. She'll start crying and Mom will see you're here! And she'll take you away –she'll throw you into the dumpster!"

"Shh!" cried Woody. "Alright –alright, there's no need to wake anyone up. If you're Jenny's current favorite, then there's nothing I can do about it," Even though he really wanted to take that unbearable plush toy's place. "I'll leave, okay?"

And so Woody walked away from the crib.

"Yeah, you leave, you plastic-head," muttered the puppy. "You'll get your chance, and who knows if I… Let others have fun too."

Woody turned to the puppy. "What'd you say?"

"Nothing. Go on, leave."

"No, you said—"

"Plastic-head," smiled the puppy. "Why? Does that push your buttons?"

"No –well, a bit –I mean, you said 'and who knows if I…'"

"… Yeah. So?"

"So what did you mean by that?" asked Woody. "You're Jenny's toy, you'll always have a chance to be played with."

The puppy huffed. "You don't know anything, plastic-head. I'm a baby's toy –I'm small and soft and just perfect for her age. Afterwards? Who knows if she'll still keep me. Surely she'll want dolls, with those brushes and dresses and shoes, and other plastic-heads like you…"

Woody thought it over. It was true that Davy had had a few plush toys that he had met not long after being first brought to his boy's life; but those toys were eventually forgotten and also disposed of. Perhaps she was right. He did want to be part of Jenny's playtime –desperately –but if Davy hadn't given him to his daughter, then it meant it was not yet the right moment. No matter how much he wanted it to be, Davy –now renamed Dad, apparently –was the one who decided who Jenny would play with.

The pink puppy didn't look as angry anymore –just frustrated.

"So let me be happy for a while. Okay?" she said, snuggling against Jenny. "I don't have much time with her, you know. By the time she's four… Or even earlier, maybe."

"Alright. Just remember… She's not yours. Not yours alone," said Woody sternly, just to make sure she understood, still trying to keep whatever authority he remembered once having. "Who knows –maybe one of these days Davy –I mean, Dad –will drop me into that crib."

"Yeah –keep dreaming, cowboy," barked the pink puppy, but her voice sounded unsure. "Let us sleep. Go back to the shelf."

That last phrase felt so deeply hurtful that Woody briefly considered entering the crib and pull the pink pup's furry paws off Jenny. But he had no choice but to obey, go down the stairs, into the studio, and back to the shelf, where he had to sit and wait, and wait, until his playtime came.

#toy story #toy story 4 #fanfiction #woody pride #bo peep

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kninedlog · 1 year ago

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I swear I think that Wooly is not just Sam (in my game theory bag, Mat was really onto something I'll give that video that at least.) but also Jordan Cook, the poor little brother that was "kidnapped" and taken away from Joanne Cook. The woman Riley's aunt Kate was getting letters from in the beginning of the game.

THIS THEORY IS REALLY STREATCHING BUT IM PUTTING MY THOUGHTS OUT THERE IN THE POND OF IDEAS TO GET IT OUT MY HEAD, more under the cut. This is very very very long and I refuse to split it apart into seperate post.

- I say this because again, not only was Wooly showing off parently behavior like GT said, but I also see the behavior of just a mature child.

[Small tanget to justify up above: Speaking out my ass here but when I was growing up, (and I'm talking about single digit ages) I had a simmilar personality to the sheep, where if the people around me where taking the topic to inappropriate places or dark themes, I tried to either tune it out or redirect it to more child like things so that the adults around wouldn't be suspicious or so that we wouldn't get introuble. Kids aren't stupid.]

- I don't remember which update it was from the game jam version but y'all remember that picture that was beside the TV of the two kids, with the boy giving the little girl a piggy back ride. I forgotten about this too until I was watching the first GT video about this again fun and now I'm here. Keep that image in mind.

(now stay with me here please)

- Go to official Amanda TikTok and give them a follow and then check out this specific video, where the caption is only praising the truly fire sound accompanying it, but watch what the two are doing! https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT81JtDrw/

- A piggy back ride like the children's photo from that one update!

——————

I'm speaking out my ass, but please let me cook!! Hear me out!

——————

- I suspect that Jordan might one of the first ever victims (other than Rebecca) of HaMelN Entertainment doing their whole demonic shizz.

- With that in mind, think about this; what if before they "tested" it out on Sam and put him in the show as Wooly, they were so confident in their chances of success for summoning whichever of the demons they wanted, that they just started the whole shebang and plopped Jordan right into the whatever and made him Wooly after luring him away.

- But to their surprise, they find that Amanda (Rebecca) is fighting back way harder in turning the evil possession away because of the comfort of having another child around to experience this scary stuff with her. She's not alone and she feels confident enough that she and whoever she can see is inside of Wooly can figure this out and maybe get out too.

[Incoming Tanget: Throughout the game her efforts to try and fight back the possessions or the influence of whoever demon is in her are so lack luster and dry; with the exception of the "What's a family?" tape where's she's actively crying and screaming while undergoing the transformation; that I believe she's mostly given up when Riley is around and we as Riley are seeing what's happening.]

- After some time though, Amanda (Rebecca) starts to loose hope and control leaving it up to Wooly (Jordan) to still try and tell whoever is watching to help them, with subtle hints and clues.

- He can't speak about it directly or else Amanda will cut him off or hurt him. And we only see her actually hurt hurt Jordan Wooly.

[Another Tanget: You might be thinking, No we see her hurt Colton Wooly too, and to that I say, Nay! Because With Colton Wooly all the actions are cut off screen, yes, but that pertains to both, AND the aftermaths with Colton Wooly that we see; talking about the "What's a family?" Tape again; is a thousand times tammer than what happens to Jordan Wooly in vr1 of "Uh-oh Accidents"]

- I personally see two distinct types of people in Wooly depending on how deeper you go to finding secrets and getting to that final Amanda tape where she tell you that she, Rebecca is still out there.

(After finding out that each base tape has at least three different versions based off what you do and say on it, this is what I concluded)

——————————————————

- Wooly 1 (Jordan) is the Wooly that we see durring,

Tape 1: In the kitchen) All versions - Where everything goes as planned and they player/Riley answers everything correctly. Where the player/Riley is disobedient and gets Amanda upset. And when the player/Riley burns the kitchen down with the toy oven.

Tape 2: In the neighborhood) All versions - When the player/Riley plays as intended in both scenarios. Where Amanda is sending a package to Kate and then the one for Wooly's birthday. As well when the player/Riley is disobedient for both.

[Tanget: The question Wooly asked "Uh, Amanda, maybe some of our friends can come back to the neighborhood?" Implies that they weren't the only kids there in the past. And then when the player/Riley continues to type anything else but Wooly's name at the end of it, the "???: Gosh, I guess you really forgot..." Helps me out on this case too]

Tape 3: Uh-oh Accidents) vr1 - The one where Amanda hurts Wooly knee, in all possible scenarios when the player/Riley is being helpful or disobedient

——————————————————

- Wooly 2 (Sam Colton, Rebecca's Dad) is the Wooly we see in,

Tape 3: Uh-oh Accidents) vr2 - Where Amanda drugs Wooly and tries to attack him with medical equipment.

Extra EP tape 4: Everything Rots) All Versions - Where Amanda is being grossly fascinated with death and rotting things and Wooly, kinda like a parental figure is trying to pull her back in line kindly until he can't anymore.

Extra EP tape 5: What's a Family) All Versions - Where Amanda and Wooly go to the Zoo and Amanda starts to talk about family slowly making Wooly regress into a mindless animal.

——————————————————

In conclusion I think Wooly has two minds/souls/spirits(?) In him and that's why throughout the game you can see him sometimes being whimpy and more afraid of Amanda than anything else, and other times sticking up for himself and calling out Amanda's (more so the demon taking control of his little girl) BS

Thank you for taking the time to read my insane ramblings!

💖 It means a lot!

Bonus: The joke tape for hackers of Wooly just sitting there for 10 min, is truly nobody. It's actually just Wooly the character before any soul was put into it to give the character a real personality.

#speaking out my butt #amanda the adventurer #slight theory again im just talking

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italiantnea · 2 years ago

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#3-3_otogiri_tobi/ eat! ¹

¹ this uses the command form, so read that as forcefully urging someone to eat

prev: 3-2 // next: 3-4

-----

They weren't allowed to see the patient, so they couldn't stay long. When they left the hospital they bid farewell to Asamiya. Tobi and Shiratama walked down the twilight road back.

“O-Ryuu.”

Baku was the one to break the silence.

“That was… Long story short, what was that?”

“How should I explain it—”

Shiratama frowned and bit her bottom lip. She was thinking. They just so happened to be passing by the children’s park. There was no one there. There were benches.

“Wanna sit down?” Tobi asked.

Shiratama nodded.

The two of them sat down on the bench of the children’s park.

“It happened quite a long time ago.”

Shiratama brought Chinu out from the pochette and held her gently with both hands.

“At the time, I was in fourth grade, so it was four years ago. My grandfather got severely ill, and was hospitalized. So my grandmother brought me along to pay him a visit—”

Shiratama’s grandfather had a fondness for kendo and jiu jitsu, so he was quite a strict person. Before he was hospitalized, Shiratama hadn't known a thing about his illness. Shiratama had never seen her grandfather lying down. Seeing him sleeping in the bed of the hospital room was somehow so scary she couldn't bear it. Shiratama couldn't step foot into her grandfather’s hospital room. In the end, only her grandmother had entered the room, and Shiratama had waited outside.

At that time, Shiratama already had the pochette that hid Chinu. Of course, she understood that other people couldn't see Chinu. Shiratama had taken Chinu out of the pochette and let her ride on her shoulder. She couldn't feel at ease staying put, so she walked slowly down the hallway.

There were rooms on either side of the hallway. There were also rooms that had their doors wide open so you could see inside. The patients on that floor were mostly ones with serious illnesses. There were people barely hanging on to life with the help of medical equipment too.

What if her grandfather became one of them? But the surgery had gone well. Her grandmother had said that he would only get better. Her grandfather wouldn't become like these people, would he? The thought reassured her a bit. On the other hand, Shiratama felt a pang of self-reproach. To use these poor, seriously ill people for her reassurance; it was a terrible thing to do. Maybe she was a bad person.

Shiratama stopped in front of one room. It was a four person room. A woman and a small girl had come to visit. The woman was only around thirty years old.

The woman addressed the patient as “Papa”. It seemed like the patient was her husband. If only Papa would wake up soon. We want to play with him more, don't we? Hey, Papa. But no matter how much the woman and little girl called, there was no answer. Her husband seemed to be unconscious.

Unable to bear it, Shiratama had prayed for that stranger to recover and wake up.

“—thinking back on it now, it might have been something like compensation for comforting myself with people suffering under illness… Some kind of atonement. I may have just wanted to put myself at ease. But—”

At that moment, Chinu had let out a voice. Hana. Kayoko. That voice repeated those two names. It was clearly not Chinu’s voice. It was a human, a man’s voice.

The man’s voice spoke of the time his daughter was born. He’d given Hana a bath. In the beginning he’d been shaking all over. He’d taken Hana to the zoo. Rather than elephants and giraffes, Hana had spent all the time looking at the sheep. Ahh, he couldn't forget the college-aged Kayoko’s smile when they’d met for the first time. He’d liked people before, but Kayoko was the first time he felt like he loved someone. It’s unbelievable isn't it? To think I’d get this sick. I might die, you know? Of course, everyone dies someday, but I’d thought it was a distant future. After Hana became an adult, I’d grow old with Kayoko. It was over in a blink of an eye, huh? I’d imagined a future where we laughed like that. Before that happens, am I going to die?

Kayoko. Hana. I can't bear not seeing you. I want to see Hana grow up. I want to celebrate Hana’s birthday every year with Kayoko. I don't need anything else. As long as I can live on by their side. It’s too early, isn't it? Can’t I do that? Am I going to die? I don't want to. I can’t die. I can't do that. I don't want to die……

“—I heard his voice. It agonized, thinking about his wife and daughter, about how he didn't want to die. Even though I shouldn't have been able to hear it. After all, that person was unconscious. He was asleep. In a coma. The voice that definitely shouldn't have been audible, somehow came through Chinu…”

“Hmmm…” Baku hummed, then thought for a moment and spoke.

“So that Chinu has some kind of special ability? Even though she’s so small. They say you can't judge people by their appearance but she isn't a person, huh? Hey wait? Does that mean that I have one too? An incredible special ability or something…?”

“Baku’s uselessly good at running his mouth, isn't he,” Tobi said half-exasperatedly.

“Oh that!” Baku laughed, satisfied.

“Ahahaha— wait, no! That’s not the kinda special ability I'm talking about. There’s gotta be more. Like firing off rockets or being as strong as a demon, something cool.”

“Not really, isn't a talking backpack cool enough?”

“As if that were enough. I’m telling you, I must’ve just not gotten serious yet. When I peel off this skin², I’ll show you something amazing!”

“That’s kinda gross, I don't want you to peel off your skin…”

“It's just a metaphor! At least understand that much!”

² ‘Peel off a layer of skin’- overcome harsh training or hardship and become stronger.

Tobi looked beside him at Shiratama, who was looking down. After finishing the story of her grandfather’s hospitalization, she stayed silent.

If Chinu didn't have such an ability, Shiratama wouldn't have heard that unfamiliar patient’s voice. He’d been about to pass on, leaving his wife and daughter behind. He’d been barely hanging on, but realized himself there was little hope. He’d despaired and cried out in grief.

Tobi wouldn't want to hear that. Hear it and then what? He was a total stranger with no relation at all. There was nothing he could do for him anyway. It couldn't be helped.

“...Did Shiratama-san suggest we pay a visit so we could hear Takatomo-san’s voice?”

To Shiratama, Takatomo Miyuki was not a total stranger with no relation. She was a classmate. Seemed like she’d been in the same class in first year too. She’d talk with her even when she didn't need anything from her, and Shiratama was a feast to her eyes. Takatomo’s voice had said so. It was a closeness incomparable to that with an unknown patient.

“I thought, if we could hear it,” Shiratama replied hesitantly.

“If we were able to hear it, then we had to listen. Because that might be something only Chinu… only I can do—”

The next day, Asamiya was late. For some reason Tobi had been apprehensive that he wasn't coming to school, so he was a little relieved.

It wasn't just Asamiya, there were other things on Tobi’s mind.

It seemed like Kon Chiami really was friends with Murahama Nagisa and Shimomaeda Yoriko. Outside of class time, the three of them often did things together. Before, it hadn't been three of them, but four, including Takatomo.

On top of the loss, or perhaps theft, of her possessions, Takatomo had repeatedly heard strange voices.

Losing things that didn't seem likely to be stolen, hearing voices that shouldn't have been heard. Weren't those delusions or hallucinations, or something of the sort? Maybe Takatomo hadn't been in a normal state of mind.

However, Chinu had a special ability. The mysterious power to transmit the voices that shouldn't have been audible, to speak in place of those who couldn't.

And Kon Chiami, whom Takatomo suspected of being the culprit, had a bat-like, flying squirrel-like weird thing with her.

For once, Tobi took his time eating lunch. His seat was by the window, third from the front. In the first seat of the neighboring row sat Kon Chiami. Even now, the aforementioned weird thing that was neither a bat nor a flying squirrel, clung to her back tightly, unmoving.

“I know, Tobi. What you’re thinking right now,” Baku said without lowering his voice.

“Does that thing stay like that, never leaving Kon-chan’s side? Or does it have the ability to go off and do things on its own? If, for instance, that thing was an ill-mannered thief, then—”

Though talking wasn't forbidden during lunch time, it was so quiet you could hear school announcements clearly. Tobi and Shiratama were probably the only ones who lended an ear to Baku’s solo recital.

“Stealing the key to the roof from the staff room, that kinda thing shouldn't be possible. It wouldn't’ve been hard for that thing to sneak it into Takatomo’s desk drawer, though.”

“Sensei.”

Suddenly, Asamiya raised his hand.

Their homeroom teacher Harimoto, who was eating lunch at the teacher’s desk, stopped and said “Hm?”, half-rising from his chair.

“What’s wrong, Asamiya? Hey, you haven't eaten at all. Are you feeling unwell? You okay?”

“I’m not okay.”

Asamiya put both hands on his desk and stood up. His long bangs hid his expression, but he seemed to be terribly angry.

“There’s no way I could be okay. Why’re you just eating like usual? Are you fine with not investigating? After Miyu’s—Takatomo’s been hospitalized after what happened.”

“Well, investigate, you say…”

Harimoto hummed and hawed, touching his face with his hand excessively.

“Hey, hey!”

Masamune stumbled towards Asamiya and tried to sling an arm around his shoulders.

“Chill out, okay? Asamiya—”

“Don't touch me!”

Asamiya brushed away Masamune’s hand roughly. With an “Uwah?!”, Masamune flew back exaggeratedly and spun in circles. Many people laughed upon seeing this act. Seeming irritated, Asamiya pressed in towards Masamune.

“Wahh!”

Masamune stepped back.

“Stop it already!”

The one who cried out was Kon Chiami. Kon’s face scrunched up in an instant.

“Miyuki wouldn't be happy if you were fighting! Miyuki hates seeing people arguing. Don't do something that would make her sad at such a time, please…”

Was she crying? Tobi suddenly had doubts. Kon’s behavior was exaggerated and deliberate. Weren't those crocodile tears? Asamiya seemed to sense something was off too.

“Acting like you were friends. Kon, you weren't getting along that well with Takatomo that well lately, were you? Takatomo was avoiding you, wasn't she?”

“How terrible!” “How could you say such a thing!”

Defending Kon, Murahama Nagisa and Shimomeda Yoriko began reproaching Asamiya. All at once, the classroom descended into chaos. Even as the homeroom teacher Harimoto scolded, “Hey stop, stop it!”, there was no end to it.

As if breaking down in tears, Kon sank into her chair. Murahama and Shimomaeda, and a few other girls aside from that, rushed over to her side. There were also students that criticized Asamiya roughly. Asamiya stayed quiet without rebuttal, but his eyes glared through the gaps between his bangs.

“Don't get so heated, guys! Asamiya has a point to make. Right?”

Ever persistent, Masamune pressed closer to Asamiya. At that moment, Asamiya’s patience ran out. He pushed Masamune aside and ran out the classroom.

“Asamiya!”

Harimoto chased frantically after Asamiya. With an “Oi oiii!”, Masamune followed after him. Masamune soon returned with a troubled, or rather, funny expression, and shrugged his shoulders dramatically. Though not all of them, several students laughed.

Maybe it was because of the say no evil monkey on his head, but it looked strange to Tobi. When he looked at her, Shiratama had an appalled look on her face. He was a little relieved, because she wasn't laughing.

Harimoto and Asamiya still didn't return, and lunch time ended just like that. Tobi shouldered Baku and was just about to leave the classroom.

“Otogiri-kun.”

Shiratama’s call stopped him. As Tobi met her eyes, her gaze shifted towards something else. Tobi followed her gaze.

Kon sat in her seat, draped over her desk. Around her were Murahama and Shimomaeda, saying something to her. Was Kon still crying? Perhaps she was stricken. Or maybe she was acting like it.

It was gone.

That weird thing was not clinging to her back.

“Tobi!”

Baku went wild. As if pulled along by him, Tobi looked around the vicinity of his own seat. On that desk, a meal sat untouched. It was Asamiya’s seat. Something darted in the shadows of the desk. There was no mistake. He’d clearly seen it.

Tobi approached Asamiya’s seat. There was nothing abnormal about the desk or the chair.

“It must be inside.”

He didn't need Baku to tell him. Without looking in the drawer, he suddenly stuck his hand in. His fingers brushed against fur. Without hesitation, he closed his fist around it, and the thing went wild in his hands. Its torso was warm, hot even. Between its forelimbs and hindlimbs, there was a thin, rubbery membrane. It writhed and wriggled its limbs, struggling furiously.

He pulled it out of the desk drawer. It was Kon Chiami’s bat-like, flying squirrel-like weird thing. It had a face like a human baby, and a long tongue darted in and out of its tiny mouth.

Several classmates looked at Tobi suspiciously. Then again, no one paid attention to his right hand. Nobody noticed the weird thing that Tobi had caught. They couldn't see it.

Kon was still being comforted by Murahama and Shimomaeda. Tobi met Shiratama’s gaze. Her eyes were very wide. She seemed rather surprised. Tobi himself was shocked as well. He’d gone and caught that weird thing. What now?

“...Tobi! For now, get to a place without people—”

Urged by Baku, Tobi went out to the hallway. Shiratama followed as well, holding the pochette that hid Chinu. With no destination in mind, Tobi descended down the stairs in big steps. Around the shoe box, there was no one around. At the outdoor shoe area, Tobi faced Shiratama.

“O-otogiri-kun, that thing…”

“I don't know. It’s just a guess but… it was in Asamiya’s desk, so it seems like it was trying to steal something. What is with this guy…”

Tobi gripped the weird thing tightly in his hands. He felt like if he didn't, it would escape. To be honest, he really didn't want to keep holding it. It was gross.

“Oi, don’t let it go, Tobi!”

Baku raised his voice.

“If you let go, that thing’s definitely gonna do something bad again. Looks like Kon Chiami wasn't aware of it herself either. That thing could be the root of all evil.”

“...So you mean—”

Shiratama hugged the pochette containing Chinu close to her chest.

“Disregarding Kon-san’s own intentions, it went off and stole things, and as a result, Takatomo-san became paranoid…is that it?”

“Well, could be that she’s just unaware of it, but she really wished for it in her heart. Whichever it is, this guy’s different from me and Chinu. Tobi and O-Ryuu have a proper awareness of our existence. Whether we can talk is something else, but we’re able to come to a mutual understanding. That’s not true for Kon Chiami. Us and them, we’re only alike on the surface.”

“...If I ask Chinu to stay, she’ll do so. Baku also listens to Otogiri-kun’s wishes, doesn't he?”

“I dunno about that…”

As Tobi murmured noncommittally, Baku let out an aggrieved “Aah?!”

“I don't do as I’m told all of the time, but I listen most of the time, don't I!”

“Maybe this guy—”

Shiratama glanced at the weird thing that would not calm down at all.

“and Kon-san don't have that kind of a relationship…”

“Whether it’s Takatomo or Murahama or Shimomaeda, if this guy was the one who nabbed their stuff, then that means it’s causing harm to others. As a result of that, Takatomo even jumped.”

Shiratama repeated what Baku had just said.

“The root of all evil.”

“If that’s the case, then the same thing might happen again…”

The weird thing Tobi held had been rummaging through Asamiya’s desk drawer.

Asamiya had criticized Kon to her face. It was possible that weird thing had been trying to retaliate. Just like Baku said, when Kon felt hostility to someone, the weird thing would attack them and steal things of its own volition. Was that how it worked?

Maybe they were incompatible, or there was some misunderstanding, but Kon didn't like Takatomo.

If Kon didn't have her weird thing, that would be the end of the story. Because the weird thing had done something strange, Takatomo had been driven to the edge. Distressed, she’d jumped off the roof of the school building. Without that weird thing, Kon and Takatomo might have eventually fought and parted ways, and that would've been the end of it.

This weird thing, struggling endlessly in Tobi’s hand, had brought about a grave and serious situation.

It was beyond a doubt, the root of all evil.

“...Otogiri-kun?”

Shiratama tilted her body diagonally and peered up at Tobi’s face.

Tobi didn't respond. There was something else he had to do right now. But what exactly was he supposed to do? Even if there was a solution, could Tobi really pull it off?

“Leave it to me, Tobi.”

I see.

Even if he couldn't do it himself, Tobi had Baku.

“I will eat this guy.”

Tobi was carrying Baku with the strap on his left shoulder. He shot his head out from above his shoulder. Baku had been a backpack ever since he met him, so that was just a metaphor. Backpacks didn't have heads to stick out. But he had a mouth.

Baku’s zipper opened. Not all the way. About a third, maybe around halfway at most. That was enough. Baku opened his mouth. It was like the zips were teeth. No, they really were teeth. From Baku’s mouth, a tongue shot out. It was robust, and much larger than Tobi’s own tongue.

Tobi understood exactly what Baku was trying to do. If Baku wanted to do so, he should. No, he ought to. Tobi understood exactly how Baku felt.

This weird thing trying to escape from his hands was the root of all evil.

If it weren't for this thing, such terrible things wouldn't have happened. It was better if it didn't exist. That said, he couldn't make it so that something had never existed in the first place. Then at the very least, he had to make it disappear.

On top of that, he was somehow terribly, terribly hungry.

Tobi heard a sound. Was it footsteps? Shiratama was saying something. Something or other about Haizaki-san. But he didn't care. Tobi was starving. It wasn't like his stomach was empty. This was probably Baku’s hunger. So this was how hungry he was. He was so hungry, it was like all the cells in his body had been emptied. He couldn't bear it a second longer.

“—Wait…!”

Someone was trying to stop him. Seemed like it was the janitor Haizaki. As if he cared.

It was too late.

Tobi loosened his hands. In that instant, Baku’s tongue wrapped around the weird thing. Right before that, the weird thing let out a “Giii!” The cry, like nails on glass, cut off abruptly.

Closing the teeth of his zipper—his mouth—Baku chewed vigorously.

He swallowed with a gulp.

“Aah!”

Before he knew it, the work clothes-clad Haizaki had appeared before him. Haizaki put both hands to his own forehead.

“What have you done! Otogiri-kun, what—what did you feed that zingai?!!”

Shiratama’s eyes were wide. Baku burped. The one who’d gobbled down the weird thing was Baku, yet Tobi’s stomach felt a little bloated as well.

“‘What’, you say. Eh? Jin…gai?”

“Ahh, I see…”

Haizaki grimaced and shook his head.

“‘Zingai’ are what we call those beings, like the one you carry on your back. There’s other names for them, but in this country we mostly call them zingai. The vast majority of people don't know about them. It’s not like they really need to know. They can't see them anyway—”

“Haizaki-san can see them, right?”

Shiratama opened her pochette. Chinu poked her head out from within, and Haizaki looked daunted.

“...You got me. You really got me. I’m just a janitor employed by this school, nothing more, nothing less. That being said, I can't just pretend I didn't see anything. I can see them, but that's not important right now. Otogiri-kun, what did your zingai just eat?!”

“Man, what a noisy bastard you are.”

Baku let out a sigh. Uurp. Another burp.

“I’m free to eat whatever I like, aren't I? Even if it’s a zingai or whatever you called it.”

“Just like I thought…”

Haizaki turned pale and trembled. Contrasting that, he grabbed Tobi’s shoulders fiercely and shook him.

“Whose? Whose zingai was it! That incident—I didn't wish for that to happen, but were zingai involved?! Whose did you eat—was it a student from year 2 class 3?!”

He was terribly forceful. Haizaki seemed pretty agitated. Tobi felt overwhelmed.

“...It was.”

“This is bad! We have to hurry!”

Haizaki took off running. What was bad? He wanted an explanation. But Haizaki was gone.

“We should go too!” Shiratama called to him.

Somehow, Tobi felt reluctant.

Baku had eaten Kon’s zingai, or whatever it was called. To tell the truth, he’d intended to do good. He couldn't leave that zingai be. That’s why he’d eaten it. It was fine to eat it.

Baku had eaten a zingai. According to Haizaki, Baku was a zingai as well. A zingai had eaten another zingai.

Tobi remembered that intense hunger.

Baku had—no, it wasn't just Baku. Tobi had wanted to eat it as well. He’d wanted to eat, so he had.

Tobi didn't want to return to the classroom. But Shiratama was pulling him along. He couldn't bring himself to shake off her hand.

The two of them hurried to year 2 class 3’s classroom. There was some kind of ruckus going on. A crowd had gathered in front of the classroom. Tobi and Shiratama pushed and shoved past students from other classes, and entered the classroom.

Kon Chiami had collapsed on the floor. Haizaki squatted beside her, feeling around the vicinity of her neck. It seemed like he was checking her pulse.

“No way…”

Looking like she was about to collapse, Shiratama held onto a nearby desk. Tobi was no more dismayed than Shiratama. Or rather, he wasn't really sure whether he felt shaken or not.

What had Tobi done? The one who’d eaten Kon’s zingai was Baku. Baku had done it. It had nothing to do with him. He didn't really think so.

Baku had eaten Kon’s zingai. That had to be why she’d collapsed.

Why was Baku silent? Say something. Was he not going to say anything? Tobi wasn't, either.

Haizaki was contacting someone with his cellphone. Maybe he was calling an ambulance.

Tobi just watched. There was nothing he could do but watch.

The next day, Asamiya came to school. In the morning homeroom period, their homeroom teacher Harimoto talked about what happened to Kon.

She was fine, he said. Her life was not in danger, and there wasn't anything seriously wrong with her body. But, just to recuperate, she was taking time off school for a while.

During lunch break, Haizaki came to the classroom and called Tobi and Shiratama over. He brought them to the janitor’s room.

The janitor’s room had a small kitchen and a large work table. Haizaki brought out folding chairs, and Tobi and Shiratama sat down in them. Haizaki leaned against the work table.

“—The bond between zingai and their master isn't something that you could sever, even if you wanted to. It’s something that runs very deep. If for some reason, they lost their zingai, the master would…in many cases, they would fall into a state known as heart desolation³. Medically speaking, its cause is unclear, so it’s not an official disease name though.”

“Can it be cured…?” Shiratama asked in a small voice.

Haizaki had a grave look on his face, and hummed in a low voice.

“You can get better, is what I’d like to say, but it varies case-by-case, I guess. From severe to comparatively light, there’s a personal difference between each case, you see. ‘A drop in mental activity’ is how it’s described, but the ability to think, to feel, to move with intention— those abilities decline. It doesn't seem to worsen after the initial onset.”

“That’s good news,” Baku said sardonically. He’d been pretty quiet since yesterday. Maybe he’d become disheartened, in his own way.

“And Kon?”

Tobi asked shortly, and Haizaki cast his eyes down and sighed.

“I escorted her all the way to the hospital but… yeah. It doesn't seem to be a severe case. It doesn't look like she’ll be bedridden, and she was able to give vague answers as well. Seems like she’s in her home right now. I don't think it’s that severe of a case.”

‘So, you can be at ease.’ That, he didn't say. Even if it didn't worsen, there was no guarantee her condition would improve. It was possible Kon would remain like that for the rest of her life.

Shiratama was expressionless. Where was she looking, he wondered. Her gaze wasn't fixed on any spot in particular. It was like a doll version of Shiratama was sat on the folding chair. Without thinking, Tobi sought out signs that she was breathing. Her chest was rising and falling slightly. Obviously it was. She was still breathing.

“It isn't Otogiri-kun’s fault.”

Haizaki said that, and nodded. It was like he was trying to convince himself.

“It was just a stroke of bad luck. No…no matter if it was bad luck or not, Otogiri-kun may have prevented the next tragedy from happening. Once a zingai become aggressive to humans, it’s hard for them to go back.”

“...You mean, don't worry about it?”

“I guess so. You shouldn't beat yourself up over it. It might not be easy, but I’d like you to carry on with your life as usual. If anything happens, you can talk to me. I’m but a mere janitor, but I can give you some advice.”

“A mere janitor?”

“Yeah.”

Haizaki met Tobi’s gaze. He didn't avert his eyes. He didn't even blink.

“It seems like you guys didn't know about zingai. People like that are the majority, I think. But truthfully, if you look it up on the internet, you can get all sorts of information. Whether each piece of information is true or false, I can't say. I’m just a janitor who knows a little about zingai, after all. I don't want to give you any unreliable information.”

“...You’re being all roundabout and wishy-washy, though.”

“Honestly, I don't really understand it myself.”

Haizaki’s gaze suddenly became clouded.

“As you can see, I’ve grown old, and I’m wiser than you middle school students. I wish I could say I can conduct myself like a proper upstanding adult, but…I think I’d like to do whatever I can, within my power.”

“That way of talking sure feels adult-like.”

“I understand that’s not a compliment.”

Haizaki tried to laugh. Midway, his adult-like face distorted in an ugly way, and crumbled.

“I’m truly sorry…”

Was he hurting somewhere? That was what his expression made him suspect.

Baku was staying silent, and Shiratama still seemed out of it. What was Tobi supposed to do? It was no use just sitting here. That much was clear.

After school, Tobi got out of the classroom before anyone else. But without leaving school, he watched Shiratama change her shoes at the shoe box.

Tobi began tailing Shiratama. Baku didn't say anything. It was like he was just a normal backpack.

From the school, Shiratama walked about twelve or thirteen minutes, before stopping in front of an apartment. It was ten or eleven stories tall, and not particularly new or old. Shiratama hesitated on whether to enter or not.

Tobi approached Shiratama. It seemed like she hadn't noticed him at all.

“Shiratama-san.”

He didn't want to scare her. That was why he’d called out her name, but Shiratama cried out a small “..Yah!” and turned around quickly.

“To-to-tobi-kun?! Ah. I meant, Otogiri-kun…”

“I don't really mind either way though…”

“You don't?”

“Eh? Is that bad?”

“...I thought calling someone by their given name all of a sudden would be a little overly familiar. The name Otogiri has its charm as well, but I think Tobi is a wonderful name, so I’ve kind of been secretly calling you that in my head.”

“Ahh.. is that so. Hm…”

Even though it wasn't itchy, Tobi scratched the tip of his nose.

“...If you’re that…how’d you say it. If that’s the case…how about you just call me what you want?”

“‘Tobi’? Ah—”

Shiratama waved both hands in front of her face as if trying to erase something.

“I-I definitely don't mean to be as bold as to call you without honorifics…”

“It’s fine if you do though. Baku’s just been calling me Tobi the entire time anyway.”

“I’ve known you for a long time, after all.”

Finally, Baku cut into the conversation.

“But if O-Ryuu wants to go that far, then that can't be helped, I guess.”

“...Shiratama-san isn't going that far, is she?”

“If O-Ryuu insists on saying it no matter what, then I might even grant special permission.”

“Why is Baku the one…”

“Thank you so much!”

Shiratama’s eyes lit up and she bowed her head. What was she so happy about, he wondered. It was well outside Tobi’s area of understanding. But it seemed like Shiratama was feeling happier, so he supposed it was fine.

“For now, I’m fine with either Otogiri or Tobi, so…”

“Tobi?”

“...Like I said, that’s fine.”

“Then please, call me by Ryuuko as well!”

“...No, that’s a bit…”

“Is that so…”

Shiratama’s expression changed completely, turning dejected.

“As expected, it hasn't been that long since we started talking with each other, so we aren't at that sort of relationship yet, are we…”

“Oi!”

Baku immediately twisted around. Tobi felt bad for the disappointed Shiratama, but he just had an opposition to calling her Ryuuko.

“...Um, can I practice and do it after getting used to it?”

“Practice?”

Shiratama cocked her head. Had Tobi said something strange?

Maybe he had. Practice. What kind of practice? Secretly pulling up the image of Shiratama’s face in his mind when he was alone, and trying to call her Ryuuko, or something? Just thinking about it made him embarrassed.

“Well…after I’ve prepared myself mentally, something…like that?”

“Then at least stop calling me with ‘-san’, and please just call me Shiratama.”

Shiratama’s gaze was strangely serious. Was this so important to her?

“...That’s fine. If Shiratama-san doesn't mind.”

“I do not mind. That’s it. When one day you’re prepared to call me by Ryuuko, then I shall call you by Tobi-kun.”

“What kind of deal is that…”

“I suppose it’s a promise, rather than a deal?”

He didn't care about the promise or whatever it was, but would the day ever come where his heart was prepared for that? He couldn't imagine it, at least, not at this point in time.

“...I mean, what is Shiratama doing here in the first place?”

“Huh? And why is Tobi-kun here?”

“Tobi, that guy. He was following you, O-Ryuu.”

Baku laughed with a kekeke.

“Isn't it gross? He’s not even a stalker.”

“That’s not true—well, it is but…”

This was awkward. Tobi looked the other way.

“When school let out, I thought…Shiratama might try to go to Kon’s house alone… I just felt so.”

“Why?”

Shiratama’s eyelids opened as wide as they would go, then blinked twice,

“...You were spot on. I just couldn't help being concerned about Kon. Kon had told me once before, where she lived, and I’d remembered it, so… Of course, I don't know if I’ll be able to see her or not…”

“Her voice—”

As those words came out of Tobi’s mouth, Shiratama bit her lip hard.

It seemed like Tobi’s prediction was right on the mark.

“Kon’s voice, which we shouldn't be able to hear. Did you want to hear it?”

Shiratama nodded silently.

The two of them paid a visit to Kon Chiami’s home.

They didn't even know the apartment’s room number, but they were able to find out by checking the mailbox. Kon’s mother was delighted by a visit from classmates. It seemed like she wanted them to come see her daughter, and she welcomed them in.

Kon’s home was on the sixth floor. When the elevator came down, a woman who looked to be Kon’s mother was waiting for them. Tobi was taken by surprise. It was because Kon’s mother donned quite elaborate makeup, and wore what looked like formal clothes. The scent of perfume was impressively strong. On top of that, she was so cheerful, it felt out of place.

Tobi and Shiratama were led to the living room. Kon’s mother sat them down on a leather sofa, and went to prepare sweets and milk tea. Shiratama didn't hold back; he thought he heard her say “Please, don’t go to the trouble”, but those words didn't seem to reach Kon’s mother’s ears.

Various fragrances mixed together intricately, filling the air. It was a strangely luxurious living room, which made him feel ill at ease. He shied away from Kon’s mother’s rapid-fire shower of questions about school and friendships, too. Tobi couldn't answer most of them anyway, and Shiratama was struggling as well.

“That’s right.”

At that, Kon’s mother got a photo frame that was hanging on the wall and showed it to them.

It was a photo of a couple and a young girl smiling at a beach somewhere. It was a family photo they’d taken in Hawai’i, Kon’s mother informed them. Apparently they’d traveled to Guam and Cebu island, to Barcelona, London, and Paris as well.

“...She sure seems fond of bragging,” Baku grumbled.

Was that it? Tobi wondered. Rather than bragging, it seemed like Kon’s mother was being urged on by something, even to the point of pain.

“Excuse me, how is Chiami-san?”

Unable to bear it any longer, Shiratama cut into her story, and they were finally led to Kon Chiami’s room. She opened the door without knocking, and let Shiratama and Tobi into her daughter’s room.

White and pink made up the vast majority of the room.

Clad in frilly nightclothes, Kon rose from the bed.

“Chia-chan.”

Even when her mother called out to her, there was no response.

“Chia-chan. Chia-chan? Can’t you hear me?”

Her mother approached the bed and pressed her hands on Kon’s face, clutching it between both hands.

“Chia-chan! It’s Mama! Your Mama! Chia-chan! Chia-chan!”

“...Mama.”

Kon sounded out, staring vacantly at her mother before her.

“Mama. The one here right now. Mama.”

“That’s right. Mama has always been here, hasn't she? Your friends have come to see you, Chia-chan. Shiratama-san and Otogiri-kun. I’ve heard Shiratama-san’s name from you before, Chia-chan. Right? You told me before, remember? Isn't it great, Chia-chan?”

“Mm.”

Kon just let out a noise. Her head didn't move in the slightest. Her mother smiled at her.

“That’s right. Do you want something to drink? Are you thirsty? Or hungry? I’ll bring you something, okay? Mama knows all the things Chia-chan loves to eat, alright? Wait here. Alright, Chia-chan?”

Kon didn't respond. Her mother left the room eagerly.

This room had large windows. Though the lace curtains were closed, the rays of sun coming from the window dyed the white and pink of the furniture and walls orange.

Kon’s hair was braided and tied up. She hadn't worn that sort of hairstyle to school. Her mother had probably changed her into those nightclothes, as well as combed and tied her hair.

Shiratama brought Chinu out from the pochette. Without a moment’s pause, Chinu began to speak.

“Chiami is Chiami.”

But it wasn't Chinu’s voice.

Kon faced forward. Most likely, she wasn't looking anywhere in particular. Her face was just facing forward. Her mouth didn't move at all.

“Chiami is Chiami. Mama—”

That was a voice they shouldn't have been able to hear.

Without a doubt, the girl was right here.

Nevertheless, it was her voice, which shouldn't have rung out.

“Chiami is Chiami.”

-----

prev: 3-2 // next: 3-4

³ ‘heart desolation’ is the term q-talations uses in the kara no kioku manga. Literally, the words 虚心症 translate to ‘hollow heart disorder’. unrelated, but 虚心 is also an adjective that means ‘open-minded’, someone who doesn't harbor any preconceived notions in their heart.

Misc- you might remember, but 'Tobi just watched. There was nothing he could do but watch.' is a line that appeared in chapter 1.4 when Tobi watched Takatomo jump. What does it mean? Boy sure sees a lot of traumatic shit, ig

also if you're as annoyed as i am about seeing 'the weird thing' in italics all the time, i'll have you know the book puts emphasis marks on the phrase every single time it's mentioned. yes i find it obnoxious as well.

there's no exclamation mark in the original chapter title. 'eat' by itself sounds neutral so i added it in an attempt to convey the urging tone of the verb ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

sorry for the wait. this chapter is long as hell. And i'm an engineering student, so you can imagine the state im in🫠 btw, i just noticed that tumblr post editor has been eating all of my paragraph breaks, so i've gone back and edited those in. sorry about that! enjoy your newly sectioned, slightly easier to read story.

#inochi no tabekata #inochi no tabekata light novel

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heneversmiledagain · 1 year ago

Text

an address to a rural congregation

I decided to write a poem about my experiences with religion and being part of a religious family. I wrote this at 7 in the morning, hence why it is rather rushed, but I quite liked the rushed feel. So here we are.

(sorry it's so long, I can't make anything concise)

****

You were always a Christian

Go to church each week and

Pray kind of Christian

Burn in Hell or play in Heaven kind of Christian

You glowed with righteousness

Bright as the sun and just

As painful to look upon

As you boast that you know that

There is eternal life beyond this

Pain is just a test of strength don’t

Cry for the murdered

For they shall dance forever in Heaven

I never went to church

Apart from for Christmas when you

Made me stumble to midnight mass

Stars like fairy lights

I said no I hate it here I hate the tree

Cut from its root and destined to die

Shedding its skin onto the flagstones

The smell of death and stone haunts churches

I hope that religion can burn in its own Hell

I hate Christianity for what it has done

A hypocrite is a hard person to love

Remember the yellow stars

Something so small a Christmas decoration

Just a marker until there were

As many stars on the earth

As stars in the sky

Every star telling everyone who you were

A betrayal

But the stars meant us and them

To everyone else

I hate it all I say even from the days

When chivalry was like a spring

Tumbling cutting ravines

Growing and the Holy Land

Was fought over with unholy wars

And the red cross of St George

Was rivers of blood

And the us and the them

Was fuelled with promises of Heaven

They killed with your righteous joy

Do Christians burn in Hell

Or just the myriad others?

Gold thirst drove the ships

Like a strong wind blowing

From every harbour

Seeking cities of gold and fountains of youth

You plundered the land for your God

Saying you were bringing light

To those in darkness

Yet you cannot see for the smoke

If they were warlike what of it?

No soul is perfect or un-damned

Cruelty is no excuse for cruelty

And yet you moved northwards

Northwards still with the cold wind

Move you said with triumphant trumpets

Carved a stone to mark your arrival

The first feet on virgin soil raise your churches

Merry Christmas Happy Thanksgiving

Hang a banner from every church

PEACE ON EARTH GOOD WILL TO ALL MEN

The white cloth marred by those letters

You will have no peace

You don’t understand you say

No hate was ever spewed

From religion’s mouth

And I say what of guns and churches

Now who turn from their doors

The most vulnerable the welcome sign

Taken down and stowed from sight

Doors bolted to protect the children

Do you hate colour so much?

You want your world to be in black and white

Are you scared of me?

I do not want your fear

Or to see you turn your backs on me

This is why I cannot confide in you

For you say you love me until you cannot

If you say that I am corrupting the children

Then I will reply that you are

Stealing their innocence far better than I ever could

I who just want to live

Not in the shadow of the columns of your crypts

But soar in the nave with the singing

Of the hymns each evensong

When I was young I gave the vicar a chocolate

And he led me round the church clutching

The wooden statue of Mary

Smoothed by many loving hands

And now held in mine clammy and over small

I was an example to the others

Of how you could find salvation

To scold the bad children chewing their chocolates

For their sin in that moment

I would have rather been one of them

In their multitude

For I was a prized lost sheep

Lead back into the fold

Before my wool was folded into a

Modern golden fleece

Hung from the steeple as an example

I hate you I say now and I said

Ever since you full of stories

And especially fond of the Wild West

Cowboys riding rodeos in her mind

Sang to me a song

An old song about a man who loved religion

So much he grew to hate

Everything else in the world

And all that was fine and all that was evil

Became merged in his mind

For he was a man who should have loved

And yet only found hate

And the man he killed everyone hated

And yet he only ever showed love

And who was the true savage

He who turns bitter spits and snarls

And his eyes glow with a fanatic’s fire

And he took his gun when the sun

Was low and the trees were bare

And killed three hundred innocent people

And he rejoiced for he walked free

And you say that he will meet his punishment in death

But he sent so many to their deaths

So why should he wait for his?

You only sang that song to me once

And then was silent about it forever

But it plays in my mind every day

Ever since I found while reading

The story of the parson the crimson parson

And remembered it more vividly than ever

For it was real and three hundred times more terrible

And it plays in my mind and I hear it

For it calls to me about him and the words

Are so cold and impersonal

Like a science lesson and yet held behind them

Are all the emotion of three hundred losses

And what it means for us and what we did

What we did to them but the us and the them

Is over for we only need us if

We are to be truly Christian and if we

Are not to be the crimson parson

And if enduring pain without

A word is strength

And will send you to Heaven

When you have died under

The weight of your burden

Then I want to be weak

And I will burn in Hell for it

But I cannot endure this any more

In silence without my words

Tumbling out like stones cast

In the depths of a millpond

So I hate you but I wanted to say

What I have always wanted to say

But I have never found the words

Is that I wanted so hard

To love you.

****

Before you ask, it's meant to not have any punctation. Writing this was an outpouring of my emotions and my unanswered questions, hence why the only punctuation (other than the full stop at the end) are question marks.

I will include a more detailed description of the choices I made while writing in a later post.

#religion #religious trauma #christianity #history #homophobia #lgbtqia #queer author

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cainite-bite · 1 year ago

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honestly the sims 4 horse pack just seems disappointing especially in comparison to sims 3 horses.

There is no wild horses. There’s no unicorns which is going to be a massive letdown to many because so many people argued that there was because because they saw one in the background for the trailer and now that’s just a confirmed accessory. I know part of it has to do with how sims 4 artistic style is, and while I don’t ever expect realism from, the horses in this feel really off to me lookswise. It’s watered down too generically and as someone who is a horse enthusiast and been working with horses I can’t help but to feel part of the system of it could have been a tiny bit better. I’m sorry but where are the clothes? The men only get like 2 pants and a shirt and thats it. Children got boots and a shirt. The infant’s horse onesie is cute and all but you literally do not have a bigger batch of diehard fans for horses than you do with kids. Why the fuck do they not get a shirt or two, and pants, that are chaulk full to the brim with horse patterns even? Speaking of kids, and the lack of anything for the worlds biggest group of horse peeps, why is the only new thing for them a barn dollhouse? Let’s talk about the whole 1 new curtain but it’s only for one specific size and the rest of them are left high and dry. It’s great kids can ride on the horses finally too, but why is it you have to teach random nervous kids from the community board and not your own?? I can’t see myself using the wine-making much because I didn’t for sims 3, but seeing the fact you have to individually click every case to start seeing what you have for your wines is A Choice (especially since you can hover over your meals or random drinks at the bar and see what it is so why not here?)

Like yeah having sheep and goats is cool, having farm hands is cool and was something I was wishing for in 3. But I feel like there is a lot of things the pack is lacking. They had a whole pack dedicated to horses but it still feels more empty to what we had in sims 3 which also threw in cats and dogs and other small animals all at once, and something seems real off about that fact. And it’s to a point where I am honestly expecting to see a new stuff pack coming up called “My First Equestrian” just to throw in only some of the things they knew they were lacking and charging another 10-15 bucks for.

#sims 4 #sims 4 horse ranch spoilers #at this point im just also afraid to see horse genetics #because cats and dogs in 4 seem to have none sometimes and throw everything to the wind #to the point of i really have to ask if either pet is the parents #and knowing that 4 is by far the worst with genetics than either 2 or 3 #honestly genetics in sims 4 is sometimes like genetics in sims 1- it just is a sims 1 reboot when yyou think about it

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motsimages · 2 years ago

Text

I grew up in a big city, the capital of the country, the biggest one here. I spent my teenage years there and I had chances that probably other teenagers coming from villages and smaller places didn't have.

But those who were teenagers in small towns and villages tend to idealise The Big City. They move there when they are in their 20s and they find their own people, a bunch of people who were also teenagers in small places, who weren't happy there, the black sheep of their communities. And they think that's what the big city is. "Look how many of us there are! This isn't something you can have in a village" they say.

They also go and live in the city center, where all the activity is. They don't live in the outskirts where the subway doesn't reach or there is only one line, where you can only reach the center with a couple of lines of bus, where it takes 45 minutes to get anywhere that is not the neighborhood. Where there is a nearby field with sheep, where you could ride your bike cross country and find yourself in another neighborhood.

That is not my experience. I was the black sheep in my school and in my neighborhood in Madrid, a privileged neighborhood yes, but so far from the center that we only got the subway when I was 15. Having the possibility of going to other neighborhoods and hanging out with other people gave me freedom and another perspective on the fact that I didn't have friends in my school or in my neighborhood, but it doesn't take from the fact that my neighborhood worked just like a village does.

In my experience, gay teenagers had more freedom and more acceptance in my village than in Madrid. I don't know how easy it was their day to day, but I could see my friend kissing the boy he liked and nobody mocking them, I could see a couple of girls being high school sweethearts for years with complete acceptance from their families. There were no gays in my high school or in my neighborhood. Well, there was one boy, but he was in the closet, only me and a couple of other friends knew. And he did have the chance of meeting gays in the center of Madrid: older gays who shouldn't have been flirting with a teenager. But he thought it was cool that older men liked him. We all did, didn't we.

And when I have lived in the city as an adult, I was still living in this neighborhood, not in the center. All my friends from villages live in the center and walked everywhere to meet each other. Their gentrified neighborhoods and their small flats, but they are surrounded by their own people. So the big city, you see, wins again.

I lived in a neighborhood where I didn't have any friends, minimum 30 minutes ride to get anywhere near the center. In my neighborhood, I don't see any gays, I don't even see lgbt flags in the balconies. People who were born there are still living there and raising their children there, just like in villages. There are some new neighbors, but those of us who didn't fit left, just like people from villages did.

Sometimes I wonder if people from villages understand that the big city they know is a creation, a fiction, and that going to the big city and being from the big city are different things. And more often than they expect, the big city is no better than their village.

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zaybxdxmi · 2 years ago

Photo

RIZ AHMED, CIS MALE, HE/HIM – There goes ZAYAN BADAMI checking into the GOLDEN MOTEL. The THIRTY-EIGHT year old is a PARANORMAL INVESTIGATOR (CAMERAMAN) from TAMPA, FL. I think they are CEREBRAL, but I heard that they can also be SARDONIC. Hope they enjoy their stay!

tw: overbearing parent

Zayan Badami is the youngest of three children, the only boy of the bunch. From the day that he was born, Zay held the weight of his father’s expectations. It was the misfortune of having a father set in his ways with some old school thinking; his sisters were always bright and overachieving and yet... he was the son. Every bit of his life was under a microscope, evaluated on whether it was enough or not enough, a worth his time or a waste.

Zay had made it all the way until his junior year at college before he broke. In the middle of a biochemistry exam, he snapped the pencil in his hand in half before he stood up and left, leaving the incomplete midterm and puzzled classmates in his wake. His bio pre-med degree never finished. He sat on that knowledge, his exit from college, for over a month before finally telling his parents over what had been meant to be spring break. Naturally, they did not take it well. Zay suffered his father’s silence for two weeks until he forgot when asking for the remote. Then he was mad at himself, then mad all over again. Things are better but strained for certain.

While he never went back to school, he did go back to his apartment. He clung to what he could of that “college life,” still going to parties and getting turned away from frats. But he had to balance work, starting first as a mailroom clerk. He bounced around from job to job after that: Uber driver, overnight security, the occasional dog walker, plenty of others.

Photography had been a passion he hadn’t fully unlocked until his thirties. It was something he remembered liking, having gone through plenty of disposable cameras as a kid, also insistent to be the one in charge of taking the pictures on family vacations. It was on a whim that he picked one up from the thrift store. It was hobby that slowly became a side gig; there were plenty of families looking for holiday photoshoots. Hell, he’d even shot a cousin’s engagement photos. It wasn’t a career, yet, but it was something to help pay for those impulse purchases and keep his debt from growing.

Somewhere in all of that, him and his two friends got into ghost-hunting. Though, let it be known, Zay doesn’t believe in any of that. He’s very much the skeptical one and when he’s behind the camera, there’s often shots of the camera moving side to side, miming the way his head would shake. For him, there’s always an explanation. How many of these sightings could be zeroed down to lead poisoning? Carbon monoxide poisoning? Just a creaky ass house? Still. It was fun.

Zay always jumped at the chance to pack up and go. After all those years under his parent’s thumb and being the good child he was supposed to have been, he’s embraced being the black sheep and just wants to experience whatever he can. Give him the chance and he’ll think too much about the would have could have should have. So yea, maybe some days he is the one dragging you to go see the World’s Largest Mailbox or check out the abandoned theme park, Jazzland.

While not hesitating to pack up and leave Tampa, Zay had not been willing to leave behind his cat, Lars. He’s tried to hide him from the motel staff but lasted all of a few days before suffering the pet fee. A small price to pay for having his furry son along for the ride.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

new friends

exes

fwb

one-night stand

do not get along

do they live next door? on the same floor?

someone willing to go on dumb side quests with him

went to college together

know his sisters?

maybe went to the same summer camp as kids?

interviewed you about historical stuff / ghost things

watch their paranormal show

more....

#goldintro #intro #about #threw this together asdfghjk

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neonbvtterfly · 1 year ago

Text

my time in scotland

she sits and she wonders about

how the ocean rippling in front of her

is a sheet of shimmering, silver tulle being

slipped over a stagnant, textured surface.

it is the same color as the sky.

they are cousins just as

the crow (sat atop the

few rocky structures that

serve as the one disruption

to the watery fabric,

pecking and eating at organisms and isopods

that are too small for her to

ever have known their existence)

is a brother to the one perched

on the rock wall before her.

it displays generations, pockmarked

in white as new mineral overtakes old

and grows as if it is living and protects her

from the fog, making the countryside across the bay

look flat and untextured but

close enough to touch.

she sees mothers with their children

on the dock far away

and as she watches them and knows that

they have no idea of her gaze or presence

although she is so acutely aware of theirs

she feels painted on

to her lonely bench,

just as those seeing her from across the expanse

might feel if they saw her and her book while tending to their

sheep or enjoying a period in isolation as she is,

if they have the time.

someone gets off of a big, double deckered bus

that seems bigger than life and reminds her

of a film she saw once

and someone slams a car door and

she catches the voices of two bicycling partners,

one with only the left hand on the handlebars

while the right gesticulates wildly,

making the story seem interesting enough

along with the fact that the other

is completely enraptured, silent but for

the spokes of his wheels

spinning off to some unknown destination

that might just lead right back to his front door.

a bit of aimlessness is healthy but one

always finds a way back home, usually.

perhaps they will ride past the sign that says

“do not block gate, access ramp used frequently”

and they will notice that someone has parked

directly in front of the gate

but they will not mind because

althought the access ramp is used frequently

it isn’t being used right now.

maybe they are not directionless but

headed towards

the imagined elderly woman who

must live in the line of houses

protruding behind her like crooked teeth,

who she thinks must have a large part

in the life story of the swaying potted flowers

next to her chosen resting place,

how the lady must amble out out every morning

followed by a collie or spaniel who

pounces towards pigeons as she waters each one.

she loves them and imagines them to be

her grandchildren who have yet to call

this week.

maybe they don’t need to call because

after her flower-watering excursion she

leashes the pup and waltzes up the street

to where they live in one of the dwellings above,

each sprouting turrets and bay windows that

make them but children imagining they are castles,

or maybe they are castles in their own right

because they are just houses and can’t

be told what to do.

they have gates made of spoons

and behind one of them someone

fastens another colored wooden pinwheel

to their fence post,

adding to their collection they started when

they were young.

above, the trees are growing, angled in a way

that suggests a mountain or a steep hill

they know they are concealing

but want you to experience anyways

in a secondhand manner,

like they are sorry for hiding what

could be a patchwork

of landscape and flora.

they are still and the leaves look like jewels

until an unseen animal makes a ripple

in the canopy that the creatures must feel,

it must make them aware of their own existence

in a way that a simple being may never understand

but at least helps them know that

unseen does not equal alone

and once again she is thinking about the waves.

she chews on the skin by her nails and

bounces her leg although there is nothing

to be anxious about but it seems that

nervous ticks follow you across the ocean

whether you like it or not

but such is the way of the world

even when you aren’t at home

#literature #spilled thoughts #writing #words #reading #poetry #poems on tumblr #plants #sunset #europe #travel

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ampheenix · 2 years ago

Text

when i was a child

when i was a child, the sun shined all day.

clouds of sheep would drift across the sky, snoozing on pillows of bright blue.

and i would laugh and clap at the strange creatures dancing through the air, sleek skins gleaming in the sunlight.

sometimes they would give me their brilliant black feathers to hold, and maybe even let their pretty plumes of colour ride gentle waves of wind all the way down to me.

little old me would stand in wonder, as they all waved goodbye and flew away, up to where the lambs would blink sleepy and bleary-eyed.

that’s what would happen, when i was a child.

when i was a child, the world was bathed in colour.

a circus of bright characters, gambolling through the plains, drinking from springs of glittering azure.

and i couldn’t take my eyes off of the Bigger people, the hulking dark creatures rising up from where I stand.

blink and you’ll miss their steps, their discreet shuffles across streets and streets. i hear it, hear them following as we run through red and green and yellow, colours melting and blurring.

i never mention them though, because children can’t talk about the Bigger things.

we’re too Small for that.

that’s what would happen, when I was a child.

when i was a child, people used to tell me about Bigger things.

things like sleeping forever, and babies in bellies, and even how there were people up in the sky.

i told them only lambs can live there, up in the soft blue, because everyone knows that. the creatures visit them sometimes, soaring in and out of their fluffy legs, but no one else can.

the people didn’t like it when I said that.

they said I was too Small to understand, but I think they might just be too Big.

the people didn’t really like it when I said that, either. that’s how I learnt to stick to Smaller things, instead.

that’s what would happen, when I was a child.

when I was a child, I used to see monsters.

they didn’t look like what you’d expect, nothing like the ones from picture books.

they never had three heads, or fur and claws, or a gaping mouth of sharp teeth threatening to swallow you whole.

sometimes, they even looked like angels, like the ones in the sky the Bigger people like to talk about.

but a lot of Bigger people can’t tell the difference. I would see them crying for a while, after a beautiful monster stomped on their insides and crushed them into little bits.

that’s what would happen, when I was a child.

#little wip lol #writing wip #poetry #short poems #childhood #this was nostalgic to write ngl #monsters #biblical references #children #we live in a society #creative writing

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norwayblogging · 1 year ago

Text

Week 18/09 - 24/09

18th September:

Leirschole week!!! Today is the first official day of leirschole (some sort of forestclasses where children do outdoor activities and learn basic outdoor skills) Me and my group had breakfast at 8. Around 9h30, the children started to arrive. We helped them with their luggage and once all the kids had arrived (around 67 pupils 😱), we helped them with making their beds too. After unpacking we had lunch and the leirschole teachers told everyone the program (In Norwegian sadly, but we already had the program on paper so it was okay). The entire group got split up in 4 smaller groups. Each group was at a station for 30 minutes. The stations were; First aid, Canoeing, seeing how goats get milked and a little tour of the leirschole. After visiting the 4 stations we ate dinner (yes, at 15h30 already!), we got meatballs, potatoes and vegetables. Then we had some spare time because the children were doing a feedback moment with their own teachers, so me and my leirschole group watched a movie. Around 18h, there were 2 and a half hours of activities planned by the leirschole. Activities existing out of; milking goats, walking bunnies, canoeing and horseback riding. At 20h30 we had the chance to eat cornflakes, since we had dinner so soon. I ate some and me and my other classmates went to our room to prepare for the night.

19th September:

Since breakfast is at 8h everyday, we don’t go to bed too late and do have to wake up pretty early. Today we are separated into 2 groups. Group one did map and orienteering first, were you had to orient to a post where a paper hung. Group two went canoeing to a place and hiked back to the starting point while learning about edible things in nature like berries. (they even ate ants... ANTS???) After some time, the groups switched activities. In between activities, we had lunch inside since it was raining a bit. After the activities, we had dinner; Potatoes with fishcakes and vegetables. Just like yesterday, we had some spare time and watched a movie, then did some activities which existed out of; milking goats, rowing with the canoes and woodworking. We had cornflakes at 20h30, watched the rest of the movie and went to bed afterwards.

20th September:

Day 3 of leirschole! After breakfast the entire group was split in two again. Group 1 went with a bus to a nearby farm and to a museum not far from that place. Group 2 would stay at the leirschole, climb the nearby cliffs as well as fishing, canoeing and setting up camp for those who wanted to sleep in a tent the upcoming night.

I went with group 1, since I really wanted to see the museum and the farm. First we drove to the farm were they kept cows and deer. They slaughter their animals from time to time but they also process the wild deer that get hit by cars and die on the road. We got some information on how the meat gets processed and how they care for the cows. We also had the chance to meet, feed and caress the cows who were inside of the barn. THEY WERE SO CUTE! It was also the first time I let a calf suck my hand, their tongue feels kind of rough. It was like a sandpapery feeling on my hand, which I didn’t expect to be honest.

After the farm, we drove to an outside museum. about the war they fought in that area during the second world war. First we got some information (sadly it was in Norwegian so we didn’t really understand it that well) then we went outside. The kids got sheepbells around their neck and they went crazy with them. It was very funny 🤣 Then we looked for the sheep in a certain area and got some more information about the war. The sheep ran away since we were with so many people but that was okay. Lastly, we went to a small house in the area where they displayed artefacts from the war. We even got a book about the war in English for free! We said our goodbyes to the guide and left with the bus back to the leirschole. We ate dinner; sausage with potatoes and had the same schedule as the days prior. I went to the woodworking activity today and made my very own cheeseslicer! I’m glad to take this back home with me 😊

21st September:

This is pretty much our last full day since the children leave again tomorrow morning. Today there’s a hike planned. There were 2 options; either the short steep route or the long less steep route. I went with the second option. It was foggy anyway so I doubted that the scenery would be visible from the top of the small mountain. We hiked until a certain point and ate lunch there, the leirschole teacher accompanying us made nature soup; they picked berries and plants from the surrounding area and boiled it in water and sugar. It was surprisingly amazing! I drank 2 cups and ate my lunch. We hiked a little further down until we came back on the small road near the leirschole. Then we walked back to the school. When everyone was back, we ate some dinner; wraps with taco meat!! (very delicious) and me and 3 of my dormmates organised one of the afternoon activities; braiding friendship bracelets and making dreamcatchers. We had fun and socialised a lot with the kids that participated in our activity. Then at 20h30, other dormmates set up a disco so the children could have a fun last night at the leirschole. After about an hour, everyone went to bed.

22nd September:

Our last day of leirschole 😢 We had a lot of fun this week and are a bit sad that it flew by so fast… We helped the kids with packing their stuff and waved them away. After that me and my dormmates went to the camping spot to put down the tents that were still there. We had a big leftover lunch and took the bus back at 14h. When we arrived back at the studenthousing, everyone had different stories from their week. We talked a lot with each other and shared our experiences. Today I also recieved a letter from a friend back in Belgium! She drew me ducks on the other side of the letter. I loved it!!!

23rd September:

Ooooh how good it feels to sleep in your own bed. I mostly relaxed today. Went to the gym in the morning and worked on my blog. I also cleaned my room a bit. Later that day I went to the library.

24th September:

Sunday funday! I had a very nice breakfast and decided that today was my ultimate selfcare day. I did a facemask, painted my nails in the kitchen and socialised with everyone there. I decided to check on the bruise on my thigh because during one of the days of the leirschole, I fell slightly on my hip but the huge black spot looks more terrifying than the actual pain I felt during the incident itself. Later that night I decided to go to the library again.

Week 18/09 - 24/09

18 september:

Leirschole week!!! Vandaag is de eerste officiële dag van leirschole (een soort bosklassen waar kinderen buitenactiviteiten doen en basisvaardigheden voor buiten leren). Ik en mijn groep ontbeten om 8 uur. Rond 9u30 begonnen de kinderen te arriveren. We hielpen hen met hun bagage en toen alle kinderen waren aangekomen (ongeveer 67 leerlingen 😱), hielpen we hen ook met het opmaken van hun bedden. Na het uitpakken hebben we geluncht en hebben de leirschole leraren iedereen het programma verteld (in het Noors helaas, maar we hadden het programma al op papier dus het was oké). De hele groep werd opgesplitst in 4 kleinere groepen. Elke groep zat 30 minuten bij een hoek. De hoeken waren: EHBO, kanoën, zien hoe geiten gemolken worden en een kleine rondleiding door de leirschole. Na het bezoeken van de 4 hoeken aten we (ja, om 15u30 al!), we kregen gehaktballetjes, aardappelen en groenten. Daarna hadden we wat vrije tijd omdat de kinderen een feedbackmoment deden met hun eigen leerkrachten, dus ik en mijn leirscholegroep keken een film. Rond 18 uur waren er 2 en een half uur aan activiteiten gepland door de leirschole. Activiteiten die bestonden uit; geiten melken, konijntjes uitlaten, kanoën en paardrijden. Om 20u30 hadden we de kans om cornflakes te eten, aangezien we al zo snel hebben gedineerd. Ik at wat en ik en mijn andere klasgenoten gingen naar onze kamer om ons voor te bereiden op de nacht.

19 september:

Aangezien we elke dag om 8 uur ontbijten, gaan we niet te laat naar bed en moeten we vrij vroeg opstaan. Vandaag zijn we in 2 groepen verdeeld. Groep één deed eerst kaart- en oriëntatieloop, waarbij je je moest oriënteren naar een post waar een papier hing. Groep twee ging kanoën naar een plek en wandelde terug naar het beginpunt terwijl ze leerden over eetbare dingen in de natuur zoals bessen. (Ze aten zelfs mieren... MIEREN???) Na een tijdje wisselden de groepen van activiteit. Tussen de activiteiten door lunchten we binnen omdat het een beetje regende. Na de activiteiten aten we aardappelen met viskoekjes en groenten. Net als gisteren hadden we wat vrije tijd en keken we een film, daarna deden we wat activiteiten die bestonden uit; geiten melken, roeien met de kano's en houtbewerken. We aten cornflakes om 20u30, keken de rest van de film en gingen daarna naar bed.

20 september:

Dag 3 van leirschole! Na het ontbijt werd de hele groep weer in tweeën gesplitst. Groep 1 ging met de bus naar een boerderij in de buurt en naar een museum niet ver daar vandaan. Groep 2 zou bij de leirschole blijven, de nabijgelegen kliffen beklimmen, vissen, kanoën en het kamp opzetten voor degenen die de komende nacht in een tent wilden slapen.

Ik ging met groep 1 mee, omdat ik graag het museum en de boerderij wilde zien. Eerst reden we naar de boerderij waar ze koeien en herten hielden. Ze slachten hun dieren van tijd tot tijd, maar ze verwerken ook de wilde herten die door auto's worden aangereden en sterven op de weg. We kregen wat informatie over hoe het vlees wordt verwerkt en hoe ze voor de koeien zorgen. We kregen ook de kans om de koeien in de stal te ontmoeten, te voeren en te strelen. ZE WAREN ZO SCHATTIG! Het was ook de eerste keer dat ik een kalf aan mijn hand liet zuigen, hun tong voelde nogal ruw aan. Het was een soort zandpapierachtig gevoel op mijn hand, wat ik eerlijk gezegd niet had verwacht.

Na de boerderij reden we naar een buitenmuseum over de oorlog die ze in dat gebied voerden tijdens de Tweede Wereldoorlog. Eerst kregen we wat informatie (helaas was het in het Noors, dus we begrepen het niet zo goed) en daarna gingen we naar buiten. De kinderen kregen schapenbellen om hun nek en daar gingen ze helemaal los mee. Het was erg grappig 🤣 Daarna zochten we de schapen in een bepaald gebied en kregen we wat meer informatie over de oorlog. De schapen renden weg omdat we met zoveel mensen waren, maar dat was niet erg. Tot slot gingen we naar een klein huis in de buurt waar ze voorwerpen uit de oorlog tentoonstelden. We kregen zelfs een gratis boek over de oorlog in het Engels! We namen afscheid van de gids en vertrokken met de bus terug naar de leirschole. We aten het avondeten; worst met aardappelen en hadden hetzelfde programma als de dagen ervoor. Ik ging vandaag naar de houtbewerkingsactiviteit en maakte mijn eigen kaasschaaf! Die neem ik graag mee naar huis 😊

21 september:

Dit is zo'n beetje onze laatste volle dag aangezien de kinderen morgenochtend weer vertrekken. Vandaag staat er een wandeling op het programma. Er waren 2 opties; de korte steile route of de lange minder steile route. Ik ben voor de tweede optie gegaan. Het was sowieso mistig dus ik betwijfelde of het landschap goed zichtbaar zou zijn vanaf de top van de kleine berg. We wandelden tot een bepaald punt en aten daar de lunch, de leirschole leraren die ons vergezelden maakte natuursoep; ze plukten bessen en planten uit de omgeving en kookten het in water en suiker. Het was verrassend lekker! Ik dronk 2 kopjes en at mijn lunch op. We wandelden nog een stukje verder naar beneden tot we terugkwamen op het weggetje bij de leirschole. Daarna liepen we terug naar de school. Toen iedereen terug was, aten we wat; wraps met taco vlees!!! (erg lekker) en organiseerden ik en 3 van mijn klasgenoten een van de namiddagactiviteiten; vriendschapsarmbandjes vlechten en dromenvangers maken. We hadden veel plezier en socialiseerden veel met de kinderen die deelnamen aan onze activiteit. Daarna, om 20u30, zetten andere klasgenoten een disco op zodat de kinderen een leuke laatste avond op de leirschole konden hebben. Na ongeveer een uur ging iedereen naar bed.

22 september:

Onze laatste dag op de leirschole 😢 We hebben veel plezier gehad deze week en zijn een beetje verdrietig dat het zo snel voorbij is gevlogen… We hielpen de kinderen met het inpakken van hun spullen en zwaaiden ze uit. Daarna zijn ik en mijn huisgenoten naar de kampeerplek gegaan om de tenten die er nog stonden neer te zetten. We aten een grote lunch van overschotten en namen om 14u de bus terug. Toen we terugkwamen aan het studentenhuis, had iedereen verschillende verhalen van hun week. We hebben veel met elkaar gepraat en onze ervaringen gedeeld. Vandaag kreeg ik ook een brief van een vriendin uit België! Op de andere kant van de brief tekende ze eendjes voor me. Ik vond het geweldig!!!

23 september:

Ooooh wat voelt het goed om in je eigen bed te slapen. Ik heb vooral gerelaxt vandaag. Ik ben 's ochtends naar de gym geweest en heb aan mijn blog gewerkt. Ik heb ook mijn kamer een beetje opgeruimd. Later op de dag ging ik naar de bibliotheek.

24 september:

Sunday funday! Ik had een heel lekker ontbijt en besloot dat vandaag mijn ultieme selfcare dag was. Ik deed een gezichtsmasker, lakte mijn nagels in de keuken en socialiseerde met iedereen daar. Ik besloot de blauwe plek op mijn bovenbeen te controleren omdat ik tijdens een van de dagen van de leirschole op mijn heup was gevallen, maar de enorme zwarte plek zag er angstaanjagender uit dan de pijn die ik voelde tijdens het incident zelf. Later die avond besloot ik weer naar de bibliotheek te gaan.

#adventure #erasmus #fjord #norway #norwegian #travel #teacher #wildlife

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