Losing Grandma was like a cursed package deal that came with so many micro losses and long drawn out after effects. Just a few years before she died, Grandma had to sell her beautiful home up north where we would go for big family reunions over the summer long weekend. It was the perfect cozy house. She loved it dearly and had worked extremely hard for it having come from poverty as a child. She was an avid reader with a top notch book collection where I discovered some of my favourite stories including The Hobbit, Heidi, and The Picture of Dorian Gray. Her house overlooked dense woods and a lake. Her yard was a big hill and we would run up and down it to the dock, over the grass, the moss, the flowers. I am romantacizing it. It wasn't perfect, it was in cottage country and could get insufferably loud from all the annoying rowdy people on four wheelers or in the motor boats over the summer holiday. The geese could also be a bit of a nuisance and they wouldn't budge if you tried to shoo them off the yard sometimes. My grandma had a birdfeeder, but she had to take it down cause a bear kept coming by to eat from it and drink the nectar. So, yes, it was definitely not perfect. But it was still one of my favourite places growing up. Losing my grandma's house felt like the loss of a second person. I miss that place dearly and all the good memories. My grandma selling the house was completely reasonable however, as it was not safe for her to be there anymore on her own. Her health issues began to stack up. She got shingles that caused her horrific pain, and then bell's palsy a few months later. After that she began to develop dementia. It was fcking heartbreaking. She went through so much pain within a few short years. When she was sick with dementia, she accidentally took too much of her medication and had to be hospitalized when she was found on the floor with a concussion and hypothermic, ice cold. After the concussion, she developed new overlapping mental illness along with dementia. She had ultra rapid cycling bipolar psychosis, so she would be in extreme emotional anguish, furious and violent, or very sweet and happy throughout the day, while hallucinating all sorts of things and suffering delusions. We think she may have also had pseudobulbar affect, but there was a lot going on and it was hard to tell. But they got her on medication to help soothe the emotional anguish she was suffering. Grandma was happy in the week before her death and giving everyone hugs. She died in 2019. It doesn't feel like thatl ong ago since the pandemic messed time up. I still mourn her and the happy memories of visiting her and seeing my family every summer at her house.
There are a lot of things that have been changed by her passing. I realized that due to my autism and severe social anxiety, I struggle greatly with maintaining family relationships and even though they are on social media I can't even stay in touch with them because of my fear of social media (this is from bullying trauma). It might seem crazy to some people that using social media would be scary, but it truly does overwhelm me and I can't handle all the stimuli and all the people at once. I get scared and have pretty much remained silent. I also have this challenge with texting my family members due to social anxiety. I don't know why. When we saw each other at my grandma's house every summer, that helped me socialize and stay in touch with everyone. That was our precious time to interact and it's gone now and I don't know how to get over this new challenge. I have a hard time with change. I am not good at initiating contact. It was always up to someone else to bring us together to have fun and socialize. I am so ashamed and heartbroken by my failure to remain in touch with my family. I cry so much over this problem and growing rift. I didn't want to become estranged.
Now another family member is dying. He was diagnosed with cancer this winter. This month the doctor gave him his "death sentence" how how long he has to live with his untreatable cancer. He is a loved member of our family, multi-skilled and full of life. He's a performer and has rescued many dogs and a few cats. He's not old and it's like a car crash finding out he's going to die.
There has also been not a death, but a tragedy with a non-bio family member. She relapsed into a drug addiction this year and lost her house. Her child (a sweet little girl who I got to meet and spend time with a few times when we saw each other for Christmas) was taken into custody by social workers. Prior to her drug addiction, this woman was one of the most maternal people . She was great with kids, extremely loving and motherly. She's older than me and when I was a little kid she made up such fun games to play and made me so happy. It absolutely kills me that her drug addiction has won and take over her life. We live in the same town and I have no fcking idea what to even say to her. I feel like there's a glass barrier and I can't speak to her or anything...i don't know what to do.
I have been crying so much this month, everything just hit me and I do not know how to cope with this. Where do I go from here? I appreciate recommendations for any support groups or anything at all that has helped you with this sort of thing, this ongoing complicated grief.

It was December 31st, 1999 and we just blew out my first double-digit candles.
My parents moved from Louisiana to inner-city Seattle, this means that I was surprised and kinda shocked to have my birthday party in Graham, in the countryside.
We just blew out my candles. It was 11:50 at night. Everyone was tired and knocked out due to eating ungodly amounts of Southern food that my mother had cooked.
I was laying on a big branch in the forest, not too far from the farm, I just needed to breathe while everyone was asleep. I'm a fast sleeper, so the noises almost carried to Sandman's graces but my mother popped out of nowhere. She was carrying a bundle of fireworks.
My mother was a nice and intiutive woman. They say that women in general have intuition. I just say that insane intuition is an my-mom only type trait. She always knew that I wasn't good with social gatherings and liked to listen to nature...sounds. not be in nature.
My mother climbed on top the giant branch.
She told me a story. A story about the stars.
She told me that the stars in heaven are ghosts. The ghosts always liked to be together and they never really wanted to be too alone.
When we were in the city, we never saw the stars.
I asked my mother, "When we were in Seattle, we don't ever see no stars. Why?"
My mother stopped and started to think. She followed it with, "My child, the stars are people too. Maybe we if saw them in the city where there are lots of people, we would find their most mysterious secrets. Now, they don't want that just like we have secrets we don't wanna tell."
"Mother, that's kinda dumb, what secret might they have that we don't know?"
"My boy, that's a secret only God knows."
We didn't speak for the rest of the night. We just shot fireworks. We didn't see the stars that night. We only saw fireworks as the rainbow explosion covered the sky of Heaven over Earth.
That was the best memory of my mother.
She died in her sleep of a brain aneurysm. Instant Death
When they let me coordinate the funeral, I had the coffin covered in a massive golden leaf star. We put the coffin back in her home in Louisiana.
This happened when I was 15. I spoke to a psychologist, Dr. T, as he was commonly referred to by his other patients due to his facial hair.. Dr. Tallman helped me through my mother's death. This kickstarted my passion for psychological research. Later when I was 25, I was a leading researcher for both psychology and astronomy for astronauts and others that were exposed to bizarre events or circumstances that affected psychological health as well as recording events in outer space.
On April 25th 2018, I was called down to NASA. I had a Level 7, also known as Level Apollyon. I had to move to a military base in Washington in the Rocky Mountains. I was still in a state of confusion. I was called down and I was told to never reveal the secret as it was top-secret classified information.
I walked down to the Solar Observation Room, the room specifically dealing with observation of the sun's inner sound. They said that they had a theory that only the Level 10s, specifically world leaders and leading researchers in the entire world know about.
They said that they are only allowing a certain piece of information to be allowed to Level 7 for researching events that happened concurrently to this revelation.
The stars were alive.
The stars had hearts inside which pumped.
We found them out in 1986, when a satellite, was near the sun and found a crater that showed a beating heart.
The stars were alive
The stars are real
The stars are alive?
I was dumbfounded to say the absolute simple least. The stars however were lately releasing unknown radiation or energy that was affecting Earth, it started happening in West Virginia.
We had multiple messages in 1986 after the sun was discovered as a organism.
"WE HAVE ALWAYS BEEN HERE."
"SLOW DOWN"
"NO LEARNING"
"WOLVES KILL SHEPHARDS"
We have no idea what the hell these messages are talking about.
This was the beginning of the end. We really had no way to going back, we didn't know we were supposed to.
May 29th, 2020, West Virginia.
I was writing down ideas in my notebook for years. Google Doc upon Google Doc filled with theories and explanations.
Known effects on West Virginia have only been tied to West Virginia.
These known effects are: - Merging of human and wildlife. - Carnivorous herbivores. - Raining specifically on cemeteries. - Bizarre lightning related activities around churches
Nothing too wild compared to the events that are happening right now in Seattle, New York, Los Angeles, and Miami.
Special teams called the Flashbangs are sent out after a bizarre event. These use a special gas to make them forget approximately 10 hours. Some civilian who may be immune are euthanized in secret.
The first of these events happened in West Virginia.
At 6:30 PM, the rain had turn from clear to a red color and had started to rise up back into the air in the form of droplets. The water factory in West Virginia had to stop all water after finding out that a third of the water had turned into sheep blood.
The citizens and people at the factory were visited by the Flashbangs.
I landed in Virginia for the second event that happened. It was unusually snowy, it was reported in the forest. I drove on an ATV, alone into the thick wood. The trip was 7-ish minutes until I came up on a meateating doe was feasting a rabbit. The glowing eyes stared into my head.
"YOU ARE STILL LOOKING UP. STOP."
"THIS IS A WARNING"
"HAVE FAITH"
I immediately reported the findings to my superior.
I decided that I needed to breathe. I went to my home in Seattle and took a paid leave.
April 12, 2022
I decided to take around and out of the city for a minute. I was watching the sky as I was driving in my car. The stars were not there. It was just light pollution. I started to crack a smile as the stars begin to pop up as I went further and further away from the city.
I started to think, if the stars were trying to warn us, why didn't they tell the public?
I stopped the car when I looked down and saw another fucking doe.
The neck started contorting into a weird shape, new flesh was growing into the throat of the deer. The deer looked like it was going choke on it's own neck.
"Stop looking up."
It spoke calmly. More calmly than the last doe in West Virginia.
Then more of them showed up.
"Stop looking up, STOP IT."
They went away.
I immediately drew a connection to the stars in the sky.
This may be what I can write at the moment. I need to sleep.
My alcohol is getting low and I don't wanna talk about this. I'm going to speak on this, tomorrow.

Sorry it’s a little long.
Chapter 1
We begin with the slap. Bill Daley and his (girl?)friend Helen attend “a halfway mediocre” play during which a male character viciously strikes a female character, drawing (real?) blood. Daley spends much of the chapter interpreting and analyzing the responses of the other members of the audience and dissecting the blonde actress Becca Lang’s and the male actor’s motivations and responses. Much of his analysis focuses on who is or has experienced physical abuse/violence, as well as assessing threat levels. We see Daley express frustration with members of the audience for interrupting his analysis.
We learn a little about Helen: She travels frequently for work, she and Daley often attend plays together, and Daley sees her as someone he could be with, “the whole package.”
At intermission, the cast of characters in the audience share their responses to the slap.
We find out Daley booked the tickets after receiving a phone call several days ago from the actress, Lang.
Chapter 2
This chapter is a flashback several days to the phone call. While sitting with Kid Knox, a drummer, Daley answers the phone, expecting it to be a call from one of his long-time legal clients Lotta, but it’s a woman who says, “It’s you.”
Daley, his interest piqued, talks with her for some time, being told he was recommended to the woman by a Mr. van Diamond to address a housing issue she’s facing. She’s an actress subletting a place, but she spends significant time abroad, raising questions over her “primary residence.” She mentions “threats” against her.
Daley repeatedly thinks she doing a “voice-job” on him. We get frequent references to acting, drama, playing roles, performances.
Daley, while they’re talking, tracks the behavior of pigeons and an “out-of-place” brown dove outside his window.
He tells her he’s not a real estate lawyer, but he gets sucked into finding out more about her case. She tells him her name and that she’s a stage actress. The conversation grows friendly, and they joke with each other. She tells him van Diamond called him a good listener, a giver, a fool. Daley thinks she has “a gift for toil.” She mentions Daley’s “employment agency.”
Becca tells him, “We’re of the same blood, you know?” She mentions van Diamond’s “vile cufflinks” and gets Daley to agree to a short meeting.
Donna, Daley’s secretary comes into his office to check on him, having overheard the conversation, especially the mention of “threats.”
He stops at the supermarket on the way home to get a paper and track down the play Becca is in. He talks with his next-door neighbor about the mugging of a young boy on the playground at night. When he gets home, he books two seats for Becca’s play.
Chapter 3
The play resumes, and we’re filled in on some of the plot and character dynamics. The play features periodic pauses for voice-overs of Becca reading letters her character sent to her brother in Connecticut during her time in Nepal. The had a close relationship until he got married to a “noisy” redheaded woman. Becca then joined the Peace Corps and left for Africa.
The brother has developed “noise-cancellation technology,” but he faces potential legal problems for “professional improprieties.” He’s also having an affair with his secretary, whom the sister (Becca) knows.
The brother summons Becca home from Nepal, where she’d had a “spiritual experience” and been involved with the son of a Sherpa. The redhaired wife, leveraging power over Becca, pulls out the letters Becca wrote to her brother, at which point Becca tells her of the affair. She then runs to her brother to let him know she outed him, at which point we get the slap.
Chapter 4
Flashback 12 years to an earthquake in Manhattan. Daley wakes up around 3 a.m. to a phone call from his client Lotta, asking if she can sue Connecticut—which she claims was the origin of the quake—over the damage to two figurines that fell during the tremor. He tells her there’s no case to be had.
At this time, Daley is married to Della, a dancer in the process of retiring, and she is out of bed (reading, he thinks, but later thinks she went for a run instead).
He calls his little brother Wolf in Seattle to ask a structural engineering question related to one of Daley’s clients. We learn about Wolf’s history of error-proneness/unluckiness. He was literally blown out of the water when a nearby ship exploded in a harbor in Osaka, Japan; he collided while riding a dirtbike with the contents hanging off a moving truck. Daley was on vacation in India with his wife at the time of the Osaka harbor explosion, and the trip was cut short so they could attend to Wolf in the hospital.
On the phone, Wolf invites Daley to join him as legal consultant on a trip to inspect a dam in Australia in a week.
Daley gets up to check the house. He sees their house guest, a European financier Della hopes will fund a business that helps creative people find day/night jobs, lying in bed with his eyes open a slit. Daley answers a second call from Lotta, during which he hears the front door, and his wife comes upstairs. He had been thinking about how she would smell. They talk for a while; she encourages him to go on the Australia trip. He thinks about the letters her received from Wolf’s associates during his many travels.
Della says she thinks Lotta has been abused. Her rationale is that Lotta is abusing Daley: “No, she’s over the line, she’s abusing you, why does she do that?”
The couple turns sexual, we see a scar that runs from Daley’s wrist to elbow. As the couple gets going, the house guest is standing in the doorway. Possible implications of an affair?

Analysis

So far, we see McElroy establishing a number of key themes: acting/performance, house/housing, violence (slap, jolt, explosions), absorption. As in Hind’s Kidnap, McElroy plays on the multiple usages of many words:
Absorb dominates the first chapter and appears in the other three, characters in the novel and in the play within absorb one another, absorb blows, are absorbed in their work
Chapter two builds on voices in terms of accents, playing characters, and being out-of-place (reflected in the dove outside the window.
Chapter three explores noisiness in the redhead, the brother’s “noise-cancelling technology,” the “noise” of industrial warehouses (a callback to Daley’s observation of the poor acoustics in the renovated warehouse in which they’re watching the play). I also see it as a reference to the noisy aspects of the character’s lives, the affair, messy relationships, professional indiscretions.
Chapter four focuses on premonitions, Daley’s “prophetic” gift. I first noticed this in chapter two. Having begun the book with the slap, we get a flashback in chapter two that makes multiple references to a “jolt.” I don’t know of a term for this technique. Post-facto foreshadowing? But in chapter four, dreams, memories, fears (of physical danger to people he knows), and hopes are blended in the narration, and we have a chapter set more than a decade in the past, but the text remains conscious of present.
McElroy’s prose feels smooth, even in the play chapters when he’s transitioning between the stage action, audience associations, and meta-commentary on the action and devices of the play.
We also see the beginnings of McElroy using intratextual intertextuality: Within the novel, we get interplay between the “real” people and the characters. Daley analyzes the relationship between Becca and the male actor through the performance on stage. We see multiple analogues: the secretaries both referred to as “girl Friday,” characters face legal trouble over professional improprieties, a sibling leaving with the married one staying at home, and I suspect more of the play’s plot elements will appear in the “real” character’s lives.

Questions

1. Blood is mentioned multiple times. How do you see the interplay of violence drawing Becca’s character’s blood with the slap, the family ties, and Becca’s insistence she and Daley are “of the same blood”?
2. How are you tracking McElroy’s persistent use of layered meanings?
3. What do you make of the numerous points at which the narrative shifts to the second person?

For next Saturday, we will be reading chapters 5 through 14, up to page 118.

Last night I had my second tonic clonic seizure. The first one I ever had was 2 years and 3 months ago. I have no memory of what happened last night. My bf called ems and I went to the hospital. They told me I have epilepsy and put me on kepra. It made me sleep for about 14 hours. Does the tiredness eventually go away? I feel terrible today. My whole body is sore and I’m so tired. 😭

Had a pt who was actively dying in his 80s.
He had cancer, metastatic in a bunch of places, came into hospital as he didn't want to pass away at home and have that memory for his wife.
I was looking after him for a morning shift, doing my best to make sure he was comfortable, no pain and with dignity. Our assistants gave him a nice bed wash and he was all cleaned up and comfortable. Palliative care team reviewed him and they were happy with everything we were doing.
Just before handover he was sleeping with his wife and son present. I handed over to a lovely sweet nurse who I know would look after him properly.
I come to work the next day and he has passed away in his sleep sometime around midnight.
Exactly how he wanted.

Just like every year on 9th of September, 1944 was no different. Military was, again, organizing a ball to celebrate the foundation of the Republic.
Mark always found this event exciting. He was a staunch republican but that was not the only reason. Ball has always been one of the only activities where high ranking officers sat together and talked to each other in a lightened mood.
He went into the ball room and immediately after, one of the other officers called to him. He was the commander of the 2nd Army, Eric Hill. “Come, Mark. Sit with us.”
Mark saluted and sat down on a chair. The table was crowded with generals, almost everyone here was also a member of the General Staff. A server rushed towards him in order to get his order.
Mark turned towards the waiter and said, “Just water.”
Server nodded and rushed. Eric spoke out;
“You are not staying I assume?”
Mark replied, “No, General. I’m not. We’ve spotted movements on the other side of the Rummish border. My division is currently investigating the issue. I’ll depart for Narbel in a few hours.”
Eric nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I see. Duty calls, as always. It's a shame you won't be able to stay and enjoy the festivities, Mark. But I trust your judgment when it comes to matters of national security."
Mark nodded solemnly. "Thank you, General. It's unfortunate timing, but our duty to protect the Republic must always come first. I'll do everything in my power to ensure the safety of our borders."
As the server returned with Mark's glass of water, he took a sip and continued, "We've been monitoring the Rummish border closely for any signs of aggression. It seems tensions have been escalating recently. Have you received any specific intelligence regarding the movements?"
Eric leaned in, his expression serious. "Indeed, Mark. Our intelligence reports indicate that the Rummish forces have been conducting military exercises near the border. It's difficult to determine their exact intentions, but it's clear they're flexing their military might. We cannot afford to underestimate them."
Mark nodded again, his mind already focused on the impending mission. "I understand, General. I'll make sure my unit is prepared for any possible scenarios. We cannot afford to let our guard down."
Another officer, General Roberts, interjected, "Mark, I've heard rumors of a potential diplomatic solution to ease the tensions. Do you think there's any truth to that?"
Mark glanced at General Roberts, contemplating the question. "It's hard to say, General. Diplomatic solutions are always preferable, but we must be cautious. The Rummish have been known to use diplomacy as a tactic to buy time or gather intelligence. Remember Dome? Everyone thought it was safe and sound until the Rummish took the city overnight. We must remain vigilant and prepared for any outcome."
Eric added, "Indeed, Mark. Diplomacy may be an option, but we cannot rely solely on it. Our military strength and readiness are crucial in maintaining our security and protecting our interests."
Mark nodded in agreement with General Eric's statement. "You're absolutely right, General. Diplomacy can only go so far, and in times of uncertainty, it's our military strength and readiness that ensure the safety and stability of our Republic."
General Roberts, a seasoned veteran, chimed in. "I remember a time during the Battle of Zeharen when we were outnumbered and outgunned. It was a grueling fight, but our determination and the valor of our soldiers turned the tide. We held our ground, pushing back the rebel forces and securing a crucial victory. You were also protecting our northern flank in that battle, Mark. If we fight our battles like we fought in Zeharen, no one will even dare to attack Sordland."
Mark listened intently, his eyes reflecting a mixture of respect and questioning. He surely admired Roberts's patriotism and heroism but have always criticized his 'unrealistic approaches to modern problems'. Mark replied, "It's stories like these, General Roberts, that remind us of the sacrifices and courage displayed by our men and women on the front lines. Their unwavering dedication and bravery make us proud to serve alongside them. But we must also remember that not only bravery can win a fight. Having a more maneuverable unit with better weaponry has enabled us to shed less Sordish blood while crushing the rebels."
General Hill, known for his experience, shared a more somber tale. "During the Siege of Holsord in the Civil War, I commanded a battalion that was tasked with holding a critical position. We fought tooth and nail, enduring heavy bombardment and relentless assaults. Many lives were lost, and the toll it took on our soldiers was immense. But we held that position, not just for the sake of victory, but for the comradeship and unwavering bond that develops in the face of adversity."
Mark's gaze turned introspective, his mind filled with memories of fallen comrades. "War is a harsh and unforgiving reality, General. It tests the limits of our humanity and challenges our notions of what is right and just. It's our duty as leaders to honor the sacrifices made by those who came before us and strive for a world where peace prevails."
“Do you have any memories to share with us, Mark? You fought in the civil war, were with us in Zeharen and also fought against BFF. I’m sure you have dozens of memories right now.” said General Roberts. Mark Replied;
“Yes, General. But one of them still scratches my mind.” Mark replied and continued, “In Bergia, especially in winter time, BFF return to the mountains like bears going into hibernation. Because as terrorists with no clear pathway between mountains and with very light clothing, it becomes very hard for them to move from hill to hill, mountain to mountain. And in the first days of the spring, they come out from their caves, like bears themselves.”
​
General Hill laughed and said, “Come on, Mark. We already know how BFF operates.”
​
Mark smiled and continued, “In that time, while guarding his post in the outskirts of Deyr, one Sergeant Major spotted something with his binoculars, approximately 500 meters away. He noticed that someone was running away from the forest towards an open area with practically no cover. Sergeant noticed that the person he was watching seemed to be short and slender for an adult. Sergeant thinks to himself that it might be a child running, but the way the person is running doesn't seem playful; they are running while looking behind as if they're escaping from something. Then, a larger figure resembling a horse enters the frame from the same forest and starts chasing after the kid. After analyzing the figure for three seconds, the sergeant shouts, "Damn, it's a bear!" and leaves the binoculars, grabs his weapon, and sounds the alarm at his post. Taking three out of the five soldiers from his post and starts to rush towards the location where the child is, firing a shot into the air every hundred meters, alternating between sprints and fast running.”
“At the halfway point, the sergeant sees that the bear catches up to the little girl and claws at her from behind. Then, a horrifying scream pierces through the air.”
“When the gendermaries arrive, the girl lies face down, covered in blood in the snowy mud. She appears to be weakened from the injury and the running while a very aggressive brown bear has bitten her ankle and is shaking its head like a crocodile, trying to tear it off. The girl is also being thrown around in the mud with the force of the bear's shaking. The sergeant quickly realizes the life-threatening danger, shoots the bear with great marksmanship and immediately calls for help on his radio. Fortunately, the gendarmerie vehicle is on patrol nearby and quickly arrives at the scene with its sirens. The sergeant slings his rifle across his back and lifts the girl onto his right shoulder, then starts running towards the main road. Displaying the true valor of a Sordish soldier with a blue beret, he manages to run at a steady pace with the heavily wounded girl on his shoulder for eight minutes uphill, finally reaching the gendarmerie patrol vehicle. He places the girl on the vehicle's floor and jumps inside himself and without even turning off the sirens, they rush towards the state hospital. It should be noted that despite losing a significant amount of blood, the young girl remains conscious. Along the way, the gendarmes try to talk to her, keeping her awake. She says her name is Cassie.”
“Why was the girl there at that time? She thought she could take a shortcut through the forest to the village road and sing a couple more Bludish folk songs before it gets dark. Little did she realize that she would encounter a bear on her way.”
“Upon reaching the emergency room, while the first aid is being administered, Cassie asks for her "big soldier brother" since she is scared of the nurses and doctors. The sergeant, covered in blood and dirt, holding his rifle, takes a seat next to her and tries to comfort her. Meanwhile, the doctors intervene in the open wound. It should be noted again that Cassie has a broken left fibula, multiple abrasions and contusions, her clothes are torn to shreds, and her back is completely exposed. Deep scars, around 45-50 centimeters long can be seen extending from her right scapula to her left kidney. Additionally, there is a severe injury on her ankle. Even though a bear's strike to the back often results in a fatal outcome, she somehow hangs on to life.
“Later, we heard that the girl received a total of 121 stitches. She's doing well and recovering. The entire district gendarmerie is laughing all day because a girl's life was saved. The local Bludish population started calling the sergeant as ‘Ayıboğan’, which refers to the strength of a bear in the local dialect.”
“Every time when I read propaganda posters distributed by BFF that the Gendarmerie and Sordish Armed Forces is a tool fed by the fascist Sollists to silence and enslave the Bludish people, I always think of the sergeant major who left his position and equipment behind and ran an absolute marathon to save the girl's life. Then a question keeps revolving in my mind. What is Sordish Armed Forces and the Gendarmerie truly protects? Just a post, a position with sandbags and heavy weaponry or children like Cassie?”
General Roberts replied, “Children, of course.” all of the table seemed to be agreeing with him, maybe except a few officers. He continued, “What happened to the Sergeant Major?”
Mark replied, “I've given Sergeant Major a commendation for leaving his post in line of duty, a post which he must protect with his life. Because he left his post in order to protect a child, even Bludish, a citizen of this Republic.”
The atmosphere around the table grew more solemn as each general shared their own stories, some glorious, some heart wrenching and some with dilemmas. The clinking of glasses and the distant melodies from the ballroom provided a stark contrast to the weight of their memories.
General Roberts, attempting to lighten the mood, raised his glass and said, "To our fallen comrades and to the unwavering spirit of the men and women who have fought for our Republic!"
The other generals raised their glasses in unison, echoing his sentiment. Mark's eyes met with the others, and in that moment, they understood the gravity of their roles as leaders and the importance of preserving the legacy of those who had fought and sacrificed before them.
As the night continued, the conversation shifted towards lighter topics, interspersed with moments of laughter and camaraderie. They shared stories of triumphs and defeats, of bonds forged in the crucible of combat, and the collective sense of purpose that bound them together.
In that moment, amidst the military ball and the company of fellow generals, Mark found solace and inspiration. He knew that regardless of the challenges ahead, he stood shoulder to shoulder with comrades who shared his commitment and determination to protect the Republic…

I make $0.75 above minimum wage as a technician at an emergency clinic. I’m still a baby tech, but i’m halfway done with my tech program and i work full time. i started as a receptionist and moved to the back in march. I feel a little taken advantage of because i’m young and in school.
i found out an old receptionist was making $14 an hour, and she was completely new to vet med. I am completely trained in reception and I run appointments, draw blood, place IVC’s, care for hospitalized patients, do other general treatments, and take X-Rays. I have monitored anesthesia/sedation with supervision, but i’m not confident in it and we don’t have the staff to train me to be comfortable enough to monitor alone. There are no RVT’s at my clinic, and only one other person is going to school.
I know i don’t know a lot, but i feel like i deserve to make more. There’s never time to take a lunch break, and i work 12-14 hour days. On indeed, places are offering $4-$10 more than what i’m making.
Does anyone have any advice on asking for a raise? I have never done this before and i am bad at confrontation. I also have incredibly bad imposter syndrome.

"Nothing ever grows here."
This was a sentiment my father expressed often, referring to a particular plot on the east side of our property, murmuring the words bitterly. No matter what crops he planted there, no matter the attention he gave them, they would either wither and die or grow in a sickly, twisted fashion.
When I was young I watched him work the land and brought him food and water as the sun beat down upon us, dreading the day that he often told me would come- the day I was old enough to toil alongside him.
My interests were books, knowledge, the arts. Things they taught at school, and the more interesting topics I could learn about from Thomas, our neighbor who lived a mile down the road from us. Though he was several grades above me, Thomas was always kind, treating me as one would a younger sibling and entertaining my curiosities. It was from him that I found myself immersed in works of fiction and fantasy, things that my father would glance at and grimace.
"These things aren't meant for people like us, Leroy. No, we weren't dealt a hand to indulge ourselves in the luxury of idle pleasures for men who do not work with their hands."
He never said these things with a tone of anger or resentment, but rather in a measured way, meant to let me understand that he would derive no pleasure in keeping me from my interests or from walking to the school in a few short months. No, he said these things regretfully, wearily. He too, had once dreamed of a life away from his family's struggling farm. The only of his three siblings to survive adolescence, he chose to stay and aid my grandfather after my grandmother passed and he began succumbing to the bottle.
While my father never gave in to such vices, seeing him grow stiffer and harder of breath each day, I knew that I soon would assume the role he had once played for his father. And so I clung to my remaining days of freedom with a feverish fervor.
​
"...and it's entirely made of ice?" I asked, insistent and intrusive at Thomas's side.
"No, it's a continent covered by and surrounded by ice…" he replied distractedly, keeping his eyes on his book as we walked, "The, uh, Vikings found it I think… maybe the Spaniards. It's interesting though, no one owns Antarctica… Besides maybe the penguins."
"The Spanish find everything.”
“Mm. The Nazis went there too. My father told me.”
“Does he ever talk about the war?”
Thomas raised an eyebrow but didn’t look up from the page. His father, Sheriff Russell, patrolled Mt.Harmon with an efficiency that could only have been instilled by combat. Nothing ever happened in our sleepy little town, and he often seemed disappointed by this.
“Does yours?” Thomas replied.
“No. Mostly worries about the Russians these days. ”
“You’d think we’d be tired of war by now, wouldn’t you? And yet we continue to find new and horrifying ways to kill one another. Seems if we invent the weapons we’ll invent a reason to point them at someone.”
“Why do we keep making them then?”
“It’s profitable.”
There was a long pause between us. I decided to change the subject.
"What are you reading?"
"Frankenstein, or; The Modern Prometheus. It's by a woman named Mary Shelley. Gruesome throughout, it's about a monster created by a man who becomes a monster himself… You'd like it, I think. You can borrow it when I'm finished."
“How does one become a monster?”
“Inwardly. You’ll see when you read it. Conversely, the monster begins to appear more human.”
I pondered the meaning of what he had said and we neared a bend in the road. Thomas suddenly stopped in his tracks and dropped Frankenstein to his side. He stared straight ahead, eyes squinting at something through thick coniferous branches. I followed his gaze, finding nothing.
"Do you see that?"
"No…" I whispered. I followed his finger until I was able to see the camouflaged Great Horned Owl roosting there. Its sharp eyes were trained on us.
“How bizarre,” Thomas remarked.
“Not really. That’s one of the most common species of owl in this region.”
“It’s not bizarre that it’s here. It’s bizarre that it’s awake in daylight and that there are so many in one place.”
Taken aback, I realized the forest we were staring into was staring right back at us. Dozens of these owls were scattered throughout the trees.
“Incredible… Enjoy this moment, Leroy. We’ll never see anything like this again.”
We lingered for a while, soaking it in. After a silent agreement was reached that we had appreciated them sufficiently we turned away and journeyed on.
​
“You’re getting better with that,” I noted, watching my father adjust the radio’s dial to his favorite station. He often asked me to tune it for him.
“There is a part of me that still dislikes it greatly. Yet I find myself compelled. It doesn’t do us well to be uninformed.”
The broadcast spoke of the weather. The next week was to be warm, uncharacteristically so for this time of year. To this he grunted, “Figures.”
“How does that figure?”
“Maybe it doesn’t. But it gives me something to blame. Might as well be the weather.”
“And what do you blame on the weather?”
“Whatever you want. It’s the perfect scapegoat.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Let the cat out.”
I journeyed to the porch with the orange creature weaving itself between my feet. It wasn’t our cat, but it was here often enough for us to feel responsible for it. We weren’t sure who it belonged to, if anyone. It scampered out into the night, where a thick fog had settled over the grass. I listened to the chirping of crickets mingle with the muffled chatter of the radio while settling into a creaking rocking chair. The glow from the lamp inside gave off just enough light as I examined the cover before opening Frankenstein, flipping through to see what annotations Thomas had made in his scribbled, slanted way of expressing his thoughts between the printed lines. They always intrigued me as much as the original work. I smiled, returning to the first page.
It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils…
​
“...Well, what did you think of Duck and Cover?”
Thomas was clearly excited to discuss the schoolwide atomic weapon safety protocol video we had been shown that morning. I was less than eager to reply. Practicing the drill had left me feeling ill.
“A desk would never save us from an explosion of that magnitude.”
“Clearly.”
“Why not build a bunker?”
Thomas laughed, “It costs money. Besides, would you want to be trapped in a bunker for years until the radiation decays? I’d rather die, frankly, than become a human sardine.”
“Valid…”
“If the government really wanted to make dealing with the aftermath convenient, they’d have us each dig our own grave beforehand. When the alarms blare we would simply lie down in them, and wait.” Thomas crossed his arms over his chest and mimed falling backwards.
I forced the resemblance of a chuckle out of a throat that had constricted.
“You don’t look well.”
“Why should I?” I turned to him, exasperated, “I don’t have a desk at home. Even the illusion of shelter might be nice.”
Thomas softened his voice, “I’m sorry, I was trying to make light of the absurdity of it all… I try not to mention that you’re leaving school. I force it from my mind so often that it sometimes slips away completely.”
“It’s not just that.”
“Then what?”
“...Doesn’t it bother you? To know that there are decisions being made for us? Ones that we do not get a say in- like who to bomb, or being forced to hide under a desk in the face of certain death?” I could feel my eyes beginning to water.
“...Of course it does.”
“And yet you laugh about it?”
Thomas shrugged, “I try to. Sometimes that’s the only option left.”
​
“What was your reasoning in choosing a Chevrolet over a Ford?”
My father was patching a tire, I was pestering him while he worked in the barn.
“Truth be told, I could give a damn about brands, makes or models. They all drive, they all break down, they all require special attention to certain faulty components… I simply needed a truck, and this is the one I could afford the day I was buying.”
“So you don’t ever find yourself admiring a Ford?”
“Sure. The grass is always greener, as they say...”
“And as you say. That's an idiom you use often.”
“Perhaps. I’m a practicing pragmatist.”
“You consider yourself to be a pragmatist?”
“...Should I surmise from your tone that you disagree?"
“I… didn’t say that.”
“Not in so many words.”
A pair of owls hooted rhythmically from somewhere to the east. He placed the tire back on the hub, giving me a stern look before winking at me as he began tightening the bolts to the rim. His point was made and my tongue was tied. He gave a curt nod at my concession and lowered the jack, running his hands across the repaired tread to make certain that no air was escaping. Once he was satisfied that it had been patched successfully he wiped them on his coveralls and stood up, grunting and groaning as his tired limbs protested just as loudly.
When he spoke again his voice had lost some of the sharpness it typically held, “There was another matter I wished to discuss with you before this task took precedence this evening”
“I’m all ears.”
“Tell that to the mouth you’re always running…” he chuckled softly, his usual gruff timbre still absent from this remark, “Leroy, I’ve decided to hire some help around here.”
I stared at him, sizing up the implication of what he’d said.
“Do you forget who manages your finances?” I asked, incredulous, knowing that we didn’t have a quarter to spare.
“That only adds to my point. You are a child, yet you understand these things as well, or perhaps even better, than I.”
“Indeed, which makes your statement even more foolish.”
The gruffness came back to his voice with his response.
“Not at all. There is hope for you yet. You haven’t made the poor decisions I have and tied yourself to this cursed piece of land… Nothing grows here. And what does is meager…”
“...Meaning that you will need my help to succeed.”
“Nonsense. You will be at school for the spring and the fall, and in the summer you will have chores. But I cannot bear keeping you here with me. I will hire help.”
There was a finality to what he had said. A weight had been simultaneously lifted from my shoulders and placed firmly in the air between us. Impenetrable and inarguable. I found my lips trembling.
“Were you ever happy here?”
My question took him aback. He regarded me for a while before he spoke, his voice once again lowered to a softer cadence and volume.
“...I suppose I was for a time. We told ourselves we would return home to a hero's welcome… To parades and medals and our loved ones. And we did… To all the fanfare and the admiration… For what we had done. Who we had killed. The enemy- young men just like us. Scared, tired, hungry, sick men that we were told to kill with distorted reasoning, manipulation, for fear of being called a coward or a traitor… Through similar methods they were coerced to do the same to us. At the end of the day, we were only ever trying to survive, no matter which uniform we wore.”
He leaned against the frame of the Chevy.
“So I was happy to survive… I was happy to return to my infant, my wife…” he sighed heavily, staring down at the ground, “And then she left us... She was not happy here.”
“We… Couldn’t we have gone with her?”
“No,” he shook his head, “No, it wasn’t like that, Leroy… She was- is- a spirit meant to be free. She would have never been happy with us. Perhaps I was a fool for ever thinking that she could be…”
I had never heard him speak of her this frankly. I could see his eyes sadden as memories of their time together flashed through his mind. I nearly regretted broaching the subject.
“She was- she is- a good woman, in her own way,” he concluded, looking back at me.
“...And you are a great man,” I told him.
He rubbed his face with his sleeve, quickly concealing the mist forming in his eyes from my sight. When he lowered his arm he was once again composed.
“And you are a great son, Leroy.”
​
The next morning Thomas was not waiting on the porch for me on the way to school as usual. Instead I was greeted by Sheriff Russell after I knocked on the screen door. Seeing him dressed in a robe and slippers instead of his uniform was oddly disorienting.
"Good morning, Leroy. I'm afraid Thomas has had a fever through the night. His mother believes it best for him to stay in bed for the day. Just getting over mine," he added, seeming to feel the need to justify his attire.
"Oh, well pass it along to him that I hope he feels better soon."
"I'll do that, I'll do just that..." Russell yawned, coffee mug in hand. The sound of bare feet bounding down the steps came from inside and Thomas appeared, looking pale and tired.
“Young man, you ought to be resting!” Darcy poked her head around the corner to half-heartedly scold him.
“I’ll go back up in a minute, Ma, relax!”
Russell scowled at him.
“Did Pop show you this?” he asked, grabbing something off of the kitchen table and pressing it against the screen for me to see.
"Is that what I think it is?"
"Only if you believe it to be a Geiger counter."
“I figured we ought to have a few at the station in case we… Well, you never know these days,” Russell said grimly, “They’ve been giving off odd readings though.”
“Have they been calibrated?”
“Do you really think I didn’t zero them in?” Thomas answered before his father could speak.
“It’s just a question… Were they stored with packets of desiccant? Have you made certain that the ionization chambers have not rusted? That the welds are intact? They will be useless if any air gets inside.”
Thomas looked toward Russell to reply.
“I… don’t know. Well, Leroy, Thomas always told me you were sharp,” Russell said, seeming to have gone from seeing me as a child to an equal in that moment. Darcy reappeared around the corner.
“Thomas, get back in your room and rest!”
He grimaced at her.
“I’ll be better in a day or two,” he grumbled, “I’ll see you then.”
“Feel better. Good to see you, Sheriff,” I said, turning to depart.
“One moment, Leroy,” he called, and I returned to the porch, “Have you ever been to the library in Augusta?”
“No, sir. I’ve never been to Augusta at all.”
“You don’t say? Well, with as much as the two of you read, it occurs to me that it would be a worthy pilgrimage to make. What do you say we all take a trip down once we’ve recovered? I imagine they have a few books in the capitol library that you could never find in our little town.”
“I… I’d love to, Sheriff,” I murmured, flustered by this act of kindness, “I’ll… I’ll ask my father.”
“Good man. And Leroy, you may call me Russell,” he smiled.
​
This was the night that the monster visited me.
It waited until my sheets were soaked in cold sweat and my teeth chattered uncontrollably to make itself known.
It rose out of the darkness, a form that slowly took shape out of billowing shadow. And then it was before me. Massive. Cadaverous. Its suppurating flesh crudely sewn together in multicolored patches.
But worse was its grin. Something so hideous was not meant to express the joy it conveyed from the cruelty of its intentions. Blackened teeth and bloodshot eyes bore into my very essence as the form of Mary Shelley's literary creation was brought to fruition before me. The scream in my lungs would not release itself. It felt as if a great weight had settled over my throat and ribs.
But no, it was the screaming in my ears that made the tapestry of my nightmare begin to fray.
My eyes shot open and the tethers of sleep paralysis released their grip on my limbs.
There it was once more, shrill and agonized, the sound of something suffering in the throes of its final moments before death.
I was on my feet. My door slammed against the wall. My father's door was already open. As I careened down the hallway I was just able to make out his silhouette, a shotgun in his hands.
"Stay here, Leroy," he barked.
A change had come over him. He was no longer the stiff-limbed, patient father I knew. His posture straightened, his voice was callous. He burst into the night, once more a soldier storming into battle. Even in my panic I could not help being awed by the transformation I had witnessed.
A shot fired…
And another.
Then a complete and deafening silence.
I crept to the door, pushing it open just enough to peer out. An impermeable fog clung to the air, making it impossible to make out anything past the porch.
"F-father?"
My toes were on the top step now, slowly inching their way to the damp grass.
Still. Silent.
"Dad?!"
The owls began hooting and the crickets started up their chatter once more. Altogether, the creatures around seemed to release a breath they had held collectively. Even the fog relinquished its grip on my vision.
I could just make out his slumped form. My feet slapped against the cold earth as I sprinted my way toward him, anticipating the worst.
"Dad, are you okay? Dad!"
Then he was on his feet once more, gripping me by the waist and hoisting me up.
"There is nothing for you to see, Leroy... Nothing at all. Close your eyes, son. Please, close your eyes…"
Despite the desperation and sincerity in his voice my curiosity got the better of me. I squinted through my eyelids, just able to make out the pile of scattered limbs through my lashes. I forced bile back down my throat and clenched my eyes tightly, shocked to find myself wishing to return to the nightmare that had awoke me.

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I have been a lurker on this subreddit for a while mainly out of curiosity. There are many people who frequent this sub are suffering mental-health-wise and they are also very against what psychiatry (therapy, medications, hospitalizations, some rare procedures) uses.
I'm a US medical student who will rotating on psychiatry soon (part of the required curriculum at most US medical schools). I am neutral towards most of the things I read on here because I have seen how many patients are genuinely happy for what the field of psychiatry has done for them, but then I also see the polar opposite (including what is written on this subreddit). At my school, we have an ethics class, and one topic we learn about is the ethics of involuntary hospitalization. Given all this, I do wonder: for those of you who frequent this subreddit and hate psychiatry, what do you wish you could have instead? If not what psychiatry offers, what would you turn to?
For those of you who have been deemed a danger to yourself and/or society, and that's why you have received psychiatric care that you are against, how do you think you should have been treated instead *given that others saw you as a threat to yourself and/or others*?
I see so much "psychiatry is evil/bad/etc." but I'm wondering from your perspective what better options lie out there. I'm also curious where most of you live. Are most of you complaining about psychiatric care in the USA? Or elsewhere in the world? I'm hoping to gain some perspective given that I will be working with psychiatric patients soon.
View Poll

(I 100% stole the title from a fellow redditor)
So I'm a new grad. I've worked almost a year in a city hospital ER, working with a lot of low income patients. I've been awful at managing my money, beginning since college. I didn't actively apply to scholarships, now I owe almost 30k after nursing school. I make about 50k a year.
Would the Nurse Corps Loan Repayment benefit me? Is there anyway I can find out if the hospital I'm already working for qualifies as a critical shortage facility?
I read that I must have at least 20% debt to income ratio for it to be worth it to apply, is that true? I'm not sure how to calculate my debt to income ratio.
If I apply for this program, would I still receive my monthly hospital income like normal? How do they go about slashing my loans, like do they give me checks or pay the loan establishment themselves? If I work for them for a year how much money would they have paid off by then? I also read I must stay with my hospital at least two years, do they apply the reimbursement after the two years or they trickle it since I start the job? I'm thinking about the interest accumulated in those two years.
I know it's a lot of questions, and I know I can also dig a bunch and find out a lot online, but I was hoping to get some intell from you guys if you got some more tips and tricks. I appreciate all the help :)

Sometimes I feel un-prioritized by my boyfriend. Idk if I’m just over thinking or being crazy. We live about 40 minutes away. I go to his house on weekends or when I can (usually 3-4days a week) I drive to see him. Which costs a lot when you’re driving back and fourth for work/school. I go to school full time, go to two 12s, and work at my family’s restaurant. When I mean I try my best to see him and spend time/money on him I meant it. I barely sleep just to get homework done to see him. I drive back and fourth to see him. I do things for him such as cook food for him, take him lunch for school, see him at school, take care of him when he’s sick/down. And I barely get min in return.
Today we were suppose to hang out and I was going to drive to his house to see him and we were going to his friends house… well as soon as I got out of work he texts me to not worry on seeing him because he’s already at his friends house… and I’m like “??” Because we were suppose to go. His answer was “well you don’t like to wake up early so I assumed you didn’t want to go” and I said “I wake up early regardless just to be with you”. I told him I called of work tomorrow and then he’s like “well I can pick you up and go back to my friends house” I didn’t reply to that because I feel like he said that since I called off work. I also stayed up for 25 hours for a clinical shift that was 13 hours, came home took a shower, did homework till 4am, slept, woke up at 6am and packed my stuff for the weekend… I was also pissed because he says we never do anything fun. I booked a nice hotel in my town to go out drinking and just spend the night in the hotel without having to drive for so long. Well that I was pissed because I lost money, once I did the same to take a little weekend trip and we got into a fight and broke up and I couldn’t get my refund. I go to the hospital for 12 hours and during my shifts he texts me “i miss you” and then I say “then come see me for lunch” just let me know an hours ahead so I know what to do with my patients. He does nothing, no school over the summer, no job. Yet he complains of being bored. He can spend a little bit of time with me seeing me and eating lunch with me. He has the money to do so, he has 100k or more saved up. Im also not saying for him to spend it all. When he’s lonely or upset he asks me to come and if I don’t he guilt trips me with “you don’t miss me?” “I see you don’t care about me” “you’re lame”…
I used to have an ex who would be amazing at being a boyfriend. He always made me the priority even after we broke up and I made him a priority too. He would come have lunch with me at my clinical shifts, school, and work. Help out at my work to just be with me. Surprise me with little things such as coffee, flowers, candy, snacks, food, jewelry, worry about my doctor appointments, take me out on dates, didn’t keep count on what he spent on me (my current bf does this to me. I absolutely hate it. He’s like “ I paid last, you’re turn” “you’re paying this”) it bothers me a lot because I pay for things over and over without telling him that he owes me X thing. I’ll buy something without looking at the price tag or being like “too expensive, not the right time” . I’m not broke, I can buy it myself. However you cannot invite me out and then when the tab comes hit me with “you pay” . It’s not even about money, it’s about like also him not planning things for me, being romantic, or hand making things
I once had a a ceremony for school which was a huge thing. He asked to go and I said yes. Later the following 1-2 weeks I tell him if he was coming and he’s like “no I have a doctors appointment” so that hurt me a lot.

I was sitting across from my mother. She has been dead for quite some time, yet she was always present when I needed her the most. Of course, no one else can see or hear her, but that would not matter anyway. She had little interest in anyone else. Her presence is soothing. A calming anchor in an all too real sea of uncertainty and danger.
I was at the back of a boat gazing into the wake that it created. I don't know much about boats, but as far as I can tell, it has seen some wear and tear. As it idles through the water, I looked back over our journey. White waves were created as we pushed through the ocean. The Sun had long abandoned us. Only silver streaks of moonlight on the peaks of the waves broke up the endless black. A wake usually means there is going to be a funeral, I thought to myself.
I turned and faced towards the front of the boat and took in my immediate surroundings. A small veteran boat with oars, a tired petrol engine, and some basic supplies. The captain held an unfriendly demeanor. I counted people, but after 20 my anxiety increased. The opposite of counting sheep. At least 20 people. 20 lives present.
Who were these strangers?
What is their life before this?
What is their life going to be?
Every question I could think of was equally important. The boat shook as we collided into a small wall composed of ocean. It spat at us as if we had interrupted it from its slumber.
An old lady cried, "اللَهُمَّ ساعِدْني"
Tears streamed down her face as she collapsed into the nearest person beside her; a thin man with a tight moustache and a furrowed brow. The thin man was just as frightened and clutched onto her as cold air whistled around their faces. The air cut into our cheeks like tiny paper cuts. I picked out faces. The old lady. The thin man. A kindly faced woman in front of me. Her shawl was protecting at least three under it. Their three sets of eyes. Like little kitten's peering out from the warmth of the shawl. Their faces were obscured. She was humming something. A soothing little note designed to create a forcefield against the harsh reality of our situation. My Mother began to hum a tune that I knew well. The little kittens braced as each wave unsettled the boat.
I continued to look around. A well-built man was barking orders. He was ranting about life jackets. My mother nudged my arm. She pointed to some lifejackets strewn underneath my seat. I shouted out. The well-built man scrambled to them. "Here, here, here". He threw them into the group. The most vulnerable were seen to first, but even then, I could see numerous people with no life jackets. I know that they could not swim; either too old or not old enough. They wouldn't be able for the mercilessness of the ocean.
The thin man who had just consoled the elderly women sat himself down beside me. He turned to me and smiled. I smiled back. He laughed. It isn't a particularly happy laugh, but something has caught his eye. He passed over a small photograph. It was composed of a large family with him proudly centred. Libyan or Algerian was my best guess, but then again, he could truly be from anywhere. My mother leaned over his back and pointed at a young woman sitting off to the left. I get it now. I resemble this woman. I glanced around. He is alone. I have a feeling his family only exists as memories or through haunting lookalikes. I felt a mixture of emotion. Perhaps they are also here, I thought to myself. Like my mother.
He doesn't speak, as I returned the photograph like it was a delicate flower. He picked himself up and squeezed to the back of the boat. Even though we didn't talk, we knew a lot about each other. I remember my mother whispering to me.
".إذا كان الكلام من فضة فالسكوت من ذه"
People were moaning in pain around me. An injured woman had been passed out for most of the journey. Her leg looked infected, and her partner, a beautiful woman, clutched her tightly. I helped put a lifejacket on the injured woman. Her partner's eyes appreciated me. I sat back down at the end of the boat. We continued into the darkness of the night. To busy myself and to keep warm, from my pocket, I took a small photo out. It was wrapped in a plastic I found on the beach.
My grandparents. The ones who raised me and cared for me. I closed my eyes and saw it vividly. In fact, I always saw it when I closed my eyes. The smoke choking their frail bodies. The heat of burning rubber, wood, and flesh. My own blood drenching the dust in the sitting room as my ears rang from the impact blast. My throat still winces when I remember the caked dust that nearly suffocated me. They appear sometimes as well. Charred and tearful. Sometimes they scream, but mostly they just smoulder. My Mother was oblivious to this, of course. I didn't have the heart to tell her. From what I gathered; they don't interact. I drifted back into my past. Stumbling out of the apartment just in time to see the foundations begin to crumble. Another jet closing in on our little town.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
The noise was getting louder. I blinked my eyes and returned to reality. I was cold and alone. Everyone in this boat was. Cold and alone together. My story wasn't new. In fact, most know it. Thinking of my grandmother, I squeezed past the worried faces. I took my torn jacket and placed it around the old lady. She smiled. I smiled. I returned to my tiny area. The waves were now pelting the underneath of the boat as if some evil creature was trying to tear it apart.
A large splash destroys the shallow peace. I looked down and quickly realised someone has gone overboard. Among the trashing and screaming, people reached out in a vain effort to rescue him. The Thin man was sinking into the black. His eyes widened with fear as he came to the realisation of his situation. That is when I saw it. That is when I saw him. Pale arms wrapped silently around his body. Gently, but firmly, they pulled him towards the depths of the ocean.
His struggle lessened and lessened. The panic of the thin man's eyes slowly turn into acceptance.
I think he has chosen his new life underneath the chaos above the waters. Eventually, his body disappeared into the black. The screams on the boat became less and less. People were just gazing into the water. Perhaps they were wondering if the reasons he chose were convincing. Perhaps, they wanted to be next. He has a new family now.
The creatures had been following us since the first day. While I wouldn't say they are friendly, they seemed to keep a healthy distance from us, only interacting when we breach the sanctity of their waters. From what I gathered; the creatures were not Sirens. Sirens lure you into a false reality with their music. These creatures are different. They don't leap onto your boat. They don't pull you into their depths. The thin man wasn't forced into his fate. He merely fell overboard.
How? I don't know, but he knew the consequences of his actions. He chose out. The overwhelming reality of our human world simply became too much. Death was a viable acceptance, and it had it hands out to welcome him. The creatures embraced him. Were these creatures human at one point? I do not know. Their eyes are human like. As we drifted for hours aimlessly into the darkness, I thought about them a lot. I also saw them. Little yellow dots bouncing up and down in the water, patiently waiting for the next.
I dropped my hand overboard and allowed it to glide over the surface of the water. Very briefly my fingers interlock with another. I loosened my grip on the boat and allowed myself to sway side to side. The touch was kind and gentle. A small part of me knew the danger, but another, far more desperate part just needed to feel something. Suddenly, I felt a grip around my back. My Mother ushered me away from the water. I hugged myself for warmth and closed my eyes. As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I overheard some of the conversations around me.
"How much did you pay?"
"Can't we go back? Maybe he is still alive"
"Stop talking nonsense. He is gone"
"Move over, I am almost falling out here."
"No, my family had couldn't come, they didn't make it."
"When do we get there? He said only three days"
"Three days? He said a few hours to me."
"A few hours! You must be foolish? Two days at least."
"The water is beautiful, let's us embrace the calm"
"I am cold"
Wait, I thought, "the water is beautiful?"
I looked around to see who would say such a strange thing. The voice didn't seem to come from anyone on board. The cold was getting to me. I closed my eyes again.
"We won't make the journey"
"Keep yourself quiet and don't be foolish"
"Leave her be, she's just nervous!"
"Nervous, look around, we are all nervous! Don't start lecturing me about nervous"
"I said stop it!"
I opened my eyes. Where's the mother of three?, I thought.
I perched up on the back of the boat and looked across the faces. Ah! There she was. She was cupping water and cleaning their faces. The injured woman looked very poorly. I wondered if there was a medical professional here. The injured lady had a partner. Another woman. She was beautiful.
In an instant, the boat violently shook. Rain tore into us so badly that we crawled as far into the boat as humanly possible. 20 or more voices were helplessly crying into the ocean's indifference. I tried to reassure the people around me that it was okay. When it calmed, I lifted my head and assessed my surroundings. I had cuts from the razor rain, but I was more or less intact. Then I heard the howling. A banshee cries. I could not figure out the dilemma. Who was screaming? It was the woman of three. She was howling.
The well-built man grabbed a torch from the box where the life jackets were and pointed it to the ocean of waves. It took me a few minutes to discern the ugly truth. Tears fell down the well built man's face. The woman of three. Now the woman of two. Yellow eyes were dotted around us. Another offering to their insatiable appetite.
Our mental and physical strength was drained. Food had been scarce for some time and as the old rhyme goes, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink. The injured woman looked terrible. Apart from small gulps of freshwater and a makeshift bandage, we had nothing to give her. I began scouring the boat for something, anything that might relieve her pain. Her injuries looked deep. Her partner, the beautiful woman was stoic. She knew that nothing could be done, although the closer to the shoreline the better.
I rested my head against the yellowed, damaged side of the boat. Before I could get comfortable, it hit. A wave smashed against us. The boat lifted upwards into the sky. I fell backwards into the wake as the boat pounded back down into the water. Although, I didn't know at the time. The boat had ruptured its hull. The cold stinging pain of the water jolted my lungs. For a brief moment, I was paralysed. As I bobbed up and down in the water, my face dipped below the waterline. I couldn't make out much, but those yellow eyes.
They were still there. I saw faces, hundreds of them, surrounding my body. Grabbing and pulling me towards the deep. Many of the faces were those already dead, and I was being pulled towards them. In that moment of paralysis, there was almost serenity. The physical world full of its pain and anguish seemed to melt away in the midst of this calm inevitability.
A part of me was ready to give in. Join the chorus of distraught yellow eyes. I knew I couldn't. I froze as we made brief eye contact, but it was my mother’s voice snapped me back to the moment. I pulled and swam upwards in a feeble attempt to break away. I rose above the water and tried to grasp my surroundings. The boat was sinking. People were thrashing about in the water. It was panic. I knew I couldn't. I pulled and swam upwards in a feeble attempt to break away.
I saw the old lady.
"Jump", I cried to the old lady.
"It's sinking, it's sinking!"
The boat was decompressing rapidly.
"Jump", I shouted.
Just as the moon hit her face, I saw it. I saw many emotions, but I also saw what she couldn't bear to say. She couldn't swim. Before I could swim back to try and get her a lifejacket a wave from behind lifted me forward and I crashed into the side of the boat. In a daze, I grasped onto the thick rope that surrounded the boat. Mouthfuls after mouthfuls of salted air and water began to take their toll.
People were thrashing in the water. The cold was intense. The boat was almost fully sunk, and my upper body strength was gone. Then I saw it. A beam of light over the water. The sound of an incoming ship. A sigh of relief. Men threw out water doughnuts and rope. People clambered onto the boat. Those who were left anyway. By the time everyone was on board the sun was just peering out on the horizon. I was wrapped in a dry blanket and then I went dark.
When I woke up, I was in a tent. New clothes set out before me. I assessed my wounds. Cuts reddened the skin, but I was more or less okay. I sat up in the makeshift tent and grabbed a cup of coffee to warm my hands. I was exhausted, but I had to know where I was. I wandered out of the tent. The searing heat reminded me of home. People were shouting, vehicles were ferrying food and supplies back and forth. This must be one of the biggest camps there is.
In front of me was a new war with its own special injured. I walked throughout the camp looking for anyone I could recognise. The well-built man was looking pale and shell-shocked. His eyes were red and two doctors spoke in rapid-fire to one another. He didn't understand a word they were saying.
I moved through the camp for the rest of the day. I saw many faces, and harrowingly, I didn't see many others. When I came across the woman of two, my heart ached. She was inconsolable. The woman of two. My emotions knew nothing of her plight. I pushed my mind forward as much as I could.
The woman of none.
I walked on to find an empty bench. I collapsed into it and looked out over the horizon. I had survived.
A small whisper of encouragement filled my ears. My Mother. She soothed over the anxiety I was feeling. My anger, pain, and the hatred I had for myself to feel relief when so many others only feel pain. She whipped herself around the branches of a tree causing leaves to lightly dance in front of me. I thought back to the days of the olive trees that we used to have in our back garden. She continued to flit in a frenzy of happiness.
I understood.
Perhaps the afterlife is a lot simpler. I shrugged my shoulders as to say, "What do I do now?"
She cracked a wry smile. And whispered, "whatever you set your heart to."
With that, she began to move away from me. She extended her arms, and that is when I realised. She wasn't alone. Hiding behind the tree were three small individuals. Three that I recognised. The three little kittens looked at my mother and rushed towards her. She smiled at me and back at them.
She had saved me on my journey, and now it was her time to guide three little lives into a new one. A mixture of sadness and happiness crept over me. My Mother faded out. I shut my eyes and thought about dry land.

I thought it would be beneficial that I give some insight to those battling ADVANCED PROSTATE CANCER so they may be proactive. My husband turned to PLUVICTO as a last resort and was extremely positive about the possibilities. Below I am sharing his six-month fight with PLUVICTO and experience that I addressed with an email to his doctors after he passed.

It is with a heavy heart that I reach out to all the doctors and health care professionals that treated my husband these past years and notify that he passed away on Saturday, April 15th. Furthermore, I believe it is my obligation to stress the importance of continuous scans, and aggressive follow-ups for patients receiving PLUVICTO. On 10/31/2022 my husband began treatment and immediately his side effect was diarrhea, which is common for many cancer treatments, nevertheless for this type of radiation. However, everyone was hopeful that with time this side effect would stabilize, and days became weeks and weeks became months even while taking prescription meds. After four months of persistent diarrhea, we discovered my husband had C.Diff.

For this reason, patients with detrimental side effects should immediately be tested and if it is related to the GI tract there should be a quicker avenue for immediate referrals and appointments. Keep in mind that doctors refer you to a GI specialist and an appointment may take weeks or even months. In our case, after reaching out to four GI doctors from Baptist which had no availability for months, even when explaining the circumstances, I called Dr. Cristian Andrade who is my GI, and my husband was scheduled as an emergency. In addition, his stool results (C.Diff) took at least two weeks due to an internal issue with the lab.

After three sessions of Pluvicto, due to my husband’s significant weight loss (65 pounds), deterioration and progression of the disease concluded by a scan done at Mount Sinai Hospital on 3/10/22 we agreed to stop treatment. As a result of months of radiation proctitis and C.Diff which caused extensive diarrhea and lack of nutrition because of the discomfort as well as extreme fatigue; it led to Necrotizing Fasciitis that developed in his colon and rectal area. We learned about this bacterium by a CT scan on April 8th when we went to the ER which brought upon an emergent debridement of the area that extended to his bowels. The resulting wound of my husband was so large and deep that the pain from performing wound care every twelve hours sounded inhumane, it was like he was being tortured or burned alive. In fact, he had to be kept in the ICU so they could administer Fentanyl & Versed for wound care and even then, he was still in agonizing pain. Eventually, my husband decided on comfort measures because he would require surgical intervention for placement of a colostomy for the wound to properly heal, which he could not handle.

I consider that each day brings a new teachable moment, and I wanted everyone to learn of my husband’s journey these past six months. I know that the end result would have been the same due to his advanced prostate cancer, but what my husband endured was brutal in 2023. A million thanks to all those that brought him a smile and optimism because you gave him hope. We never thought he would almost make it to four years due to statistics. I consider that my husband was blessed and received the best possible care through the years. He always thought of those worst off and younger battling cancers. Therefore, I created a GOFUNDME in his honor to help others less fortunate. All proceeds will be donated to the National Kidney Foundation, Zero Prostate Cancer Foundation, and the Baptist Health Miami Cancer Institute. https://www.gofundme.com/f/jose-enrique-hidalgo-ramos

I’m not sure if this is the right place to post this, but it’s exactly as the title says. I’m a dialysis tech and an RN I work with overheard me telling a patient my plans to apply to PA school this cycle. He used to work in ICU said he “doesn’t like PA’s because they don’t do shit compared to NP’s, even the PA’s in the surgical setting.” Now, all my shadowing experience has been in the OR with 3 different PA’s in different surgical subspecialties, including spine surgery where the MD does one side of the spine and his PA does the other. They’ve also all been very involved in patient care, patient meds, etc. but they don’t do post-op at all their RN’s or NP’s do. I don’t know why it upset me so much, but I guess my question is, is this seriously how PA’s are seen in the hospital setting? That they aren’t anything compared to NP’s?

Vital Environmental Factors That Can Prevent Recovery From BPD:
If, as a result of childhood trauma, we have developed post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) or borderline personality disorder (BPD) our post-traumatic environment can have an extremely strong impact upon our chances of recovery. I list some particularly important factors below :
LACK OF SUPPORT FROM FRIENDS, FAMILY AND THE WIDER COMMUNITY / SOCIETY
If we are not provided with such support, but, instead, are shunned and ignored, it is highly likely that our feelings of worthlessness, vulnerability and isolation will be intensified.
Support needs to be non-judgmental, empathic and validating both of our emotional pain and also of our interpretation of how our adverse experiences have affected us.
Also, those providing the support need to be 'emotionally literate' (i.e. able and willing to discuss feelings and emotions in a compassionate and understanding manner)
NOT BEING BELIEVED
Obviously, if people we talk to about our traumatic experiences don't believe what we are saying or believe we are exaggerating the seriousness of what happened to us (or the seriousness of the effect it has had upon us) our psychological condition is likely to be severely aggravated: our lack of self-esteem, sense of despair, sense of worthlessness, sense of unlovability, feelings of isolation and any feelings of anger, bitterness and resentment we may have are all likely to be severely intensified.
SECONDARY VICTIMIZATION
We need to avoid those who would cause us secondary victimization. Secondary victimization occurs when those who ought to be helping us instead harm us further. Indeed, the example of not being believed (see above) is one such form of secondary victimization.
Other examples of secondary victimization include :

• having a doctor who minimizes/trivializes the seriousness of what has occurred to us and its effects
  
• being stigmatized by society for having developed a psychiatric condition
  
• being shunned and ostracized by friends/family due to our condition
  
• being made to feel ashamed in connection with what has happened to us and its effects
  
• having the vulnerable nature we have developed as a result of our mental condition exploited by an intimate partner (the risk of this is especially high as those who have suffered significant abuse in their early lives are frequently (on an unconscious level) driven to seek out intimate partners who are likely to abuse them further (this is sometimes referred to as a repetition compulsion).
  

On top of these problems, it can, too, be difficult to get professional support:
A recent study carried out by Proctor et al., 2020, has produced further evidence that BPD sufferers frequently find it highly problematic gaining access to effective treatment such as dialectical behaviour therapy, or DBT. (In relation to this problem, you may wish to read my previously published articles: How Malignant Alienation May Impoverish Care BPD Patients Receive.)
Whilst many professional used to believe BPD was typically unresponsive to treatment, this can no longer operate as a feasible excuse as there now exists an increasingly large and growing body of evidence that a substantial proportion of those who have been diagnosed with this extremely serious condition (which is closely linked to severe and protracted, interpersonal, childhood trauma) can be treated effectively, at least to the degree that they no longer fulfil the requisite criteria necessary for the diagnosis of BPD to continue to be applicable.
The authors of the study suggest that difficulty obtaining proper treatment is linked to the continued stigma attaching itself to a BPD diagnosis. However, as sufferers of the condition become increasingly knowledgeable about the illness and of the existence of evidence base therapies like DBT (see above), so too should their confidence assertively to request the opportunity to access such treatment. After all, about one in ten BPD sufferers eventually die by suicide, so the need for such individuals to be offered compassionate, non-judgmental, empathetic and non-discriminatory treatment can hardly be overstated. The treatment of extreme mental pain is just as much of an ethical imperative as is the treatment of extreme physical pain.
The Australian study surveyed 500 patients between 2011 and 2017 and found that those offered appropriate help often waited between a year and a year-and-a-half to receive it. The author of the study pointed out that this not only resulted in unnecessary suffering for the BPD sufferer but also placed extra strain on hospital emergency services (i.e. due to more BPD sufferers reaching crisis point, attempting suicide, self-medicating with dangerous levels of alcohol and/or narcotics, extreme self-harm such as self-cutting and self-burning etc.).
The researchers concluded by emphasizing the importance of health professionals applying NHMRC BPD guidelines in order to support front line services responsible for the welfare of BPD sufferers.

A special thanks to u/bluefishcake for the wonderful original story and sandbox to play in.
A special thanks to my editors LordHenry7898, RandomTinkerer, Swimming_Good_8507, CatsInTrenchcoats, and KLiCKonthat.
And a big thanks to the authors and their stories that inspired me to tell my own in this universe. RandomTinkerer (City Slickers and Hayseeds), Punnynfunny (Denied Operations), CompassWithHat (Top Lasgun), CarCU131 (The Cook), and Rhion-618 (Just One Drop)
Hy’shq’e Ay Si’am (Thank you noble friends)
Chapter 30: A Promise Kept
Kalai stepped off the shuttle to the Vaida’s headquarters and into a running tackle-hug from Sitry. “Oh Kalai, I could kill you right now! You got to see the Great Barrier Reef in person, you bitch!” Sitry’s cheerful voice was muffled from where she was still buried in her chest. Kalai staggered backwards a pace or two, happy to be back from her whirlwind adventure around Earth with her father.
Naranjo and Papa Rhaxiid were there on the platform to welcome her back too, but their welcomes were more sedate.
“Not to mention you got out of work for half our damn trip. Ugh, it’s so not fair!” Naranjo huffed as Kalai gave him a sisterly hug.
Papa Rhaxiid reached up and chucked her chin before turning to lead the way back inside from the forested platform. “Welcome back, sweet-sprout, we’ve missed you. Come on, we’ll get you settled again and off to work. There’s quite a bit you need to catch up on if you want your credits.”
The chuckles from the twins behind her were full of sibling malice, but she knew how to shut the pair of them up. “Papa Rhaxiid? I’ve got the paper on Biodiversity in the Reef you asked for, along with the dissection report and stomach content analysis of the tuna we caught. I want to put the finishing touches on it and do a final proofread first before I send them to you.” The man turned and gave her a warm smile as they entered the building.
“Good, why don’t you go take your things back up and say hello to Andy? I’ll give you an hour and a half to get freshened up, then I want you to report to Aquarium 12 with Dr. Sor’ansa. You can put your snorkeling practice to work there.” Papa Rhaxiid walked the three of them to the residential elevator. “I’m heading back to my office. Andy’s been requested by Maetro Pae’ella to work the kitchens for something called ‘Bison burgers'. Apparently it’s a type of indigenous bovine that the eastern Bands raise. That and something from Europe called ‘French Fries’.”
Kalai couldn’t help but get excited as she and her siblings piled into the elevator back to their little shared apartment. Sure the food she’d had all over the place was good, but so far nothing had been able to compare to Andy and his Salishian cooking.
“Nerd, I can’t believe you cheated and did work on your vacation." Naranjo broke the silence of the elevator after a little bit and stuck his tongue out at her.
“Spit to windward, you vain little weed. Don’t hate me because I’m awesome.” Kalai’s riposte caused Naranjo to fold his arms and huff. Sitry simply ambushed her with an ear flick.
The elevator door opened to their floor before Kalai couldn’t bear the silence from Sitry any longer. “So, did you bag him yet, you lucky bitch?”
“No she hasn’t!” Naranjo’s singsong mockery of his sister interrupted Sitry’s response. “Papa hasn’t let Sitry even NEAR Andy without one of them around!”
“Rub it in, you snitch, besides, he did kiss me first,” Sitry preened happily as she playfully shoved Kalai’s shoulder.
Kalai pretended to stumble and almost caught Sitry’s foot, but she was just a hair too slow. “Yeah, and then you gave him a black eye, you clod.”
“Will you let it go? It was an accident!”
“It’s not even the only one he got either." Naranjo’s interjection stopped her right in front of their door.
“Wait, what? Who hurt him this time?” Kalai let her bag thunk to the floor as she turned to look accusingly between Sitry and Narny.
Sitry folded her arms and her ears twitched back as she shot a dark look at their door. “He ‘fell down’ yesterday while out at one of the Hatcheries we gave to the Hwatcoms. Mrs. Toloui nearly had a fit! She said she could smell another human on him and that he was covered in blood!”
Narny nodded primly as Kalai tried to process what they were telling her. “WHAT? Did she call out the militia? Track down whoever hurt him?”
“No, and he refused treatment and insisted that no one did it to him! When papa tried to talk to him, Andy said some stupid human macho shit about pain healing and birds liking scars. I don’t know, sometimes humans… they’re frickin’ insane!”
The door shot open and there stood Andy. His left eye was an angry puffy yellow and blue mess, and there were three points on his lips where a dark cinnabar line marked a crack. Kalai and her siblings stood in wide eyed shock at his sudden appearance and the only sound was the music emanating from the common room behind him.
Andy looked up and down at the three without saying a word. He cocked an eyebrow and snagged Kalai’s bag before any of them could react and cleared the doorway for them.
Kalai sputtered at the impropriety but Naranjo and Sitry just shrugged and walked in after Andy. “Femboys, am I right?” Narny whispered to Kalai as he passed. Kalai followed behind and was greeted by the white fluff-ball, Puck, who hopped up and down, whining for attention. She bent down and started scratching his ears and back. While Puck rubbed up against her hands, Andy settled back down at the table where his omnipad was hooked up to a keypad. Her heart started to sink a bit and Kalai shot Sitry a jealous look before the music came to a sudden halt and Andy interrupted the beginnings of her pity party.
“Ok, Kem’ira, I got the pics now and I’m telling you to declare yourself to the farmers first! I guarantee if you tell them you’re with the new DNR and you’re there to kill all the Scotch Broom in their pasture lands, they’ll stop trying to shoot you for trespassing!”
Kalai’s mood jumped up a bit. It’s not that he doesn’t care to see me, he’s in a meeting!
“No, no I’m not coming out to talk this over with them, I’ve got my own work to do! Either you start talking to folks like I showed you how, or ask the militia to give you one of their armored catsuits to wear under your uniform… Uh-huh, good luck." Andy hung up on the call and leaned back as Puck scampered over and hopped up in his lap.
Andy rubbed his temples before shaking his head. He seemed to relax a bit and Puck slid off to follow Sitry to the kitchen. Andy looked over and gave Kalai a happy smile that made her flush. “Welcome back! So how was the land down under? That tuna was fan-frickin’-tastic, if you aren’t sick of seafood I’ll do something fancy with it tomorrow to celebrate your coming back. Can’t tonight though, I got volun-told to be head chef tonight and I… Oh damnit! I’m late! Come to dinner, burgers and fries Indian style tonight. Gotta run!” With that, Andy went dashing out the door with Puck barking and scrambling along after him.
Kalai felt her heart sink back down again, as he left. “Andy I-” She started but he was gone.
“Yeah, it’s been like that for the whole week. The only time we get to hang out is dinner.” Sitry commiserated as she took Kalai’s bag into their room. “On the other hand, we might get to catch up during the family meal tonight.”
The dinner was delicious, though a bit weird. It tasted alright, but there was a certain aftertaste on the sandwich that just didn’t sit right with Kalai. She just couldn’t put her finger on it. The french fries more than made up for it though, and Mama Sakalbi had to hold a science trivia contest to see who got the last little handful.
Kalai and Narny were already silently plotting with each other for their revenge against their sister who had won and refused to share the last few matchsticks when Andy finally joined their table. He was sweaty and he smelled of woodsmoke and french fries. Kalai jumped up and offered him a seat next to her with a nervous smile. He took it gratefully and seemed to sag a bit as he gulped down a glass of water.
“Andy, I think you may be finding your calling as a culinary ambassador,” Mama Aftasia beamed. “A toast to the chef!”
Andy gave a shy smile and looked down as Kalai and the rest of the family gave a hearty ‘Here, here!”
“It’s a simple enough recipe; it’s just using bison instead of cow, that’s all, and I don’t know anyone who’d turn down hand cut fresh fries. It’s kind of hard to screw up.”
“Young man, you are speaking to a woman who found a way to take cold water and dried wumpa flakes and wind up with a Class-4 fire. Cooking has always seemed like ‘blight mysticism’ to me, and these foods? These flavors? Nothing short of a Greenwood miracle in my opinion." Mama Aftasia continued her praise of Andy, which only caused him to shrink even lower in his seat.
“To be honest, I like your salmon better,” Kalai said, and the whole table went silent. Kalai held her ground though, and was rewarded with a tired but genuine laugh from Andy that brought him back out of his shell.
“You know, I do too. My Clan were fisherpeople, not buffalo chasers.” Andy gave Kalai a cheeky grin, which she returned happily, her heart glowing. Mama Aftasia and Mama Sakalbi both blinked in bemusement at Andy’s statement while Sitry just giggled.
“Speaking of which, Andy, I received a call from Elder Alex Hwatcom.” Papa Rhaxiid’s change of subject instantly perked Andy up, and he stared silently, waiting. “He extended an invitation to our family to attend his family gathering this Friday-”
“Alex said that? He used those words?” Andy shook his head in shock as he interrupted Papa Rhaxiid. The table went quiet and everyone held their breath as they looked between the two men.
Papa Rhaxiid adopted as good an impression of the human Elder as he could. “I’d like to extend an invitation for you and your family to be guests at our family gathering this saturday up at the White… something… lodge-”
“The White Ram Lodge?” Andy sat forward, interjecting again as the color drained from his face.
“Yes, that’s the one! I asked if we could bring anything since the last time they hosted us they put on that wonderful spread. He said if we could bring a few salmon for the family, that would be wonderful.”
Andy leaned back and took another sip of ice water before holding the glass to his blackened eye. “Alex Hwatcom… just invited you… to a gathering… and he told you to ‘bring a few salmon’? Do you realize what a huge honor this is?”
Rhaxiid looked from his wives to his children with mild concern. “Um, I thought it was only dinner, but your reaction tells me there’s more significance to this than I originally thought. I was thinking about our stocks of adult Sockeye, but then I remembered in his story how important King Salmon are. Of course, I’d like to defer to you for the choice since you know these animals and the cultural expectations with this invitation better than we do.”
Andy was silent for a moment before he put the glass down. “I’d recommend a ‘hard no’ to all your clone stock!” Now it was the Vaidas’ turn to be shocked, as each of Kalai’s Erbian family’s jaws dropped in synch. Before anyone could say anything, Andy continued, “You need to bring wild-caught. Farm-raised salmon wouldn’t… well we can tell, and you can taste the difference between them. We need to go fishing!” Kalai leaned towards Andy slightly as he lowered his head and started mumbling to himself. She was just able to make out what he was saying to himself as Mama Sakalbi and Mama Aftasia began whispering to each other. “...need to get the Gillnetter out of storage, check what’s running and select the mesh. I’m gonna need a deckhand too.”
Kalai reached a hand out but stopped short of touching him. “Andy?”
He popped up and spoke for the whole table to hear. “I need a shuttle to the mainland and a waiver against the fishing ban. I’ve got to get my boat and the drum ready for sea ” Rhaxiid and Aftasia sputtered in confusion, but Mama Sakalbi had a shadow fall over her, and her ears pulled back.
“Do you mean to say you want to go out on the water? Risk the ecological balance for… dinner?”
Andy looked Sakalbi dead in the eye and gave her a firm nod. “Why don’t you come out and see how we did this before you got here. Think of it as a chance to see the way we’ve fished for the last hundred or so years, and then I can explain the way we used to fish before that.”
The offer snapped Rhaxiid out of his confusion and he brightened. “A learning experience? Wonderful, we’ll make a day of it!” His hands shot out to grab both his wives’ and Kalai could feel the vibrations in the floor from where he was excitedly tapping his feet.
“If you don’t mind hard, smelly work. Uncle Willy always called it ‘the worst desk in the prettiest office.' It’ll be a bit cramped, but I’ve got room on the boat for a few guests and observers; four I think would be ok. She’s a working boat, not a pleasure cruiser,” Andy explained. That sent the whole lot of them excitedly talking among themselves.
Kalai was about to lean in to talk to Mama Aftasia, but Andy caught her attention first. “I don’t suppose you’d want to go back out on the water, given you just got back from pleasure-boating-”
Kalai’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest. “I wouldn’t miss it for my own colony planet!”
--------------------
Kalai stood on the pier, bundled in her thermal sailor’s coat. It was still dark and the wind blew from the north in a cold little morning breeze. Kalai took a deep breath and reveled in the smell of the fresh sea air. The soft chattering of Mama Sakalbi’s teeth broke the silence. “It’s a bit chillier than it said it was going to be.”
“The water always does that. It’s never as warm as the lubbers say it’ll be,” Papa spoke as he handed her back her thermos of hot chocolate.
Papa stood next to Kalai and nudged her with his elbow. Even in the dark, Kalai could see him smile up at her and jerk his head at the shivering Erbian. He was also wearing a thermal sailor’s coat, and his hands were stuffed in his pockets to keep them warm, just like Kalai’s. “Landswoman,” he whispered to her and the two of them shared a knowing smile. It was strange, but welcome when she'd told Papa about her upcoming day fishing with Andy, and he’d politely requested to join them. Papa Rhaxiid had graciously given his spot up to accommodate her birth father. Narny was all for it until Andy had explained what they were going to do, but then surrendered his challenge to the fourth guest space, not wanting to go anywhere NEAR anything that could see him come face to face with a Lion’s Mane Jelly. Sitry had done a happy little dance when she found out, but only yesterday had come down with Thistle Fever, and was bundled off to bed by her parents. It left Kalai, Mama Sakalbi, and Papa to accompany Andy on his fishing trip.
The water brushed against the shore behind them quietly. In the gloom, Kalai could just barely make out the outline of the nearest island mountain, but only because the stars had disappeared behind it. It was almost four in the morning, but Kalai had managed a catnap on the shuttle to the empty little lot that had been the boat launch. Aside from the water, the world was silent. Even the breeze made almost no noise and a sense of peace surrounded them. Everything was so calm, Kalai felt like she didn’t have a care in the world.
In the distance, a low rumbling sound of a motor rose from being almost imperceptible to a rolling drum of thunder. From around the point, two green floating lights sped through the darkness, and a spotlight turned on. The beam of light moved jerkily until it came to rest on the pier where they were standing and Kalai started waving her arms. Sakalbi’s omnipad rang, and Andy’s voice shouted over the speaker and the background noise for them to shine a light on the edge of the pier to help him park the boat.
Kalai and Papa moved closer and turned their omnipad flashlights on and waved them as the boat swung gracefully around and glided in alongside them. Kalai caught the rope that flew over the railing of the boat and she heard more than saw Andy moving around on the deck as she tied off on one of the mooring cleats. Several lights clicked on and the deck was bathed in light enough for Kalai to get a clear view of the boat they’d be spending the day on.
Andy hadn’t lied. Kalai saw that this little vessel was a working boat with no frills at all. When he’d told her they’d be going fishing, she’d envisioned something like the charter boat papa had taken her on out of Nantucket. Sporty, fast with a nod to comfort and function. This was not that at all. A giant wheel as wide as Kalai’s outstretched arms that looked like a sideways spool of thread was secured to the deck amidships and dominated the deckspace. Wrapped around it was a fluorescent green tangle with a line of oblong white and yellow corks and rope. There was a covered hatchway sitting behind the drum in front of the raised step to the enclosed cabin. Two large windows let the light out to two children’s bunks, a little table with a booth seat and a raised captain’s chair in front of the helm and engine controls. Andy shut down the engine and that peaceful stillness returned.
“Oway there!” Kalai called, “ship oway! Request permission to come aboard.” Kalai gave the traditional greeting of a Shil’vati sailor.
“Permission granted! Anyone need a stepstool?” Andy finally stepped into the light and Kalai got a look at him. He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt and the same bright orange coveralls she’d seen the fishmongers wearing on their date.
“I wouldn’t mind a hand, Mr. Shelokset.” Papa He’osforos braced a foot on the railing of the boat and Andy pulled him up.
“Just call me Andy, Doc, and welcome aboard. Jackie should be along any minute now with the day’s groceries, and the cabin’s out of the cold. You can get yourself set wherever you find comfortable.” Papa nodded and disappeared around the other side of the wheel moving towards the bow.
Kalai helped Mama Sakalbi into the boat next, and she quickly ducked into the cabin that took up the entire stern section save for a little ledge that ran along the outside. Andy gripped Kalai’s hand and she smiled as he pulled her deftly aboard. The boat rocked a little on its mooring, and Kalai almost fell into Andy, who wordlessly put his arms around her waist to catch her as she lost her balance. She flailed for a moment before she steadied herself against him.
“Gotcha,” Andy smiled, and Kalai could see him flush almost as much as she could feel herself doing as their noses almost touched. Those big dark brown eyes surrounded by white orbs drew her in and she felt she could lose herself in them. Kalai started as Andy danced her around him and moved her towards the cabin door.
“It might be a little cramped for you in there, but the Mary Jean wasn’t built for pleasure boating, she’s a working girl. Sit tight, I gotta check a few things in the back.” Andy patted the railing affectionately before he hopped up and scooted along the outside of the cabin towards the stern. Kalai couldn’t help the little longing groan that came out as he left her there on the little tiny quarterdeck. Her heart was hammering in her chest as half formed fantasies danced at the edges of her mind.
“I saw that, little minnow.” Papa’s voice was soft, but his tone and the sudden broken silence nearly gave her a heart attack.
Kalai could only stammer as her father stared at her with a cocked eyebrow. A thump from the cabin window behind saw an amused Mama Sakalbi daintily sipping at her thermos with her ears twitched forward in interest, staring out at her. “Papa I… he-”
Papa moved carefully around the covered hatchway to stand next to her, leaning back against the cabin window and heaved a sigh. “I must say I’m surprised. This lovely man’s got good clean lines and is very well cared for. It speaks well of his Skipper.”
It took a full minute for Kalai’s brain to process that he was talking about the boat and not Andy. “And the way Andy brought him in smooth in near complete darkness? It gives me confidence in his abilities.”
Kalai breathed a silent sigh of relief and exasperation. Although she was happy to be spending more time with her father, bringing him on what she’d hoped would be a sailing date wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind for ‘family time’. He wants me to find a nice young man and spend time with him on a boat, but the first chance I get Papa decides to clam-jam me.
From up on shore, the sound and lights of a large human vehicle screeching to a halt heralded the last of their party to arrive. Kalai heard the clomping footsteps coming down the pier and moved to the railing to lend a hand.
“Ahoy Mary Jean! Raggedy Andy, you there?” Kalai stared with wide eyed surprise to see a human female, loaded down with plastic bags and sporting two human weapons on her shoulder. The two of them locked eyes, and while Kalai didn’t understand everything the girl shouted in surprise, she had caught and understood the phrase, “What the fuck?”
“Easy now, they’re my guests, and the one inside is the boss!” Andy appeared on the pier instantly before either Kalai or the woman could react further.
“Ya didn’t tell me we were having pur-” The woman glared at Kalai and her father. She had switched to Vatikre thankfully, but her tone was hostile as she dropped everything but her weapons. “I mean, hwun’eetums, aboard. A gal could get the wrong idea pretty quick in the dark when there’s no warning.”
“Knock it off Jackie. Let’s get the grub aboard and shove off.” Andy picked up some of the bags and took the guns as Kalai offered a helping hand over the railing. “Oh, Kalai, this is Jackie. Jackie? Kalai. That’s her dad over there, Doc He’osforos. He saw and treated Kay Tee a few years back.” Andy jerked his head towards the direction of Kalai’s father as she held out a hand to the human girl. On a quick inspection, she appeared to be about the same age as her and Andy. She had a round face and was about as dark complected as Andy was. She was shorter, only a few inches taller than Papa, but when Jackie grabbed Kalai’s hand to hop up onto the rail, she could feel the strength and the compact muscle hidden by the baggy sweatshirt and pants.
“Wait a minute, did you say Mini-Me over there saw Kay Tee? You’re fuckin’ with me!” Jackie stumbled a bit as she hopped down onto the deck with a loud thunk and advanced on Papa who shrank away at her advance. “You saw li’l Kay Tee? Where the fuck is he? Is he alright? Is he still fighting the good fight?”
“Last I saw, yes, he was ‘fighting the good fight.’” Papa looked over at Andy with a slightly worried expression. Andy smacked the girl in the back of the head, causing her to flinch and she opened the door to the cabin for Andy to go inside.
Jackie rubbed the back of her head and laughed. “Well that’s a little bit of alright, innit? Maybe today’s gonna be a good day after all!”
“Jackie, get suited up and get on the bow. I need a good pair of eyes on the roller horns,” Kalai heard Andy shout from the cabin, followed by a whole lot of thumping and banging from cabinets being opened and closed.
“You got it, ol’ man. We going to your place or mine?” Jackie sidestepped in and opened a tiny little closet and pulled out a set of rain gear that was identical to what Andy was wearing. Kalai collected herself and stood in the doorway next to her father as they both leaned in.
“Mine; Chuck said the Yaw’much are running from the South. We’ll do a set nor’west of Lummi in the Rosario and see if we can get some Fraser Kings,” Andy replied as he turned the engine back on and the vessel roared to life.
“Chuck? Isn’t that one of your cousins? I didn’t know he could keep track of the movements of Salmon, may I ask how he does it?” Mama Sakalbi perked up as she pulled a set of earplugs out of a pocket and inserted them.
Andy prevaricated a bit, looking from Jackie back to Sakalbi then to Kalai and Papa. “I’d rather not answer that-”
“Breakin’ the law, breakin’ the law! Breakin’ the law, breakin’ the law!”
Jackie began singing a human song, and Andy threw her the dirtiest of looks as she finished getting into the orange coveralls. Mama Sakalbi sputtered as Andy shrugged apologetically.
“Make a hole!” Jackie called, and she and Andy came back out as Kalai and Papa made room for them. Andy hopped back onto the dock to cast off while Papa ducked into the cabin.
“Can I help?” Kalai offered as Andy shoved the vessel off and leapt the gap over the black water below.
“You want to be useful? Come forward! I could use an extra set of eyes!” Jackie called back, and Kalai felt a slap on her shoulder from the boisterous human woman.
------------------
Andy stood at the helm, watching Jackie and Kalai as he leaned to get a better view of them past the Net drum. The bow was lifting up again, and the gentle little swells became like speed bumps, jostling them up and down in a predictable bouncing rhythm.
“Are you sure you couldn’t slow down, Andy? It’s a bit rough, don’t you think?” Sakalbi was hanging on to the table and her thermos with a worried expression on her face.
“I could, but we’ll miss the morning set. We want to bomb out the buoy right when the tide changes. If we’re lucky, then we’ll get around seventy or eighty by slack tide this afternoon and call it a day.”
“How do you know where to fish?” Dr. He’osforos was making a good show of standing and maintaining his balance with his hand on the booth.
“Well, there’s two ways you know. The first is you fish the spots your family’s fished since time began. Every family has about two or three different secret spots that we know there’s fish in, and we’re pretty defensive about their locations. The second is by smell. Right now it’s the tail end of the King season, and you can smell them in the water.” Andy turned and saw the incredulity etched on the faces of the two aliens.
“No, I’m serious! King Salmon slime is really pungent, and you can smell them when they’re close to the surface. We get to the fishing spot and take a deep whiff. If we smell them, we’ll set the nets.” Andy laughed at the disbelief on their faces as the GPS on his omnipad beeped and he turned to sail around the last buoy and head for the fishing ground.
“I’ve never noticed that in any of the Kings we’ve raised-”
Andy suppressed a laugh as they caught a larger swell as they left the lee of Lummi Island. Andy reveled in the feeling of weightlessness as the deck rose up and fell out from underneath their feet, leaving everyone suspended for a moment in midair before falling back down. A massive spray of water rose and washed over the deck, drenching Kalai and Jackie, who were still forward. “Cloned and farmed Kings don’t have that same smell. Wild ones smell and taste different, I’m telling you!” Andy pulled back slightly on the throttle as they climbed the next swell. “Brace!” he called as they climbed and fell once again.
There was a look of fear on Sakalbi’s face as she gripped the table for dear life, but to Andy’s surprise, the Doctor looked completely unfazed, and was handling the rise and fall of the deck like an old salt. “You look like you’ve done this before, Doc.”
“I’ve done a stint or two at sea before,” he spoke, in the same tone Andy would have used when trying not to sound too confident, and Andy smiled.
“Kalai keeps talking about loving the sea and sailing. Did you teach her to sail?”
“Yes, me and her mothers. When they were home, we would take the family yacht out in the Vaascon Straits and sail around the Occidiens. Kalai practically spent all her early childhood on a sailboat.”
“And almost every waking moment on one in Junior Academy. I swear you couldn’t dig her out with a trowel when she wanted to go sailing,” Sakalbi managed to add in a word as the boat slowed, and the dramatic rise and fall of the deck slowed with it.
“What about you, Mr. Shelokset, did your father teach you to sail too?”
“I was too young before he passed. My Great Uncle Willy taught me after I came home, and Grandma took me out to the family fishing sites when she wasn’t busy with the Council. For the first two or three years after they let us come home, fishing was the only way to feed our families, but the Militia and the Cambrians would try and sink our boats or arrest us whenever we tried to go out.”
“And that’s why you’re so good at maneuvering your vessel in the dark with no instruments?” Mrs. Vaida had folded her arms, and her voice twinged with that imperious tone she’d had when they’d first met.
Andy huffed a dry laugh. “I did what I had to for me and my people and to survive, Ma’am. I don’t like breaking the law or dodging lasers and gunfire, but there’s a lot of poor families that need to eat.”
The GPS beeped, and Andy gave Mrs. Vaida a slightly defiant look to counter her furrowed brow. “We’re here,” he said as he threw the engine in neutral and opened the cabin door.
Andy walked out and took a deep breath, but all he could smell was the net and the exhaust from the engine. “HEY JACKIE! WE SMELL MONEY?” Andy yelled out as he took stock of the sky. The first signs of sunrise were chasing all but the morning stars away and a light fog was rolling in from the north.
“FUCK YEAH I CAN SMELL ‘EM, ANDY! LET’S BOMB OUT AND GET BREAKFAST GOING!” Jackie looked slightly manic as she smiled brightly. Kalai, on the other hand, looked wet and miserable as she shivered, arms wrapped around herself. Andy gave his cousin a disgusted look as he pieced together what had happened. Every deckhand learned when to duck behind the raised bow and the roller horns that guided the nets so as not to get a faceful of spray when cutting through a swell. It was also a classic hazing trick for Senior Deckhands to let Junior Deckhands learn this the hard way.
Andy moved forward to stand in front of the two of them. Kalai was trying to squeeze her coat dry, but Andy knew it wouldn’t do much good until the sun came out. Jackie at least had the sense to look a little remorseful. “Kalai, why don’t you go sit in the cabin and get out of that wet coat. It’s cold enough out here even for us-”
“No way, Andy. Junior deckhand Kally here wants to impress you and get her dainty soft hands dirty! She’s been bragging about being a sailorwoman and wants to learn to fish ‘your way!” Jackie gave Kalai’s shoulder a wet slap as the poor alien woman went blue. Out of cold or embarrassment, Andy couldn’t tell.
All Andy could do was shake his head and huff. “Ok then! Secure the buoy and sling on my mark. I’ll get us in position!” Andy couldn’t help but chuckle as he heard Jackie start ordering Kalai about. Andy went back into the cabin and looked in the closet/bathroom to see if there was anything hanging up that he could give Kalai. There was only the one rain slicker and a few of Andy’s old sweaters from when he was a lot smaller. Well, looks like I’ll just be cold today. He quickly stripped out of his sweatshirt and grabbed the slicker before throwing a switch on the main control. Dr. He’osforos and Mrs. Vaida threw him quizzical looks as he went back outside wearing less than when he came in. He was down to a sleeveless shirt and his coveralls, and the morning breeze cut right through him and he braced his jaw to keep it from chattering.
“We’re ready to go- Andy, why are you practically naked from the waist up?” Kalai was staring wide eyed at him as he approached her and Jackie was on the bow. Jackie had everything ready; the buoy line was strung through the horns and ready to toss out. A giant orange and blue beach ball sized float hung at the end of the line to mark the end and make it easier to pick up later.
“Trade me your coat for these. If Jackie’s putting you to work, you’ll need these to keep warm.”
“I’m alright, I can-”
“I’m the Skipper of this boat, and I’m ordering you to take off that wet coat and put these on; and Jackie?” Andy gave his cousin a long and piercing look. “Give her the elbow gloves, not the halfsies.”
The scoff and the muttered Salishian profanities meant he’d read the next prank she’d had in mind right. She was planning on giving her the cloth gloves with only the palms and fingers coated in rubber. While perfectly fine for fishing, Andy knew they tended to get soaked through very quickly and did nothing to keep jellyfish stingers and fish slime off your hands. Kalai sputtered for a moment before she complied gratefully and she accepted the dry clothes and rain slicker.
Andy saw Jackie give him a strange look before looking back at Kalai, but he paid it no mind. He walked back to the controls on the drum and switched off the hydraulics, placing the mechanism in neutral. “SLING IT!” Andy called as he took the small jerry rigged steering wheel and threw the boat in reverse. Kalai jumped as the line started unspooling the net into the water at a rapid pace.
Andy set an ‘S’ bend in the quarter mile long net, zigzagging backwards until they came to the end of the line. Andy stopped the boat as Jackie tied off the other large buoy and tossed it over the side, unstringing the cork-line from the roller horns in the process. He pulled hard over and put a bit of distance from the net before shutting the engine down. The line of white and yellow corks marking the net bobbed lazily with the swells as silence settled over the water again. The waves rocked the boat gently as Andy found his sea legs again.
“Alright, I’ll get breakfast going. Jackie, Kalai? Post the watch for seals,” Andy called as he walked back into the cabin to fire up the tiny little gas stove.
Sakalbi, having found the confidence to stand at last, poked her head out of the cabin and stood on by the hatch to the fish hold. “Seals? Why would you need to watch for seals?”
Andy grit his teeth and looked over from where he was cracking open and scrambling eggs. “They’re the spawn of Satan and we hate their guts!” Andy bit out. Jackie came back and pulled the two shotguns and a pair of binoculars from the closet. Andy reached over to a side cabinet and pulled out a box of shells for them. Both his boss and the Doctor’s eyes got wide.
“Seals are the enemy of our blood. Were it not for the invasion, our unending war against these vermin would continue to this day!” Jackie growled as she loaded one for herself and rested the other on Andy’s seat at the helm.
The look of growing horror on Sakalbi’s face towards their facetious declarations caused Andy to chuckle a bit, before launching into an explanation. “We’re not fans of the species because they’ll wait until a fish gets caught in the net and then they’ll steal it, costing us a fish AND ripping a big hole in our nets that we then have to take time to repair. We use the shotguns and buckshot to give them a nice welt and convince them not to hang around, because they’ll wait up on the surface and watch the buoys, just like us. A single seal can and will take between five and ten fish. The worst is when they start getting full, they’ll just bite out the bellies of a salmon in the net. We can’t really do anything with that fish once it’s ‘seal-bit’. So yes, as fishermen, we hate them.”
“Learned opportunism in apex predators as a response to human activity… I think I’ll go see this behavior for myself!” Sakalbi practically rushed out the door towards the bow where Jackie was sitting on the roller horns explaining to Kalai how to spot the bastards, leaving Andy alone in the cabin with the Doctor while he cooked breakfast for them all.
Dr. He’osforos sat down heavily in the booth and pulled out his omnipad. “I’ve had a word with my friend in the Interior. She’s pulled the warrant for your brother, and I’ve withdrawn the charges I filed.”
Andy froze and turned around slowly. The only sound was the sizzle and pop of the eggs and chorizo that he’d added to them in the skillet. “You mean… it’s done? He can come home?” A wave of light headed euphoria swept over Andy and he swayed with the gentle rocking of the boat. “I will pay you back, Doc-”
The doctor held up his hand and stopped Andy. “We’ll call it even, but there’s something… I was able to get my hands on this,” Andy watched as the doctor swiped something towards his omnipad and it dinged. “What is it if I may-”
“Are you really asking an Indian to tell you a story? Because it’s going to be a long one if you are.” “I’m Sevastutavan, young man; we invented long stories.”
Andy froze and stared at the screen of his omnipad. The Vatikre was heavily accented, and Andy had a bit of trouble with the unfamiliar accent, but centered in the frame in a hospital room, sitting in a wheelchair, was a Salishian boy. Andy blinked in surprise as he stared at the screen. “Is that-”
“I am Ikw’is’hi’ehlah, and this bearer is… of the Orca Clan Sheloksets. I drove our Haida enemies onto the rocks and took many heads when they attacked our winter village on Orcas Island. I signed the Treaty with the Great White Father and I fought against the slavers of the south-”
Andy wanted to grab the omnipad but the smell of overcooking eggs brought his attention back to breakfast and Andy stirred and scrapped the food quickly, trying to save it.
“I asked her for any materials she could give me on your brother. Pictures, recordings, anything. This is what she gave me. It's the last known recording of your brother during an interrogation conducted by a Navy Commissar prior to his escape. It seems he made friends with a Pod of Deaths Head Commandos. Quite a bit of the recording has been redacted, but… there are portions of it where he talks about his family and his history. I thought you might like to have it.”
Andy hurriedly pulled out paper plates and a slice of bread for everyone and scooped a heaping portion of the chorizo eggs onto them. He handed the doctor his before leaning out the cabin door. “Slop’s on, come and get it!”
Andy sat down after moving the shotgun out of the way and started the video over again as the three women came back to grab their plates and lost himself watching his brother start telling his story.
“What’s that?” Andy heard Kalai ask over his shoulder, and he paused the video.
“That’s my brother! That’s Kay Tee!”
“Holy shit, what?” Jackie nearly shoved Kalai into Andy as she jammed her bread slice down her gullet and crowded in to see the screen.
Andy started the video over a second time and they watched in silence. “God, that brings back memories. Back when mom was still alive and before we broke up the warband. I can’t believe that slippery little punk ghosted a pod of Commandos for two fucking years! Holy shit, that’s badass!”
Before Andy could say anything, Sakalbi started coughing and brought the binoculars up. “Uh, Andy? Jackie? What do we do about sharks?”
Jackie looked at Andy in confusion. “Sharks? There’s nothing but Dogs around here.”
“Well those are shark fins and they’re charging the net!” Sakalbi pointed and Andy looked up to see dorsal fins charging the center of the net.
Andy looked at Jackie and spoke the same words in tandem, “Oh shit!”
​
First:
https://www.reddit.com/Sexyspacebabes/comments/yz0u3h/the_cryptid_chronicle_chapter_1/
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https://www.reddit.com/Sexyspacebabes/comments/13nh0oe/cryptid_chronicle_chapter_29/
Next:
To be posted 6/4/23

Hey everyone,
I just received a promotion to a Hospital Account and am loving it so far. The Hospital is pretty large, 7 floors, trauma center, large ER, Psych wing, etc. The security department is very large and everyone is amazing so far.
I just wanted to ask if anyone else's Hospital account has this. The Hospital has transport staff that transports patients being admitted, discharged, to xray, etc. But Security is respondible for picking up dead bodies from the rooms or whereever the patient passed (body is already in bag upon arrival), and transfers said body onto gurny, transports it to the morgue, transfers it into the refrigerator, so forth. Also, releases the body to the mortuary/coroner, which includes taking the body out of the refrigerator, place it onto the gurney, and assists mortuary/coroner (if needed) with loading it onto their gurney. I don't mind doing it, but just seems out of the ordinary.
Multiple Security Officers that work there have stated at other hospitals they have worked at, they never were responsible for this. I have many friends who work in different hospitals who say its odd as well. We aren't forced to do this (supportive management) but it is in our Post Orders.

I, 16F, recently resorted to the decision to stop seeing my father after years of many different events. I should firstly make it clear that I wasn’t subject to abuse in any of this I don’t think, I know I wasn’t physically though. So, when I was 7, my parents had divorced and my dad very soon after started dating another lady and moved in with her whilst I stayed living with my mum. Before he had left, he was always such a lovely and funny dad - well, that’s what everyone tells me anyway as I don’t have any memories of him living with us. However, after he left he started changing lots and now he’s nothing like he was before. His girlfriend would very often criticise and make constant pokes at me. It became very apparent quickly that she didn’t want any involvement with me, and wanted my dad for herself. Many times she would do cruel things and say some pretty harsh things. One time I was staying at their house for the weekend but wasn’t feeling well enough to go and see my dad’s girlfriends’ family for the day. Later that day when they got home, she was meant to be cooking dinner for us and because I didn’t feel well enough to see her family, according to her, I was apparently not well enough to eat and whilst they sat with their full plates, I was sat with a small snack and a few slices of cucumber. Another time I had accidentally spilt a glass of water to which she got pretty angry, shouted at me for a bit before storming outside to sit in her car for about 6 hours until I left to go home as she refused to talk to or speak to me. One time on New Year’s Eve we had celebrated with family and were going back to a hotel after. Keep in mind the hotel only provided enough pillows for the three of us to have one each. I felt very sick when we got back to the hotel so I sat in the bathroom almost throwing up. Once I went back into the room when I was feeling slightly better, my bed had no pillow, whilst my dads girlfriend had two and overheard her whisper shouting to my dad “she’s not my daughter, why should I care about her?”. So basically I was feeling really unwell and she couldn’t even spare a small ounce of empathy or sympathy by leaving me a pillow for my comfort? No. She didn’t care about me as she so clearly said. These are only a scarce number of the things that happened between me and them. No matter how many times I would tell my dad how disregarded and unwelcome I felt around them and told him the things she had done/ said, even if he witnessed them, he would always back her up. Anyways, fast forward to lockdown, him and his girlfriend got pregnant and despite the rules in the uk saying that fathers and mothers living in desperate households can still see their children during the pandemic, he would make up excuses, which was fine whilst she was pregnant, however as time went on and my half brother was born, the excuses not to see me didn’t stop. He would say he couldn’t see me, yet his girlfriend would be posting photos of her and ALL of her family (keeping in mind the uk rules were that you could only meet with one other household) and it became so frequent to the point my mum would have to comfort me at least two or three times a week from just seeing her new posts and being pushed away. My half brother is now turning three this year and I’ve only seen him 6 times at most which kind of says a lot. Anyway, at the start of the year I was diagnosed with a condition that causes me to faint often. From the multiple trips to the hospital, we learnt that on top of the other thing, I was clinically diagnosed with trauma and anxiety caused by my dad. Funnily enough, the only cause for the other thing I was diagnosed with that would make sense for my situation, is trauma. I honestly wasn’t surprised about the anxiety. It got to a point where even if I saw a message come through from him, I’d shake a lot and my eyes would well up with tears. When he called was even worse and I physically couldn’t press the answer or call button. This now takes us to a few weeks ago. I called him up, well, got my mum to press the call button for me and sit in the next room over and shut the door. I told him that I constantly felt anxious around him and his girlfriend and how unwanted they would make me feel which I had already told him over the years, to which he went on to try and manipulate me into thinking I was in the wrong and was victimising himself which I was starting to buy into and I’m assuming my mum had heard me crying on the call and some of what I was saying as she came into the room and nodded at me to hang up. So I told him not to contact me and I hung up in tears. I spent a whole hour or two after that call fully shaking badly and sobbing in my mum’s arms whilst she had to comfort me and reassure me that I wasn’t in the wrong and I haven’t done anything or said anything bad to them and she had to continuously explain to me how he was essentially gaslighting me into believing I was the one who had messed it all up. Long story short, I am getting put on a waiting list for therapy and have cut contact with my dad and am not planning on seeing him any time soon, or hopefully ever again. I’ve been trying to think of things I could have said or done that could cause them to act how they do with me and I mean, I have sent a few messages before which I expressed my annoyance in and also on a call but in those times it was 99% of the time to defend and stand my ground. Now I have a bit of an issue, with Father’s Day coming up in the uk, it has me constantly envisioning my dad sitting and waiting for a message all of the day to have the realisation that he has essentially lost a daughter. I keep getting a picture in my mind of my dad breaking down staring at the empty notifications on his phone and I’m scared that the stress will push him too far. He has always been one to bottle things up and then let it all out and as much as I hate him for what he has done, I don’t want him working himself into a heart attack or something. He’s still my dad. I don’t even know if he cares enough about me for it to hurt him but I keep getting this crushing guilt in my heart which is what has led me to being sat here at 3:45am on a Sunday typing this up. I really don’t know what to do and whether I’m in the wrong for what I’ve done or not because my friends all tell me that my dad and his girlfriend are in the wrong but my mind makes me believe they’re just saying it because they’re friends/ family and don’t want to hurt me. Please be as honest about me as you want in this because I need a genuinely honest opinion from people I don’t know so I can’t get biased responses. So, am I the asshole for dropping contact with my father?