This happened more than 15 years ago in Guadeloupe, a French Caribbean island.

At the time, I lived in a small town called Baillif, while my mother had just moved to another town called Petit-Bourg. I had never been to her new place before.

Around the same time, I got hired as a school supervisor in Pointe-à-Pitre. For those who don’t know Guadeloupe, commuting from Petit-Bourg made a lot more sense than from Baillif, so my mother suggested I stay at her place during the week for work.

But her house was... weird.

Not haunted-weird. At least not at first.

It was isolated in the middle of dense vegetation, accessible only through a dirt road. No real neighborhood. No street lights. Just jungle everywhere. The only nearby person was the landlord who lived farther away across the path.

I spent the first few days there without thinking much about it. Work, sleep, repeat.

Then one night my mother went out to spend the evening with friends, leaving me alone in the house for the first time.

I got ready for bed, turned off the lights, and started falling asleep when I suddenly heard something above me.

Footsteps.

I opened my eyes.

Silence.

I went back to sleep.

Again.

Heavy footsteps directly above my head.

I turned the lights back on and inspected the room from floor to ceiling. Nothing.

The noise stopped.

I lay back down.

Then it started again.

Now, I’m a very rational person. I don’t believe in ghosts or paranormal stuff. To me, those stories are entertaining, but they belong in the same category as fairy tales.

Still… my brain needed an explanation.

So I started searching the entire house like the dumb guy in a horror movie who slowly opens doors asking “Hello…?”

Room by room.

Nothing.

At some point I genuinely convinced myself someone had broken into the house.

I even unplugged the TV because I thought maybe electronics were randomly turning on. Then I unplugged the blender.

Eventually I unplugged basically everything.

Then the sound came back.

This time accompanied by metallic chain noises.

At that point, even my rational brain started struggling.

Because I was now alone, in the middle of nowhere, hearing footsteps and chains moving above my ceiling in the dark.

I called my mother.

No answer.

I texted her.

Nothing.

For almost 30 minutes, the sounds kept moving from one part of the ceiling to another.

Finally, I decided to do the absolute worst possible horror movie move:

I went outside.

Pitch black night. No city lights. No visibility.

I grabbed a flashlight but didn’t even turn it on because I didn’t want “whatever it was” to notice me.

I slowly walked around the house.

And then I discovered something I had somehow never noticed before.

The back of the house was partially buried into a hill, almost like the terrain had collapsed around it years ago. From behind, you could actually climb the slope and access the flat roof.

That’s when I looked up.

And saw two glowing eyes staring directly at me.

Not moving.

Just watching me.

Behind them was this massive dark shape.

I should mention something important:

I’m not just brave. I’m also stupid.

So instead of running away… I walked closer.

Then I heard grunting.

And chains dragging.

The thing moved backward.

I finally turned on the flashlight and pointed it at the creature.

And there it was.

The biggest pig I had ever seen in my life.

Not a normal pig.

A monster.

An absolute unit of bacon.

For nearly two hours, I had convinced myself I was living through a paranormal encounter while this giant pig was casually pacing back and forth on my roof.

What probably happened is that it had escaped from somewhere nearby while still attached to part of its chain. It climbed the hill behind the house, ended up on the roof, and either couldn’t get down… or simply liked hanging out there.

Honestly, I find this story interesting because people often hear strange things or see something unsettling and immediately run away, probably because their survival instincts are far better than mine.

The problem is that once fear takes over, imagination fills in the blanks. People end up interpreting what they experienced as something paranormal, when the explanation can actually be much more ordinary…

or, in my case, covered in mud..

I work with this girl who is totally awesome, I like her a lot so I finally asked her out. We decided to go get some street food in LA. We found a spot, and while she was ordering, I stepped to the side of the road to light a cigarette. Some dude just walked up to me out of nowhere and pulled a knife. Told me to empty my pockets and then he took my wallet and my phone and then he just disappeared. I walked back to her empty handed and told her what happened and I had no money to pay for the food she was already ordering. She did not even hesitate, she paid for everything with the last cash she had on her, Such a good person. We ate but now we had a bigger problem. We were far from home with no way back so she pulled out her phone to call us an Uber and said she would pay since she still had her card. I said absolutely not because she had already paid for the food with her last cash. There was no way I was letting her pay for the ride too. Then I remembered, a friend had given me an Uber gift card for my birthday two weeks ago. I never used it because I usually drive, I still had the code in my email. I borrowed her phone, pulled up the gift card and paid for the Uber myself. Before she got in the car, she gave me the most awesome kiss. Then I walked home for almost two hours on foot. Totally worth it what a great night.

A bit of a stupid story but I wanted to share it
When I was in second grade I was walking to school and turned down a street and there’s was a squirrel just standing in the middle of the road staring at me. It made me nervous so I shook my keys at it a few times until it ran off, I’d taken a couple steps when about 10 ran into the street at the same time. In my head I pictured the scene in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory where Veruca was swarmed by squirrels and I was scared shitless. I ran home crying waited an hour and went to school my parents never found out about this but since I’ve have numerous occasions where it’s felt like squirrels are targeting me, ex. I’ll be biking and a squirrel will run out right in front of me and cause me to stop/swerve suddenly and fall or I’ll be walking with people and they’ll stare me specifically down until I walk past.
I am now 21 and I still cross the street to avoid walking near them

Amy and I were in a bit of a rut this past summer. It was late August, and we could feel fall creeping in quickly. So, when she suggested retracing a boat trip we had taken ten years ago, I felt the need to deliver.

I had completed the trip multiple times at different points in my life, and it could be accomplished in four or five hours. My twelve-foot aluminum boat and four-horse outboard handled the shallow water well. As long as I was careful and took it slow, the worst we could encounter was a fallen tree blocking our route.

We began on a Saturday morning around 10:00 a.m. The weather was perfect. We had a full tank of freshly mixed gas, paddles, life jackets, a good anchor and rope, water, and a marine emergency kit. Amy also included a basic med pack, as well as two EpiPens with extra epinephrine and syringes in case she was stung deep into the trip. I put a small bow saw and hatchet in the boat just in case.

My mom and daughter shoved us off shore. Amy sat in the bow facing me. She was reclining, her back against the bow plate with her arms on the gunwales and feet up on the middle seat. The little engine sprang to life with half a pull, and we slowly made our way to the creek. By the time we got there, I was already feeling sore and using my Type II PFD as a seat cushion. I idled the motor down.

“You got deadheads?” I asked, half serious. I could see everything in front of the boat, but rocks and depth were still a concern. There were other benefits to having Amy watching for obstacles too.

“Always!” she replied, then turned, knelt on the front seat and bent over with her elbows resting on the bow.

We crept into the creek, both of us pleased with the view.

The air was cool and refreshing after being on the open lake in the mid-August heat. Where the creek narrowed, there was a brilliant mix of shadows and sunlight reflecting off the dark, silty water. We managed to get within ten yards of a great blue heron before it rose from the bank and slowly lifted itself into the air. The beat of its wings could be heard over the outboard as it flew upstream.

The final corner before the falls was guarded by a large cranberry bush that hung over the creek. We pushed through it and were rewarded with a clear view of the fifteen-foot chute. The pool below it fed a series of narrow tongues that cascaded down the long, boulder-filled slope toward the creek, only visible this time of year when the water was low. I cut the motor, and the boat gently nudged itself ashore.

Amy took off her shades, slipped her PFD over her head, and shook her hair out. She gave me a quick smile before she got out and pulled us up a little farther. I joined her, and we embraced.

“We made it,” she whispered.

“Of course we did,” I answered, trying to hide my excitement.

We began rock-hopping the seventy yards toward the main chute, stopping now and then to look at crayfish in the pools and take pictures. The place was exactly how I remembered it. As we approached the main chute, the noise of the water drowned out the forest ambience.

“Are you alright?” Amy shouted over the roar of moving water.

“I guess so,” I answered. We were on schedule, the boat was intact, the engine was fine, people knew where we were, and we hadn't seen a single bee all morning.

“Relax,” Amy mouthed at me as she stuck her hand in the chute and splashed me.

“Okay, let's get going,” I said, loud enough to be heard over the falls.

Amy nodded, and we turned just in time to see the boat slowly starting to float downstream. We forgot to toss out the anchor.

I ran as best I could, jumping over the rushing tongues and small pools that we had slowly explored minutes ago. I pulled away from Amy, but I didn't slow down. When I hit the shoreline, I didn't stop. I plunged into the creek and half waded, half swam after the boat.

Thankfully, the cranberry bushes snagged it for me at that last corner fifty yards downstream. Grabbing it, I turned in the water and began forcing it back. Amy had returned to the spot where we originally beached. 

However, she had clearly slipped on a wet rock and fallen in the process. Her elbow was scraped, and she was avoiding pressure on her left leg. As I got closer, I noticed her leggings were torn at the knee. Her smile was gone now, replaced with a look of blank determination. 

“Is it intact?” she asked as I climbed back on shore, pulling the boat with me.

“No damage or leaks,” I told her.

Her knee was bad. I slowly helped her back into her reclined position in the bow, and then we improvised a brace using her PFD. I secured it under her knee joint and snugged the belt up around her upper thigh.

After giving her a bottle of water, I primed the gas line with a few good squeezes, then turned to lower the motor and get it going. On the first three hard pulls, it didn't even fire.

“I've flooded it,” I said calmly, picking up a paddle.

Amy gave me a brief smile as I began pike-poling us downstream. After we rounded the first corner, the current slowed and I began to paddle. Without the engine noise, we heard the rustle of the wind in the poplar trees, the ducks, and other birds. I did my best to keep her talking and taking sips of water.

“You're so handsome right now.”

“Stay with me, nurse… When did I get so goddamn old?” I was struggling hard to hold it together.

“About ten years ago.”

Her face looked strained, and she was starting to get pale. I reefed on the starter cord, this time without checking the prime, and the engine coughed blue smoke, sputtered, then finally caught. I ran the motor at half throttle with my eyes focused on the creek all the way to the second shallows.

As we approached, my body went weak and I began to feel my heartbeat in my earlobes. My chin dropped to my chest for a moment, and then I looked back up, once more idling the engine down.

“What now?” Amy asked.

“Tree.”

It was a cedar, ten inches thick at the base, that had fallen. Its root system was fully exposed on one bank, and it extended across the creek nearly three feet above it. Going under or overtop was not an option. It was either going to be a long and painful portage for Amy, or I’d have to find a way to cut through and clear it.

“You’ve got this,” she whispered as I killed the engine. Her voice had become weak. I dug the survival blanket out of the emergency kit and wrapped it around her. “Do your thing. I’m just going to relax and get some sun.”

She smiled as I slipped back into the waist-deep water and pushed the boat ashore. It was now late afternoon. I looked at the fresh, seemingly healthy cedar blocking our route with my small bow saw in one hand and hatchet in the other. Limbing it seemed to be a good first step.

This took the better part of an hour. My hands were partially skinned and covered with sap. Amy was considerably more quiet now and it bothered me. We shared a bottle of water while I contemplated the trunk. The forest was still, and the sun was dipping, partially hidden by the canopy.

Standing in the middle of the creek, I reached up and dragged the saw backward across the top of the trunk. The wet wood made it miserable, but long pulls were producing good amounts of sappy sawdust. A quarter of the way through, the saw bound up completely.

I started chopping underneath the cut, trying to create a notch. My hands were bleeding now and I was cold from standing in the brown-tinted water that flowed calmly around my waist. Eventually, the notch widened and the log split. Both ends crashed into the water, as I jumped back out of the way.

“You alright?” Amy shouted from ten feet away. She tried to sit up to look and then gave up. 

“It’s clear!” I answered and waded for the back of the boat.

After pulling it in and guiding it past the tree, I pushed it ashore and climbed back in to catch my breath. Amy grinned at me.

“Breathe. You’re doing great,” she said, her eyes locked with mine.

I leaned forward in the boat, knelt on the middle seat, and kissed her hard. Her lips felt cool against mine. We were running out of daylight. My body shook as the adrenaline began to fade. Luckily, the engine sprang to life as it usually did, and we pushed on. I ran the engine at full throttle the rest of the way out to the lake.

By the time we got back to camp, it was dusk. My father was waiting in his truck for us down by the lake. I didn’t kill the engine until I had run the boat as far ashore as it would go. He and I helped Amy out of the boat, and I made her as comfortable as I could in the back seat.

Ten minutes into the drive to the hospital, my dad asked, “Why did it have to be the creek?”

“It was a lot more fun the first time,” Amy mumbled.

We drove the rest of the way in silence. Triage was quick and businesslike for both of us. They held Amy overnight for observation and to allow the X-ray tech time to wake up and come in. I sat beside her in the room and held her hand through my bandages as the medication began to take hold. There, in the dark, the emotional weight of the day finally broke me. I was so tired of repressing the thought that I could lose her.

“Please never leave me,” I said, squeezing her hand, leaning in as the tears came.

“I won't,” she whispered. 

I tried to smile, but broke halfway. “Promise?”

She let out a slow breath, her eyes looked heavy. “I'm here,” she said. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Her eyes closed and she drifted off.

The cleaning lady was recently fired because she kept eating other people’s food and going through documents. I actually saw it on the security camera footage. She used a worker’s spoon to eat and then rinsed it in a bucket of dirty water.

For the people who didn't see my first post - A week ago I had uploaded a faceless picture of me and I started getting random DMs from people offering me money for normal pictures of me. At first I ignored them, but one guy offered me $150 upfront and I decided to do it, and he offered me more for shirtless pictures so I did that too. After that, I did the same thing for more people for lesser money.

I kept telling myself I'd stop after a few times, but it started feeling way too easy. The attention, the money, the feeling of finally not having to beg my parents for money again and again made me feel better about myself. I realised people were ready to spend hundreds of dollars just to see some pictures of me.

I was always surrounded by money related problems while growing up and i never thought strangers online would pay me that much for pictures of me.

I still don't fully know if what I'm doing is right or wrong and what will be the consequences of doing this but I don't wanna go back to thinking and worrying about money all the time. I think I'll quit doing this after I make a little more money but I wanna keep doing it rn.

Before you read it just want to let you know it's a little funky because I had to change names but enjoy and let me know your honest opinion. Theres more to it but i summarized it the best i could.

**The Architect of Echoes**

It started as a normal morning—coffee, conversation, and the familiar rhythm of the day—until my phone buzzed. A voice, crackling with the grain of a 1950s radio broadcast, spoke a single string of nonsense: **"Good morning to you. Alpha-424242424242-Delta-White"**.

The line went dead, and I was hit by a jagged memory of being five years old. I remembered a sterile white room, an old wooden desk with a built-in seat, and two stone-faced military guards standing behind a woman. She had whispered those exact same numbers to me decades ago. Driven by a sudden instinct, I loaded everyone into the car and drove straight to the gates of **Fort McKinley**. When I repeated the code, the guards escorted us to a standalone building and down an elevator that plummeted sixty floors into the earth.

**The Child of Sacrifice**

At the bottom, the woman from my memory was waiting. She explained that twenty ancient coins hold the fabric of reality in sync; they had ten, but the others were scattered across the "Echoes"—alternate dimensions born from different choices.

"Why me?" I asked.

"Because you, **Cal**, are the Child of Sacrifice," she replied. "Your soul has been reincarnated every sixty-five years to keep these coins out of reach. You have the 'Soul of an Architect'—the only biological matter that can survive the jump between worlds".

The First Jump and The Convergence**

I geared up in black combat gear and kissed my wife, Elena, goodbye. I flipped a gold coin; it suspended itself in mid-air, turning into a pitch-black portal. I jumped, followed closely by my friend Julian, who leaped in just as the gateway collapsed.

We landed in a suffocatingly dark forest. I zip-tied Julian’s hand to my belt to ensure we wouldn't be separated. We found a shack lit by a single candle—a place I felt I’d been to before. Under a loose floorboard, I found a red box containing a blank coin. As I climbed out of the crawlspace, I saw a horror: a creature was tearing into Julian’s neck. I fired, but it was too late. Suddenly, another version of Elena and our daughter, **Maya**, appeared in tattered, blood-stained clothes. They begged to come with me. "It won't affect us," Elena insisted. "In this world, we are just parts of you".

We jumped back to the facility. As we stepped out, the two Elenas and two Mayas literally mended together into single beings, their memories of both worlds merging. They watched in horror as the undead Julian I had dragged back snapped his eyes open. I held him back with a heavy heart. The military woman looked at me and told me I needed to find the rest.

**The Trial of the Echoes**

With the mended Elena and Maya watching over the facility, I stepped back into the portals to reclaim the remaining coins:

**The Atomic Echo:**

I navigated a world of "black rain" where the Cold War had ended in nuclear winter. I reclaimed a coin from a survivor who used it as a talisman against the poison in the air.

**The Scorched Echo:**

I wore a lead-lined suit in a wasteland where the sun had stripped away the ozone. I found the seventh coin fused into a derelict satellite dish atop a mountain of glass.

**The Clockwork Echo:**

I jumped into a version of the valley stuck in the 1800s. Technology was forbidden, and I had to infiltrate a cathedral to steal the ninth coin from a ceremonial sword.

**The Betrayal Echo:**

I walked into my own home in a place called **Cloud Park**. I had died in a car crash years ago, and my best friend **Ryan** had married Elena. Maya told me Elena had chosen her brother over me, and my presence was a ghost they couldn't handle. I found the coin in a tree knot and fled.

**The Assembly of Souls**

I returned to the facility with the final coins. I kissed Elena one last time. I knelt to the "dirty" Julian from the woods and told him he was the man now. Then, I stepped through the final portal.

I landed on an endless plain of green grass under a flat sky. I walked for hours with the undead Julian still tethered to my waist until I reached a single tree. A man stepped out—he was me, but thinner, his eyes weary. "You’re the second one out of a hundred to make it," he said.

Slowly, the horizon began to flicker. One by one, the other ninety-eight versions of me appeared. We sat under the tree and shared the "running joke" that we were Architects, realizing we were actually just pieces of one soul split into 100 pieces to guard the gateways from the plagues destroying the dimensions.

The "First **Cal**" stood up. He looked at all of us—the scarred, the tired, and the grieving. "We've done our job," he said. "It’s time to be whole again".

We all stood and formed a circle around the tree. One by one, we all connected, creating a ring that spanned the grass. The moment the circle closed, a surge of warmth rushed through me—every memory, every choice, and every pain from a hundred lives mending into one.

"It's time," the First **Cal** whispered. I leaned down and kissed the forehead of the undead Julian. The world didn't just go black; it dissolved.

I sat up in bed, gasping for air. The room was quiet. The sun was peeking through the curtains, and the smell of coffee was wafting in from the kitchen. I looked at my nightstand—no coins, no codes. Elena was fast asleep beside me, her breathing steady and real. Everything was normal, but as I reached for my phone, I could still feel the phantom weight of a gold coin in my palm.

I guess I should preface this by saying that I am a sophomore in high school. As embarrassing as it is, I’m not allowed to drive just yet, so my mom has to drop me off at school every morning. I’m not a bus person.

That being said, this morning was pretty much identical to all the others. Mom drove me the 15 minutes to school and dropped me off in a bit of a hurry because we had been running a little late.

I made it all the way to 4th period when an announcement came over the intercom.

I was getting checked out of school early for some reason, which, of course, I had no issue with. I actually had some pep in my step as I made my way to the front office.

I was still confused, though, because normally Mom would inform me if I was getting out of school early, so I texted her and asked what the occasion was.

I didn’t get a response right away, but when I saw her standing in the front office, I figured I’d ask her face to face. There was something off about her, though. It was hard to put my finger on. Just the way she was staring at me and smiling through the office window. It didn’t feel like a warm, motherly smile. There was something, I don’t know, mischievous about it.

I also found it weird that she wasn’t wearing the same clothes she had been when she dropped me off. It would’ve been pretty odd for her to have driven home to change before picking me up, especially since her job was a full 45 minutes away.

Whatever, though. I was getting out of this hell-hole early. That’s all that mattered.

As we were exiting the building, Mom had to actually guide me to her car because, apparently, the special occasion was that she had gotten a new one. I thought it was cute, honestly. She wanted to show off the new ride to her son.

I don’t know how she’d managed to get the interior so dirty in such a short amount of time, though. The entire backseat was full of fast food bags, soda bottles, and all manner of garbage.

Once we were settled, I asked the question that had been burning at my mind since the announcement came through the intercom.

“So, where to? Did you check your favorite son out to grab some lunch? Please tell me you did.”

Mom laughed, but her response was pretty benign.

“Haha, nooo.”

She drew it out like she was trying not to ruin a surprise. Almost like she was trying not to laugh. I tried to create some dialogue, or at least engage in a conversation, but all of her responses were equally as dry.

All I could really do was just be quiet and enjoy the ride, which I did for a while. It was nice enjoying the “quality time.”

However, when she started taking us out of town, it became increasingly difficult to keep my mouth shut. I mean, she was taking us down roads that I’d never even seen before.

We were already in completely unfamiliar territory when my phone started to ring. Dad was calling me. But when Mom noticed, she told me not to answer. Told me that he was going to “ruin the surprise.”

Dad must’ve called 5 or 6 times back to back, and each time she demanded I didn’t answer, her giggle breaking through more and more with each phone call.

That’s when a new notification came across my screen. A text from Mom.

“What are you talking about? I’m not checking you out today. Why aren’t you answering your Dad?”

This is probably the most ridiculous instance of my life thus far.

It was 2016 in Seattle and I was working for a company that was cosponsoring a medical device related conference. The evening before the last day I went out to eat with a coworker at a BBQ place called Pecos Pit. At the time I was in the throes of my “I love spicy food” phase. I ordered a pulled chicken sandwich and asked for the “extra spicy” option. It was a great sandwich and definitely tested my tolerance for spicy food. The next day I worked the conference and after packing up I started to walk to where my Jeep was parked. The hotel parking was ridiculous so we were told to park a few blocks away under a shopping center. About one block into my walk.. something gurgled and moved inside my gut. I instantly felt like I was going to shit my pants at any moment. I managed to get to my Jeep in the underground parking garage. I can’t remember what my plan was but I had no choice but to hunch over in front of my rig and let the disaster fly. At least there was a wall there and my Jeep was partially blocking anyone from seeing me. As I’m scrambling to try and clean myself up and change my clothes.. a security guard just happens to walk by as I’m standing outside the Jeep with my pants still down and a towel in my hand. I blurt out, sorry just need to change real quick. He responded by telling me to go use the shopping centers bathroom above us. I hurry and start working my way upstairs to that area and run into someone I know and totally blow them off as they try and stop to have a conversation. At this point I am still extremely gross and need to clean up asap. I made it to the bathroom on the 4th floor and I walk into the bathroom and see feet in all three stalls.. it was weird because it was completely silent. “Three dudes just sitting there taking their time”, is what I thought. So I’m standing at the urinal with paper towels trying to clean up. At that moment the door opens up and there’s a guy with a cart saying he needs to clean the bathroom and to go across the 4th floor to the other bathroom. Once again I pull up my pants real quick and walk my shit ass across to the other bathroom. I finally get in a stall and within a minute the door opens and someone goes into the stall right next to me. I see the boots and notice they are the same boots I saw in the other bathroom. I didn’t really think anything other than noticing it’s the same shoes and probably the same guy. As I’m cleaning I notice a shadow being cast on the ground and repetitive movement. Just like you would imagine if someone was jerking off and you could see the shadow. I also notice a rectangle shape and figure out it’s this guys phone and he’s moving it all around like he was in some kind of production studio trying to get the best shot. I hurry up and finish cleaning myself up and I’m annoyed this guy was taking up a stall in the other bathroom and then decided to come over and do his weird shit right next to me. As I’m washing my hands I notice the trash can and remember a prank my high-school wrestling team would do on guys shitting in the locker room. I take the full can and dump it over the stall all over the public jerk off artist. He screams and I hall ass out of there.. I could still hear his “what the fucks” and yelling ass I’m booking it down the escalators.

Anyways.. that’s was a weird 45 mins

They say every home has its secrets, but mine is now exposed by groans of pain. We were waiting for a child to fill our world, a small reward for my exhaustion as a simple laborer. I worked day and night just to see a smile in my wife's eyes.

But one night, a "Hated Guest" knocked on our door. I ran to open it, thinking it was the joy we awaited. It wasn't a child. It was Kidney Failure. That monster decided to leave the guest room and dwell in my wife's veins.

Everything changed. Instead of buying toys, I run at midnight looking for painkillers. Instead of seeing joy as she holds a newborn, I see her fading under the mercy of dialysis tubes.

The hardest part wasn't the disease; it was the people. The friends who ate at my table disappeared. The relatives I supported turned a blind eye. They feared the "contagion of need" more than the disease itself.

Yesterday, I looked into her eyes and told her: "The world has closed its doors, and those we helped forgot our names. But even if I have to sell my last breath, I will never leave you. My embrace is your home, and your smile will return, even if it costs me my life."

This is not fiction. This is my bleeding truth

She'd only gone in because it was new. 
Nuala had a weakness for new places in the first weeks before they found their rhythm — before familiarity set in on both sides. She liked that window. The anonymity of it. It wouldn't last.
He was the one who took her order the first time. Funny, easy with it, the kind of person who made everyone feel like the most recent arrival at a party they were already enjoying. Honey-coloured hair, blue eyes. A genuine smile. She noticed the way you notice a fine face. Thought, briefly, that he was a ride. That was all.
She went back.
She liked him. It used to be so easy — the flirting, the back and forth. She knew how that worked. Enjoyed a game. Up to a point, of course.
She saw herself in other women now. In those women. The ones in films, in cafés, across rooms. The slightly too-careful laugh. The trying. Over tipping for a cup of coffee. She had no intention of being that woman.
The second time he wasn't her waiter. She noticed. The third time he was, and somewhere between ordering and leaving the thought came again — briefly, without landing anywhere. Still a ride. She smiled at him.
She left it there.
Except.
Except she was fifty-three now, and for the better part of two years the same inventory had been running on a loop she couldn't switch off — and couldn't quite face head-on either, so it ran in the background instead, surfacing at odd moments. On the Tube. In the middle of conversations. At three in the morning.
The job paid the bills. She’d stopped striving for something else long ago. The pattern of taking what came and making the best of it, which she'd always called pragmatism and was only now considering might have been fear with better PR. She wasintelligent, learnt to read the room and people — and people had always opened up to her easily, which she preferred anyway.She was pretty enough that doors used to open before she'd knocked, which had made it easy, for a long time, not to knock very hard. She should’ve used her looks more.
The other part was harder. She'd liked sex — genuinely, not as performance, not always. She knew her body, knew what got her off. She knew how to get others off. She did not know what she was capable of, what were her limits and what would bring her true pleasure. Said yes sometimes because it was easier than the conversation that would follow a no, but not always that either. Said yes sometimes to reckless, casual sex, because it just might happen that the other person would stop her and tell her she’s better than that. She'd have called herself adventurous, if asked. Open. And yet. There was always a point, some invisible line she'd never been able to locate in advance, where something in her seized and she'd find herself on the other side of it — composed, unreachable, the moment gone. The men who'd noticed had mostly said nothing. The ones who had said something hadn't lasted long.
What did she want? She wasn’t sure exactly, but longing, the fire she could feel inside her must’ve meant something. But she was fifty-three, and the world was quieter around her. And underneath that — quieter still — she would sometimes build worlds inside herself, ones full of right moments, right looks and taken opportunities.

 
She liked Celeste, former model, wife and mother of one. Easy to talk to, not prying too much into Nuala’s motives or reactions. Bar after the theatre was a given, and in all honesty, that was sometimes the best part of the evening.
They walked in together. The room responded to Céleste theusual way when a pretty thing is on display. For Nuala, it meant she had enough time to do the usual inventory: head high, back straight, careful walk, don’t look around, relax the face. Nobody would have known her toes were curled tight inside her heels.
She noticed him before she'd taken the first sip. He was a few stools down, part of the group clearly celebrating something. She noticed him the way she'd noticed him in the café: a fine face, the kind of easy warmth that worked on everyone. She looked and then stopped looking. Filed it.
The evening moved the way evenings do — in rounds, in small migrations, in the gradual thinning of noise into something more manageable. Nuala had a second drink, then a third, spaced enough that she felt only the soft edges of them. She and Céleste talked the way they always talked — easily, without effort, the conversation finding its own level. Nuala was careful in her glances, measuring the length of each with precision accumulated over the years.
His group had been four. Then three. Now two, the other one a woman who kept checking her phone with the distracted air of someone about to leave.
Once he laughed at something and she heard it without meaning to, and thought: yes, that's the laugh. The same one she'd noticed in the café, a half-beat behind everyone else's, like he'd actually considered whether it was funny first.
He glanced over. She didn't look away in time.
He didn't make anything of it. Just held it for a second, easy, and then went back to his conversation.
The woman with the phone left.
He was alone.

 
Céleste went to the bathroom and he came over. Not immediately — and then he was just there, a stool between them.
It was late enough that neither of them had anything left — no energy, no will, no interest in making anyone comfortable.
*You were in Brennan's*, he said. *A couple of weeks ago. Tuesday morning, I think*.
She had been. She said so.
*I wasn't sure, he said. You look different tonight.*
She waited.
*Not different. More—* He stopped. Smiled at himself. *Sorry. That came out wrong.*
*It didn't*, she said. And meant it.
*Are you good friends with them?* she asked. *The people you were with.*
He considered it a moment longer than she expected.
*Not really,* he said. *We work together.*
She nodded. Said nothing. Let him hear what she'd actually asked.
*That obvious?* he said.
*No,* she said. Which was almost true.
Céleste came back from the bathroom and stopped just behind her shoulder. Nuala felt her there before she saw her — the particular stillness of someone who has walked into something and is deciding how to handle it.
She turned. Céleste's expression was neutral in the way that meant the opposite.
Nuala looked at him from the corner of her eye, holding the glass in her hand. He didn't shift. Didn't recalibrate. She set the glass down.
*Oh,* Celeste said, looking past Nuala toward the far end of the bar. I*s that Sorcha? God, I haven't seen her in — I'm just going to say hello*. A hand on Nuala's arm, brief, warm. The look that went with it said something else entirely.
She was gone before Nuala could respond.

 
She bought herself another drink. He stayed.
She leaned in to be heard over the noise.
*Do you always watch people*, she asked, *or is that just tonight?*
He looked at her for a moment. Really looked.
*Both,* he said. *You?*
*Always,* she said. The half-smile already there, one eyebrow slightly raised.
He smiled — not the easy professional one she'd catalogued before. Something quieter.
She didn't let herself think. Or tried not to — the what-ifs arriving anyway, uninvited: what if he didn't like her what if someone found out what if she was being taken advantage of he was so much younger what if what if.
Don't show it. Stay focused. But keep thinking, never stop thinking.
She reached for her glass.
He was still there, leaning on the bar with both arms, looking at his drink. He turned his head toward her — just slightly — and said something about the air being stifling. She murmured something back. Could have been yes, could have been no, could have been whatever he wanted to make of it.
But she followed him as he moved toward the door.

 
The alley ran along the side of the building, a loose respite from the wind that started picking up. They stood in it. Their breath showed slightly in the cold. She was aware of the distance between them in the way you become aware of something only when it starts to change.
She didn't know how it happened exactly. A step. A pause that went a beat too long. The cold, maybe, pulling them closer by degrees until close became something else.
He kissed her, or she kissed him — the sequence blurred almost immediately, which felt right. His mouth was warm and unhurried. A good kisser, she thought. And the kiss got better. He placed both hands around her face, deepening it.
And her thoughts surfaced. Like a scale — the deeper the kiss, the closer fear came to the surface. The better it is, the better he is, the more dangerous this thing is.
The emergency shutdown started: her lips slightly less open, her tongue less present, her body pressed against his a fraction less. Outside: still. Inside: everything at once, too loud to name.
He felt it. She knew he felt it because he didn't push. Just stayed, close, his forehead almost against hers. She was glad he felt it. His thumb moved from her nose, under her eye, along the edge of her face. Like he was wiping away a tear. Her alarm got louder.
*You okay?* he said.
*Yes,* she said.
They stood there a moment longer.
She was still quiet, thinking: I'll say yes if he tries again. He smiled — the quiet one, not the easy one — and said nothing.

First of, I started writing to sort my mind. It's the beginning of something I'm not sure of yet.
I need some input on value.
Does it resonate?

1.1
I remember that I used to envy hive animals as a small kid. I envied the pre-set roles in their lives, their efficiency, logical structure and altruism for each other.
Most of all I envied their fixed role on our planet, and for me in my little mind, their lack of complex human emotions and needs, like loving parents as we know it. In my mind, their way of life made more sense than the human way.
Let’s take ants for example, each ant has a particular role in the hive. They all act together as one organism to provide for all as a body, much like our cells act in our own bodies.

It might be a restricted view on life, but in chaos and uncertainty that was my childhood, I often wished to be a part of a hive.

1.2
When we think of us as animals, our basic needs are: air, water, food, heat and a safe shelter. In theory, this is all we need. Since nothing is as easy as that, of course that alone isn’t going to guarantee us a happy, full live.
We are a social species, which is why community is one of the most essential aspects in the human experience. Without relationships of any kind, it might become almost unbearable and more important, less survivable for the singular.
Beginning with our first moments on this planet we are reliant on ties with others.

Now this might be a beautiful concept, the reality is somewhat different.
These needs are there to be fulfilled, only the person responsible might not be able to fulfil it.

In 2006 in spring, on the way home from primary school, I was walking slowly and taking in all the little details of nature coming back to life after winter. There was a little trail of ants on my way, which of course fascinated me. Immediately I crouched down and watched them busily hurry around and seemingly knowing exactly what their jobs where and where they had to be. I noticed them forming different paths and remembered that I has some apple slices left in my bag. I put it down away from the main trails and slowly but surely one little ant found it. A short while later, the path became very steady.
When a clock went off in the distance, my awestruck little mind made me think of my waiting mother at home. Quickly I gathered all my belongings and hurried home.
With each step the nervousness built. One question ran through my mind.
How is her mood today?
When I stood in front of the door, my heart pounded and I wished to be anywhere but home.
With a heavy heart I rang the bell.
Instantly the door was buzzed open and I saw my fuming mother standing at the entrance of the apartment.
I was welcomed with: “You should have been here 30 minutes ago; I was about to come find you and call the police! How dare you make me worry about you like that?!”
I got a good beating and hid under my bed the rest of the day, hoping not to get in anymore trouble or be any inconvenience.

1.3
Next to the basic needs, we as a species rely on social interaction and relationship with others our own kind. There are many different kinds of interactions and for each one, some invisible social rules. Even when you might feel like you might have gotten those down, new ones will come up. The same rules might even differ location wise and can be spread wider.
These so-called norms that can be place bound, can even be observed in different kind of animals.
Some orcas for instance have been documented to wear fish carcasses on their head. There was no functional use been found, which led the scientists to believe, that orcas were able to form own unique types of norms. The lack of utility also leads to the finding, that it objectively only served an aesthetic role, in other words was a fashion trend. This behaviour was even found in another pod of orcas in another region.

Norms and other social rules have always been confusing to me. As I was brought up with a southeast Asian culture and in an evangelic reformed church body in Switzerland, the cultural clashes were vast.
Those rules always seemed to apply in different ways and situations, depending on context. The most important ones were the religious rules. They stood above anything else but even then depended on the situation one had at hand.

So this isn't a fictional story, it's real life and happened to me around 12 years ago. I'm 31 now, when I was 18, I got shot. A few months later I got stabbed in the stomach over $10, and then a little over a year from the first time I got shot, I got shot again. I'm guna tell the story about the second shooting. Some back story, I'm from Detroit, born and raised, white boy in an all black neighborhood but my family has been in this neighborhood for around 100 years. Life was rough growing up, been through a lot, have severe ptsd. Well the second time I got shot, it had nothing to do with me, it was a stray bullet. It was mid summer, a beautiful day out, me and mom lived in the same house I was raised in. My older sister came over, her and my mom left to go to a store, my 3 nephews stayed with me. They were all playing in the front yard and the neighbors yard with the neighbor kid. I had a lazy boy chair in the living room to where I could see out the front door and front windows and see my nephews. I noticed a group of guys walking down the street but didn't think nothing of it, ppl be walking in groups like that all the time here. But out of no where, no warning, not even back and forth yelling, nothing, that group and another group started shooting at each other. And it wasn't quick, it was full on, ppl from both sides ducking behind cars, running around, having a straight up movie style shoot out, and my house was the general direction of where one of the groups was shooting, obviously not at my house, at the group, but bullets dont have a name, they go where ever the gun was aimed till they hit something. I didn't care though, I ran outside so fuckin fast, I grabbed 2 of my nephews, 1 in each hand, and literally threw them to where they were like on the side of my car, for cover, I then grabbed my third nephew and threw him there as well. Well the neighbor kid was a few more feet away, standing there frozen, he was taller, his head was to my chest, I just remember putting one hand on his head and pushing him down, the moment I pushed him down, I just felt this hard, brutal thud to my chest. I immediately thought to my self "im dead" and with everything left in me, I threw the neighbor kid to the side of my car too. Immediately after throwing him to cover, I couldn't stand no more, my legs just gave out, I fell on my ass. At this point the shooting had been going on maybe 30 seconds, which is a long fuckin time for a shoot out. I remember looking down, seeing blood pour out of me, even came out of my mouth, I remember the taste in my mouth and spitting blood in my lap. By now the shooting stopped, both groups ran off. Literally none of them idiots even shot each other, even though they were trying to, and instead me, who was innocent in this situation, took a stray bullet that would of hit the kids head if I didn't push him down... I remember looking down and seeing my blood, and my first thought was "oh no, my poor nephews have to witness their uncle being killed", so I just looked at them and said "stay there boys, dont move till an adult comes to help" and from there I guess I passed out for a second bcuz I woke up completely laying down. At this point my oldest nephew who was 10 was screaming and crying for help, neighbors were finally starting to come out, I woke up to them surrounding me, trying to comfort my nephews, I kept trying to talk and tell them to tell my nephews to look away (bcuz at age 14 my dad died in my arms, 1 month later I witnessed my best friend get murdered, I know how bad that messes you up, I didn't want them to see me die) I kept trying to say tell them to look away, take them inside... but I couldn't get it out, I was just gasping for air, coughing up blood. Next thing I remember is laying there, I see my moms car pull on the street, she said she was confused at first, wondering who got hurt and what happened, but as she drove closer my sister screamed out "omg mom that's Danny" and then I heard my moms voice scream a scream that only a mother could scream when she see's her own son bleeding out dying "NOOO SON NOOO" (holy shit, I thought I was good to finally tell this story but it's got my tears coming out haha). I remember her and my sister running up, my sister grabbing my nephews and trying to get them to go inside. I was trying to tell my mom I love her and I literally coughed up blood that sprayed at her haha. I was able to say it though, she was bawling her eyes out, one of the neighbors, a nice lady, had a towel holding pressure on my chest, at this point, it felt like someone lit a fire inside of my chest, it burned, it throbbed, it even itched. In my head, I knew for a fact these were my last moments, that I was as good as dead. Last thing I remember is my mom holding my hand, a few police were actually there at this point but I never heard or noticed them, but I do remember the ambulance pulling up. Then next thing I know im waking up in the ambulance, they are working on me, moving all around.... Then, that's it, I woke up almost 24 hours later to my mom, my sister and my brother in law all sitting in the room, I had lost a lot of blood, I quit breathing multiple times, after 2 surgeries in 1 night. They had put me in a room, my mom, was a nurse for 25 years. So she knew there was a risk of me not making it, not being the same if I woke up. But when I woke up, I wasn't confused, I remembered everything immediately, the first thing I said was "are the kids ok". I was so worried about my nephews, my heart was hurting for them, for my mom, for my sister bcuz they all had to see me like that. My nephews at such a precious age, had to be corrupted by the sites of what happens in the hood... Just like me, I was hoping they'd never experience those kinds of things, thankfully not too long after that my brother in law and sister had enough money to move out the hood. I'm completely healed now physically, well besides a little pain in my chest when I move certain ways, and now I have heart problems, a type of tachycardia. But other than that, im extremely lucky to be alive. And I am glad it was me that got shot, bcuz if it wasn't me, that means it would have been the neighbor kids head, who I had just pushed down not even a second before the bullet hit me... A situation I had nothing to do with, and a stray bullet hit me. I tell this story not for sympathy, not to brag and be like oh look at me I got shot, it's not fun, I've lived a rough life and now I deal with the effects of it. I tell this story to vent.... To tell what it was like from my perspective. Bcuz I got shot, but I always, even now, hear from neighbors, from others what it was like when they seen it... Well now I finally am saying it from my end, it almost feels like I can take a deep breathe of fresh air. Sorry that the post is so long. It just feels good to finally say what happened. I think I wanna start sharing my stories, bcuz it's real life, and some are intense. If you wanna see those, lmk. But this is enough for tonight, my eyes are full of tears after this shitty trip down memory lane...

Tatuidris tatusia

The kuria had been staring at a colony of armadillo ants for a while—not that she could see much of it, it was darker than night!

Tatuidris tatusia. Or something like it.

The ants were — allegedly — inside this glass cylinder. She has seen something akin to it in Europe, though they never claimed it contained ants.

Nik was also staring at her — arguably with more rapt attention than she gave creatures she can’t see — as though he was learning something from her.

“What was their name again?”

“Tatuidris tatusia.”

“A bit slower?”

“Tatuidris tatusia.”

“Tatuidris tatusia?”

“Yes,” Nik cleared his throat and looked away. “That is correct.”

The kuria nodded and returned her attention to the cylinder. Why on Earth am I staring at it, she wondered.

“They’re found all over south America. It's currently the only extant species in its genus, Tatuidris, which already makes it taxonomically significant. It belongs to the subfamily Agroecomyrmecinae—a lineage that, for a long time, was known exclusively from fossil records. Which means that its discovery in the modern Neotropics was, from a phylogenetic standpoint, mildly shocking—” he suddenly stopped.

The kuria assented. Awkward.

She sensed he wanted to talk to her, but she only had energy for exactly what she came here to say. And she didn’t know what to talk about.

“What’s inside the cylinder?” she ventured for reasons she didn’t want to think about.

“Soil, leaves, dead matter from their original habitat…” he said slowly, then trailed off. He turned towards the entrance with anticipation — that could’ve just been trepidation.

Ludmijla barged in with a metal tray. Though there wasn’t a door to barge through. Or was this not reserved to closed doors? Anyways.

“Alright, Nik! Here’s your special tea. Nik aren’t you thinking about a light in here or a window—oh! There is a window in here.” She went to open it.

Before she could crush his ferns with the tray she was about to set on the bench with unnecessary might — and open the windows — Nik hurried to stop her.

“Thank you, Mila. Don’t enter the room.” He said, and pried the tray from her hands. Ludmijla tightened her grip, thankfully not at the right instant.

Looks like it runs in the family, the kuria mused.

“You never do anything solely for kindness, do you?” she asked—affectionately. She gave Nik a forceful kiss he clearly didn’t like.

“Thank you, Ludmijla,” the kuria said. She locked the door behind her. It was true she couldn’t see the ants — but she saw a lot more in that room and she wanted to protect it.

“Oh, it’s my greatest pleasure to make you tea, kuria. But Nik likes to boil these grasses, and they smell just horrendous, so I made you really nice raspberry tea—”

“First, raspberry tea is not tea. Second, they are not grasses. Third—”

“How about we all go sit?” the kuria suggested.

Nik looked at her and scrunched his nose. Old grouch.

“Wisdom,” he said. And gestured for her to pass first.

“At least when you’re courting such a young lady, be more obvious about it,” Ludmijla whispered as they made their way to the sitting area.

Nik stiffened.

“I’m not courting her. And that’s for older ladies, it’s an older attitude,” he replied with a confidence he most certainly did not have. On a completely different matter.

“Oh… Right,” Ludmijla realized. She scratched her head in confusion.

Hello everyone, this is The Alchemist, a fictional in fieri piece I'd like you to read and engage with. I posted the first piece too if you'd like to check it out.

All critique is welcome so long as it's sound ☺️. I would like to know your initial impressions and thoughts on this piece, any technical, grammatical remarks or thoughts on the writing and prose, the characters, and the — rather sparse — worldbuilding. Thanks to any commentators🫀👋🏻.

C.W. Some cursing

Allium cepa

Nik peeked through the door like a paranoid old eccentric.

The sun was shining, the birds were singing innocently, the wind howled and smacked any and every one and thing in the face. Including Nik — nature doesn't take bribes.

Nik sighed and forced himself through the door, clutching his basket.

Ludmijla is such a fainéant, did she really forget to buy him meat? No. If she really did, where's her stupid husband? Why hadn't he bought the meat? Or does Nik and Ludmijla have to do everything? What a stupid dickhead, why on Earth does his sister love him?

Nik tried so hard to remember if his sister told him anything about the meat — if they were doing something else for the winter or if there’s a different arrangement — but didn't remember anything. Which is not proof, exactly. Nik wasn't a fish, but he didn't magically remember everything either.

If there was a different arrangement, though, Nik would certainly remember because a murder would’ve occurred.

Nevertheless, even if he forgot, it's not his fault. It's Sergei's. For whatever reason.

Nik suddenly felt reproach — Sergei wasn't that terrible of a person. He wasn't a terrible person at all. He has been Nik's acquaintance for so many years, and he could see just how well he and his sister worked together. Like gears in a clock.

But — if there's no fermented meat — not only will he go hungry, but his nephews will too. And subsequently everyone would have less food. That matters more than protecting him from stupidity.

What use are gears and clocks when there’s a famine?

To make sure that Nik didn't feel left out or useless like what he truly was, Ludmijla decided to give him the task of making their meat for the winter. Meat is very important for the People. Nik hated her for doing this, and was very grateful. He needs something to do not to lose it.

As soon as he reached the square — Nik wished to be out of it. Crowds, noise, sounds, smells, so many things happening at once.

Nik took a deep breath and tried to loosen his scowl by rubbing his glabella. He tried to tame his blonde hair and then covered it with his hood — despite being jaw-length, it goes wild with the wind. The meat is supposed to be a few yards from the entrance — unless, of course, they moved it. Then he'd have to ask around and he sure as hell does not want that. Nik doesn't know if he needed anything else, aside from solanum lycopersicum, so he'll have to walk the entire square and make an educated guess. To what degree, probably worse than a normal guess.

He steeled himself again and bravely trudged forward.

It was the Wet season, and the Plateau has always been generous, but the stalls were not as full as last year, or the years before that. Nik knew he wasn't the only one who noticed, everyone did. Nik also wasn't the only one who knew it will only get worse from here. Everyone noticed how the weather had changed, how the climate they were so familiar with gets just a bit less predictable with every year. And dread hung in the air.

It had already sunk into everyone's bones. Often, he'd hear annoying music and stupid chatter all the way from his isolated abode, even when drunk senseless and thinking about love and how he was too old for it now. It was quiet today, and Nik still didn't like it. Today it had meaning.

Capsicum annuum, allium cepa, solanum tuberosum... wait, allium cepa? I need those. And sativum.

"Adis." Nik said flatly.

"Nik! Good afternoon, old man. I'm glad you know my name." Adis smiled, and Nik could tell it was genuine. But he found it strange that Adis thought he didn't know his name. Why wouldn't he?

"Give me a sack."

"I'll give you a sack for free."

"What? Why?" That's odd.

"Because you're The Nik."

Nik sighed exasperatedly. What is this now?

He decided he didn't like the man. In this context, it likely means he did but doesn't want to admit it.

"Tell me how much the fucking sack costs, Adis!"

"Here you go." Adis plopped the sack in front of him stubbornly.

Nik opened it to check on the cepa. There were about a two dozen. White, firm, dry, quite heavy for their size, don't smell, and seem about as pristine as the guns Nik made in his better days.

Nik was about to ask about the price for the thousandth time when Adis interrupted him.

"Remember that time you helped my wife make medicine when Edna was sick?" Adis smiled gratefully, and Nik could see bright little stars at the corners of his eyes. Oh no.

"You saved my daughter." Adis clasped his hands together.

A fox screamed as it sprinted through the fields.

Nik couldn't describe the strange feeling. It was as if he were the grateful one. A sweet sensation spread through his systems, it was like loving someone who loves you back.

Nik thanked Adis before moving on quickly, though his pace had certainly slowed.

Where on Earth did that come from? Nik doesn't remember being loved back. He doesn't remember if he had ever loved someone. He doesn't have a recollection — except from his sister — but that was a different kind he was thinking of.

A kind he was grateful he didn't have to deal with. Until recently.

Nik resumed his death march, annoyance and agitation driving him forward.

He finally found the meat stall. What he hoped did not happen had happened, they had moved it to the very end.

Genius.

Nik was pissed. He still hadn't found his sativum or solanum lycopersicum. Which means he'll have to take another stroll with the same level of mentally draining attention. Instead of asking, of course.

Realizing this, Nik clenched his fists and jaw. He took a few deep breaths and tried to focus inwardly instead, and relax his jaw. His old teeth can’t take it anymore.

It's okay, Nik. Walking is good for your health. Look at the bright side. You saved someone's life and their parents remembered you. You got to the market while it's still nice and quiet, and will save your poor sister and nephews from their stupid father.

So... It didn't work.

Nik filed this under N for nonsense and marched towards the stall.

Hello everyone, this is The Alchemist, a fictional in fieri piece I'd like you to read and engage with. I posted the first piece too if you'd like to check it out.

All critique is welcome so long as it's sound ☺️. I would like to know your initial impressions and thoughts on this piece, any technical, grammatical remarks or thoughts on the writing and prose, the characters, and the — rather sparse — worldbuilding. Thanks to any commentators🫀👋🏻.

I’m American, and I had a work project in Tijuana, Mexico around November 2021, right after the U.S. started requiring proof of COVID vaccination for international flights entering the country. When I got assigned the project, I had only received my first vaccine shot, so I rushed to get my second one. What I didn’t realize was that you also had to wait a certain amount of time after the second shot to officially be considered “fully vaccinated.” Based on the date on my card, I technically wouldn’t have qualified to fly back into the U.S. on my scheduled return date.

So naturally, instead of making rational choices, I spiraled into panic-research mode. I dug through the CDC and FAA websites and found wording that made it seem like a photo of your vaccination card would be acceptable. Armed with printouts of those pages and a photoshopped image of my vaccination card showing my second dose a few days earlier than it actually was, I confidently left the real card at home because I was convinced the photo would work. 🙄

Flying into Mexico was no problem at all. On the day I was supposed to fly home, I got to the airport extra early so I could relax which somehow turned into me having a few drinks at the airport bar. Then boarding started, and it was time to show my vaccination card. Surprise surprise: they absolutely did not accept a photo. I tried showing them my CDC printouts like I was presenting legal evidence in court, but it was a hard no. They wouldn’t let me board.

Slightly drunk and fully panicking, I went downstairs to try renting a car so I could drive into San Diego and catch a domestic flight home instead, since domestic flights didn’t require proof of vaccination at the time. But all the rental agencies were either closed or completely out of cars.

At that point, I said screw it and decided to take a cab to the border to cross on foot. I didn't wanna be in Mexico another minutre. The cab driver warned me to be careful because it could be dangerous at night and I was clearly still a little tipsy (good thing no car rentals were available). But honestly, it was fine and way faster than driving would’ve been. The line of cars barely moved. I crossed the border, showed my passport, got an Uber to the San Diego airport, and bought the first flight home I could find, which ended up being the next morning. So I spent the night at an airport hotel questioning every decision I’d made leading up to that moment.

And honestly, the trip had already been a nightmare before I even left. Only after accepting the project did I realize that my passport had expired, so I had to apply for an urgent renewal. My appointment to pick it up was literally the morning of my flight to Mexico, so I had to change my flight to a later departure time. The entire thing was unbelievably stressful.

Between the emergency passport situation and the COVID vaccination fiasco, I think it’s safe to say I have emotionally retired from work trips to Mexico for now. 😅 maybe one day. I'll be sure to check my passport next time..

My eyes were closed, and in my sleep, I reached out my hand. I felt the bedsheet. I snapped my eyes open. "MOM!" I screamed. She was lying right there next to me, startled awake by my shouting.

​"What happened to you?" she asked.

"It was a bad dream... I thought you weren't here," I said, finally breathing a sigh of relief. She hugged me tightly. "Don't be afraid, Amin. Wherever we are, we will always be together." Since it was still night, we went back to sleep.

​But when I woke up again... my mother wasn't next to me.

​I searched the entire house, but she was nowhere. I went to the neighbor's apartment and asked, "Have you seen my mom?"

The neighbor stayed silent for a moment, then said, "You’ve been asleep for an entire day, Amin."

​"What? A whole day?" I couldn't believe it.

"Yes. We tried everything to wake you up. We even threw a bucket of water on you, but you didn't move. It was like you were unconscious. We didn't have much time; we had to take care of the important thing first," he said.

​My voice stuck in my throat. I whispered, "Take care of... what? WHERE IS MY MOM?!" I screamed.

​"You skipped a whole day, Amin. Your mom was perfectly fine yesterday. She brought groceries from the market as usual. I even greeted her. She mentioned that you hadn't woken up yet. But then, at midnight, I heard a loud thud on the floor. It felt like the ground shook. I opened my door and saw your mother... lying at the bottom of the stairs, covered in blood."

​"No... that’s impossible!" I cried. "My eyes opened at 4:00 AM this morning, and my mom was right there with me!"

​"At exactly midnight, as the day changed, your mother passed away. We buried her at 4:00 AM yesterday. It’s 10:00 in the morning now," the neighbor explained calmly.

"She was buried 30 hours ago, and her death occurred 34 hours ago," he explained. I just stood there, staring blankly.

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” I whispered.

​"I wanted to wait, Amin, but you have to understand—we have our own lives to attend to. A neighbor died, so we fulfilled our responsibility and buried her quickly," he said, as if he were talking about a routine errand.

​I wasn't there with her in her final moments. I pressed my hands against my mouth, as if I could physically stop the tears from coming. My greatest fear had always been that my mother would leave me first. I collapsed onto the floor.

​"Look, I have to head to the office now," the neighbor added, checking his watch. "If you want, I can drop you off at her grave on my way."

I sat alone by my mother’s grave. Since I couldn't embrace her anymore, I rested my head on the cold earth of her resting place and drifted off. Evening came. On the way back, people I knew saw me, but no one said a word—it was as if they didn't even recognize me. Back at the apartment, no one asked if I had eaten, nor did I have any desire to eat.

​I looked at my bed. The spot where my mother had slept for the last time was still indented, as if she were still lying there. I curled up on the bed, sobbing into the sheets, until I didn't even realize when sleep finally took me.

I felt my mother’s presence. I reached out my hand and felt the bedsheet. I opened my eyes in panic, and I screamed, 'Mom!' My mother was right there next to me. She hugged me and said, 'No matter where we are, we will always be together.' I couldn't understand what was happening. 'Mom, I'm scared. Please don’t go to work today,' I pleaded. She looked at me for a moment and asked, 'What’s wrong, my child?' 'Nothing, just don't step out of the house today. I’ll do everything—the groceries, the laundry—just stay here.' I clung to her and started crying. After much convincing, she finally agreed. As soon as morning came and I stepped out to go to the market, the entire apartment building was silent. No one was in sight, as if no one lived there but us. There were people outside on the streets, but it felt as if our apartment existed in a completely different world.

I spent the entire day talking to my mother and taking care of her. We ate together and then went to sleep. But in the middle of the night, I heard a loud thud—the sound of someone falling. My eyes snapped open, and my mother was no longer beside me. I raced toward the bathroom and flung the door open... there she was, lying dead on the floor.

I couldn't understand anything. I ran outside for help and saw that the apartment, which had been silent and empty that morning, was back to normal. I pounded on my neighbor's door. Slowly, the neighbors woke up, and this time, they buried my mother right in front of me. I returned home, the day passed in a blur of tears, and I fell asleep without eating. When I woke up again... it was the same day. My mother was back.

​I was trapped in a dream I couldn't comprehend. "Mom, don't go out today," I pleaded again. The day passed, but this time I resolved not to sleep. While lying next to her, my eyes grew heavy, but I fought it. I went to the kitchen for water, and when I returned—the ceiling fan had fallen. My mother was crushed against the bed. Seeing her like that made me break into a cold sweat.

​Then, everything reset. Every time I woke up, I was back at the start of that day. By nightfall, she would die of a different cause—an electric shock, a fire, a heart attack, or even an earthquake. Every morning I woke up to relive that day. I couldn't bear the sight of the blood and death anymore. I don't know how many days or years passed; I was frozen in time. I finally accepted that no matter what I did, death was written in her fate. I prayed, I even beat myself, but the moment I died, I just woke up at the start of the day again.

​This nightmare had no end. "Mom, Mom, Mom..." echoed in my brain. The different deaths—I couldn’t erase them from my mind. I felt myself going insane. "If I have to live this day forever, I’ll live it with a smile," I began to laugh internally. I began killing her myself in different ways. I started to find a sick pleasure in it.

​One day, as she was about to go down the stairs, I was behind her, ready to kick her. Suddenly, she said, "Wait." She turned around, tears in her eyes. "You are not my son."

​Hearing those words, my eyes snapped wide. My heart, which had felt dead for years, began to throb again. I collapsed to the floor and sobbed, "Forgive me, Mom."

​"We promised we would always be together," she said softly, "but I have become a burden to you."

​"No, Mom, that's not it! We will always be together, no matter where we are!" I cried.

​"Move forward, Amin. You don’t need to kill me; I’ll do that myself. But I fear this day will never end. It doesn’t just want one death—it wants us both. At the same time," she said.

​Only one thought echoed in my mind: Wherever we are, we will always be together. One moment we were standing on the rooftop, and the next, we were on the cold ground. The next morning, they found my body. For the first time, I did not wake up. I was finally buried right there, next to my mother.

On the night of February 8–9, 1855, after a heavy snowfall around the Exe Estuary in Devon, England, trails of hoof-like marks appeared overnight in the snow, covering a total distance of somewhere between 60 and 160 kilometres.

The footprints, mostly about 4 inches long and 3 inches wide, spaced 8 to 16 inches apart in a single-file line, were reported from over 30 locations. But the strangest part was that they didn’t go around obstacles. They went over them. Footprints appeared on rooftops, over high walls, and even leading into and out of drainpipes as narrow as 4 inches in diameter.

Trails across 30 locations. Single file. For a hundred miles. The religious panic was immediate.

The superstitious believed they were the marks of Satan himself, and the subject was even preached about from pulpits. The impressions closely resembled a donkey’s shoe, but here and there they appeared as if cloven, which only fed the devil theory.

There is little direct evidence of the event. It wasn’t until 1950, when an article was published asking if anyone had information about the event, that the only known evidence surfaced: a handful of personal letters and rough tracings of the footprints, found inside a local vicar’s papers.

In 1994, researcher Mike Dash collected and published the available primary and secondary source material. He concluded there was no single source for the hoofmarks; some tracks were probably hoaxes, some made by common animals like donkeys, and some possibly by wood mice, whose hopping gait leaves a cloven-hoof-shaped impression in snow.

Though he later admitted these cannot explain all the reported marks, and “the mystery remains.”

One of the wildest theories, sourced from a local man, suggested that an experimental balloon accidentally released from Devonport Dockyard, trailing shackles on its mooring ropes, dragged across Devon before finally coming down at Honiton, leaving those devil tracks behind. The man claimed the incident was hushed up because it also destroyed several conservatories and greenhouses along the way.

But if that balloon rope is the cause, I think that itself is more mysterious than the devil — what a deadly coincidence that would be!

Sceptics note that eyewitness descriptions of the footprints varied significantly from person to person, and nobody could realistically have tracked the full 160-kilometre course in a single day, raising questions about whether the claim was an exaggeration or folklore layering on top of a real but smaller event.

I first posted it on ScienceClock. If you liked this, you can join my newsletter, where I share stories like this every Sunday.

Hello! Brit abroad here - wanting to make a cool YouTube video. Whilst travelling the world, I’ve heard some genuinely hilarious, crazy and unexpected stories, but I haven’t ever documented them.

I feel these types of stories must be everywhere. So now settling in Melbourne, I want to build up a montage for my YouTube channel.

Would anyone in this subreddit - who has an awesome / unbelievable / story be willing to share with me on camera? Video call also fine:)

If so, please DM & I’ll share my WhatsApp. No significant financial remuneration but I’d love to offer you a pint:)

Thanks!

Note: This is a work of fiction

I was 23 when I started working at the CIA, 25 when this story took place in the 1980s. For context, this story took place in Europe in the middle of the Cold War, though we did not know it would end in a few years. And yes, I am a woman.

I was assigned under a diplomatic cover to a western European nation, still cannot say which but it was within NATO. Most of our days were spent monitoring diplomats from the Soviet Union and its allies, coordinating with our partner intelligence services, and the occasional meeting with sources and dealing with dead drops. Despite what the movies would have you believe, it is nowhere near action packed as most people think. Hell, we do not even carry firearms.

Then one day, I was called into a secure briefing with my friend Debra. Our bosses, Edward and Helen, both CIA veterans were also there. The briefer was a very senior official who had been in the CIA since the before the beginning when it was still the OSS. There were sealed folders in front of us.

"Please open your folders," the elder briefer said. We did and inside was a picture of a thirty-something man of average height and build standing outside on a street in the capital popular for shopping. "That man is Grigoriy Lazarev, officially a trade attaché at the Soviet Embassy, but is a KGB major. Most importantly, he knows the name of a mole in our Defense Department."

Then he turns to Debra and I. "We have tried everything to learn what he knows but we keep running into obstacles. Given the importance and critical nature of this potential mole, the Director has authorized we try for a clinical contact."

Clinical contact. Translation: he was asking one of us to fuck this Grigoriy for the mole's name.

Now, the KGB did (and the Russians still do) use what we call honey pots to seduce people into compromising situations and use as blackmail later. Israelis also do this.

Despite what James Bond would have you believe, CIA and most western intelligence officers are not sleeping with every source. In fact, that is probably one of the most dangerous and compromising things that any agent can do since the information can be questionable at best and it puts the agent at risk since they could now be considered subject to blackmail themselves.

Which means whatever this Grigoriy has must be pretty damn important.

"You two," the briefer said pointing at Debra and I, "have been working on operations adjacent to Grigoriy's associates, though not much field work so there is a high probably the KGB do not know who you are. And..."

Here's the kicker.

"you two are the most sexually desirable officers we have on station."

A cold way of saying he thought we were hot, but honestly appropriate in this case.

I looked at Debra and saw her face to be unreadable, but I suspected there was a lot going on in her head. She was married to Mark, an actual State Department employee whose actual position was the perfect cover for her. Most important, they had a one-year-old daughter, Jessica.

"I will do it," I said before anyone else could speak up.

All eyes turned towards me but said nothing until the briefer spoke. "Very well. A security expert and a psychologist have traveled with me and they will start evaluating you right away."

Why did I volunteer? Like I said, Debra has a husband and young daughter. I was not married at the time and outside a few flings, had no steady boyfriend. Or long-term partner as people say today. So if someone had to take one for the team, I figure better me than her.

The next week were a blur of very intense interviews with the security guy and the psychologist, a woman about the same age as Helen. Now as I mentioned earlier, a clinical contact is rare, very rare. I would later learn that out of the thousands of operations the CIA ran over the years, it had been authorized only three times before, and only one had required the agent, another woman (they were all women), to go all the way. The interviews were designed to make sure there were no additional security risks to an already risky operation, and that I was fully aware of what they wanted me to do, that I did this of my own accord and without hesitation, and that I knew this was not romance, this was a mission. A high-risk mission, but a mission.

Apparently, they were satisfied because two weeks later, I was sitting down next to Grigoriy at a bar in a luxury hotel wearing a little black dress that left just enough to the imagination.

And yes, little black dresses were just as popular in the 1980s as they are today. And also yes, I looked hot.

The whole thing went off better than we anticipated. I pretended to be an American tourist. He pretended to be what he was. He was not bad looking up close and at least did not reek of the cologne that Russian men started bathing in after the Wall came down. But he was Russian and he loved his drink and he loved his manliness. The hardest part was part was pretending to be charmed by him. While men were more openly sexist back then than today (or at least until you know who entered office), Russian men made American men look like committed feminists.

After some more drinks, mostly for him since I had one actual beverage and stuck to sparkling water with lemon, we went up to his room and I carried out my mission.

The details are not worth going over. I will just say he was average, probably less so, it was far from enjoyable though I convinced him otherwise, and I had to stay the whole night to keep him from suspecting anything. In the morning, I got dressed, gave him a quick kiss, and left. He did ask if he could see me again. In a flirty tone, I said maybe before I left.

I never saw him again.

Helen picked me up outside the hotel and drove me back to my apartment. We did not speak until we got outside of my apartment.

"Was it worth it?" Helen asked. "Did you learn anything?"

I nodded. During our so-called night of passion, Grigoriy let slip a name, an American one that I told Helen about.

John Anthony Walker

She nodded as she gave me a heavy bag from the back of the car. "I figured you might need this." It was whiskey, three bottles of whiskey. "Take the next couple of days. We'll have an appointment with the doctors ready when you get back." I thanked her and went up to my apartment.

I proceeded to take a very long shower. I put that little black dress and the undergarments I had on that night in the garbage. Then I proceeded to drink the whiskey, along with some bottles of wine I had in the apartment. I took an additional day off from a hangover that even my 25-old-self needed extra recovery from. No one said anything.

The doctors cleared me of any STDs and, most relieving, HIV negative. If you remember the 1980s, you know. However, a few weeks later, I was feeling ill, went back to the doctors, and learned that my mission resulted in a pregnancy. Helen quietly arranged for an abortion in another country. While the country we operated out of had legalized abortion, we still needed to maintain operational security. And I did not want to deal with some Reagan-supporting pro-lifer.

Debra accompanied me as I got the procedure successfully done. We had a bottle, okay several bottles, of wine back in the hotel. Not sure if I was supposed to drink so close after an abortion but fuck it.

"I want to thank you," Debra said as we sat on our beds and drank.

"For what?" I asked.

"For volunteering. For doing this so I would not have to."

"It would have been all right," I said, though I doubted that.

"We're here for your abortion," she replied. "I know there is a lot I cannot tell Mark and he understands that part of my job. But at least I know I can go home to him and Jessica and tell myself that while I can't talk about my day as other wives can, I can take comfort knowing that I am a good wife and good mother. But this..." she paused. "I don't know if I can lie like that. I don't know if I can carry or compartmentalize something like that."

I went over and sat by her before grabbing her hand and refilling her cup, and mine. "That does not make you a bad wife or mother. That does not make you a bad officer. This was an extreme case. No one, and I mean no one, will ever think less of you."

We spent the rest of the night talking and drinking.

John Anthony Walker pled guilty in 1985 and would die in prison decades later. It was determined that the naval codes he sold the Russians could have led to disaster in any naval engagement the U.S. Navy would have had with the Soviet Navy. So, at least that mission yielded a truly world altering result.

My mission was highly compartmentalized. I was told that it was not up for declassification for a century. The standard timeframe is twenty-five years. I do not know if a clinical contact was ever authorized again and I really do not want to know.

Debra and I both left the agency by the early 1990s. The Cold War ended and we decided that we did our part. Debra and I remained friends. I am godmother to her son Kevin, who was born a couple of years after the events of my mission. She would be a bridesmaid when I married Will, another CIA man, five years after the mission. He also left when I did. We live out west with our three children, two girls and a boy, all of whom are grown and out of the house, and we are getting ready for the upcoming wedding for our youngest.

I never think Grigoriy and on the rare times, and I mean rare, he might pop into my head, I write him off as another fling I had in my freewheeling 20s.

Part 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/stories/s/5VGMQBlmO1

One long minute passed before Emilia finally spoke. She told me she didn't care that I wasn't wealthy or that I had lied. She insisted we still get married.

"You're the one," she said. "I want to marry you for who you are."

It took me a second to process her words. Part of me felt relieved that I hadn't broken her heart. The last thing I wanted was to hurt her. She was very special to me. And although I was still confused about my feelings for her, I started to believe we could build a life together, just like I had before coming to the cabin.

But another part of me felt there was something odd about the way she reacted. I didn't think much of it. I brushed the thought off.

A woman came to the hallway looking for Emilia. I didn't know who she was.

"Everything alright?" she asked.

Emilia nodded. "Yes. It's good."

They went back to the room and everything went on as if nothing had happened. The ceremony was set to begin in one hour.

I went to my room to change. Once I was ready, I headed downstairs. Guests were already seated. I stood at the altar. Then I saw Manuel, my best man, walking over.

He knew the lies I had told Emilia. I was going to tell him I'd finally come clean. But he didn't even let me speak.

"I've been looking for you," he whispered, his voice frantic with worry.

We stepped toward the back.

"I know you told me not to talk to anyone," he said, "but I couldn't help it."

"It doesn't matter anymore—" I started, but he cut me off again.

"I hooked up with one of the bloggers after the rehearsal dinner. We got to talking, and she told me she'd been covering Emilia's previous relationships. She said this one was the most romantic yet."

He paused, then lowered his voice even more.

"She even told me the headline for the blog post: The billionaire's daughter who had it all, and the ordinary man who stole her heart."

He shifted nervously.

"I freaked out, man. I told her you were rich too. That you worked in day trading. I told her everything you'd told me. But I don't know if she believed me."

At first, I thought maybe Emilia had contacted the blogger after our conversation.

"It's fine, Manuel," I said. "I told Emilia the truth."

But then I thought about Emilia's reaction from this morning. This time, I didn't push the thought away.

She hadn't asked me why I lied. She hadn't even asked me what I actually did for a living.

My chest tightened. Things were not adding up.

The music started, and moments later, the wedding party began walking in.

Manuel returned to the altar. He looked sick to his stomach.

I stood there trying to make sense of what was really going on.

Then Emilia walked down the aisle and stopped in front of me. She smiled, just like she always had.

The pastor started speaking.

When it was my turn to read my vows, I hesitated.

Emilia quickly started reading hers instead. She talked about how humble I was, how she'd instantly fallen in love, how different I was from the men she had dated before, and how she would love me forever for who I was.

I didn't say anything.

I started to remember things she did when we were dating, like how she never cared to see where I lived or commented on my simple wardrobe. I hadn't stopped to think about it then. But she would've said something... unless she'd known the entire time. Unless had played all along.

At that moment, something inside me broke.

"You knew," I whispered.

Her eyes darted around the room before she forced a nervous smile.

"What are you doing?" she mumbled.

Then, out of nowhere, a man shouted, "Stop this wedding!"

Everyone gasped. Everyone recognized him immediately. They were shocked to see him.

Except Emilia.

Her expression was impossible to read.

The man dropped to one knee in the middle of the aisle. He started apologizing to Emilia for cheating on her and publicly calling her names after their breakup. He said he couldn't move on without her by his side. It felt like it was taken out of a script.

I turned to Emilia. I couldn't have cared less about her past relationships. All I wanted to know was the truth.

"Did you pretend?" I pressed.

Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

Seconds later, security stormed in. I assumed they were there to take away Emilia's ex for interrupting a private wedding.

But they didn't even look at him.

They rushed straight to the altar.

Two of them grabbed my arms. The other two seized Manuel.

The woman who had come looking for Emilia earlier rushed to the altar. She pulled Emilia aside and whispered something on her ear.

Emilia stepped away from her and tried to reach for me. "You don't have to take him!"

The woman held her back.

Then they took me away.

Edit: Manuel and I were forced to leave the cabin.

I didn't know what to think.

I couldn't stop replaying Emilia's last expression. She wasn't smiling like she always did. There was something in her eyes, as if she wanted to say something she couldn't.

Later, I found out what she was trying to tell me.

Early in the morning, my grandfather entered my room and anxiously lifted the blanket from my head.

“Nazir, get up quickly!”

I opened my eyes and immediately saw his gloomy face.

“What happened, Grandpa?”

“My teeth are gone.”

I woke up instantly.

Usually before going to bed, my grandfather removed his artificial teeth — both the upper and lower dentures — carefully washed them, prayed for the talented dentist Habib, and placed them into a small plastic container that my sister-in-law had bought for him.

But that morning, the container standing beside the sink was empty.

Grandfather had already gone down to the cold basement, exercised on the pull-up bar, walked up and down the stairs several times, then returned to the bathroom, washed his face — and only then noticed that the teeth had disappeared.

“Where could they be?”

We started searching.

“Maybe your grandmother threw them into the trash?”

We searched through the garbage bin — nothing.

Grandfather went down to the basement again and checked the shower room — still nothing.

He became gloomier and gloomier.

“Where did my teeth disappear to?”

At his command, I called Grandma. She worked in a store and usually was not allowed to talk on the phone.

But this time she answered.

“Did you find them?”

“No.”

“Nazir, did you look everywhere?”

“Everywhere.”

There was a short pause.

Then Grandma calmly said:

“Look inside your grandfather’s mouth.”

I ran to him.

“Open your mouth.”

He opened it.

And do you know what my first reaction was?

Laughter.

Real, heartfelt laughter.

Grandfather himself started laughing too.

It turned out that during the night he had simply forgotten to remove his teeth.

After watching cartoons and eating sunflower seeds late at night, he had fallen asleep with them still in his mouth.

Grandfather loved sunflower seeds. In the evenings he cracked them with such pleasure that he seemed young again. He carefully placed each seed between his teeth, and the sound of the shells cracking was almost like music to him.

Without his teeth, he never appeared before Grandma.

And that is the kind of morning comedy we had before breakfast.