Homestead gardens christmas trees
homesteading, farming, gardening, self sufficiency and country life
2010.12.21 19:27 paulwheaton homesteading, farming, gardening, self sufficiency and country life
Ponds, barns, livestock, gardens, food preservation, fishing, hunting, tractors, pigs, chickens, cattle, worms, 4H, permaculture, organic, grazing, canning, aquaculture, trees, woodland, farmers, agriculture, agronomy, horticulture, wwoofers, bees, honey, wildcrafting, dairy, goats, nuts, berries, vegetables, sustainability, off grid, wood stoves, chainsaws, wood heat, tools, welding, green woodworking, farmers markets, composting toilets, straw bale homes, cob building...
2013.07.12 03:48 SmartMonkey002 Fruit Tree Information And Support
A subreddit for all people who wish to grow or are currently growing fruit trees and plants for fruit production.
2009.06.10 22:47 allahuakbar79 OKC - Oklahoma City Reddit
Oklahoma City!
2023.06.07 17:28 houseat261turnerlane Smear
I guess I need to write this down now, just in case I’m right and I’m dead tonight. My name is Tom, I’m 14 years old, and I did something horrible. I killed someone. Well, I mean, it was an accident and it wasn’t just me, but I caused someone’s death, or helped do it, and now he’s coming after me. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true, and I need to get all of this stuff off my chest before it’s too late.
My two best friends are dead. Brayden died last Wednesday, and Bart died the Wednesday before that. They were bullies, and I guess I am too, but they were my friends and I miss them. Bart was kind of the leader, I guess you could say. He was this big tough kid, and he loved picking on people. I used to think it was funny. That’s wrong of me, I know, but you sort of sometimes get like, excited that someone isn’t picking on you, so you join in when they’re picking on someone else.
This kid named Max was Bart's favorite target. he was this little guy, skinny and short with big buck teeth and shaggy hair. he wore glasses, and his family doesn’t have much money so his clothes were always too big because they came from his older brother. Hand me downs. Max has an older sister too, this weird girl about to go to college, she always dresses in black clothes and stuff, and everyone makes fun of her and calls her a witch or things like that. She’s a total loon.
My parents didn’t like when I started hanging with Brayden and Bart. Brayden was an alright guy I guess, but he was kind of like me. Caught up in Bart’s crap, and just thankful not to be on the receiving end of everything. Bart beats a lot of kids up. We were just glad to not be getting our asses kicked I guess. And it’s not like Bart didn’t have good qualities. he was a funny guy, and he could be nice sometimes. His dad is a big jerk and he had a bad home life and I guess the bullying makes sense when you filter it through that. I’m sure most bullies are kind of like fighting through something when it comes down to it. No one is mean just for the sake of being mean, right?
Okay, so Bart and Brayden, and I liked to play football in Brayden’s backyard a lot. He had a big backyard, but at the end of it was this little creek, and we had all taken some spills in there before, running down the line trying to evade tackles or whatever. Bart had the idea that we would invite Max over to play with us. He asked him on a Wednesday after school, he was super nice to Max, he apologized for being so crappy to him, and asked him over to play. I was there. max lit up like a Christmas tree. He seemed so excited to be invited. We laughed about it as we walked to Brayden’s. Max wasn’t with us, he said he had to go home and ask his mom first.
We waited for the kid in Brayden’s front yard, and Bart hit my shoulder when he saw him riding his bike down the street to us. We were all super nice. I don’t know, I guess I knew we were being crappy, but we kept catching each other’s eyes and smirking. We went into the backyard and started tossing the football around. Max was better than any of us thought he was going to be. He didn’t seem like the kind of kid who would be good at sports, but he caught everything and had a decent arm on him. He asked if we were going to pay for a game and Bart told him that we were. He asked Max if he had ever heard of the game smear the… well I don’t want to say it. My sister is gay and I love her and support her. I was uncomfortable with the word anytime Bart said it, and he said it a lot. I mean, he said the Q word in a crappy way. Like making fun of people. I’m sure you’ve heard of the game he suggested. Max said he had never heard of it. Bart explained that whoever had the ball was the Q…. and everyone else tackled him. Then he tossed Max the ball. He caught it and we rushed him, knocking him to the ground. Max did, at least. I guess I did too. So did Brayden. Every time Max got up one of us would knock him down. Eventually, he tossed the ball away but we didn’t stop. We just kept tackling him. Max was crying, and he got a split lip. It was bleeding pretty bad and I turned to the others and told them to stop, but Bart got so pissed and knocked me down. he told me if I didn't want to play anymore I would be the Q and he would smear me. So I played. I knocked Max down, over and over.
Max tried to run. he ran toward the back of the yard and we chased him. Bart was the fastest and he slammed into Max and the kid went flying into the creek. We stood at the bank and I’ll never forget the sight. Max was dead, lying with his head on a rock, his blood leaking out into the slow-moving water. This was about a month ago, and I know I’ll never get that sight out of my mind, as long as I live. Which won’t be that long, I guess. Maybe that’s what I deserve.
The rest of the day is kind of a blur. Brayden’s mom was at work, so we called the police. We told them it was an accident, that we had just been playing and Max had slipped. We had to go down to the station for hours and talk, each of us with our parents and a cop. They asked about his split lip and some bruises. We all just said that’s what happened sometimes when you played football. They bought it.
We all went to the funeral. Brayden and I were pretty shaken up, and we stopped talking to Bart. I could tell he was shaken up too, but he kept making jokes about it. He wouldn’t laugh or anything, I think he was trying to make himself feel better. Like it had been an accident. Max’s sister came up to Bart at the funeral and yelled at him. She was crying, it was hard to watch. She said she knew something had happened. Her parents had to drag her away from Bart. She told Bart that she would bring her brother back, and he would set things right. We all thought she was crazy.
Two Wednesdays ago I was sleeping when my phone rang. It was like two in the morning. I answered it and it was Bart, telling me that Max was in his yard. I told him that was impossible, but he sent me a picture and it sure looked like Max, right outside his window. He was just standing there, wearing the suit he was buried in, his face gray and gaunt. Bart was scared. He said he was going to hide. He was home alone for the night, his parents had gone out, they went out a lot. he said he was hiding in his closet. He begged me to come over. Begged me to save him. And then he started to scream. The call ended, and I called him back over and over but he didn’t answer. I almost went over there, but I was frozen in fear in my bed. I couldn’t convince myself to get out from under my covers. The next morning at school everyone learned that Bart was dead. His parents had found him early that morning, he was dead in his closet. I told Brayden everything and showed him the picture Bart had sent me. He was terrified.
Last Wednesday was our last day of school before summer. Bart came up to me near the end of the day and told me they had been outside for gym class and he had seen Max standing across the soccer field, just by the trees there. When Bart had pointed him out to someone else, Max was gone. Behind a tree maybe. Bart was scared that Max was coming from him.
The next day Bart was dead. His mom found him outside in their backyard, and some kids said his head had been turned around, but I don’t know if that’s true or not. I wonder if Max’s sister really brought him back. She must of. Maybe she is a witch.
Today I woke up and looked out my window. I could see someone standing down the road, right in the center of the street. Small and in a suit. It’s Max. I went outside, but he was gone. But I know it was him. I know why he killed Bart first. He knows Bart was the ring leader. Maybe he saved me for last because I tried to stop the others. I don’t know. Maybe he won’t kill me. But I keep seeing him. He’s getting closer. He was at the end of the street earlier, and then when my dad sent me outside to get the garbage cans in from the road he was closer, in a neighbor's yard, staring at me from around the corner of their house. He’s getting closer. He’s coming for me. I guess I don’t really blame him.
submitted by houseat261turnerlane to nosleep [link] [comments]
My two best friends are dead. Brayden died last Wednesday, and Bart died the Wednesday before that. They were bullies, and I guess I am too, but they were my friends and I miss them. Bart was kind of the leader, I guess you could say. He was this big tough kid, and he loved picking on people. I used to think it was funny. That’s wrong of me, I know, but you sort of sometimes get like, excited that someone isn’t picking on you, so you join in when they’re picking on someone else.
This kid named Max was Bart's favorite target. he was this little guy, skinny and short with big buck teeth and shaggy hair. he wore glasses, and his family doesn’t have much money so his clothes were always too big because they came from his older brother. Hand me downs. Max has an older sister too, this weird girl about to go to college, she always dresses in black clothes and stuff, and everyone makes fun of her and calls her a witch or things like that. She’s a total loon.
My parents didn’t like when I started hanging with Brayden and Bart. Brayden was an alright guy I guess, but he was kind of like me. Caught up in Bart’s crap, and just thankful not to be on the receiving end of everything. Bart beats a lot of kids up. We were just glad to not be getting our asses kicked I guess. And it’s not like Bart didn’t have good qualities. he was a funny guy, and he could be nice sometimes. His dad is a big jerk and he had a bad home life and I guess the bullying makes sense when you filter it through that. I’m sure most bullies are kind of like fighting through something when it comes down to it. No one is mean just for the sake of being mean, right?
Okay, so Bart and Brayden, and I liked to play football in Brayden’s backyard a lot. He had a big backyard, but at the end of it was this little creek, and we had all taken some spills in there before, running down the line trying to evade tackles or whatever. Bart had the idea that we would invite Max over to play with us. He asked him on a Wednesday after school, he was super nice to Max, he apologized for being so crappy to him, and asked him over to play. I was there. max lit up like a Christmas tree. He seemed so excited to be invited. We laughed about it as we walked to Brayden’s. Max wasn’t with us, he said he had to go home and ask his mom first.
We waited for the kid in Brayden’s front yard, and Bart hit my shoulder when he saw him riding his bike down the street to us. We were all super nice. I don’t know, I guess I knew we were being crappy, but we kept catching each other’s eyes and smirking. We went into the backyard and started tossing the football around. Max was better than any of us thought he was going to be. He didn’t seem like the kind of kid who would be good at sports, but he caught everything and had a decent arm on him. He asked if we were going to pay for a game and Bart told him that we were. He asked Max if he had ever heard of the game smear the… well I don’t want to say it. My sister is gay and I love her and support her. I was uncomfortable with the word anytime Bart said it, and he said it a lot. I mean, he said the Q word in a crappy way. Like making fun of people. I’m sure you’ve heard of the game he suggested. Max said he had never heard of it. Bart explained that whoever had the ball was the Q…. and everyone else tackled him. Then he tossed Max the ball. He caught it and we rushed him, knocking him to the ground. Max did, at least. I guess I did too. So did Brayden. Every time Max got up one of us would knock him down. Eventually, he tossed the ball away but we didn’t stop. We just kept tackling him. Max was crying, and he got a split lip. It was bleeding pretty bad and I turned to the others and told them to stop, but Bart got so pissed and knocked me down. he told me if I didn't want to play anymore I would be the Q and he would smear me. So I played. I knocked Max down, over and over.
Max tried to run. he ran toward the back of the yard and we chased him. Bart was the fastest and he slammed into Max and the kid went flying into the creek. We stood at the bank and I’ll never forget the sight. Max was dead, lying with his head on a rock, his blood leaking out into the slow-moving water. This was about a month ago, and I know I’ll never get that sight out of my mind, as long as I live. Which won’t be that long, I guess. Maybe that’s what I deserve.
The rest of the day is kind of a blur. Brayden’s mom was at work, so we called the police. We told them it was an accident, that we had just been playing and Max had slipped. We had to go down to the station for hours and talk, each of us with our parents and a cop. They asked about his split lip and some bruises. We all just said that’s what happened sometimes when you played football. They bought it.
We all went to the funeral. Brayden and I were pretty shaken up, and we stopped talking to Bart. I could tell he was shaken up too, but he kept making jokes about it. He wouldn’t laugh or anything, I think he was trying to make himself feel better. Like it had been an accident. Max’s sister came up to Bart at the funeral and yelled at him. She was crying, it was hard to watch. She said she knew something had happened. Her parents had to drag her away from Bart. She told Bart that she would bring her brother back, and he would set things right. We all thought she was crazy.
Two Wednesdays ago I was sleeping when my phone rang. It was like two in the morning. I answered it and it was Bart, telling me that Max was in his yard. I told him that was impossible, but he sent me a picture and it sure looked like Max, right outside his window. He was just standing there, wearing the suit he was buried in, his face gray and gaunt. Bart was scared. He said he was going to hide. He was home alone for the night, his parents had gone out, they went out a lot. he said he was hiding in his closet. He begged me to come over. Begged me to save him. And then he started to scream. The call ended, and I called him back over and over but he didn’t answer. I almost went over there, but I was frozen in fear in my bed. I couldn’t convince myself to get out from under my covers. The next morning at school everyone learned that Bart was dead. His parents had found him early that morning, he was dead in his closet. I told Brayden everything and showed him the picture Bart had sent me. He was terrified.
Last Wednesday was our last day of school before summer. Bart came up to me near the end of the day and told me they had been outside for gym class and he had seen Max standing across the soccer field, just by the trees there. When Bart had pointed him out to someone else, Max was gone. Behind a tree maybe. Bart was scared that Max was coming from him.
The next day Bart was dead. His mom found him outside in their backyard, and some kids said his head had been turned around, but I don’t know if that’s true or not. I wonder if Max’s sister really brought him back. She must of. Maybe she is a witch.
Today I woke up and looked out my window. I could see someone standing down the road, right in the center of the street. Small and in a suit. It’s Max. I went outside, but he was gone. But I know it was him. I know why he killed Bart first. He knows Bart was the ring leader. Maybe he saved me for last because I tried to stop the others. I don’t know. Maybe he won’t kill me. But I keep seeing him. He’s getting closer. He was at the end of the street earlier, and then when my dad sent me outside to get the garbage cans in from the road he was closer, in a neighbor's yard, staring at me from around the corner of their house. He’s getting closer. He’s coming for me. I guess I don’t really blame him.
2023.06.07 17:26 an_ancient_guy I've manifested parrots.
Enough with the depressing stuff with SP's and everything. LOA is supposed to be fun. The universe spoken to you through someone at some point so you learned about LOA. It told you that you can have anything you want. And you all have to go ahead and chase after your exes. Let me tell you about some fun stuff for a change.
Lately I've been into jungles and tropical fruits and birds a lot. I read about them, I watch movies about jungles, I listen to tropical bird sounds, I even buy tropical fruits from my local market. It's just a new interest and that's all. But all of these had me dreaming about jungles from time to time. And a few weeks ago I've had a very realistic dream about parrots. And because I wasn't stressed about this stuff and it was all about fun, it was a very nice dream. And it was so real that it ended up manifested in my 3D. I'm living in a big city, but my neighborhood is full of gardens and parks and there are trees everywhere. It's still a city with roads and cars and everything, so there's only trees and no wildlife. But for the past few days, something amazing happened and we start seeing parrots everywhere. They surely came from somewhere and everything has an explanation, but they don't belong here and there has to be a freak accident that set some parrots free from a pet shop or something. Whatever it is, it happened and now I'm living in a place with a local parrot population. I hear them singing when I wake up in the morning. It's like I'm living in the jungle.
So instead of getting all stressed about the things you want, just have fun. Find the fun things that'll make your life better and you'll manifest them very easy. That's why SP stuff is too hard. Too much luggage to carry around.
Peace.
submitted by an_ancient_guy to lawofattraction [link] [comments]
Lately I've been into jungles and tropical fruits and birds a lot. I read about them, I watch movies about jungles, I listen to tropical bird sounds, I even buy tropical fruits from my local market. It's just a new interest and that's all. But all of these had me dreaming about jungles from time to time. And a few weeks ago I've had a very realistic dream about parrots. And because I wasn't stressed about this stuff and it was all about fun, it was a very nice dream. And it was so real that it ended up manifested in my 3D. I'm living in a big city, but my neighborhood is full of gardens and parks and there are trees everywhere. It's still a city with roads and cars and everything, so there's only trees and no wildlife. But for the past few days, something amazing happened and we start seeing parrots everywhere. They surely came from somewhere and everything has an explanation, but they don't belong here and there has to be a freak accident that set some parrots free from a pet shop or something. Whatever it is, it happened and now I'm living in a place with a local parrot population. I hear them singing when I wake up in the morning. It's like I'm living in the jungle.
So instead of getting all stressed about the things you want, just have fun. Find the fun things that'll make your life better and you'll manifest them very easy. That's why SP stuff is too hard. Too much luggage to carry around.
Peace.
2023.06.07 17:21 The_Alloquist [A Lord of Death] - Chapter 61 (Efrain)
[←Interlude II] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 62→]
Slowly the group was peeled apart and taken to their various quarters, with the merchant Amicio shuffling off the children and paladins to his junior, taking the commander and captains for himself. Efrain was left with the so-called mentor, who was in a state of nervous agitation.
“Alright, you’ll need to explain why you’re about to have a fit,” Efrain said.
“Well, of course, of course, you wouldn’t know me,” said the mentor, “I came to the post of mentor long after you’d left the city.”
Efrain thought the title vaguely rang a bell, and he was beginning to have a dread certainty of the origin of it.
“Please do not tell me you’re a cast-off from Nicolo, aren’t you,” he said, the image of the far too charming ‘scholar’ coming to mind.
“I-If you’re referring to Nicolo Zarrentini, our most honoured founder, then yes.”
“That… bastard,” Efrain said, “I told him that it was a joke! A joke!”
The man shrank back from the apparent anger of Efrain, before growing significantly more confused as Efrain began to howl with laughter.
“The ass was always fond of his pranks. I believe he even said that he ‘wanted one to follow me into the grave,’” Efrain said, shaking his head, “it was so long ago.”
“But-but didn’t you- weren’t you part of the first convocation of the academy?”
“It was in Aimstand’s kitchen,” Efrain complained, “two hundred years ago, and they were both so drunk that if they’d taken a few steps to the left, they’d have drowned in the canal. ‘Convocation’ was one way to put it.”
This was clearly not the secrets that the mentor desired, judging by his rapidly reddening face.
“It was an old joke between friends, the idea of starting and academy of magic,” Efrain said, “I left, what, two hundred years ago?”
“But your name… and your books?”
“My books?” Efrain said, desperately scanning his memory of published works.
“Well yes. Your books. The ones you left behind. We use them as a foundation text for most of our students and…”
Efrain didn’t even let him finish, rather grasped him suddenly and violently by the collars.
“You don’t mean to say that… my old notes are used to teach. Students. Magic?” he said, voice trembling with horror.
“Yes?” said the man, who was beginning to sweat profusely.
“Those aboslute motherf-” Efrain said, as a loud gong rang out into the canal.
“Oh!” said the man, “We’ll have to pick up this conversation later, that’s the signal for canal clearing. We’d better be off before they close it off for the Festival traffic only.”
“Am I staying with you, then?” Efrain said, trying to drop the note of absolute menace in his voice as best he could.
“Yes, yes that would be correct,” he said, “as soon as I heard you were coming, I prepared the finest office in the academy for you. It’s not much, but I believe that you would enjoy seeing the labours of your wor…”
The man trailed off as he remembered the last few minutes of conversation.
“Either way, I would hope you’d at least examine it.”
“I would be happy to, mentor,” Efrain said, straightening himself, “particularly the notes.”
The man shrank at his venom but lead Efrain to his boat all the same, and they set off down the canals to the south.
“The Academy, as you might know,” he said, “is still located in the old district. As such, academy studentship is still a prized opportunity, if only to gain access in and out.”
“Gain access?” Efrain said.
“Well, it’s been monitored for thirty years, restricted to only business, and those with invitations only,” he said, patting a pin on his inner shirt, “academy students have numbered passes that-”
“No, why is it restricted in the first place?” Efrain said.
“Oh. Oh of course! You wouldn’t be aware. The Miram estate burned down almost thirty years ago. Suspected arson, though no suspects were ever caught.”
“Oh really?” Efrain said, “what a pity. I remember the old houses well. They had the most wonderful curtains.”
“The Mirams?” the man said, “I’ve only ever heard stories.”
“So the whole old district has been restricted? From where to where?”
“Just before the shipyards, master Efrain, to the tip of the white stone ziggurats. Of course the major western canals to the shipyards remain open.”
“What?” said Efrain aghast, “that much? Why, that was half the city last time I was here.”
“Yes, well,” said the man, adjusting his spectacles, “the Eisen and Poutash have been buying up immense amounts of property throughout the district for, well about eighty years now. The ‘old district’, as we now call it, is effectively two large estates with the central trade offices between.”
“Huh,” said Efrain, “well that’s not surprising, I suppose. They were always greedy.”
The man exclaimed in shock at him as they rounded a bend in the canal.
“My dear master Efrain!” he said, “the Eisen and Poutash are dear patrons, especially the former, who’ve been supporting this institution for generations!”
“Uh-huh, say,” Efrain said, trying to piece the names beyond the vague historical context that he remembered them in, “do you remember the family trees?”
“The family trees? Of the houses? Well, I certainly could give a guess,” said the man, “incidentally, Karkosian history is something of a passion of mine.”
“Well then, the Eisen,” Efrain said, “I distinctly remember something about them. In my time it would’ve been about two hundred years. So, give or take four to five generations from now.”
The man thought for a moment, and snapped his fingers.
“I think I know what you’re looking for,” he said, “you’re wondering who master Nicolo married.”
Ah, that had indeed been it - Nicolo did always go on and on about this one girl, who Efrain was fairly sure was well beyond his league. She was an Eisen, now that the memories had jumped to the surface of his mind. No wonder the academy had generational funding if one of the founding fathers had married in.
“Yes, yes,” Efrain said, “I think she was a branch family member, if I recall correctly.”
“No, master Efrain, you’re mistaken,” said the man, wearing a fairly familiar expression - a combination of fear of failure to please, and taking delight in correcting an error in a field he knew quite a lot about.
“Oh?” Efrain said, “bold claim, mentor. Back it up.”
The man once more pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose and began to recite.
“About a hundred-and-eighty years ago, master Nicolo married Hymatia Eisen. Hymatia Eisen was a daughter to Fielia Eisen, the matriarch of Eisen, hence he did not marry into a branch member of the family. He married into the direct, matrilineal line, represented by current matriach Aysatra, head of the Eisen family. Who is succeeded by, well…”
The man dropped his eyes, apparently embarrassed on behalf of the people he’d just named.
“Succeded by who?” Efrain said, leaning forward in the boat.
“Well, that’s the problem, master Efrain. In fact it’s one we currently struggle with. Oh, I do hate politics, but everything’s political in Karkos when money’s involved,” he said, putting on a expression reminiscent of a begging dog.
Efrain did not find it particularly charming, and pushed the man to go on.
“Well, that’s the thing,” he said, “the matriarch Aysatra, who is as youthful and vigorous as a woman half, no, a third of her age, is still well… older. There’s a clamour at the house of the Eisen on who’s supposed to replace her in the most deeply unfortunate event that she might… expire. No, no that make me sound like I’m talking about food and-”
“I get the point,” Efrain said, “spare me the flattery of a person who’s not even here. This matriarch doesn’t have a direct descendent?”
“Well, yes…” said the man, “but, it’s not exactly simple. The direct heir left the city some time ago.”
“And this relates to the academy, how?” Efrain said, “not that I care, just curious mostly.”
“Well, of course,” he said, “some at the house of Eisen… well, they think that our research and education is hopelessly outdated.”
“You mean useless,” Efrain said, more than ever wanting to get his hands on those notes and burn every copy he could find.
“Well, yes,” said the man, raising his hands in a gesture of helplessness, “some have used those words.”
“And you’re concerned that if they’re elected to leadership, your funding will be gone,” Efrain said flatly.
“Exactly. You’re quite insightful, just as the records suggested,” said the man, sniffing.
Before they could pick up the conversation, their polemen, dressed in the same blacks as the academy master, spoke up. They were before a river gate of sharpened palisades, which Efrain immediately recognized as the remnants of the old outer wall of the city, painted a bright red. The guards before it were dressed in ornate brass armour, studded with a set of small pearls and seashells.
Not quite the legion of sand and sea of old, though the aesthetic sense clearly meant to harken back to it. Efrain idly wondered how different the city would be if the legion actually still existed. In all the histories he’d read, most of their military exploits were suprisingly minimised, save for the few folk legends about them. Of course, most of those authors immediately left out the fact that almost all the legion commanders were women, which given many history writers were men, made sense.
The guards checked the proudly displayed pin, nodded, and opened the canal gates. Efrain immediately noticed the difference in the stone work as the passed beyond. It was more worn, but unmistakable paler, bringing back fond memories of days and nights spent in these canals over two centuries ago. He was just glad he was returning in a black, and not the horrid purple robes that he often inhabited while he was here.
The streets were noticeably quieter here, no doubt everyone was completing the final administration for the Festival. The buildings were also considerably older, their wooden slates near the water thick with strands of seaweed and barncles. Efrain more than once recognized the shape of an alley, or more noticeable deviations in the stonework. It was funny just how much he remembered of the old city and its details, and how little of his friends.
A couple of twists and turns, and Efrain started to recognize the part of the district he was in. Catching a glimpse of the mountains in the fading sunset, and a bridge or two he recognized, though they’d been significantly upgraded and replaced. With that information, he finally realised where they were, and more importantly, where they might be going.
“Noooo,” he groaned, “he didn’t.”
The mentor attempted to calm him, not understanding why he was so audibly distraught. The answer soon became quite clear as Efrain recognized the exact route they were taking. By the time they’d passed through the two statues, now dancing fish rather than the familiar wolves, Efrain’s worst fears had come true.
“He’d better not be buried on the academy grounds,” he said, his fingers fidgeting.
“I mean - and here we are!” said the academy master, clearly glad to move on to another subject.
Efrain looked up, nearly threw himself over the side, and forced himself to look up again. To say that it was exactly the way he remembered it would’ve been a lie. It had clearly expanded to include the surrounding pyramids, connecting them with bridges and walkways where what were presumably students passed by. The centre pyramid was kept more or less the same, with the same augurs drawing up water to the top, cascading it down in falls across terrace after terrace of gardens.
Refusing the offered hand, Efrain barged past him to take the steps two at a time.
“Wait! Wait master Efrain! I-” the man’s voice fell further and further behind as Efrain practically ran into the pyramid.
It was still a mess hall, but it was now one of long tables and high back chairs. The banners and plaques above proclaimed a short history of sport and scholarly achievement. Students, predominantly dressed in black, some with colourful stripes that Efrain didn’t bother to try to decode, stared at him. As did the cooks, still busy in the large kitchens that he himself had once manned.
The academy master had almost caught up to him when he took off again, striding through the aisle between the tables and out the other end of the pyramid. Yes, it was all the same, the same flower pots, and the marble steps and the little waterfall with the cracked edge. Two centuries, two bloody centuries, and Aimstand never bothered to fix the thing.
Efrain felt a internal bout of triumph at being proved right as he continued up the steps, before, finally, coming at last to the top.
The garden at the flat top of the pyramid was still as beautiful as ever, and the flowers he’d cultured still survived, although the blooms were less luminous than before. Efrain stepped out into the shallow pool that dominated most of the area, and noted that at the far end, where there used to be a stone bench, sat a gravestone.
“Found you, bastard,” he said, taking off towards it.
“Please, master!” said the man, practically sobbing if not for the fact he was out of breath.
Several of the more senior looking students had followed, looking totally flabbergasted at the display. Efrain did not stop, nor even look back at the procession, merely took off through the pool until he reached the steps to the little knurl of turf and flowers. There he stopped, parking his hands on his hips, staring at the inscription on the stone.
“Nicolo Eisen,” he said, drawing every word out, “Father, Teacher, Friend.”
“Muh-Master,” said the man, soaked up to his knees from his hurried splashing, “master, what-”
“Oh, calm yourself,” Efrain said, “I’m not going to do anything.”
The several students that had followed looked in utter confusion at the two men.
“Master?” one of them inquired, “should we get the guard?”
“No,” the man wheezed, bent over to catch his breath.
“Hold on a second,” Efrain said, bending over himself to gaze at the inscription, “what’s this?”
“That’s founder Nicolo’s grave, master Efrain,” said the mentor.
“Yes, I know that,” Efrain said, “I’m old, not blind. What’s this inscription below?”
“Oh yes, that,” he said, drawing himself back up to his full height, “It’s actually quite the mystery. No one really knows the language, but it was put there by order of founder Nicolo. Some of our teachers and students have spent quite a bit of time over the years to-”
“I’d told you I’d do it,” Efrain said.
“Pardon?”
“That’s- that’s what it- oh fuck you Nicolo!” Efrain said, “‘I’d told you I’d do it.’ That’s what it says!”
The mentor had gone white, while some of the students looked on the verge of fainting from confused apprehension.
“By all rights, I should burn this place down,” Efrain sneered at the stone, “is that what you wanted? ‘Founder’? If the gods were good, you’d still be alive, so I could kill you myself.”
“Please do not do that!” wailed the man, “I can’t understand for the life of me why you’re so angry! I thought you would’ve been happy, maybe even proud of what we’ve achieved!”
“I’m not angry at you, you idiot,” Efrain said, rounding on the man, “I’m angry at that smug piece of flotsam happily buried under his lovenest.”
“What?” said the mentor, the sentiment echoed by almost all the students present.
“All right, all of you, gather round. My first lesson,” he said, and, most likely out of habit, the students fell into a neat semi-circle.
“This will be a test of one question, and the one to get the answer right on their first response gets…” he turned to the mentor, “do you have some kind of regular award for achievement here?”
“Well, we do have ribbons that correspond to-”
“Great, first one to guess correctly gets a ribbon,” Efrain bowled through, “the question is this - why did Nicolo learn magic in the first place?”
The students stared at each other, daring the others to respond first.
“Well, come on,” Efrain said, “someone must have a theory.”
“Because he wanted to expand his own horizons?” a brown-haired boy said.
“Wrong!” Efrain said, “if your texts say that, they’re also wrong.”
“Because he wanted to shore up the city of Karkos’s defences while expanding on its knowledge?” said a girl with a slightly crooked nose.
“Also wrong,” Efrain said, shaking his head, “that’s exactly what he would say. You take that from a speech?”
“Well…” said the girl.
“Nicolo, you preening, self centered-” Efrain said, holding his head in his hands.
“To impress a girl?” said someone.
“Who said that?!” Efrain said, the class parting to reveal a younger, shaggy-looking boy.
“Well, you said that it was his ‘lovenest’ so…” he shrugged sheepishly.
“Mentor, get this young man a ribbon. If you need a reason, then cite him actually paying attention.”
[←Interlude II] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 62→]
submitted by The_Alloquist to redditserials [link] [comments]
Slowly the group was peeled apart and taken to their various quarters, with the merchant Amicio shuffling off the children and paladins to his junior, taking the commander and captains for himself. Efrain was left with the so-called mentor, who was in a state of nervous agitation.
“Alright, you’ll need to explain why you’re about to have a fit,” Efrain said.
“Well, of course, of course, you wouldn’t know me,” said the mentor, “I came to the post of mentor long after you’d left the city.”
Efrain thought the title vaguely rang a bell, and he was beginning to have a dread certainty of the origin of it.
“Please do not tell me you’re a cast-off from Nicolo, aren’t you,” he said, the image of the far too charming ‘scholar’ coming to mind.
“I-If you’re referring to Nicolo Zarrentini, our most honoured founder, then yes.”
“That… bastard,” Efrain said, “I told him that it was a joke! A joke!”
The man shrank back from the apparent anger of Efrain, before growing significantly more confused as Efrain began to howl with laughter.
“The ass was always fond of his pranks. I believe he even said that he ‘wanted one to follow me into the grave,’” Efrain said, shaking his head, “it was so long ago.”
“But-but didn’t you- weren’t you part of the first convocation of the academy?”
“It was in Aimstand’s kitchen,” Efrain complained, “two hundred years ago, and they were both so drunk that if they’d taken a few steps to the left, they’d have drowned in the canal. ‘Convocation’ was one way to put it.”
This was clearly not the secrets that the mentor desired, judging by his rapidly reddening face.
“It was an old joke between friends, the idea of starting and academy of magic,” Efrain said, “I left, what, two hundred years ago?”
“But your name… and your books?”
“My books?” Efrain said, desperately scanning his memory of published works.
“Well yes. Your books. The ones you left behind. We use them as a foundation text for most of our students and…”
Efrain didn’t even let him finish, rather grasped him suddenly and violently by the collars.
“You don’t mean to say that… my old notes are used to teach. Students. Magic?” he said, voice trembling with horror.
“Yes?” said the man, who was beginning to sweat profusely.
“Those aboslute motherf-” Efrain said, as a loud gong rang out into the canal.
“Oh!” said the man, “We’ll have to pick up this conversation later, that’s the signal for canal clearing. We’d better be off before they close it off for the Festival traffic only.”
“Am I staying with you, then?” Efrain said, trying to drop the note of absolute menace in his voice as best he could.
“Yes, yes that would be correct,” he said, “as soon as I heard you were coming, I prepared the finest office in the academy for you. It’s not much, but I believe that you would enjoy seeing the labours of your wor…”
The man trailed off as he remembered the last few minutes of conversation.
“Either way, I would hope you’d at least examine it.”
“I would be happy to, mentor,” Efrain said, straightening himself, “particularly the notes.”
The man shrank at his venom but lead Efrain to his boat all the same, and they set off down the canals to the south.
“The Academy, as you might know,” he said, “is still located in the old district. As such, academy studentship is still a prized opportunity, if only to gain access in and out.”
“Gain access?” Efrain said.
“Well, it’s been monitored for thirty years, restricted to only business, and those with invitations only,” he said, patting a pin on his inner shirt, “academy students have numbered passes that-”
“No, why is it restricted in the first place?” Efrain said.
“Oh. Oh of course! You wouldn’t be aware. The Miram estate burned down almost thirty years ago. Suspected arson, though no suspects were ever caught.”
“Oh really?” Efrain said, “what a pity. I remember the old houses well. They had the most wonderful curtains.”
“The Mirams?” the man said, “I’ve only ever heard stories.”
“So the whole old district has been restricted? From where to where?”
“Just before the shipyards, master Efrain, to the tip of the white stone ziggurats. Of course the major western canals to the shipyards remain open.”
“What?” said Efrain aghast, “that much? Why, that was half the city last time I was here.”
“Yes, well,” said the man, adjusting his spectacles, “the Eisen and Poutash have been buying up immense amounts of property throughout the district for, well about eighty years now. The ‘old district’, as we now call it, is effectively two large estates with the central trade offices between.”
“Huh,” said Efrain, “well that’s not surprising, I suppose. They were always greedy.”
The man exclaimed in shock at him as they rounded a bend in the canal.
“My dear master Efrain!” he said, “the Eisen and Poutash are dear patrons, especially the former, who’ve been supporting this institution for generations!”
“Uh-huh, say,” Efrain said, trying to piece the names beyond the vague historical context that he remembered them in, “do you remember the family trees?”
“The family trees? Of the houses? Well, I certainly could give a guess,” said the man, “incidentally, Karkosian history is something of a passion of mine.”
“Well then, the Eisen,” Efrain said, “I distinctly remember something about them. In my time it would’ve been about two hundred years. So, give or take four to five generations from now.”
The man thought for a moment, and snapped his fingers.
“I think I know what you’re looking for,” he said, “you’re wondering who master Nicolo married.”
Ah, that had indeed been it - Nicolo did always go on and on about this one girl, who Efrain was fairly sure was well beyond his league. She was an Eisen, now that the memories had jumped to the surface of his mind. No wonder the academy had generational funding if one of the founding fathers had married in.
“Yes, yes,” Efrain said, “I think she was a branch family member, if I recall correctly.”
“No, master Efrain, you’re mistaken,” said the man, wearing a fairly familiar expression - a combination of fear of failure to please, and taking delight in correcting an error in a field he knew quite a lot about.
“Oh?” Efrain said, “bold claim, mentor. Back it up.”
The man once more pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose and began to recite.
“About a hundred-and-eighty years ago, master Nicolo married Hymatia Eisen. Hymatia Eisen was a daughter to Fielia Eisen, the matriarch of Eisen, hence he did not marry into a branch member of the family. He married into the direct, matrilineal line, represented by current matriach Aysatra, head of the Eisen family. Who is succeeded by, well…”
The man dropped his eyes, apparently embarrassed on behalf of the people he’d just named.
“Succeded by who?” Efrain said, leaning forward in the boat.
“Well, that’s the problem, master Efrain. In fact it’s one we currently struggle with. Oh, I do hate politics, but everything’s political in Karkos when money’s involved,” he said, putting on a expression reminiscent of a begging dog.
Efrain did not find it particularly charming, and pushed the man to go on.
“Well, that’s the thing,” he said, “the matriarch Aysatra, who is as youthful and vigorous as a woman half, no, a third of her age, is still well… older. There’s a clamour at the house of the Eisen on who’s supposed to replace her in the most deeply unfortunate event that she might… expire. No, no that make me sound like I’m talking about food and-”
“I get the point,” Efrain said, “spare me the flattery of a person who’s not even here. This matriarch doesn’t have a direct descendent?”
“Well, yes…” said the man, “but, it’s not exactly simple. The direct heir left the city some time ago.”
“And this relates to the academy, how?” Efrain said, “not that I care, just curious mostly.”
“Well, of course,” he said, “some at the house of Eisen… well, they think that our research and education is hopelessly outdated.”
“You mean useless,” Efrain said, more than ever wanting to get his hands on those notes and burn every copy he could find.
“Well, yes,” said the man, raising his hands in a gesture of helplessness, “some have used those words.”
“And you’re concerned that if they’re elected to leadership, your funding will be gone,” Efrain said flatly.
“Exactly. You’re quite insightful, just as the records suggested,” said the man, sniffing.
Before they could pick up the conversation, their polemen, dressed in the same blacks as the academy master, spoke up. They were before a river gate of sharpened palisades, which Efrain immediately recognized as the remnants of the old outer wall of the city, painted a bright red. The guards before it were dressed in ornate brass armour, studded with a set of small pearls and seashells.
Not quite the legion of sand and sea of old, though the aesthetic sense clearly meant to harken back to it. Efrain idly wondered how different the city would be if the legion actually still existed. In all the histories he’d read, most of their military exploits were suprisingly minimised, save for the few folk legends about them. Of course, most of those authors immediately left out the fact that almost all the legion commanders were women, which given many history writers were men, made sense.
The guards checked the proudly displayed pin, nodded, and opened the canal gates. Efrain immediately noticed the difference in the stone work as the passed beyond. It was more worn, but unmistakable paler, bringing back fond memories of days and nights spent in these canals over two centuries ago. He was just glad he was returning in a black, and not the horrid purple robes that he often inhabited while he was here.
The streets were noticeably quieter here, no doubt everyone was completing the final administration for the Festival. The buildings were also considerably older, their wooden slates near the water thick with strands of seaweed and barncles. Efrain more than once recognized the shape of an alley, or more noticeable deviations in the stonework. It was funny just how much he remembered of the old city and its details, and how little of his friends.
A couple of twists and turns, and Efrain started to recognize the part of the district he was in. Catching a glimpse of the mountains in the fading sunset, and a bridge or two he recognized, though they’d been significantly upgraded and replaced. With that information, he finally realised where they were, and more importantly, where they might be going.
“Noooo,” he groaned, “he didn’t.”
The mentor attempted to calm him, not understanding why he was so audibly distraught. The answer soon became quite clear as Efrain recognized the exact route they were taking. By the time they’d passed through the two statues, now dancing fish rather than the familiar wolves, Efrain’s worst fears had come true.
“He’d better not be buried on the academy grounds,” he said, his fingers fidgeting.
“I mean - and here we are!” said the academy master, clearly glad to move on to another subject.
Efrain looked up, nearly threw himself over the side, and forced himself to look up again. To say that it was exactly the way he remembered it would’ve been a lie. It had clearly expanded to include the surrounding pyramids, connecting them with bridges and walkways where what were presumably students passed by. The centre pyramid was kept more or less the same, with the same augurs drawing up water to the top, cascading it down in falls across terrace after terrace of gardens.
Refusing the offered hand, Efrain barged past him to take the steps two at a time.
“Wait! Wait master Efrain! I-” the man’s voice fell further and further behind as Efrain practically ran into the pyramid.
It was still a mess hall, but it was now one of long tables and high back chairs. The banners and plaques above proclaimed a short history of sport and scholarly achievement. Students, predominantly dressed in black, some with colourful stripes that Efrain didn’t bother to try to decode, stared at him. As did the cooks, still busy in the large kitchens that he himself had once manned.
The academy master had almost caught up to him when he took off again, striding through the aisle between the tables and out the other end of the pyramid. Yes, it was all the same, the same flower pots, and the marble steps and the little waterfall with the cracked edge. Two centuries, two bloody centuries, and Aimstand never bothered to fix the thing.
Efrain felt a internal bout of triumph at being proved right as he continued up the steps, before, finally, coming at last to the top.
The garden at the flat top of the pyramid was still as beautiful as ever, and the flowers he’d cultured still survived, although the blooms were less luminous than before. Efrain stepped out into the shallow pool that dominated most of the area, and noted that at the far end, where there used to be a stone bench, sat a gravestone.
“Found you, bastard,” he said, taking off towards it.
“Please, master!” said the man, practically sobbing if not for the fact he was out of breath.
Several of the more senior looking students had followed, looking totally flabbergasted at the display. Efrain did not stop, nor even look back at the procession, merely took off through the pool until he reached the steps to the little knurl of turf and flowers. There he stopped, parking his hands on his hips, staring at the inscription on the stone.
“Nicolo Eisen,” he said, drawing every word out, “Father, Teacher, Friend.”
“Muh-Master,” said the man, soaked up to his knees from his hurried splashing, “master, what-”
“Oh, calm yourself,” Efrain said, “I’m not going to do anything.”
The several students that had followed looked in utter confusion at the two men.
“Master?” one of them inquired, “should we get the guard?”
“No,” the man wheezed, bent over to catch his breath.
“Hold on a second,” Efrain said, bending over himself to gaze at the inscription, “what’s this?”
“That’s founder Nicolo’s grave, master Efrain,” said the mentor.
“Yes, I know that,” Efrain said, “I’m old, not blind. What’s this inscription below?”
“Oh yes, that,” he said, drawing himself back up to his full height, “It’s actually quite the mystery. No one really knows the language, but it was put there by order of founder Nicolo. Some of our teachers and students have spent quite a bit of time over the years to-”
“I’d told you I’d do it,” Efrain said.
“Pardon?”
“That’s- that’s what it- oh fuck you Nicolo!” Efrain said, “‘I’d told you I’d do it.’ That’s what it says!”
The mentor had gone white, while some of the students looked on the verge of fainting from confused apprehension.
“By all rights, I should burn this place down,” Efrain sneered at the stone, “is that what you wanted? ‘Founder’? If the gods were good, you’d still be alive, so I could kill you myself.”
“Please do not do that!” wailed the man, “I can’t understand for the life of me why you’re so angry! I thought you would’ve been happy, maybe even proud of what we’ve achieved!”
“I’m not angry at you, you idiot,” Efrain said, rounding on the man, “I’m angry at that smug piece of flotsam happily buried under his lovenest.”
“What?” said the mentor, the sentiment echoed by almost all the students present.
“All right, all of you, gather round. My first lesson,” he said, and, most likely out of habit, the students fell into a neat semi-circle.
“This will be a test of one question, and the one to get the answer right on their first response gets…” he turned to the mentor, “do you have some kind of regular award for achievement here?”
“Well, we do have ribbons that correspond to-”
“Great, first one to guess correctly gets a ribbon,” Efrain bowled through, “the question is this - why did Nicolo learn magic in the first place?”
The students stared at each other, daring the others to respond first.
“Well, come on,” Efrain said, “someone must have a theory.”
“Because he wanted to expand his own horizons?” a brown-haired boy said.
“Wrong!” Efrain said, “if your texts say that, they’re also wrong.”
“Because he wanted to shore up the city of Karkos’s defences while expanding on its knowledge?” said a girl with a slightly crooked nose.
“Also wrong,” Efrain said, shaking his head, “that’s exactly what he would say. You take that from a speech?”
“Well…” said the girl.
“Nicolo, you preening, self centered-” Efrain said, holding his head in his hands.
“To impress a girl?” said someone.
“Who said that?!” Efrain said, the class parting to reveal a younger, shaggy-looking boy.
“Well, you said that it was his ‘lovenest’ so…” he shrugged sheepishly.
“Mentor, get this young man a ribbon. If you need a reason, then cite him actually paying attention.”
[←Interlude II] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 62→]
2023.06.07 17:02 Screaming_Mosquito Does anyone want this thing growing in my backyard? Please say yes.
I've tried selling this thing for weeks now on Facebook Marketplace, eventually at just 1 cent because I just genuinely want it out of my hair. And I cannot find any takers. I want someone to just take it instead of throwing it out because honestly, I'm deeply nervous about what would happen if I did. But if this advertisement proves to be just as fruitless, I will do it despite my nervousness because my mind just can't take this anymore otherwise I'm afraid I'm going to have a psychological break with reality and need to be sedated.
I grew up originally in Northern California near Mt. Shasta, and four years ago I moved to the Big Island of Hawaii after I got a new job working for the university located in Hilo as an adjunct. The search for a place to rent where I could garden in the backyard took a while, but the wait was worth it. Gardening is like comfort food for my soul, and always has been ever since I was a little girl. My mom brought me up doing it, and I took to it immediately when I was just 3 or 4 she always liked to remind me.
I suppose the reason I wanted to leave California was the fact that she wasn't there anymore, that the last piece or vestige of my family was gone and I was all that was left of the life we used to have out there. I remember the day everything was packed up for the movers and ready to go, I walked outside to wait for a friend to pick me up to take me to the airport. As I sat there on my porch, I saw an elderly man walking in front of my front yard. It was an old friend of my mom's from the neighborhood. He had been very kind to me at her funeral as he had just lost his wife himself. We both waved at each other and I got up to chat with him one last time.
As it turned out, he was there to give me a going away present. It was a batch of strange seeds in a small sack. Some were colored burgundy, others indigo, and still others ivory with fascinating patterns on them. In total, there were 19 by my count. He said that before his wife passed away, she had originally intended to give them to my mom. Apparently, during one of their hiking trips around the mountain, the two of them kept stopping to see if someone was following them. Every time they would, some tree would rustle or a bush would make a quick, sharp noise indicating some sort of disturbance. Towards the end of their hike, they stopped one final time only for them to turn around and notice that someone had left this dingy little sack of seeds on a rotted out tree stump they had just passed. In other words, there was no question at that point that they had been followed.
For what reason? He couldn't say, though obviously the implication was that whoever it was wanted them to have these seeds. His wife died soon after that, before she could pass them along to my mother. He said he was hesitant to part with them after she died, but felt extremely guilty having waited too long to give them to my mom. Now that I was heading to Hawaii, he thought he ought to just give them to me instead of continuing to keep them. Other than that, he told me to be very careful with them, to specifically pour them out into the ground from the sack instead of touching them myself. And I wondered why. Like it's such an oddly specific thing to bring up about them.
Regardless.
I took them gratefully and thanked him for the gift and said that my mother would have loved them. Now, I'm not so sure she would have.
It was only a week or so after I had finally unpacked everything in my new place that I decided to garden again. And the first thing I planted, of course, were the seeds once meant for my mom. In memory of her. It was only one I put in the ground because honestly I wasn’t exactly sure how big this thing was going to grow to be. I wasn’t even sure what exactly this thing was even going to grow to be either. Turns out, it’s a vegetable… of some kind. I think. It’s almost like a yam? Like with the same texture and everything but with bright orange skin… and fur in strange places? Also, another thing, it’s like a yam but at the time of writing this it has most definitely grown beyond the size of a typical yam. Basically it’ll increase in size every week or so by a half a foot by my measure. Also, every time it grows by that much, another bulbous root pops out and burrows itself beneath.
And oh yeah there are little blue flowers (or what I guess you could call flowers) growing out of little nooks and crannies and just random spots all over. I’m not sure what to say. I have yet to identify it. If one of you reading this can, then good for you, would you like to take it off my hands in that case? Please? Okay well, I guess I better finally explain why I want this damn thing out of here. I’ve already ostracized myself at work trying to get people to take it, as well as trying to explain what makes me hate the thing, so what harm will come from making a bunch of internet strangers think I’m creepy or crazy?
The black and white of it is that every time this thing grows a half a foot, every time another root plants itself in the ground, every time another one of those little blue flower buds appears on it, something changes. About the world we live in. About our history. About how we live day to day. And no one seems to notice any of the changes except for me. Today in fact, I almost got into a fatal car crash after I woke up and took note of a new flower bud growing on the side of it facing my house. If you put a Bible in front of me and made me swear to God that I was going to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth I would swear on that, my life, and my late mother’s grave that I grew up knowing that Americans in all 50 states drive on the left side of the road.
I know you’re probably laughing at me. Because that’s what the person I almost ran into did when I told them. They wanted to know if I was British or something, and I said no I was born and raised in Northern California all my life. The closest I’ve ever even been to a foreign country is San Diego. But when I pulled over after that scare and looked it up on my phone, there it was. Americans drive on the right side of the road and pretty much always have. It’s just so… jarring. I have vivid memories of me death gripping the wheel to my mom’s Wrangler for the first time in my life, with her in the passenger seat teaching me the rules of the road for the first time. And I remember very clearly her telling me that no matter where I go in the United States or Canada, if I ever did that is, I would be on the left side of the road the entire time.
And I remember everyone else driving on the left side too. I remember them doing it yesterday. And now, everyone’s acting like it’s actually been this other way the entire time and that I’m somehow just noticing it. But I’m not “just noticing” it. It changed without warning me, to my abject frustration. This is what my life has been like since I planted it. I remember when it first sprouted. When I first started noticing the changes. The very first one I encountered were the changes made to the American flag. Again, swearing to God, on my own life, and on my late mother’s grave, I can attest that the American flag has always had 13, red and white, diagonal stripes. Not horizontal. Diagonal.
Again, I remember vividly sitting Indian style around our 1st grade teacher as she taught us some of the most basic history of the Revolutionary War. Particularly when it came to the Betsy Ross story. I remember being told that, when Betsy Ross first showed George Washington her initial design for the flag that it did indeed have horizontal stripes just like the one I suppose all of you are familiar with. But at the last second, he had her change them to be diagonal because he wanted to convey that the United States did not intend to be an empire in which some states would be perceived to be dominating the others by being “on top”. Making the stripes diagonal, to him, avoided this undesired symbolism.
I remember it all so clearly, even the little kitschy cartoon drawings in our school books of him with Betsy Ross as she showed him the final design. I remember reading about it in middle and high school. Hell, I even remember writing a 13 page essay for US History I in college that dealt with the subject. The paper of course, along with any historical record or proof of this detailed memory (digital or otherwise), is nowhere I can find it. It’s as if God or something turned the whole world into one big Wikipedia article and began editing reality at random with no one reverting the changes.
If you don’t think I’m crazy yet, then maybe I’m just not trying hard enough. When I noticed the plant had grown its eighth root, I learned for the first time in my life that Richard Nixon resigned over the Watergate scandal and not for having been outed as having had a nearly decade long affair with both Marilyn Monroe and Jackie Kennedy at the same time as I thought I had been taught. I hadn’t even heard the term Watergate before that. In fact, I learned at the same exact time that apparently for decades since, the affix -gate had been attached to various other scandals and controversies as though it were a naming convention. Until that eighth root planted itself firmly in the ground, I had never once seen or heard of something like that before.
The day I noticed the very first flower to bloom on it, was the same day I found out there’s this little place near Long Island and New Jersey you may have heard of called New York City. You see, to me, that place has always been (and always will be in my mind as I cling onto what I know to be the truth) New Ithaca. Frank Sinatra’s famous song that is played every year on New Year’s Eve, has always been about the great city of New Ithaca, the Big Apple. The changes are just so weird and particular too. The whole general history of that city and state has remains the same though (at least to me), being that it was founded by the Dutch but was taken by the British and renamed before becoming a part of the United States. Only, instead the place was previously named New North Brabant whereas I suppose you have always known that New York used to be New Amsterdam.
There’s even a song about that bit of trivia, I learned. Catchy, and also cringe inducing for someone like me going through what I’m going through.
Actually the overwhelming bulk of changes have had to do with place names. Again growing up, I had it beaten into my brain that in 1492 Columbus sailed the Pacific blue. You heard that right. The vast puddle you probably call the Atlantic Ocean has always been the Pacific to me. And vice versa. Nebraska was a name I had not ever heard of before I measured another half foot in that damn thing’s already enormous length. To me that place was called the State of Fillmore. If before I measured it to be at 3 feet, you had asked me to point out Paris on a map, I would have stared at you blankly until I realized you probably meant to say Degaulleville which was built just northeast of the ruins of the ill-fated City of Lights after it was used as a testing ground for Germany’s most devastating weapon of WWII - the nuclear bomb.
Apparently in this new world the plant has created for me, it is our country that has the dubious honor of being the first military in the world to use nuclear weapons in an actual war.
And the list of changes I have just goes on and on like that. I’m not going to waste time spelling them all out for you. I’m sure that should be enough for you to at least hear me out or dismiss me as having had a break with reality. All I want now is this thing in my backyard, and these seeds to boot, out of here. Like I said in the beginning, I’d throw it away, but now that I suspect there’s some sort of link between it and all these changes being made, I worry what it could do to me if I yanked it out of the ground and chucked it into a dumpster. Degaulleville, Fillmore, etc. were erased by this thing. I could be too, if I made it mad enough.
There’s another part of me, a selfish part, that hopes if someone else takes it they can be the ones to have all these changes happen to instead. They can be the ones to watch desperately as what you once knew to be true, to be there, to be real, is all ground up and thrown away like it was nothing to bend your reality and leave you as the only one aware of it. I want that to happen to someone else instead of me. I want to be the one who’s oblivious to the changes made in the fabric and window dressings of reality. I want to be the one who reads the complaints and desperate cries of someone like me, and calls them crazy. I want want want that.
There’s another, tinier part of me, that naively hopes once I can leave this thing with someone else, it will change reality again but this time for the better. For the better, for me. Maybe once it starts affecting someone else adversely, it can change reality one more time to make my mom come back. To come back in a way that would make me forget she was ever gone. And then maybe I can go home, go back to the life I was used to living. But I know at the same time, there’s absolutely no reason it would do something nice like that for me.
Hell, if anything, it could decide to make things in reality, history, etc. worse for everyone including me. Like let me think… Okay for example, remember back in 1999 when everyone was afraid of the Y2K bug, but then it turned out to not be such a catastrophic ordeal as people were predicting? That damn plant could change things to make it so that Y2K’s catastrophic potential was fulfilled. Or wait, here’s a more recent example - remember like three or so years ago when there was that weird disease in China all the schools and governments got freaked out about for two weeks, warning about having to do lockdowns and stuff like that only for the Chinese government to successfully contain it before it could leave its shores?
I’d imagine the plant could change that history as well. And it’s not like I want any of that to happen, it’s just that I have little to no control over whether or not it will. And I just want to be free from being the only one to know it’s all happening. To notice it everyday. To have your heart and brain scratched at and tortured by it when you do.
So please, someone, anyone out there who can and is willing to take this thing off my hands knowing full well what it is - just DM me. I’ll give it to you at no charge or expense to you. I’ll even dig it out of the ground and drive to where you are (if you’re on the island that is) so you don’t have to get up and go anywhere. If you’re located somewhere else I’ll happily volunteer to pay all the associated shipping costs at my own expense as well in order to get it to you.
You’ll be my knight in shining armor if you do.
UPDATE: I am no longer in need of anyone to take this thing and these seeds off my hands. Thank you to the person that DMed me after I posted this. I got your email confirming that it safely arrived at your address as well. Also, glad to hear it’s grown another root. By glad, I mean that I am glad to know that it has grown yet again but this time I haven’t noticed anything changing. You have no idea what you’ve done to help salvage my sanity. Bless you.
submitted by Screaming_Mosquito to DrCreepensVault [link] [comments]
I grew up originally in Northern California near Mt. Shasta, and four years ago I moved to the Big Island of Hawaii after I got a new job working for the university located in Hilo as an adjunct. The search for a place to rent where I could garden in the backyard took a while, but the wait was worth it. Gardening is like comfort food for my soul, and always has been ever since I was a little girl. My mom brought me up doing it, and I took to it immediately when I was just 3 or 4 she always liked to remind me.
I suppose the reason I wanted to leave California was the fact that she wasn't there anymore, that the last piece or vestige of my family was gone and I was all that was left of the life we used to have out there. I remember the day everything was packed up for the movers and ready to go, I walked outside to wait for a friend to pick me up to take me to the airport. As I sat there on my porch, I saw an elderly man walking in front of my front yard. It was an old friend of my mom's from the neighborhood. He had been very kind to me at her funeral as he had just lost his wife himself. We both waved at each other and I got up to chat with him one last time.
As it turned out, he was there to give me a going away present. It was a batch of strange seeds in a small sack. Some were colored burgundy, others indigo, and still others ivory with fascinating patterns on them. In total, there were 19 by my count. He said that before his wife passed away, she had originally intended to give them to my mom. Apparently, during one of their hiking trips around the mountain, the two of them kept stopping to see if someone was following them. Every time they would, some tree would rustle or a bush would make a quick, sharp noise indicating some sort of disturbance. Towards the end of their hike, they stopped one final time only for them to turn around and notice that someone had left this dingy little sack of seeds on a rotted out tree stump they had just passed. In other words, there was no question at that point that they had been followed.
For what reason? He couldn't say, though obviously the implication was that whoever it was wanted them to have these seeds. His wife died soon after that, before she could pass them along to my mother. He said he was hesitant to part with them after she died, but felt extremely guilty having waited too long to give them to my mom. Now that I was heading to Hawaii, he thought he ought to just give them to me instead of continuing to keep them. Other than that, he told me to be very careful with them, to specifically pour them out into the ground from the sack instead of touching them myself. And I wondered why. Like it's such an oddly specific thing to bring up about them.
Regardless.
I took them gratefully and thanked him for the gift and said that my mother would have loved them. Now, I'm not so sure she would have.
It was only a week or so after I had finally unpacked everything in my new place that I decided to garden again. And the first thing I planted, of course, were the seeds once meant for my mom. In memory of her. It was only one I put in the ground because honestly I wasn’t exactly sure how big this thing was going to grow to be. I wasn’t even sure what exactly this thing was even going to grow to be either. Turns out, it’s a vegetable… of some kind. I think. It’s almost like a yam? Like with the same texture and everything but with bright orange skin… and fur in strange places? Also, another thing, it’s like a yam but at the time of writing this it has most definitely grown beyond the size of a typical yam. Basically it’ll increase in size every week or so by a half a foot by my measure. Also, every time it grows by that much, another bulbous root pops out and burrows itself beneath.
And oh yeah there are little blue flowers (or what I guess you could call flowers) growing out of little nooks and crannies and just random spots all over. I’m not sure what to say. I have yet to identify it. If one of you reading this can, then good for you, would you like to take it off my hands in that case? Please? Okay well, I guess I better finally explain why I want this damn thing out of here. I’ve already ostracized myself at work trying to get people to take it, as well as trying to explain what makes me hate the thing, so what harm will come from making a bunch of internet strangers think I’m creepy or crazy?
The black and white of it is that every time this thing grows a half a foot, every time another root plants itself in the ground, every time another one of those little blue flower buds appears on it, something changes. About the world we live in. About our history. About how we live day to day. And no one seems to notice any of the changes except for me. Today in fact, I almost got into a fatal car crash after I woke up and took note of a new flower bud growing on the side of it facing my house. If you put a Bible in front of me and made me swear to God that I was going to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth I would swear on that, my life, and my late mother’s grave that I grew up knowing that Americans in all 50 states drive on the left side of the road.
I know you’re probably laughing at me. Because that’s what the person I almost ran into did when I told them. They wanted to know if I was British or something, and I said no I was born and raised in Northern California all my life. The closest I’ve ever even been to a foreign country is San Diego. But when I pulled over after that scare and looked it up on my phone, there it was. Americans drive on the right side of the road and pretty much always have. It’s just so… jarring. I have vivid memories of me death gripping the wheel to my mom’s Wrangler for the first time in my life, with her in the passenger seat teaching me the rules of the road for the first time. And I remember very clearly her telling me that no matter where I go in the United States or Canada, if I ever did that is, I would be on the left side of the road the entire time.
And I remember everyone else driving on the left side too. I remember them doing it yesterday. And now, everyone’s acting like it’s actually been this other way the entire time and that I’m somehow just noticing it. But I’m not “just noticing” it. It changed without warning me, to my abject frustration. This is what my life has been like since I planted it. I remember when it first sprouted. When I first started noticing the changes. The very first one I encountered were the changes made to the American flag. Again, swearing to God, on my own life, and on my late mother’s grave, I can attest that the American flag has always had 13, red and white, diagonal stripes. Not horizontal. Diagonal.
Again, I remember vividly sitting Indian style around our 1st grade teacher as she taught us some of the most basic history of the Revolutionary War. Particularly when it came to the Betsy Ross story. I remember being told that, when Betsy Ross first showed George Washington her initial design for the flag that it did indeed have horizontal stripes just like the one I suppose all of you are familiar with. But at the last second, he had her change them to be diagonal because he wanted to convey that the United States did not intend to be an empire in which some states would be perceived to be dominating the others by being “on top”. Making the stripes diagonal, to him, avoided this undesired symbolism.
I remember it all so clearly, even the little kitschy cartoon drawings in our school books of him with Betsy Ross as she showed him the final design. I remember reading about it in middle and high school. Hell, I even remember writing a 13 page essay for US History I in college that dealt with the subject. The paper of course, along with any historical record or proof of this detailed memory (digital or otherwise), is nowhere I can find it. It’s as if God or something turned the whole world into one big Wikipedia article and began editing reality at random with no one reverting the changes.
If you don’t think I’m crazy yet, then maybe I’m just not trying hard enough. When I noticed the plant had grown its eighth root, I learned for the first time in my life that Richard Nixon resigned over the Watergate scandal and not for having been outed as having had a nearly decade long affair with both Marilyn Monroe and Jackie Kennedy at the same time as I thought I had been taught. I hadn’t even heard the term Watergate before that. In fact, I learned at the same exact time that apparently for decades since, the affix -gate had been attached to various other scandals and controversies as though it were a naming convention. Until that eighth root planted itself firmly in the ground, I had never once seen or heard of something like that before.
The day I noticed the very first flower to bloom on it, was the same day I found out there’s this little place near Long Island and New Jersey you may have heard of called New York City. You see, to me, that place has always been (and always will be in my mind as I cling onto what I know to be the truth) New Ithaca. Frank Sinatra’s famous song that is played every year on New Year’s Eve, has always been about the great city of New Ithaca, the Big Apple. The changes are just so weird and particular too. The whole general history of that city and state has remains the same though (at least to me), being that it was founded by the Dutch but was taken by the British and renamed before becoming a part of the United States. Only, instead the place was previously named New North Brabant whereas I suppose you have always known that New York used to be New Amsterdam.
There’s even a song about that bit of trivia, I learned. Catchy, and also cringe inducing for someone like me going through what I’m going through.
Actually the overwhelming bulk of changes have had to do with place names. Again growing up, I had it beaten into my brain that in 1492 Columbus sailed the Pacific blue. You heard that right. The vast puddle you probably call the Atlantic Ocean has always been the Pacific to me. And vice versa. Nebraska was a name I had not ever heard of before I measured another half foot in that damn thing’s already enormous length. To me that place was called the State of Fillmore. If before I measured it to be at 3 feet, you had asked me to point out Paris on a map, I would have stared at you blankly until I realized you probably meant to say Degaulleville which was built just northeast of the ruins of the ill-fated City of Lights after it was used as a testing ground for Germany’s most devastating weapon of WWII - the nuclear bomb.
Apparently in this new world the plant has created for me, it is our country that has the dubious honor of being the first military in the world to use nuclear weapons in an actual war.
And the list of changes I have just goes on and on like that. I’m not going to waste time spelling them all out for you. I’m sure that should be enough for you to at least hear me out or dismiss me as having had a break with reality. All I want now is this thing in my backyard, and these seeds to boot, out of here. Like I said in the beginning, I’d throw it away, but now that I suspect there’s some sort of link between it and all these changes being made, I worry what it could do to me if I yanked it out of the ground and chucked it into a dumpster. Degaulleville, Fillmore, etc. were erased by this thing. I could be too, if I made it mad enough.
There’s another part of me, a selfish part, that hopes if someone else takes it they can be the ones to have all these changes happen to instead. They can be the ones to watch desperately as what you once knew to be true, to be there, to be real, is all ground up and thrown away like it was nothing to bend your reality and leave you as the only one aware of it. I want that to happen to someone else instead of me. I want to be the one who’s oblivious to the changes made in the fabric and window dressings of reality. I want to be the one who reads the complaints and desperate cries of someone like me, and calls them crazy. I want want want that.
There’s another, tinier part of me, that naively hopes once I can leave this thing with someone else, it will change reality again but this time for the better. For the better, for me. Maybe once it starts affecting someone else adversely, it can change reality one more time to make my mom come back. To come back in a way that would make me forget she was ever gone. And then maybe I can go home, go back to the life I was used to living. But I know at the same time, there’s absolutely no reason it would do something nice like that for me.
Hell, if anything, it could decide to make things in reality, history, etc. worse for everyone including me. Like let me think… Okay for example, remember back in 1999 when everyone was afraid of the Y2K bug, but then it turned out to not be such a catastrophic ordeal as people were predicting? That damn plant could change things to make it so that Y2K’s catastrophic potential was fulfilled. Or wait, here’s a more recent example - remember like three or so years ago when there was that weird disease in China all the schools and governments got freaked out about for two weeks, warning about having to do lockdowns and stuff like that only for the Chinese government to successfully contain it before it could leave its shores?
I’d imagine the plant could change that history as well. And it’s not like I want any of that to happen, it’s just that I have little to no control over whether or not it will. And I just want to be free from being the only one to know it’s all happening. To notice it everyday. To have your heart and brain scratched at and tortured by it when you do.
So please, someone, anyone out there who can and is willing to take this thing off my hands knowing full well what it is - just DM me. I’ll give it to you at no charge or expense to you. I’ll even dig it out of the ground and drive to where you are (if you’re on the island that is) so you don’t have to get up and go anywhere. If you’re located somewhere else I’ll happily volunteer to pay all the associated shipping costs at my own expense as well in order to get it to you.
You’ll be my knight in shining armor if you do.
UPDATE: I am no longer in need of anyone to take this thing and these seeds off my hands. Thank you to the person that DMed me after I posted this. I got your email confirming that it safely arrived at your address as well. Also, glad to hear it’s grown another root. By glad, I mean that I am glad to know that it has grown yet again but this time I haven’t noticed anything changing. You have no idea what you’ve done to help salvage my sanity. Bless you.
2023.06.07 16:54 SylviaPlathVEVO craigslist housing ad i have saved on my phone from 2015
if you're reading this, it's because of an interest in shared housing or you were searching craigslist for "princess diana beanie baby". were the circumstances of your arrival the latter, i regret to disappoint you, as that will be the only mention of the most elegant of all Ty plush toys. brevity is not my strong suit, but i'll attempt to summarize, as dry as possible, the poorly formatted basics, which will dictate your desire to continue reading. the continued reading is mostly relevant and necessary but some sure isn't.
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
length of stay: anything fairly explicit and up to one year.
if you're looking to settle down, i feel you, but this is not the place for a variety of reasons.
location: upper fruitvale. coolidge ave at lynde.
move-in - march first (maybe earlier if needs/works)
cost: $600 /mo. which includes internet/wategarbage/pge/etc
no deposit required but don't leave any satanist graffiti or particle board furniture and don't be gross
housemates / us: a 30something m/f couple passing for fairly pleasant/ early to bed and rise
vibe: DIY decorative low key / venus demilo meets inspector gadget meets emeril lagasse
room is approx 150sq ft /copious morning light/ and is ghost free
there is no livingroom (converted to bedroom) but what it lacks there it makes up with other charms
yard an orchard of sorts /fruit trees a plenty / yard yard more yard. a spot for small fires
no pets. unless you have something exotic and illegal and over three hundred pounds in which case exceptions will be made on a case by case basis
the winter is cold. big windows/old house. must have thick skin or slanket or something
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
as this is a sublet, we aren't as discriminating as one might (should) be in choosing someone to share a space so intimately. you needn't be on the same page in all regards but should be generally well adjusted emotionally if not socially, and have a functioning moral compass. maybe you think styrofoam is gross and capitalism will never work but you've come to terms with living off its excesses and even though you would never buy a nestle candy bar you might eat one if you found it on the bart train and you know that people can have different ideas and opinions that grow and change but you don't need to have an opinion about everything and the world is so big and strange and sometimes ugly but mostly awesome.
we both have inconsistent and varied rewarding employment, but no occupations. fairly domestic. on a scale of beverly hills 90210 to addams family, we rate about a frasier. occasional guests for dinner or to play that game where you guess the distance between two things, but not as much as i'd like.
the kitchen is mostly clean and mostly pink. we cook. we have access to the finest fresh foods in california on account of our farm gigs, and although historically we do our fooding and you do yours, if you were in to food and more motivated than we, food collaboration could be a thing. at the very least, you can take advantage of our bringing home excess fruits and vegetables when available which is often. there is a strong possibility that the kitchen will be rearranged in the near future. rearranging is a common occurrence that helps deal with the fact that i've been here for eight years.
the bathroom is a terrible color but we just got a new toilet and it flushes like woah. shower water pressure is A+ and the perfect temperature can be achieved with the handle in the 5 o'clock position. 4:30 if you're a masochist.
your bedroom has a small closet. there's probably enough room for a coffin, but i've never tried to fit one in there. it's the first spot in the house to see sunlight. it's carpeted. i have a steam cleaner. i'll steam it prior to your arrival. it is unfurnished, but furniture comes pretty easy round these parts. happy to help make the room usable should you be arriving with only a red hankerchief's worth of stuff tied to a stick.
our plenty of leisure time sees us engaging in a lot of home and garden projects. continued attempts at improvement are being made. the house is a hundred somethin years old, so it needs extra love. we pull weeds so you don't have to, but we're not greedy and if you really wanted to pull weeds, you can. the yard bears oranges, many figs, pomegranates, persimmons, lemons, loquats, apples, plums, olives, and quince from trees in various states of well being. i'm no arborist. are you?
i spend a lot of time making stuff and moving the stuff that i make stuff with around. i've learned to curtail my consumption of analog media, but records are still a big part of my life. i wait until i'm home alone to play the worst of them, and i recently purchased wireless headphones, but i hope you don't have a jazz rock fusion allergy. the most noise nina makes is using the cuisinart to delicious something or sewing machining. the most noise the downstairs neighbors make is a 'wooo' following an outstanding professional basketball feat.
in general the atmosphere is pretty mellow. i might pose unpointed ethical dilemmas in place of general small talk in the kitchen, but not for the first month at least, and i won't be offended if you have no comment. i also talk way less than i write i think. we wake up early and go to bed early but not because we're boring i swear. it would be for the best were you on a similar schedule or at least the morning part of it.
there is always street parking should you have a car. secure bike parking should you have a bike. if unfamiliar with the neighborhood, it's nice. not nice enough for a 5 dollar coffee shop, but one day i bet. the fence line collects empty capri suns and swisher wrappers, but most people pick up their dog poop. i can get to the fruitvale bart in five minutes on a bike and home from the bart in 8 and a half. there are good groceries, a wooded park with swimming pool, a free store, and copious tacos.
this is the part where i discriminate even though it's illegal. if you're the craigslist police, the following is a joke.
if you subscribe to any rigid system of beliefs or are square AF, this might not be the place for you.
if you sleepwalk and pee places that you shouldn't, i predict incompatibility
if you're over 7'4 you'll have to crouch to get through the doorways. you can still live here, but it sounds like it would suck to live anywhere without super high doorways. but you're def used to it. you prob have neck pains. i'm sorry
if you have that kink where you dress up like an infant and talk in a googoogaga voice and we have to hear or see it, this is probably not the place for you.
if you suffer from crippling bouts of depression or violent mood swings, this is not the place for you, but when you get regular everyday sad i'll try and be extra nice. nina doesn't even have to try because she's naturally extra nice.
if you're an alcoholic or congressperson or a compulsive gambler or have more than one outstanding warrant or a creepy stalker or wear a lot of perfume or have a waterbed or say mean and nasty things about courtney love, i'm sorry probably no.
i'm sure that despite too much information, i'm probably missing something important, so in your reply, use question marks. include personal trivia. your zodiac sign, your deepest fears, your nba playoff predictions, your favorite marx brother. don't feel obliged to go all out, but throw us a bone. at least assure me that you kind of read the ad even though you didn't want to but then if you wind up living here and everything's cool you won't care that you just wasted six minutes of your life.
pics forthcoming or provided in my reply email. arranging visits in the next week(s). we may not reply immediately, but it's not because you don't seem really great, it's because we're trying to stay organized and be efficient.
submitted by SylviaPlathVEVO to redscarepod [link] [comments]
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
length of stay: anything fairly explicit and up to one year.
if you're looking to settle down, i feel you, but this is not the place for a variety of reasons.
location: upper fruitvale. coolidge ave at lynde.
move-in - march first (maybe earlier if needs/works)
cost: $600 /mo. which includes internet/wategarbage/pge/etc
no deposit required but don't leave any satanist graffiti or particle board furniture and don't be gross
housemates / us: a 30something m/f couple passing for fairly pleasant/ early to bed and rise
vibe: DIY decorative low key / venus demilo meets inspector gadget meets emeril lagasse
room is approx 150sq ft /copious morning light/ and is ghost free
there is no livingroom (converted to bedroom) but what it lacks there it makes up with other charms
yard an orchard of sorts /fruit trees a plenty / yard yard more yard. a spot for small fires
no pets. unless you have something exotic and illegal and over three hundred pounds in which case exceptions will be made on a case by case basis
the winter is cold. big windows/old house. must have thick skin or slanket or something
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
as this is a sublet, we aren't as discriminating as one might (should) be in choosing someone to share a space so intimately. you needn't be on the same page in all regards but should be generally well adjusted emotionally if not socially, and have a functioning moral compass. maybe you think styrofoam is gross and capitalism will never work but you've come to terms with living off its excesses and even though you would never buy a nestle candy bar you might eat one if you found it on the bart train and you know that people can have different ideas and opinions that grow and change but you don't need to have an opinion about everything and the world is so big and strange and sometimes ugly but mostly awesome.
we both have inconsistent and varied rewarding employment, but no occupations. fairly domestic. on a scale of beverly hills 90210 to addams family, we rate about a frasier. occasional guests for dinner or to play that game where you guess the distance between two things, but not as much as i'd like.
the kitchen is mostly clean and mostly pink. we cook. we have access to the finest fresh foods in california on account of our farm gigs, and although historically we do our fooding and you do yours, if you were in to food and more motivated than we, food collaboration could be a thing. at the very least, you can take advantage of our bringing home excess fruits and vegetables when available which is often. there is a strong possibility that the kitchen will be rearranged in the near future. rearranging is a common occurrence that helps deal with the fact that i've been here for eight years.
the bathroom is a terrible color but we just got a new toilet and it flushes like woah. shower water pressure is A+ and the perfect temperature can be achieved with the handle in the 5 o'clock position. 4:30 if you're a masochist.
your bedroom has a small closet. there's probably enough room for a coffin, but i've never tried to fit one in there. it's the first spot in the house to see sunlight. it's carpeted. i have a steam cleaner. i'll steam it prior to your arrival. it is unfurnished, but furniture comes pretty easy round these parts. happy to help make the room usable should you be arriving with only a red hankerchief's worth of stuff tied to a stick.
our plenty of leisure time sees us engaging in a lot of home and garden projects. continued attempts at improvement are being made. the house is a hundred somethin years old, so it needs extra love. we pull weeds so you don't have to, but we're not greedy and if you really wanted to pull weeds, you can. the yard bears oranges, many figs, pomegranates, persimmons, lemons, loquats, apples, plums, olives, and quince from trees in various states of well being. i'm no arborist. are you?
i spend a lot of time making stuff and moving the stuff that i make stuff with around. i've learned to curtail my consumption of analog media, but records are still a big part of my life. i wait until i'm home alone to play the worst of them, and i recently purchased wireless headphones, but i hope you don't have a jazz rock fusion allergy. the most noise nina makes is using the cuisinart to delicious something or sewing machining. the most noise the downstairs neighbors make is a 'wooo' following an outstanding professional basketball feat.
in general the atmosphere is pretty mellow. i might pose unpointed ethical dilemmas in place of general small talk in the kitchen, but not for the first month at least, and i won't be offended if you have no comment. i also talk way less than i write i think. we wake up early and go to bed early but not because we're boring i swear. it would be for the best were you on a similar schedule or at least the morning part of it.
there is always street parking should you have a car. secure bike parking should you have a bike. if unfamiliar with the neighborhood, it's nice. not nice enough for a 5 dollar coffee shop, but one day i bet. the fence line collects empty capri suns and swisher wrappers, but most people pick up their dog poop. i can get to the fruitvale bart in five minutes on a bike and home from the bart in 8 and a half. there are good groceries, a wooded park with swimming pool, a free store, and copious tacos.
this is the part where i discriminate even though it's illegal. if you're the craigslist police, the following is a joke.
if you subscribe to any rigid system of beliefs or are square AF, this might not be the place for you.
if you sleepwalk and pee places that you shouldn't, i predict incompatibility
if you're over 7'4 you'll have to crouch to get through the doorways. you can still live here, but it sounds like it would suck to live anywhere without super high doorways. but you're def used to it. you prob have neck pains. i'm sorry
if you have that kink where you dress up like an infant and talk in a googoogaga voice and we have to hear or see it, this is probably not the place for you.
if you suffer from crippling bouts of depression or violent mood swings, this is not the place for you, but when you get regular everyday sad i'll try and be extra nice. nina doesn't even have to try because she's naturally extra nice.
if you're an alcoholic or congressperson or a compulsive gambler or have more than one outstanding warrant or a creepy stalker or wear a lot of perfume or have a waterbed or say mean and nasty things about courtney love, i'm sorry probably no.
i'm sure that despite too much information, i'm probably missing something important, so in your reply, use question marks. include personal trivia. your zodiac sign, your deepest fears, your nba playoff predictions, your favorite marx brother. don't feel obliged to go all out, but throw us a bone. at least assure me that you kind of read the ad even though you didn't want to but then if you wind up living here and everything's cool you won't care that you just wasted six minutes of your life.
pics forthcoming or provided in my reply email. arranging visits in the next week(s). we may not reply immediately, but it's not because you don't seem really great, it's because we're trying to stay organized and be efficient.
2023.06.07 16:48 FaithlessnessCheap50 Christmas tree worms
 | I have just learned what these things are, at 36 I'd never heard of them before!! Anyone never heard of them? submitted by FaithlessnessCheap50 to Seacreatures [link] [comments] |
2023.06.07 16:44 Cpt_BlackBeard80 What to do with thus patch
 | This patch at the back of my garden where nothing seems to grow due to a large tree is neighbours garden which stops anything growing. Planted a Bush and tree which aren't doing great despite watering. Twigs keeps falling cause of tree(which I need to get trimmed). Any suggestions would be welcome. New to gardening. Tia submitted by Cpt_BlackBeard80 to GardeningUK [link] [comments] |
2023.06.07 16:44 hingedelk22 Where do trees from parks and instititional gardens go when dead or cut down?
I'm just curious
submitted by hingedelk22 to arborists [link] [comments]
2023.06.07 16:40 portersthumb Calling all Vermont Homesteaders!
We all know that Vermont is full of challenges, especially for gardeners, homesteaders and farmers. This is to be a place where we can get together, chat, and help each other out!
submitted by portersthumb to VermontHomesteaders [link] [comments]
2023.06.07 16:31 AccordingClient195 Was bored the last two hours of work so I decided to name every stage musical I could think of off the top of me head sorted by name of course. I got to 265.
 | submitted by AccordingClient195 to autism [link] [comments] |
2023.06.07 16:26 BaseballSeveral1107 I HATE WINTER
It's cold. But when it's winter it must be cold. And that's the problem. You either have to pay for heat or get tired with getting coal or wood, starting the fire and checking it doesn't spread. Going out is a torture. You have to put in a dozen layers of clothes. Underwear, pants, short-sleeved shirt, long-sleeved shirt, sweatshirt, boots, neck warmer, hat, gloves. To go out to a shop that is on the ground level or just around the corner, you need all this wearing and getting tired. Winter clothes are heavy, limit motions, sometimes even visibility, and are hard to put on and put off. So buying those is hard and even if you do, then they're hard to walk in. Summer and spring don't have those problems, because you can put on clothes for outdoors and indoors, just change boots and you're alright.
And winter is such a great time to get sick. And the worst thing is having a stuffed nose and have to breathe with your mouth, with this cold air. Throat damage guaranteed, plus this pain in the face from the cold air blowing in your direction. Summer and spring don't have such problems. And winter has the highest amount of deaths of all the seasons. I literally got a frostbite because I touched snow with my bare hands because I didn't have gloves on them. And if you're healthy and put on the clothes, there's another problem.
Getting around. Most of us are rich and have a car and can drive wherever they want. But if you can't, you have to use public transit. I don't have anything about just using it or the fact of the existence of public transit, but the quality of those in Poland, where I live, leaves much to be desired. You have to wait, in cold. In a city this isn't a problem as big as in the rural areas where buses function. These are often coming only in early mornings and in early afternoon, but even if they come more often, they often are late. And no matter the location, you often have to stand, and even if you find a seat, you can sometimes smell people who don't shower very often. Trams, trains, metros and buses are often heated, like most indoor places, we'll get to that later, and people coming there in winter are usually in jackets and sweat in those vehicles, especially considering how crowded they often get and how warm those crowded people are. You'll sweat like a construction worker after 8 hours of work during a heatwave. And driving doesn't save you from the effects of winter. You have to scrape snow from your car, the engine can not start or the visibility is low and roads are blocked or icy, you can skid easily and crash into another car, a pedestrian, a pole or a tree. Walking does neither. If snow falls, it's crushed by people walking, melts and freezes again, and or forms ice on the sidewalk. And you can slip on it and either break something or die. Each time I walk on it, I think I'm gonna die. Either i slip on it and land on a spiked fence, I land on the sidewalk and break something, or I land on the street and get run over by a semi truck or a car. If you manage to get to your destination, there's another problem.
All the buildings are heated, so if you're in winter clothes, you're going to sweat like a construction worker after 8 hours of work during a heatwave.
It's dark half the day. You go to work or school, dark, you go back, dark. And the other half it's cloudy and grey. And the whole world dies. No leaves, no grass, no flowers, some animals hibernate, just grey, cloudy skies and white brown combination of snow, soil, water and mud. No sun. Sure, there are Christmas lights but let's face it, they are only to hide the grey and dark.
It's a hard time for students. The semester ends. You have to pass everything. They throw a lot of tests and quizzes at you. You will tire yourself to death.
Winter sports and games. Snowballs. I hate snowballs. Even if the person who throws one is someone I like. Usually, I take it easy, but in my mind, I hate it. Ice skating. I can't do that because the nearest lake or skating rink is too far away to walk. I could afford that, but I would need to wear all those clothes, get on the bus, ask my parents for approval, get back. No way. Skiing. I live in a city surrounded by forests and farm fields. No way. Sledding. Those are easier because I have some hills in my neighborhood, but going out, taking the sled, going back. Nope. Snowman. Going out. No.
And there are, CHRISTMAS IN WINTER. I'm fed up with them. Literally a few days after Halloween and All Saints Day, all the shops and malls are decorated, and Christmas songs are playing on the radio and Christmas commercials on TV. "Last Christmas, I gave you my heart...":“Christmas promotion! Bone carp, only 21.37 per package or a withered Christmas tree, 69.69 each plus delivery for 3.21. Holidays for Christmas, Old Zealand, 666.66 both ways. Christmas loans, only in Pierogi Bank Polski." Don't take Christmas loans, that's the stupidest thing you can do in that time of the year. They're still up everywhere, wherever I go, whatever I look at. Until the day finally arrives, December 24, when you are completely fed up with it. And it's not like I hate Christmas. Christmas in their current shape and theme are asking for dislike. You want to get up, leave, and come back when all this madness is over. But it's nice that we have time off and we get presents and meet our family. In the summer we have more free time, and on birthdays and name days we also get gifts and meet our family. But always something. And then there's another holiday.
New Year's Eve and New Year, when humans celebrate Earth going around the Sun once again, while nothing besides it happens in nature and humanity on those two days. You can do whatever you want on that day, and in my case, it'll be sitting on the couch in pajamas, watching TV and eating some unhealthy snacks like chips. Most people will spend it partying with friends and family and doing stuff together. And then, they will count from 10 to 1 like if a rocket was starting, and then fireworks explore, and dogs are scared. Afterwards, people will start to go home. And then you can't sleep the whole night because some idiots have too much fireworks and firecrackers, which is also a problem the whole winter.
submitted by BaseballSeveral1107 to Winter [link] [comments]
And winter is such a great time to get sick. And the worst thing is having a stuffed nose and have to breathe with your mouth, with this cold air. Throat damage guaranteed, plus this pain in the face from the cold air blowing in your direction. Summer and spring don't have such problems. And winter has the highest amount of deaths of all the seasons. I literally got a frostbite because I touched snow with my bare hands because I didn't have gloves on them. And if you're healthy and put on the clothes, there's another problem.
Getting around. Most of us are rich and have a car and can drive wherever they want. But if you can't, you have to use public transit. I don't have anything about just using it or the fact of the existence of public transit, but the quality of those in Poland, where I live, leaves much to be desired. You have to wait, in cold. In a city this isn't a problem as big as in the rural areas where buses function. These are often coming only in early mornings and in early afternoon, but even if they come more often, they often are late. And no matter the location, you often have to stand, and even if you find a seat, you can sometimes smell people who don't shower very often. Trams, trains, metros and buses are often heated, like most indoor places, we'll get to that later, and people coming there in winter are usually in jackets and sweat in those vehicles, especially considering how crowded they often get and how warm those crowded people are. You'll sweat like a construction worker after 8 hours of work during a heatwave. And driving doesn't save you from the effects of winter. You have to scrape snow from your car, the engine can not start or the visibility is low and roads are blocked or icy, you can skid easily and crash into another car, a pedestrian, a pole or a tree. Walking does neither. If snow falls, it's crushed by people walking, melts and freezes again, and or forms ice on the sidewalk. And you can slip on it and either break something or die. Each time I walk on it, I think I'm gonna die. Either i slip on it and land on a spiked fence, I land on the sidewalk and break something, or I land on the street and get run over by a semi truck or a car. If you manage to get to your destination, there's another problem.
All the buildings are heated, so if you're in winter clothes, you're going to sweat like a construction worker after 8 hours of work during a heatwave.
It's dark half the day. You go to work or school, dark, you go back, dark. And the other half it's cloudy and grey. And the whole world dies. No leaves, no grass, no flowers, some animals hibernate, just grey, cloudy skies and white brown combination of snow, soil, water and mud. No sun. Sure, there are Christmas lights but let's face it, they are only to hide the grey and dark.
It's a hard time for students. The semester ends. You have to pass everything. They throw a lot of tests and quizzes at you. You will tire yourself to death.
Winter sports and games. Snowballs. I hate snowballs. Even if the person who throws one is someone I like. Usually, I take it easy, but in my mind, I hate it. Ice skating. I can't do that because the nearest lake or skating rink is too far away to walk. I could afford that, but I would need to wear all those clothes, get on the bus, ask my parents for approval, get back. No way. Skiing. I live in a city surrounded by forests and farm fields. No way. Sledding. Those are easier because I have some hills in my neighborhood, but going out, taking the sled, going back. Nope. Snowman. Going out. No.
And there are, CHRISTMAS IN WINTER. I'm fed up with them. Literally a few days after Halloween and All Saints Day, all the shops and malls are decorated, and Christmas songs are playing on the radio and Christmas commercials on TV. "Last Christmas, I gave you my heart...":“Christmas promotion! Bone carp, only 21.37 per package or a withered Christmas tree, 69.69 each plus delivery for 3.21. Holidays for Christmas, Old Zealand, 666.66 both ways. Christmas loans, only in Pierogi Bank Polski." Don't take Christmas loans, that's the stupidest thing you can do in that time of the year. They're still up everywhere, wherever I go, whatever I look at. Until the day finally arrives, December 24, when you are completely fed up with it. And it's not like I hate Christmas. Christmas in their current shape and theme are asking for dislike. You want to get up, leave, and come back when all this madness is over. But it's nice that we have time off and we get presents and meet our family. In the summer we have more free time, and on birthdays and name days we also get gifts and meet our family. But always something. And then there's another holiday.
New Year's Eve and New Year, when humans celebrate Earth going around the Sun once again, while nothing besides it happens in nature and humanity on those two days. You can do whatever you want on that day, and in my case, it'll be sitting on the couch in pajamas, watching TV and eating some unhealthy snacks like chips. Most people will spend it partying with friends and family and doing stuff together. And then, they will count from 10 to 1 like if a rocket was starting, and then fireworks explore, and dogs are scared. Afterwards, people will start to go home. And then you can't sleep the whole night because some idiots have too much fireworks and firecrackers, which is also a problem the whole winter.
2023.06.07 16:21 NamiSushi Plant in Garden Bed
 | Midwest, USA (Zone 6) submitted by NamiSushi to whatsthisplant [link] [comments] Garden Plants: - Scabiosa Columbaria - Coreopsis - Phlox Stolonifera I started a small boxes garden in my backyard and these are popping up all over it. I did a Google Lens search and wasn't too thrilled with the results so I'm hoping someone here has more insight. Note 1: Our neighbors have trees on every side of us and the seeds are everywhere in our yard. The trees I recognize are Sweet Gum, Maple, and Juniper. Note 2: We also have a lot of birds around our yard, which I love and encourage. They seem to leave a lot of poop plants around the area, and even planted Lamb's Quarters and a Cucumber plant in this same garden bed. Note 3: I have been trying to reclaim our backyard to a more natural habitat, so I have been letting things run wild in some areas while I try to identify what plants are growing. So there are a lot of "weeds" and probably some invasive plants that I haven't caught onto yet. |
2023.06.07 16:11 reddit4569 Growing Colorado Blue Spruce: Tips for Success
The Colorado Blue Spruce is a stunning addition to any garden or landscape, with its striking blue-grey needles that add a touch of elegance and sophistication. If you’re looking to grow this beautiful tree, there are some things you need to know to ensure its success.
Read the full article at: https://gardenfrontier.com/growing-colorado-blue-spruce-tips-for-success/
submitted by reddit4569 to u/reddit4569 [link] [comments]
Read the full article at: https://gardenfrontier.com/growing-colorado-blue-spruce-tips-for-success/
2023.06.07 15:54 Difficult_Leek_1124 Whats best to plant in a big deep container?
I got given a really pretty plant pot that's about 70cm tall. I've turned my tiny front garden into a veg plot with tomatoes, cucumbers, sweetcorn, onions chard and courgettes. What plant would do really well with a quite wide and deep pot. I was thinking maybe a dwarf fruit tree but not sure if it's worth it? Want something that also gave a little oomph as it's a front garden so trying to do a mix of produce and "pretty". Daughters planted a little butterfly garden to attract pollinators so even flower suggestions work. Would nasturtiums be a good pick for it?
submitted by Difficult_Leek_1124 to vegetablegardening [link] [comments]
2023.06.07 15:50 RLCD-Bot [Octane] [Titanium White Octane: Christmas Tree] [Saffron Torrent] [Titanium White Green Machine] [Titanium White Winter Storm]
![[Octane] [Titanium White Octane: Christmas Tree] [Saffron Torrent] [Titanium White Green Machine] [Titanium White Winter Storm]](https://external-preview.redd.it/Uk1rWyYfLc_wrbKg_EqPeXfqISf1eTYCkWZRnxW64QU.jpg?width=640&crop=smart&auto=webp&s=f726f277e54a3ad7bc80b6b35ba58ba495390d5c "[Octane] [Titanium White Octane: Christmas Tree] [Saffron Torrent] [Titanium White Green Machine] [Titanium White Winter Storm]") | submitted by RLCD-Bot to RLCustomDesigns [link] [comments] |
2023.06.07 15:47 AQUATIC_Queef_WoMD How many Christmas trees do y’all have?
 | submitted by AQUATIC_Queef_WoMD to ClashOfClans [link] [comments] |
2023.06.07 15:28 constantcube13 Lit him up like a Christmas Tree
 | submitted by constantcube13 to constantcube13 [link] [comments] |
2023.06.07 15:06 lbabinz [PSN] Digital PlayStation Game Sale
submitted by lbabinz to VideoGameDealsCanada [link] [comments]
2023.06.07 15:01 D1aboluss What do you think about this deck? I'm fairly new to the game, so I've been building from very little. It's supposed to be an over-lock/burst damage/burn deck (It's a bit messy, I know). Any weak spots? Thanks!
 | submitted by D1aboluss to cuecardgameAvid [link] [comments] |
2023.06.07 14:18 Rbx100 What do you think to electrical pruners like dewalt and other power tool brands
Like this, are they any good? I’m one of those people that likes to get the most out of my garden bin so I cut stuff up.
I found this for £139.99 while browsing the B&Q app https://www.diy.com/departments/dewalt-dcmpp568n-18v-cordless-powered-pruner-garden-tree-cutter-38mm-max-cut/5035048788547_BQ.prd.
submitted by Rbx100 to GardeningUK [link] [comments]
I found this for £139.99 while browsing the B&Q app https://www.diy.com/departments/dewalt-dcmpp568n-18v-cordless-powered-pruner-garden-tree-cutter-38mm-max-cut/5035048788547_BQ.prd.
2023.06.07 14:18 tripmazaindia Top 10 things must do in Dubai!
Burj Khalifa: Start your Dubai adventure by visiting the iconic Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in the world. Take in breathtaking views of the city from the observation deck on the 148th floor.
Desert Safari: Experience the thrill of a desert safari, where you can go dune bashing in a 4x4 vehicle, try sandboarding, and even enjoy a camel ride. End the day with a traditional Bedouin-style dinner and entertainment under the stars.
Dubai Mall: Explore the vast Dubai Mall, which offers a world-class shopping experience along with various entertainment options. Don't miss the mesmerizing Dubai Aquarium & Underwater Zoo, located inside the mall.
Palm Jumeirah: Visit the Palm Jumeirah, an artificial island shaped like a palm tree. Take a monorail ride along the trunk and enjoy the luxurious resorts, beach clubs, and restaurants that line the crescent.
Dubai Creek: Take a traditional abra (water taxi) ride along Dubai Creek, the historic heart of the city. Admire the blend of old and new architecture, visit the Dubai Museum, and explore the vibrant souks (markets) selling gold, spices, and textiles.
Miracle Garden: Wander through the Dubai Miracle Garden, a stunning floral paradise featuring intricate designs and structures made entirely of flowers. It's a visual spectacle that is sure to leave you in awe.
Atlantis, The Palm: Indulge in a day of luxury at Atlantis, The Palm. Enjoy the thrilling Aquaventure Waterpark, interact with marine life at The Lost Chambers Aquarium, and relax on the pristine beaches.
Dubai Marina: Stroll along the Dubai Marina promenade and enjoy the vibrant atmosphere of this waterfront district. Admire the impressive skyline, dine at exquisite restaurants, and take a sunset cruise to fully appreciate the beauty of the area.
Ski Dubai: Experience the ultimate contrast by visiting Ski Dubai, an indoor ski resort located in the Mall of the Emirates. Enjoy skiing, snowboarding, or simply play in the snow in this unexpected winter wonderland.
Al Fahidi Historic District: Step back in time at the Al Fahidi Historic District, also known as Bastakiya. Explore the narrow alleyways, visit art galleries and museums, and learn about Dubai's rich cultural heritage. Don't forget to enjoy a traditional Arabian meal at one of the charming courtyard cafes.
Please reach out to us on the link below or call us on M:+919775084000
Link : https://tours.tripmaza.com/packages/?&q=dubai
Top 10 things must do in Dubai!
submitted by tripmazaindia to india_tourism [link] [comments]
Desert Safari: Experience the thrill of a desert safari, where you can go dune bashing in a 4x4 vehicle, try sandboarding, and even enjoy a camel ride. End the day with a traditional Bedouin-style dinner and entertainment under the stars.
Dubai Mall: Explore the vast Dubai Mall, which offers a world-class shopping experience along with various entertainment options. Don't miss the mesmerizing Dubai Aquarium & Underwater Zoo, located inside the mall.
Palm Jumeirah: Visit the Palm Jumeirah, an artificial island shaped like a palm tree. Take a monorail ride along the trunk and enjoy the luxurious resorts, beach clubs, and restaurants that line the crescent.
Dubai Creek: Take a traditional abra (water taxi) ride along Dubai Creek, the historic heart of the city. Admire the blend of old and new architecture, visit the Dubai Museum, and explore the vibrant souks (markets) selling gold, spices, and textiles.
Miracle Garden: Wander through the Dubai Miracle Garden, a stunning floral paradise featuring intricate designs and structures made entirely of flowers. It's a visual spectacle that is sure to leave you in awe.
Atlantis, The Palm: Indulge in a day of luxury at Atlantis, The Palm. Enjoy the thrilling Aquaventure Waterpark, interact with marine life at The Lost Chambers Aquarium, and relax on the pristine beaches.
Dubai Marina: Stroll along the Dubai Marina promenade and enjoy the vibrant atmosphere of this waterfront district. Admire the impressive skyline, dine at exquisite restaurants, and take a sunset cruise to fully appreciate the beauty of the area.
Ski Dubai: Experience the ultimate contrast by visiting Ski Dubai, an indoor ski resort located in the Mall of the Emirates. Enjoy skiing, snowboarding, or simply play in the snow in this unexpected winter wonderland.
Al Fahidi Historic District: Step back in time at the Al Fahidi Historic District, also known as Bastakiya. Explore the narrow alleyways, visit art galleries and museums, and learn about Dubai's rich cultural heritage. Don't forget to enjoy a traditional Arabian meal at one of the charming courtyard cafes.
Please reach out to us on the link below or call us on M:+919775084000
Link : https://tours.tripmaza.com/packages/?&q=dubai
Top 10 things must do in Dubai!
2023.06.07 13:58 Ok_Elephant_1554 Can she play
When I was around 2 to 3 me my mum and dad lived in a shared house, it was supposed to be just for women fleeing domestic violence or coming out of prison but my mum knew the landlady so my dad was aloud to live with us at this house.Normally men are not aloud to live in these houses due yo vulnerable women fleeing their domestic abuse. This house had a big shared back garden but for some reason we were the only ones to used it, it had giant trees at the end of the lawn and was all grass, I had a little round frog paddling pool I used to play in by myself. Upstairs lived a women and her daughter they would stand in the window for hours watching me play in my pool. I used to beg my mum could I play with the little girl upstairs as I was lonely playing in my pool by myself but all I would get back is no amy there is no little girl up there, I used to get so angry with my mum for lieing to me. One morning the lady from up stairs was in my kitchen having a cupper with my mum this was the first time my mum and her had spoken I seen this as my opportune moment to ask her could I please play with her daughter I told her I would be her best friend and look after her but the response I got only made me more angry the lady told me she didn't have a little girl who lived with her I knew she was lieing I seen her with her all the time I asked her who was the girl in the window then ? All I got was a sad expression and the lady left my mum and dad never spoke to her again. Fast forward to me being in my 20s I brought this up with my mum and asked her why they wouldn't let me play with the girl upstairs my mums face just dropped and this is what she told me, Amy the house we lived in was for women coming out of prison and escaping domestic violence, the lady upstairs had been released from prison for stabbing her husband to death, the lady had 4 children 3 with her husband and a older daughter about 8 years old from a previous relationship. Tragedy struck them and her 8 year old daughter fell down the stairs in the middle of the night and broke her neck and died. One night a few years after the daughters death the lady and her husband were in a bad place with one another and were drinking and arguing alot. when the husband was drunk he told her that he had infact pushed her daughter down the stairs and killed her it wasn't an accident so she snapped and stabbed him to death her other children were adopted to a family in Australia and she went to prison. My blood ran cold when my mum told me this but straight away everything started to make sense. I still to this day remember what the little girl looked like.
submitted by Ok_Elephant_1554 to scarystories [link] [comments]