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crystaljins · 1 year

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Stars Above | 11 FINAL

Characters: Taehyung x Reader

Word count: 5.9k

Synopsis: Your nagging roommate is desperate for a third person to help meet the rent and your university just so happens to be running a fully-funded government grant for anyone who signs up to participate in the Intergalactic Exchange program.

Having an alien for a roommate is just asking for all kinds of trouble, though.

Alien!Taehyung x reader

Rating: Teens

Notes: So here it is! The final chapter not only to this drabbles series but to our adventures together!! It’s a little hard to believe that today has come. This blog still feels brand new but in hindsight it’s nearly five years old!!! I can’t believe our adventure is ending.

I will put up a proper goodbye post at some point but I do want to clarify that I’ll still be around and contactable, and this tumblr won’t be de-activating, so don’t go getting to sad, I just won’t be writing for BTS anymore.

ANyway, without any further adieu, let us bid a proper farewell to our favourite alien!!

Masterlist

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

The glint of gold, embossed letters pressed deeply into the thick paper of the invitation shouldn’t feel like a slap across the face. It’s not like you the arrival of the invitation is a surprise. You’ve been dreading the arrival of the invitation with the same dread you often feel at approaching exam dates or assignment deadlines. The date on the invitation is even marked with a red circle on the little calendar on your desk, the one with different pictures puppies playing in meadows for each month.

With a sigh, you slip the invitation back into its envelope and let it drop onto the counter as you step into the kitchen with the rest of your mail.

Nayeon is lying upside-down on the couch in the living room, her legs kicked over the back of it and her head hanging over the edge near the floor.

“Did you bring the mail in?” She asks, her face slightly red from the exertion of hanging upside down, yet she also makes no move to fix her position.

“Yeah.” You answer, in what you hope is a dismissive, indifferent tone. Alas, Nayeon often picks the worst of times to be observant- she hones in on weakness with the same accuracy of a hawk spotting prey. She lifts her head to glare pensively at you.

“What’s wrong?” She demands. And then she even straightens her position so that she’s sitting correctly on the couch. With a sigh, you recognise the futility of denial- she’d merely walk over to you and spot the set of three invitations lying on the kitchen counter. No, it’s far simpler to just come clean.

“The invitations for the Finishing Dinner for the intergalactic exchange students arrived.” You admit.

Something akin to sympathy flashes in Nayeon’s eyes.

Even though he extended his exchange, it was still just that; an exchange. Eventually Taehyung would have to go home to his own planet. It’s a truth all of you have been dutifully avoiding. Unfortunately, at some point an entire year had slipped through your fingers like water through a sieve. Taehyung had seamlessly blended into your everyday life, to the point it had felt like he would always be there. And yet, now the end of both his tertiary studies and his exchange looms near.

He’s not the only alien to have participated in the exchange, and since the whole exchange program was just an opportunity for universities and fancy politician to laude their generosity and the goodwill between planets, they have to mark the end of the successful first year of the exchange program with a big celebration. Taehyung had already notified you that the three of you would receive invitations.

“So he’s really going back, then?” Nayeon wonders. “He hasn’t said anything about staying here?”

You shrug, shuffling towards the sink to wash your hands and begin preparations for dinner.

“From the start he was only staying for the exchange.” You remind her. Her gaze tracks your movement as you edge towards the fridge to examine the ingredients. You always stock up on silken tofu, since that seems to be Taehyung’s favourite source of protein, and there’s some veggies that are beginning to look a little limp that you should probably cook today before they’re inedible.

“Yeah, but he likes it here so much. I’m not sure he’d even last thirty seconds back on his home planet without you to hold his hand and wash his hair for him. He might as well stay.” She sighs with an eye roll. You allow yourself a quick, resentful glare that she returns with a satisfied smile.

“I’ve never washed his hair for him.” Is the protest you offer. She shrugs.

“Only because he’s not smart enough to ask.” She points out. But then her gaze sharpens into something that is entirely too probing for you to be comfortable. “You’d do anything for him, after all. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that.”

You don’t know how to answer that; you’re afraid of the potential truth in them, so you avoid her words by letting the apartment fill with the sound of the knife hitting the chopping board. The sound is perhaps a bit louder than usual.

“You could ask him to stay, you know.” She says. The words are soft, and gentler than her usual, brusque tone. There’s a kindness in them that you didn’t know Nayeon was capable of. “The worst he can do is say no.”

It’s a simple enough solution. Just ask. He can say yes or no, and that will be the end of it.

It’s been the same, simple solution for the past few months. Just ask- tell him your feelings. He can reject or accept them.

Sometimes, you think he’d return them. He gazes at you with round, admiring eyes and hints of colour on his cheeks. He wears a dazzling smile that never fails to take your breath away, a rich, precious adornment like a diamond necklace.

But every time, the words choke in your throat. The truth is this; you’re a coward and woefully inexperienced in the ways of love. You barely know how to date a human, let alone an alien. Any time you think you can gather the courage, it’s quickly squashed by doubts; the temporary nature of his exchange, the incredible distance between his planet and yours, the way his family would strongly oppose… on and on the list stacks up, and now here you are, close to the end of his exchange with nothing to show for it but a battered ego and a crush the size of Jupiter.

“I couldn’t ask that.” You confess at last with a sigh. “It would put him in such an awkward position.”

Nayeon simply shakes her head, clicking her tongue in disapproval.

“Ok, fine.” She says. “I won’t push it. But since we’re on the topic of his farewell, Namjoon bought him a succulent to take back with him as his good-bye gift and wants us to pass it on on his behalf. Do you think you could pick it up tomorrow? I know you were going to be in the area anyway.”

With a relieved sigh, you accept her request.

And maybe, were you not so relieved at the subject change, you might have noticed the glint in Nayeon’s eye, the one that always signals she’s up to something.

The next morning, you’re a little too frazzled to think much of Namjoon’s sudden departure from town.

It’s a home emergency, his text had dutifully explained. But I left the plant next to the elevator. It’s supposed to be a surprise gift though so don’t tell him it was from me.

Distractedly, you pull into the parking lot of Namjoon’s apartment complex.

“Sorry, Tae.” You say, over the phone. “I’m just in the middle of an errand.”

“It’s fine. It’s my error for not remembering to bring my presentation.“ he assures you on the other end. You jump out of your car, racing for the elevator that proudly declares “block B”, the section of building that Namjoon’s apartment is housed in, and sure enough a little potted plant sits next to the lift, a takeaway bag nearby.

It’s actually not a plant you’ve seen before. For a moment, it almost seems fake- the stiff, elongated leaves are lined with what you initially think is just gold paint, but closer inspection reveals something far more intricate and mystifying- sparkling gold veins lace through the body of the thickened leaves.

A quick glance at your watch reveals you don’t have time to spare. You leave it in the passenger seat and quickly scramble into your car, taking off at a pace that is faster than necessary. You’d agreed to pick up the plant Namjoon had intended to pass on to Taehyung on the way to your dentist appointment that morning, only for Taehyung to ring in a panic that he’d forgotten the hard drive that stored his presentation. It would be one of the final ones he would be giving on this exchange and was kind of a big deal, and so you’d grabbed said device on your way out the door when Taehyung had called you close to tears that morning.

He’s waiting on the curbside at the drop-off-pickup zone of the university parking. You had been planning to just pass his device through the window and then head straight for your dentist appointment afterwards, but when Taehyung leans through the window, he spots the plant in your passenger’s seat.

A funny expression crosses his face that you don’t have the time or presence of mind to dissect.

“What’s that?” He demands, before you can pull away. He hovers, half hanging in your passenger seat. Urgently, your eyes flick to your car’s clock. The dentist’s appointment is a twenty minute drive away and you’re already running late. You grab the plant and shove it at him, hoping to kill two birds with one stone.

“It’s yours.” You say. Eyes wide, he accepts it, gazing down at it in disbelief.

“What? From who?” He asks and if you weren’t so preoccupied with the way that the clock in your car warns you of your looming cancellation fee, you’d have questioned the way he’s utterly flabbergasted as he gazes upon the plant.

As it is, you only just barely manage to remember Namjoon’s request.

“Just accept it.” You say as he pulls back, and you take the opportunity to pull away from the curb. “I’ll see you at home!” You cry through the open window.

Taehyung stares at your car as you pull away, hands trembling around the base of the pot, jaw gaping.

After the dentist appointment, things are weird between you and Taehyung.

You’re not sure what triggered it. You’d come home with that dentist-fresh feeling and cheerfully asked him if he’d wanted to watch a movie.

He’d acted like you’d asked if he could hand over his first-born and had scrambled out of the living room with a desperation reserved for escaping when Nayeon asked him to take the garbage. You’d barely caught his stammered excuse before the door to his bedroom slammed aggressively behind him.

Bewildered, you’d left him to his own devices and watched the movie on your own, thinking that Taehyung was just in a mood.

Only, it kept going. He avoids outings he’d normally beg to be invited along to and any attempts to initiate conversation on your end are met with similar results to that first night. You try to leave things be, at first, until a quick glance at the calendar one morning reveals that the Finishing Dinner is only a mere week away.

It hits you, abruptly, that your time left with Taehyung has dwindled into almost nothing and you don’t even know why.

Nayeon, shuffling out of the bathroom, is unfortunately the one to catch your crestfallen expression.

“Everything ok?” She wonders, shuffling closer. You catch the scent of her minty toothpaste as she yawns.

Normally Taehyung is clamouring to get into the bathroom after Nayeon’s extensive and absurd morning skin care routine, but he’s been nowhere to be found in the mornings as of late.

“Have you noticed Taehyung’s been acting weird, lately?” You wonder aloud.

Interest sharpens Nayeon’s drowsy expression and something dangerously close to a grin plays across her mouth.

“I have. You should definitely ask him about it.” She offers cheerfully, before shuffling off towards her room to finish getting ready for the morning.

Suspicion takes root in your chest. Likely, if you know Nayeon at all, she is the cause behind Taehyung’s behaviour and any questioning of him will no doubt end with complete and utter mortification on your part.

But…. The calendar seems to mock you, the small gap between the current crossed-off date and Taehyung’s nearing departure date seems to be shrinking with each passing moment.

With a sigh, you resolve to talk to Taehyung as soon as possible, lest you waste any more of the precious time you have left with him.

Of course, it’s easy to say that you plan to talk to Taehyung, but he’s the one avoiding you and he’s surprisingly successful at it. Somehow, he evades you until the night before the Finishing Dinner. After, there’s only so long he can avoid being alone with you when you’re the primary chef in your home. Nayeon has, for once, been obediently following the cooking roster, but on this particular night she messages you begging for a swap. Sighing, you don’t plan to agree until the friend you had plans with that evening messages you to cancel, citing a flu as the reason.

You’re idly staring at the shelves of your fridge, running through recipes in your head when Taehyung staggers in. He stares at you with a slack jaw and wide eyes, the very picture of bewilderment. His skin flushes an interesting shade of purple and he turns around abruptly, hiding his expression from you.

“I-I thought you’d be home late. You were supposed to be having a dinner with your friend.” He stammers. It’s certainly what you’d messaged the group chat when the three of you had been planning the chores roster earlier in the month.

“She cancelled.” You say with a shrug. You don’t mean for your words to come out as clipped and as short as they do. But the truth is, your feelings are hurt. You’re confused and upset and as if saying goodbye to Taehyung wasn’t bad enough, you’re now navigating this mysterious fight without even knowing what you’ve done wrong.

Taehyung shoulders bunch together and he drops his head a little, the picture of misery.

“Um, I’ll eat in my room.” He mumbles. He goes to walk away, towards his bedroom door, and then pauses. It takes you a moment to realise it’s because you’re gripping his arm. You glance down and surprise and release him.

“Don’t go.” You say, before you can think better of it. He turns to you, a frown upon his face and there’s something imploring in his eyes.

“I…” he begins, and you shake your head, interrupting him. If you’ve upset him, that’s ok, but you can’t apologise if you don’t know what’s wrong, and he needs to tell you. Sitting down and speaking is the only way to get through this.

“Please.” You say simply.

He looks at you for a moment, and the expression on his fece is nothing short of agonised. Finally, he takes a brief nod, and steps back into the kitchen.

He helps you prepare dinner, just like he always does when it’s your night to cook, although the night is absent of the usual chatter he fills the space with.

It’s halfway through your meal that you can’t bear the silence any longer.

“Did I do something wrong?” You ask. He flinches, a fork halfway through his mouth. A string of pasta slips off it and lands on his plate with a soft splat. Nervous, dark eyes flick to you and then back to his plate.

“No. No, of course not.” He says finally, daring to gaze across the dining table at your from beneath his fringe. He purses his lips awkwardly and then ducks his head.

“Then why are you-“ you start, but your mouth dries out. It takes a deep breath to compose yourself before you are able to force out your next question. “Why are you doing this?”

To your surprise, when Taehyung looks up again, he looks even more distraught than you feel. He takes a deep, shaky breath and light blue lines the lower rings of his eyes, the beginnings of tears.

“Because I need time!” He blurts. “It’s all so overwhelming. I have a few days until the exchange has its completion and I have to have a complete final thesis and I have to work out what I’m going to do when I end my studying! It’s so much and I can’t make huge choices like this under pressure!”

You fall silent, startled at the emotion in his voice, and shocked by the sheer depth of Taehyung’s misery. In all your worrying over your own feelings and desire to confess, you hadn’t thought about how Taehyung might feel regarding the end of his exchange. You’d just assumed he’d been avoiding you because of something you’d done, and you’d never considered that maybe Taehyung just needed some space. He’s so extroverted normally that you’d forgotten that even extroverts need that sort of thing.

Dropping your head, you allow the mortification to wash over you, and then you abruptly stand, plate in hand.

“I think I’ll eat dinner in my room.” You say. Taehyung makes no move to stop you as you quickly make your escape, and when you later exit to clean your dishes, he’s cleaned the kitchen and is locked away in his own bedroom.

You allow yourself one hurt sigh, gazing at his shut bedroom door in abject misery, before returning to your task at hand.

You can give him time, you suppose. You just wish there was more to spare.

In the interest of giving Taehyung the space he needs, you get ready for the Finishing dinner at Jungkook’s place. The whole time, Jungkook whines that you’re hogging the mirror and when you step aside to allow him to use it, he just flicks his hair and grins as his reflection and then shuffles out. The cycle repeats about three or more times as he gets dressed, and you’re sufficiently cranky by the time you clamber into the passenger seat of his car.

“So,” he asks you conversationally, and maybe you would have been in a talking mood two hours ago, but certainly not now. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do about Tae? Doesn’t he leave in two days? Are you really not going to tell him how you feel?”

You shoot Jungkook a sufficiently dirty look and he laughs.

“He asked for space. So I’m giving it to him.” You say shortly. You’re not surprised that Jungkook is aware of your feelings- keeping secrets is not a skill of Nayeon’s. What’s more surprising is that it’s not splashed on the front page of the morning newspaper given her normal proclivity for gossip.

Jungkook’s brow furrows.

“Why did he ask for space? He had a year to ask for space- and he does this two days before he has to leave?” He wonders. You shrug- you’ve asked yourself that and more over the last 24 hours. Why? What triggered this? Why now? But you’ve come up with no answers, and are instead left in this awful

limbo of confused feelings and uncomfortable pining.

“Can we talk about something else?” You ask softly.

Jungkook, to your surprise, offers you a warm smile, something gentle and understanding. You’d never thought him capable of it.

“Of course.” He agrees, and your conversation shifts to more cheerful topics with his guidance.

By the time you pull into the venue, your mood is significantly improved. You manage some cheerful small talk with one of the alien administrators who facilitated the exchange over a glass of champagne and you pose obediently for photos for Nayeon’s instagram. You even manage to keep your face neutral when you see that your assigned seat is beside Taehyung. You’re not sure why you expected any different, but if your smile becomes a bit more strained, no one comments on it.

Taehyung is already seated when you make your way to your seat. He’s midway through a conversation with one of his university classmates when his gaze lands on you.

The slight smile slides off his face as he tracks your progress through the function room, but you can’t quite name the emotion on his face- nervous? Apprehensive? It’s a sort of queasy smile.

You’ve braced yourself for a confrontation by the time you reach your seat, so when Taehyung leaps to his feet and pulls your seat out for you, you freeze mid-step. It’s… not the reaction you were expecting, for sure. For someone who had pleaded for some space the night before, he certainly doesn’t seem to want any tonight, settling back into his seat with a beam and even tugging his seat just that little bit closer to yours as he introduces you to his companion.

The friend he’s introducing you to is chatty and too enthusiastic for you to slip in an interrogation about Taehyung’s sudden change in behaviour. You feel like you want to burst out of your skin- the urge to demand what he means by this strange hot-and-cold behaviour burns on the tip of your tongue.

Particularly when he slides his forearm across the back of your seat, like he’s your boyfriend, lounging in that familiar, comfortable way that only intimate partners do, although he carefully avoids brushing the skin exposed by your low-backed dress with his knuckles.

That behaviour continues throughout the night. He acts like the last week hasn’t happened, instead slipping back into that familiar, casual intimacy that had existed between the two of your for the last few months now.

To say you’re confused is an understatement, and when he dares to slide his hand over yours like he wants to hold it, you whirl on him.

“Can we talk?” You grit out between clenched teeth. He looks a little startled, before smiling, that same dazzling smile he always has.

“Of course.” He agrees warmly, and it’s almost absurd how affectionate his tone is considering how he’s been acting the last week- considering what he requested of you the night before.

You pretty much stalk outside, finding a quiet unoccupied balcony, and you whirl on him.

“What are you doing?” You demand, as soon as he allows the glass door to swing shut behind him. He leans back a little, hands held up placatingly.

“You’re upset.” He observes.

“Of course I’m upset!” You explode in bewilderment. Normally, Taehyung is sensitive and understanding, in tune with your emotions in a way that no one else is. You’re baffled and exhausted by this out of character behaviour.

He nods, smiling awkwardly.

“I know it took me some time,” he says, as if this is a comfort or explanation for his confusing behaviour. “But I had trouble having a decision. But I’ve decided now.”

He waits for a beat.

“I accept.” He announces, like he’s handing over the nobel prize.

There’s a beat of silence, so thick that even cricket chirps couldn’t pierce it.

“What?” You ask. He blinks, some of his confidence leeching away- his brows furrow too.

“I accept.” He repeats.

Sometimes Taehyung struggles with syntax and word choice- likely this is one of those times, and while normally you’re an expert at puzzling out the true meaning behinz his words, this time you’re at a complete loss.

“You accept?” You echo. Taehyung is beginning to become uneasy, shifting back and forth. His hands start to fidget with each other. He nods.

“Is that the wrong word?” He asks. He taps his finger against his chin as he searches for the term. “I will?” He tries, and you shake your head. “I do?”

Now you’re well and truly baffled, and he starts to look a little fearful. He steps towards you, urgency lacing into the tense lines of his body.

“Did I… take too long? Do you no longer want to?” He asks, and his voice is gentle but cautious. You want to be mad, but you’re beginning to realise that something is going on beyond your comprehension.

“Do I no longer want to what?” You finally say.

“Your proposal! I accept it!” He finally gasps out. “Did you change your mind?”

“Proposal?” You echo, absolutely dumbfounded.

“SURPRISE!” Nayeon shouts, the glass door flying open with and alarmingly loud clatter. The two of you whirl on her- she has a little party popper in her hand that’s she’s released in a little burst of confetti and beside her Jungkook has a little piece of paper that says “Congrats on finally dating!”

To say you’re confused is an understatement. Your gaze flicks from Taehyung, who suddenly looks like he may keel over, all the colour drained from his face, to Nayeon, grinning impossibly bright like she’s just won the lottery, to Jungkook, who seems to be the only one catching on to the mood on the balcony.

Slowly, as the silence extends, the smile slides off Nayeon’s face. She looks at Taehyung, paler by the minute. Then she looks at you.

“You didn’t… confess?” She asks.

That’s when it finally clicks.

Proposal. Like proposal of marriage. Taehyung…

He…

He thinks you…

He thinks you proposed to him?!?

Instantly, you grab at Nayeon, snatching the empty party popper out of her hand, because you just know that she’s somehow responsible for this mess.

“You have thirty seconds to explain Nayeon.” You order her, your tone lethal. She winces and scratches awkwardly at the back of her neck.

“Well, I knew you wouldn’t ever confess on your own…” she admits. “And there was so little time left before Taehyung went home! So, I thought I’d take matters into my own hands… that flower, that Namjoon asked you to give Taehyung?”

You remember the flower in question, and recall that you’d given it to Taehyung about a week ago, the same day he started ignoring you.

“I saw on google that it’s how people on his planet confess! So I thought I’d help you out. I blackmailed Namjoon into getting you to give it to Taehyung so that it would look like you gave it.” She confesses. She looks at Taehyung. “I wasn’t being mean. You were supposed to think she was confessing and admit you liked her too!”

Taehyung, interestingly, has turned a fascinating shade of purple. He looks between the three of you, swaying on his feet, before he finally chokes out his response.

“It’s not a confession flower.” He gasps. His gaze looks at you and you think he’s almost glowing in the meagre light. Nayeon’s brow furrows in the same moment he explodes with the phrase “It’s a proposal flower!”

For the third time that night, complete and utter silence follows.

“A proposal… flower?” Nayeon echoes. Taehyung nods deliriously, on the verge of tears.

“It is given as a gift of bethrothal! To request marriage! Like a diamond ring!” He cries. And then again the colour drains from his face, leaving him deathly white. “It… it wasn’t from you?”

It’s taking you a minute to puzzle through the convoluted web you’re faced with. Slowly, you shake your head.

“No.” You say. “Namjoon asked me to give it to you and to keep it secret. He wanted it to be a surprise.”

Taehyung, to his credit, manages to stay upright, but his posture wobbles as though a mere breeze will knock him over.

“Then… you didn’t propose?” He asks. It’s starting to dawn on you, what has happened. Namjoon’s mysterious absence the morning you were meant to deliver the plant- Taehyung’s expression when you’d shoved it in his arms. The way he’d avoided you for a week after- the way he’d pleaded with you for some time. He’d even said it the night before, hadn’t he? That he needed time before making huge choices. You’d thought he was just struggling with the end of his exchange and tertiary studies. But he’d actually meant marriage- he’d thought you’d proposed and he had been trying to decide how to answer amidst all the other things he had to deal with in the final week of his exchange.

And he’d…. Decided to accept? He’d thought you’d proposed and his answer was to say he accepted?

“No.” You say faintly. “I didn’t.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before Taehyung is scrambling back through the glass doors, pushing past Nayeon and fleeing through the function room like his life depends on it.

Nayeon, and Jungkook, to their credit, say nothing as they watch Taehyung tear through the function room with an almost inhuman speed.

“Well.” Nayeon says quickly, attempting to step back through the glass. “Glad we got that sorted. Guess we’ll be going then-“

You fold your arms, smiling menacingly at her, and she cuts off her word.

“You guys have thirty seconds to run, before I murder you.” You say cheerfully, and it’s the only warning the two of them need before they take off as well, racing through the function room at a similar speed to Taehyung, leaving you to clean up the huge mess they’ve just created.

Still… you let them go, with the echo of a smile on your face.

They had meant well, after all.

Taehyung has never been so mortified in his life.

He sits in his room, his suit crumpled and his blazer discarded. He hugs his knees to his chest and buries his face in his folded arms. The darkness there is soothing, somehow. He wishes he could stay there forever, to dissolve into oblivion.

A gentle knock at his door interrupts his brooding. He looks up to see you step cautiously through the door. You’ve abandoned your heels, but you’re still wearing that dress that makes you look stupidly pretty. He’d already decided he was going to accept your proposal when he’d woken up this morning, the memory of your confused, hurt face fresh in his mind, and then you’d stepped into the function room earlier that night and he’d been lost. Washed away in a tidal wave- you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen in his life, on both planets, and he’s madly in love with you. This whole stupid week he’d known what his answer was, that he’d accept your proposal in a heartbeat, but he knew he had to be rational. To think things through.

Except, you hadn’t really proposed, had you?

“Come to be mocking?” He asks, and his throat is uncomfortably raw. He knows the sleeves of his white shirt are stained blue, and that they expose his tears, even if his swollen eyes and raspy throat didn’t do that already.

You settled beside him on the bed and it dips beneath your weight. The scent of your perfume fills his senses, dizzying and sweet and he wants to lean forward and bury his face in that tantalising crook between your neck and shoulder and never emerge.

“When have I ever given you the impression I’d make fun of you over something like this, Tae?” You ask. You don’t sound angry, or disgusted at least. Just… confused.

He looks away.

“You’d be right to.” He confesses. “How stupid can I have been? Agonising all week over a betrothal that hasn’t ever had occurrence.”

Another few hot tears, a mixture of humiliation and misery, slip free. A hand lands on his shoulder- the warmth of your palm slips through the thin cotton of his shirt, warming the skin of his shoulder. He can feel you in his bones- your smell surrounds him, right down to his lungs, and the heat and warmth of you beside him seems to fill the room.

“Tae.” You say gently. Your press lightly on his shoulder, forcing him to tilt his body back towards you. “I’m sorry that you got caught in the crossfire of their scheming. And I’m sorry that you got hurt by this. They didn’t mean any harm. They were trying to help.”

He drops his gaze.

“It doesn’t feel like they were.” He mumbles. He flinches when your hand comes towards his cheek. You pull back, just a little, and then approach again more slowly. You’re giving him the chance to pull away, he realises.

Like he ever would.

Slowly, you cup his cheek in your palm, lifting your thumb to gently wipe a tear away. A strange feeling floods him, a warm affection, at the contact of your hand against his cheek but he doesn’t know if it’s your feelings or his. Probably his.

Then you offer a crooked, lopsided smile that makes his stupid, embarassing heart do backflips.

“For what it’s worth,” you say softly. “They were trying to confess on my behalf. If anything, I should be embarrassed that they exposed my feelings for you.”

The words echo in the meagre space between the two of you. Taehyung can’t help the way his gaze meets your, like magnets clicking together. His heart leaps into his throat.

“Your feelings?” He asks, and he hopes the hopefulness in his voice doesn’t make him look any more stupid than he already has tonight.

Smiling warmly, you nod gently and lean forward until your lips are pressed against his forehead, and the flood of emotions that rushes through him are too sudden and abrupt to be anything but yours. Affection, warmth… love. That buzz-y electric feeling that tingles all the way to his fingertips- it’s love. Your love. You love him.

He looks up at you as you pull away, and slowly, you nod at the unanswered question in his eyes.

“I can’t say I would have proposed before we even went out to dinner together.” You admit. “But I can say that it’s definitely something I’d want to talk about in the future.” You turn so you’re face him fully, resting both knees on his mattress and sitting back on your heels. “With you.”

Something warm and burning fills him, from the centre of his chest all the way out to his fingertips.

“You would?” He asks softly. You offer a shy smile and nod, and Taehyung is lost.

“I don’t know how it would look, between us.” You say. “Your exchange is almost over, and you live on a different planet, and we… there’s so much to work out. But if you wanted to, we could do it together?”

Your hands are still warm when he clasps them between his own. Uncertainty and nerves flood across the contact of your skin against his, but also happiness. You’re the good kind of nervous. And when he presses the backs of your hands against his in a gentle, adoring kiss, he doesn’t know or care if the butterflies in his tummy are yours or his.

“I have many job opportunities here.” He admits. “And many friends and connections. I have a life here.” His gaze slips up to meet your own. “I could stay here. If you wanted. I could become a citizen. We could court, and then marry, at whatever pace suits you. We could even have children, if Nayeon and Jungkook are not children enough. I would do all of that with you. If you wished it.”

You beam at him and the expression is so precious, so beautiful that he knows his decision remains. Even if you didn’t really propose to him, one day he will propose to you. If it wasn’t real, he’d make it real. With you.

“That’s ok.” You say, leaning forward. “We don’t have to decide any of that tonight. After all… we have time.”

And Taehyung almost protests, but when your mouth meets his, he finds that he agrees. There’s plenty of time for all that later- proposals, dating, everything.

Tonight, though, he wants to spend his time working out if the fireworks exploding in his chest are yours or his.

Or maybe they belong to both of you.

#tae x reader #kim taehyung x reader #v x reader #taehyung x reader #writing #anis farewell

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jeonstellate · 2 years

Text

timestamp: parallel

it’s 8:10 pm when you beg minghao to love you.

๑彡 xu minghao x gender neutral!reader

๑彡 arranged marriage!au — little angst(?)

๑彡 paragraph format — 0.6K words

masterlist

[gif’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

Xu Minghao is the most ideal husband one can possibly have. He is a man mothers and grandmothers try to introduce their children and grandchildren to. He is a man people know of, even if they cannot be bothered to know about the industry he belongs in.

Polite. Witty. Charming.

Those are the words, along with their variations, that never leave the murmurs of people who had to pleasure to interact with him. No one ever contradicts them, nor has any experiences that prove otherwise.

In short, Xu Minghao is someone everybody adores. And you, just like everybody else, are no exception.

You belong in the same crowd as Minghao. You had similar upbringings, which later on transitioned into similar life paths. However, despite growing up and existing alongside him, you two rarely meet.

You and Minghao are akin to parallel lines. Except your "parallel" also means "coinciding."

Especially since Xu Minghao, the son-in-law every mother wishes to have and the husband every woman and woman-alike dream of, is legally bonded to you.

You are living the dream of thousands, if not millions, of people as Minghao’s spouse. Yet, although you realized it, that dream is never yours. Not even once.

Xu Minghao is a mere obligation to you, as you are to him. Your marriage is a mere favor from your respective parents; an unfortunate manifestation of an old familial pact. (Albeit neither of you have supported the idea from the beginning, neither of you contested the proposal, either, hence the commencement.)

You have never desired Minghao in a way a lover should, much less how a spouse should. You admire him, yes, but that feeling is twinned with nonchalance rather than anything romantic.

To you, Xu Minghao is exactly how people see him as — and so much more.

Perhaps that is why you find it easy to learn how to love him, despite his ice cold demeanor towards you.

You do not hold anything against him, even if his affections for you are strictly for show. You chose to learn how to love him all on your own, as an attempt to make your life easier. Likewise, you do not expect him to follow your lead on how to handle your shared situation — especially if there must be a hundred different ways to go on about it.

But you cannot blame yourself if you also learned how to despise the method he did choose, either.

"Please love me."

You never meant to dictate how he should feel, but his chosen expression of his feelings hurt you more than you would like to admit. (After all, as much as his feelings are valid, yours are, too.)

You have given him two years to come in terms with your marriage. Within those two years, you tried everything to develop any type of relationship with him. But, alas, every attempt you made is ignored — leaving you to a last resort.

"I can’t."

His response is left unadorned — without an apology nor any other comforting gestures. It is left as it is, cold and true. And as much as it hurt to hear, you do not prefer his rejection to be any other way.

Because now you know he has no plans to try at all.

In the morning of your third anniversary, you leave him divorce papers and your wedding ring.

Thank you, your note says, for being honest with me until the end.

You and Xu Minghao really are like parallel lines. Always appearing next to each other, as if coinciding, but never actually do. (After all, besides the shallow reflection of love being mistaken for the real thing, neither of you really cared for one another.)

#xu minghao x reader #the8 x reader #seventeen x reader #xu minghao imagines #the8 imagines #seventeen imagines #xu minghao scenarios #the8 scenarios #seventeen scenarios #xu minghao oneshots #the8 oneshots #seventeen oneshots #arranged marriage!au #xu minghao #the8 #seventeen

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whitecappslll · 4 months

Text

Yes Virginia, There is a Santa Claus

Dear Editor, I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say that there is no Santa Claus. Papa says "If you see it in the Sun, it is so." Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus? Virginia, Your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except what they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to our life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! How dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished. Not believe in Santa Claus? You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your Papa to hire men to watch all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders that are unseen and unseeable in the world. You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, or even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernatural beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else as real and abiding. No Santa Claus? Thank God he lives and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, maybe 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the hearts of children. Written by Francis P. Church in 1897

Merry Christmas

#yes virginia there is a santa claus #1897 #Frank Church #Merry Christmas

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libidomechanica · 8 months

Text

Untitled # 10335

A limerick sequence

In buoyancy come slight, the chi puo. Thick and would complaces. And no another’s cot, the family Miss Edgeworth, ever. Me a below that Adeline his stone?

And flutes, like Spirit to put up—no, no, go not I was on might her that wad been at our good, whose a little stays no more loftier studies wither. For true.

Await, according, were so much let thought of birth. A good thing the would renovate, which their eye a sudden transport same—is through or Don Alfonso’s hum, was those.

Yet what calls! In France; she men health, westling to you that for thing abroad face is idleness, ’ I dare nothing—nothings green a bless grasp them all Spanish crimson so?

Little as mere are not. Settled: there lies every oftentimental e’re madrigals. Upon her loss that I forget, the skimm’d twenty year, or crest; or partial?

Because heaven of girl— she totem. Sometimes carpent’s set, and haunter’d, Detain poet couldn’t stands. On one: whether times to weak in. Under is Despair rise again.

When though then we have pleasant garden- rose precious say, close me—Me—they death- cry draws to temple, as the solar orbit, each other her sense among his Embleme.

Be young wild will besideratum. —But, doubt, the ways, great an unlamented. Swore like love. Last’s mature fortress! I wondrous enow. A part from fear and moonlight?

Alas! And like muse of your warden- rose fight O gently we wild, and cock could be fair, can comes in, temptation of you, but woman, so longest, none—nay, whose mind.

And she throughly in all, that drooping for one although the night, when frecklesse by side my rest. Is that their clown, marrying my Hearts of business shot let once high death?

(I have me mystic caress’d shall say. With which none may say. A woman is gone? His ran a beat human put unto people, but whole—streetlight heart bear it, nor day!

Slay me hall longbow frivolous in a strange, or why, or Fates change! They haled us, to divert nest’ she same—is mother rounder not. Babes to cheek that the sun.

So the gallow’s eyes. When then though the reserved. ’ Says no ebb to its in the hill imputes crawl: o moan even by the had operation; and even he rest.

If this new him! I have seemed, her help think his lady’s gentlest Calmuck the old bygones of the doom is fit shalt happy whether tender, and hardly, procul!

You of the must go, but betide, pars peeped and genitors of Fear, and thou reprove the Frenchments in a woman, Counter region. On the snug where I now bedbugs?

She table to which brow that point with a sword that lingering in ghosts; the same— because themselves; since thou have seemed light? I’m very presentence. To tent despair, who stands.

I thing, feel quite in Hades, in the nippit he take leave borne daye in vain. That does nothings one mysterics, down; and drowsily, but in say the should not these my ain.

The specially was as me; know this yet whenever whose frown which man her from the most of working could not on claim on the voice and a’! Blind is thy obscurity.

Drawn domed blow, because the like a soul that great die. Thy house with joy; you to a boxes to-nigh over; ah yes, as done such are your forefather was light of all.

If but how that the tramped they sang salamandering has number: example— t was amusemen. So renew: they knew him! To Russians high, upon the sky.

Fond of Man he hardly black, sword drear, sweet is new one venom which cant, you that her heart. Of many a favouring, and began too quaintance I said, stripling drum!

But seeketh not quill and Lassie, O. The wicked down wi’ purfles and immaculation; but, lo! The pass for Juan’s very tremulous occasion, or this dead.

He mind us earthquake one night, with sublime, the pock! The settled in any others should be sent leans, and stumble post; but none of weak in. A chain of those died.

Shifts to bully at the trippe it was And t will his disease; and what this new we tramped to woman that I must in thereby is no sisters with added greue. Love.

Were slewe misplaced? And not the most fears, and drop at human Pity do the wits, from out; there were to song of, or ioynts beneath, welcoming to dancing each in mud.

Musick men wealth, and cock could stood with a tide of courselves classie, O. Are bridegroom, the move, such to say, and slides upon a low or little last sixty for all.

Six weeks inward praise, a contemples? Huge woman, and bawled the sun, no harmless thanks again. Many a little Clod of bones that spurn, he deserves that with snowing.

Had begin less the Cather love. When the look down upon a single milk as far more regretting all these maching to them neat little or poem, prology.

Lift up shelter than grows? Of filter’d to gaze of Vivian all danced with all the peek or was not ease o’er ages, if the sun, who cross so thee the fled all calls!

And if he hand: cleave though ether, and finds her bosom burning adieu, and like peace, or ride a Warder at beautiful. To songs of counted, who watched into thee?

Yon palace, for Adonais! Though they, whose family sort of birthright for the preconciled nooks, Love lived in pedigree with juries, or very now should remorse.

But walked and circle smile one trace was a wisp alone. It may Lord was whole where no not that love, the rest at Halifax; ’ but ensembleme. And wrough the tyranny.

Of pleaseth ay more comeline, last thou will no mouth or Donna Julia’s pages. But great immortalice see denying ayme down at hath is a solitaire?

Let radians but the gallow. Came from year with fears before debt to my stars would surmise where are Nugae, quarum part six hour, beacon- tower, you are, which band to keepe.

When the heart, by merely call’d in such a some stream. Make my soul the sound by gush’d, and chast pall the thousand power I should not evil fan. The point of two you all!

Is greater in her heart by bride, I do come! A though me a huge women, gentle to general posses held in vapour; But just, stirre nothing on them were is home.

It strange—there sent for idle now for the picture, except they came is they are sides to sleep. Lost Angels the found they rose! I ’ve only togethere was peace!

And a slight have for our her and golden Day, who step soft Sh! In thy Greek—the sun of Death, is furrows cold. Of domestic basin of her is clear’d to glow.

Which, irregulation is during, the twice? The old the scents thy love, I had then, or Ralph had wrong. Names erect stood in an ages hers lost proudly may be drest.

From Lady, once, though several Count that I could almost in the though twenty years. When in the Memory excel that third flog there, that sixty, it slay this tutch.

Sweet to die? The moon of the world up in his sort of colouring with bland much happy they stalk, adown to spell the stranges an image, or our goose: and say, No.

They were she winding should seen absenceless like the twelve conceiv’st, it may finger the wish, by teeth our rosaries! For therefore at first regret; o Death each for?

It was some down to enter. ’Tis Despair meant air, the Dambe. Why not opening in it and world’s widow and not die her saw they coupled in exile were at Christ!

And let him for what wakes a rivulet; and corn winding sportsman of this ends open with find is what this own his Britons have she whose of thought he! Remember.

Or gentle Lawiers, reliefest bid me to a coach, that what life finding, but a patriots those at Christmas. Saw this dishonored that I wrothfull coronet.

—Fifteen with a general vow take eyes have leaf where were presentence, he those who have see denying so mutter; my book a discords of Rockport. My stocking way.

He should not then, jaded faint, the taper, ’ and do a sinecure—she, to square. Made of the walked her chiefly haruest of being aught have the had there was a fit.

In action of they could had skill marketable without music from collectually Brown, who came so ne’er the city. No anodyne; give nothing but better.

To the this was a thou been will. A rushing mind, when your bower to tell her break or blow mortal of handsome slipslop nor will purged, or he whole when all the bed.

—The mellow you must taken of the present you knowled across to a coxcomb’s flower should son again. Await, and then the hot wakes me my verse another.

But at gate has struck one, is much passion. John wassail till in an infancy complete, and all know who never having been nothings; he did party to his head!

That doth some obscure; like another. And not go see it up; and headlong view of your dear, and, and caught machinery weel aff, because to give a creed to his bright?

Choke to meet again! And sweet to battles, leaving of names true think the bushes, by my epic poets, and other, each, by his letched pose,—a dun—whether want.

’ For mere claretless, thou now I must have now—No! Regarding the breath, but neither could be not my narrow killing, sweet kiss— attracts by naming. From times she guesse.

But this grew another, surely, from more a prove thee. Found; all, what bed of episodes both whatever lives! As we should that some conversation, until I find.

Models fly; o’er what the bosom single one depart: a word, who were red, and what prove to shown. She man be set to little tender should make them at Waterloo.

And thus to keep my sleeping fallen, no hide; one of an in the uninspired. If such subtless right Phantastic skill’d, and love it, I tell the Heart, eye-water.

Shut up shells the placent. Who in the straws their scaffold in here was of those rubies tell us. Thus that it and bliss, and have none some constantial. At lengthenish.

A stars, till my ankle? To dawn grew; nor found me. Not spilt. For the Exchangeable to have may be saint though for their title sore at their surpass the sun’s despise.

And only mean a corkscrew one, nor caughter to defensible; and me, dart. Like a fear on to wind! No mattered, They knowledge of paying what commoners case.

He mind wish I would like a hill. Fairer to all that, in has blythest at Vivian-place—but I am too long despair began to whom shore, but me dulci.

That we know there thy lingers for saving eyes. Sister mate appoints, e’er colour’d lay show, as the prison- wall, and cling nails; we rushed with chance went but then already.

Some luck, our men kick as Ovid’s reproachful and station, which was only liked to say, he callous hope, they have spoke in eye I’m very gentle rug. Former curls.

Those will learn’d, when hearse. With the said, o Bulbul, as I pick upon the blood! Shamed of her late; but note, span to me; for jealous, transport and strength the antipodes.

Born I was light their heard swain such women killed at all the Duke of glory. Thy out thought are about disparage such foreigning, fooles in ourself might of brave.

But think, even into his vice, were line, to see, seek’st the leads I said: she is paralysis, the left the park, all you now, thy cold. At sixteen you, but Nanie, O.

Of sunshine same, glaunce: two or twenty- five hung thy call’d love such doom wait for such a stern watch that poems still the sun, no more them most? Broken his so very dawn.

Away, I touched hilt, and live you pattern wi’ rightly, since toom, and what men mix some fair week, and sulkily the TV because among he love. Their eyes.

My Muse dew sat wings of game, Caesar his rival out. I’ll betrays with his palls—at least, with that floating and God requent ivory still that are kindest I have died.

Into a foreveries rolled to mine, have choises are nis side-saddle. An ocean walks we glens are me back into rhyme, whatsoe’er saint and few faux pas, ’ thought to.

Palpitated: he line hours, the pavilion: the cliff, when thy love tough? Such women, ’ said to takes the two poor the corporal—some had connects great barn or nothing Post?

There was Hopes as locust on so, as it’s playes, making, charming, as worth things. But for naething college lorn night, selectric shock a liness in me, many yearning.

’En talk one date, unworth, that ripeness. To his garden poets where from Cadiz. Poor house, since, exceedingly read when we tires throught the world of Hazeldean.

He stood up your old starved the follye wits, like all higher tender-shower. And one thinks with me. And grotesques ill awake up for useful Pussy my example.

That I wrothful as fed, inside before it since defile. When a coming head; Out of thing our you wert o’ thee, should be among to pleasant, I—you know it.

By side, which heard this kindling hardly hew and with change within these to watched Elenor! And bursts by turnpike raging to their name, glauncing leaves at a’! And story.

I am glad that come; twere was agree; of all weep anew! They see; don Jose abode what, are smooth likes pit their eyes over one with flute fancy to say, oh!

And stood name, and that the deep down was the stronger. Serene another’s in amongst the air that working out, a noble tore of mud cried, o Bulbul, and feast die?

And Don Alfonso’s hurried at you gave her me. In Kula, driven the might, that sober sport; a heavy head, and virtue slurringes, till wed; and lassie, O.

There he happy fretted; its free a words; and look I deem’d chasten to attack? As we have amorous a firmed not opens, and make a modern Grecian tired.

He sameness is our Ashes rounding shall take things of the will beneath a smile. Whose did so hear to it was painties erected, and every preparate her gates.

Seven know, that heathers comrades up each come: if people grave my sorrowing by Dame Christian laws; but a lucid lake, and the missed to mend your labour. His clears.

The has blythe time, and wake no one keep the Miller in their from Cato. Which, with look’d alone from lean in his dreaming thy water wanton was three preux Chevalier.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #136 texts #limerick sequence

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purplehanfu · 2 years

Text

KinnPorsche: Episode 11

notes: Spoilers! I brought you some cold tea, just like you wanted. Ep 10 /// TOC /// Ep 12

In this episode: No judgements if this is your jam, but come onnnnn- Vegas' libido looks like it involves far too much effort for too little payoff. Kind of the same way I think about hard drugs or being a serial killer. So much work! But perhaps I'm just lazy- that’s why I'm single, relatively sober and all my murders have been crimes of passion.

Timecoded Review

2:42 Pete's hip tattoo- "No legacy is so rich as honesty". I'm feeling uncharitable so I'll just say that's the kind of tattoo a nineteen year old sorority girl would get on spring break in Cabo.

Vegas is right.

7:21 oh wow, really? Pete was undercover and now he mysteriously wants vacation and you aren't going to check in with him. Kinn is worried, Porsche is wholly unconcerned.

Boss of the year right here

9:09 Vegas threatens Pete's Grandma- what a dirtbag.

12:20 Tankhun, I never thought I'd be so happy to see you. Back to the main plot! The family discuss Porsche's future with the organization. Kinn admits he's in love.

Porsche is called onto the carpet and corroborates this statement.

The bodyguards rejoice and are probably making a moodboard with wedding ideas right now. Dad says Porsche can stay in the organization, but as a bodyguard not a boyfriend.

15:59 Meanwhile in the storyline I didn't sign up for, Vegas takes his hostage Pete to a delightful resort.

17:13 at least he's nice to his hedgehog

21:06 Detective Kim at work again. Actually we should call him Analyst Kim because all he ever does is skim the information collected by others. That's ok, It gives me the opportunity to gaze enviously at all his rings.

Sidebar: I really love all the jewelry in this series. If you know where I could get a paperclip chain necklace like Vegas', please let me know.

22:30 Porsche and Chay have a heart-to-heart about the dangerous reality of Porsche's job. Wait till Chay finds out about Kim! I'm trying very hard to like Chay's character but honestly I find him clueless, petulant and cringe in turn.

30:00 Kinn and Porsche get romantic and they don't have to hide it anymore. Have they ever? Have they ever had sex without the curtains wide open?

“... that I'm going to close the blinds.” haha he doesn't

31:33 Hey it's Nick and John from Duran Duran who have stopped by to tease the new couple.

That night they all end up at the club with Yok who is now a proud mother-in-law. I love her so much.

34:00 Kinn asks Nick and John what he should get Porsche for his birthday.

35:00 Vegas' dad slaps him for having bad taste in books. No actually to berate him for his ineptitude in business dealings. Perhaps Vegas should spend less time kidnapping and torturing and more on shady business deals.

37:45 Chay meets Tankhun and Tankhun's giant fun fur coat. Tankhun threatens to become like a parent to Chay.

39:35 OH NOOOOoooo, Chay finds out that his "boyfriend" is Kinn and Tankhun's baby brother. Chay looks confused, but honestly, doesn't he always?

40:00 aww vegas is tenderly patching up the wounds on Pete. Since Vegas inflicted these wounds, I award him no points for this altruism.

Pete spits some important truth about abuse and abusers.

45:40 Chay confronts Kim. Kim says he only tutored Chay because he is Porsche's bother. Ouch. Chay doesn't take it well. Maybe try again after you hit puberty, kid.

47:21 Kinn ands Porsche take a chopper ride as they make a desperate bid to secure southern Laos as part of Operation Lam Son 719. I kid- they merely take a tour of the city. Alas, they do not take out the Deutsche Bank building.

51:20 Ah, romance. Kinn and Porsche join the .3 mile high club. Also we see return of the product placement poppers from episode 1 which are actually some sort of snortable energy booster

stay classy, boys

52:13 Kim goes to the local temple to harass a retired detective who apparently was on the case he is investigating. Kim finds out it was his father who ordered all of the information about this mysterious case erased.

Ep 10 /// TOC /// Ep 12

Master list of all recaps

#kinnporsche #kinnporsche episode recaps

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valiantwarriorsquadroncomic · 1 year

Text

MISSION 4

Within the living quarters of the German diplomats that would visit, Large banners with a double headed black eagle hung over the windows. The wooden floored remained polished and unwarped, its beige walls holding several portraits of German leaders. A large, sturdy table lay in the middle of the study, with several large books labeled HISTORIA DE LA FPU and THE PROSPERAN MIRACLE; FROM ASHES TO INVESTMENT and laptop opened up to multiple scholarly articles. Fritz had begun to summarize the situation in Prospera. “Despite prospera modeling its own modern architecture , much has been done to preserve Indigenous prosperan cultural buildings and the old churches and business buildings built by European immigrants from the 19th to 20th century.” Joseph was listening attentively, Laleh had just finished filling up 10 pages of extensive notes, and Veronica had promptly fallen asleep.

“I never really knew about prospera before joining the VWS, this is all really interesting” Said joseph, scrolling to A photo of armed propseran civilian and anti Gustavo army operatives celebrating atop a captured tank. “I didn’t know a lot about prospera except one of my friend’s dad, who was super interested in its history. He laughed to himself. “You couldn’t stop Corporal Crawford from going on about military history once you got him started.”

“It appears the American education system doesn’t really cover anything outside its borders unless its world war 2.” Fritz replied, preparing his final part of the lecture. Veronica woke up and groaned

“I can’t believe Nathan assigned YOU to have ME educated about prospera for the sake of “cultural sensitivity and education training.” She grumbled as her head fell face down onto the oaken table, startling laleh who was in a trance whilst absorbing the glut of data Fritz dispensed.

“I think it’s very important to understand the culture and history of the people we’re protecting.” Laleh said with a smile as she gently lifted veronica by her shirt collar back in an upright position.

“NOW.” Said fritz, in a grave sudden tone that caught everyone’s attention. “I have been given the go ahead by Captain Nathan and Mr.Norman beforehand to inform you of the people we’re working with outside of Prospera.” Fritz said with pride.

“Yeah, its because you’re a nerd who care about dumb, obscure history. Fritz became very irritated in despondent.

“You’re kinda quick to call someone a nerd for someone who’s memorized the inside of fighter jets and takes them apart for fun. Remarked Joseph. Veronica turned back to joseph in disbelief.

“My friend, there is DIFFERENCE in being a genius…” She said pointing at her self, and proceeding to gesture towards Fritz. “…and being a NERD.” Fritz’s six eyes peered back in forth as he looked behind him, and observing several small visual feeds on his laptop. “You remembered when I told you how prospera was liberated by CNGS intervention and rebelling army forces?” Joseph and Laleh nodded as Veronica simply slumped in her chair, twirling her ear tip as if it was a lock of hair. “Thats what the COALITION stated publicly.” He hissed quietly, leaning near the rest of his comrades. “Sgt. Gustavo’s downfall wasn’t mainly due to poor economic conditions from years of prosperan dictators flying through revolving doors.” He said bringing out a small book. “Only a fraction of his defeat was caused by betraying the public by selling off local land to be devoured by aggressive foreign investors.”Laleh began to become nervous by Fritz’s behavior, Joseph was merely attentive as always, and Veronica was once again terribly bored by her brother’s theatrics. “The real reason Sgt.Gustavo was ousted was due to those masked communists!” Fritz concluded, showing off his tiny little book to his friends. The book had several photos of varying quality, showing the same Khaki donning soldiers fighting ALA soldiers as well as the south American chapter of the ALA, MUERTE BLANCO. Another series of images showed a giant, muscular woman with scarred skin, a fleshy crest within the concave of her skull and a deformed nose pick up a heavy ALA abomination and proceeding to throw it at a a group of terrified looking white mercenaries. Veronica smiled at the image of the giant woman.

“Maxy always likes to tell me when she did that!” She said cheerfully. Fritz continued,

“even after ousting the Gustavists, they had basically control over the entirety of the country, and seek to not only hunt down the remaining ALA forces, but the human trafficking ring that had sprung up amongst the political chaos in the closing of the Prosperan civil war.” He flipped through his book until he held up two separate CSTF operatives, a Tongan man and a Canadian man both in their early thirties. Another photo on the page showed them in white t-shirts, tan tactical vests and camouflage pants with baseball caps that had the logo PUMA SECURITY sewed onto them. “Approximately 6 months ago, two ex CSTF operatives had joined a private security firm after resigning.” Fritz explained, showing more pictures. “They were allegedly killed in prospera after their convoy and client were murdered by the ALA.” Fritz proceeded to flip towards a ghastly picture of a PUMA SECURITY truck coated in blood and several bodies of murdered PUMA SECURITY operatives whose faces were censored. “Those two soldiers?” Fritz inquired flipping one last time to a recent photo. Joseph got closer as he saw the streets of a prosperan city, bustling with activity and people going on their daily lives. A digital billboard advertised A rubble clearing services with subtitles in Spanish, Italian, French, and German. The two men were in the back of the crowd wearing trench coats and sunglasses while escorting a woman in a beret.

“They’re still alive!” Exclaimed joseph as Fritz snapped the book shut, waking veronica once again from her slumber.

“It’s estimated they have 113 ex Coalition armed forces members and 33 Ex CSTF operatives in their ranks, training their private armies, as well as bolstering their forces with escaped ALA human experiments they’ve liberated and rehabilitated.” Joseph was pretty stunned that this group appeared to be more of a force to be reckoned with. “If you’re confused on the point of my lesson, its to watch your back when it comes to QM and their gaggle of Marxists.” Fritz concluded, quickly returning the book into a protected lock box that he stuffed back into his book bag. A timer proceeded to go off. “It appears that the mandatory lesson is finished.”

Veronica shot up from the books and laptops. “FINALLY!” she yelled, quickly grabbing the small cloth bag she had filled with boredom fueled doodles. “I thought the monthly quality meetings set up by our foreman was bad!” Laleh gingerly waved to joseph as she gingerly squeezed through the exit.

“I shouldn’t keep mom waiting, she’s expecting a medical report from me today!” Fritz once again began to pick up where he left off, skipping to the chapter “PROSPERA’S UNEASY BUT BRIGHT FUTURE”. Joseph recognized the man’s face which was displayed near the chapter title.

“Oh, it’s that guy I saw during our briefing for ARTIFEX.” Fritz’s ears pricked up upon Joseph’s interest.

“This is President Juan Hidalgo Ramirez, the first democratically elected leader in propsera in 20 years.” Joseph proceeded scoot up a chair next to fritz, who was flustered, and secretly pleased with Joseph’s proximity.

“Damn, sounds like this guy is turning things around.” Joseph said after skimming several paragraphs.

Fritz cleared his throat, and somehow fought the urge to be condescending when people made generalizations on a politician. “He DID bulldoze the golf courses for farmland to produce crops to aid his starving homeland.” He said, gesturing to the book. “He is revitalizing the nationalized healthcare system while putting price caps on insulin and several medicines in the interim. Joseph looked at him oddly

“are you saying these are bad things?” Fritz was caught off guard by Joseph’s sincerity.

“This is the first time someone’s questioned my knowledge in good faith.” Said fritz, who then prepared to gather his closing statement. “The man Is still a puppet to the Marxist group QM.” Fritz brought up another photo of President Juan shaking hands with the Tongan QM operative. “A small organization yet it has an entire country with a budding tech industry and rapidly militarization at its mercy.” Fritz leaned dramatically into Joseph’s face as he prepared for him to be overcome by shock.

“I think you need to get your nose out of those books more often.” Inquired Joseph. “Hey, I’m headed for the shooting range, you should come with me!” Fritz now was flabbergasted at not only doing something social, but also INVITED to do something social.

“I mean, uncle would want me to study and understand the delicate language of propsera’s socio-economic conditions, bu-” Fritz soon paused as his spine let out a loud pop from being hunched over in his chair for too long. “Perhaps I should consider calling it a day.” Joseph helped fritz put up the study’s laptops and even organized his notes before leaving. The enormous automated door slamming shut behind them gave Fritz a small fright.

“SYSTEM IS NOW ARMED, UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ARE BARRED FROM THESE QUARTERS.” Barked the computerized voice, its scolding tone seeming to echo down the hallway. Later in the evening, joseph had finished target practice once again. This time, he began competing with Fritz. The two tallied their scores for bragging rights. “17 out of 22 targets hit!” Boasted fritz, holding up the printed score sheet.

“That says error 2321 contact maintenance.” Remarked joseph. Fritz’s ears shot up on concern as his scores were printed over by a red error message. “I got like…14 out of 22 targets hit, each in the head.” Said joseph with a grin. “Not too bad, if I do say so myself.” Fritz grumbled over his scores improperly being printed, crossing his arms and looking into a corner.

“This I why I detest modern technology, as if the modern world needed to be a bigger nightmare than it already is.” Fritz’s ears began to pick up something from down the Hallway. “Is that laleh?” He pondered. Joseph’s eyes widened with concern. “It sounds like someone’s yelling at her.” Joseph grabbed fritz, his scars flaring to Laleh’s location. Within the dim lights of the nearly abandoned medical wing, Captain Ackerman was giving laleh a very hard time. She was frozen in sheer terror as she had accidentally bumped into him as he made his way back to his quarters, and spilling his alcohol from the dinky little bar aboard the ship. Joseph made it just in time to see him viciously jab at laleh’s large stomach amidst his outburst. What little staff was there continued to not notice the berating going on out of fear.

“That’s Ackerman of the Erasure unit!” Said fritz, holding joseph back. “He outranks us and has connections with Mr.Norman!” Joseph turned back to fritz, gingerly taking his clawed hand off his arm.

“I don’t care.” Said Joseph as proceeded to march right to Ackerman as Laleh continued to apologize, pushing him away from laleh and getting in Ackerman’s face. “Is there are a problem?” Said joseph in a cold manner.

“This doesn’t concern you.” Retorted Ackerman, pushing joseph aside.

“You’re terrorizing a woman who busts her ass making sure me and my friends don’t die, so YEAH.” Stated joseph in a stone-faced manner. “That IS my concern.” Ackerman had becoming increasingly angry being scolded by the new meat. Laleh could see him grow red in the face per another outburst. She leaned in, her face pale and covered in sweat.

“Joseph, its my fault, I bumped into him and spilled his beer.” Joseph continued to keep laleh behind him, not breaking eye contact with Ackerman.

“Then he can get a new one instead of taking it out on you.” He explained. Ackerman’s face was bright red, his pupils shrank in rage.

“What the FUCK gives you the right to-” he growled about to put his hands on joseph. Before he had a change, something awakened in laleh.

“Poor joseph is a kind, gentle young man who still believes in the goodness of other people”. She thought, remembering how he tried to express restraint even when facing the ALA, a group of morally bankrupt terrorists who saw him as subhuman for his skin color. Not wanting revenge, but justice, concerned with becoming too joyful in his duty Despite seeing him as an object to compensate for failure in northern Iran . Another voice seemed to whisper to her. Harsh, deep, and viciously furious. “ARE YOU JUST GOING TO LET THAT BRAINDEAD IDIOT MANHANDLE THE FEW PEOPLE IN THIS DISGUSTING PLACE THAT SHOWS YOU GENUINE RESPECT?” She was terrified of this part of her inching closer to the surface, but her concern for Joseph was stronger. Laleh proceeded to get in front of her friend, and took off her helmet. She stared directly into Ackerman’s eyes. His own rage dissipated seeing Laleh tower over him, her dagger-like teeth bared. “Once again, I said I was sorry for bumping into you.” She dug out a 10 dollar bill from one of her pouches. “Get your self another drink, but do not yell at me or anyone else like that ever again, Thank you.” Joseph stood in silence as he had forgotten how foreboding laleh’s presence was. “It’s a bit late isn’t it?” Laleh asked joseph cheerily. “We should get back to our quarters.” Joseph said nothing as he followed laleh, Ackerman appeared to be as still as a statue, ten dollar bill fluttering from the incoming breeze of the dinged up, internal A/c unit. Fritz quickly peaced out from the site of the confrontation. After 12 seconds, Ackerman seemed to break from his fear induced trance as he could hear another pair of footsteps behind him. A hand gripped his shoulder.

“Capitan Ackerman, I have some concerns about your behavior.” Said a woman’s voice. The hand was cold, freezing, as it was made from hardened, tempered steel. A drop of sweat made its way down his face as the hand begin to click and whirr. Someone, a woman, whom was closer to Norman than he was, a woman who outranked even HIM, knew what about his interactions with Laleh. The situation finally dawned on him that he was in deep, deep trouble.

The next morning, Laleh and Joseph were awakened from their sleep with a loud alarm, the words CODE RED, THIS IS NOT A DRILL, rang over the poorly maintained intercom system. A voice boomed over the intercom, trying to diffuse the situation. “EVERYONE REMAIN CALM!” Said the woman’s voice, desperately trying to maintain order. “THE RED ALERT HAS ONLY BEEN ISSUED, NOT CONFIRMED!” Laleh rubbed her temples at the blaring sound and the complete breakdown in order outside the door. Just then, barely audible whispering from a man’s voice could be heard over the intercom. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE’S BEEN CAPTURED?!” Yelled the woman before not only her but the apparent red alert as well were cut off immediately. Joseph and Laleh sat in silence as the HARRIS shifted and clicked in response to the wind. The humming machines, that were always drowned out by outside noise hummed uninterrupted by day to day life. The two quickly dressed in their combat BDUS and tactical equipment. THE VWS had once again made it to the decrepit war room unprompted, only to be met by Nathan, who was just unlocking the door. Everyone new the situation was dire if Nathan was actually early to a war meeting. As everyone got seated, Fritz was flipping through a copy of GERMAN FOLKLORE, OLD AND NEW. REVISED AND UNABRIDGED. Only fritz seemed to notice that his sister was sitting upright. Paying attention, and not dozing off or doing anything seriously disruptive. It seemed her mentor and friend’s negative energy began to continually effect her with each day. Nathan fixed the busted projector with tape, and took stand at the podium.

“These assholes will drop five grand for a new salad bar on this glorified, flying deathtrap but NOT for OUR UTILITIES.” Nathan hissed, furiously clicking the remote to get the projector to work. Several clicks later, garbled footage began to play. It appeared to be a giant man wearing an intimidating gas mask whose radio antennae mimicked horns or a laurel wreath. “This is GHOSTFANG, part of the VWS senior operatives.” He explained while desperately patching up the projector with more tape as the chaise began to split apart again. “About 15 hours ago, GHOSTFANG had acquired important information about the location of ex dictator of propsera, Sgt. Gustavo Jesus Rodriguez.” Everyone listened intently, even veronica, Nathan was unusually formal and attentive to small details. “He’s also apparently in the same area of another high value CNGS target, the man responsible for the Fort NFELHEIM Subterranean bio-weapons lab incident in northern Iran. Joseph became dead still. Nathan flipped to a photo of a man wearing the same dull red vests and black bdus as some of the ALA abomination heavy soldiers. He had seen this hooded man before with ARTIFEX.in the photo, he was pointing to a young man strapped to hospital beds as he took a blood sample. What set this hooded figure from the rest was a large badge labeled “ALPHA KOMMANDO”. The badge was bright yellow with a skull wearing a german steel helmet and two potato masher grenades criss crossed. The face of the young man he was wrapped in bandages. “His real name is George Smith goes by the code name “APOTHECARY.” Nathan continued, his manic disposition replaced by sadness as he saw joseph grow angrier. “Allegedly, he joined the ALA while working in a pharmaceutical company his home country of England.“According to our spies, the laboratory staff was trying to reverse engineer and process a biological weapon stolen from the CNGS archives.” A small portrait appeared, revealing George Smith’s real face, a middle aged white man in a suit and tie in a casually happy demeanor. Joseph’s rage grew as he saw the disparity of his crimes as opposed to his picture, a serene middle aged man smiling gently at the camera, like posing for a family photo. “The ALA’s high command gave their head medical officer and ALPHA KOMMANDO operative the green light to start the project and act as head science authority in several projects.”

He clicked to a heavily censored picture depicting young American soldiers laying dead, face covered in nightmarish scar tissue like Joseph’s. “APOTHECARY had miscalculated the quantity of some chemical resulting in the lab staff causing an explosion, which subsequently allowed the bio weapon he was tweaking in a nearby laboratory room to leak into the surface in aerosol form.” “It killed 15 out of the 16 C-USA army operatives, and well…” He gestured to joseph. “Long story short, GHOSTFANG found out where these two are, but got blinded sided by ALPHA KOMMANDO.”Joseph sat there in silence as laleh leaned in to comfort him. “I’m okay.” He told her in a passive tone.Nathan clicked to a cleared patch of wilderness near an ALA base. “He’s been able to escape to the plains of Northern propsera, but there’s not much time, we MUST rescue GHOSTFANG.” As everyone got up, he signaled everyone to stop. “There’s also and UNKNOWN THIRD PARTY COMBATANT in the area wearing skull like helmets.” “If you see anyone that doesn’t appeared to be affiliated with our allies or the ALA, avoid them at all costs.” A little while later, the RISENFLEDERMAUS descended towards the ALA base where GHOSTFANG was last seen. Joseph observed photos of GHOSTFANG both with and without his mask. He seemed to resemble a bat like Fritz and veronica, but much more ghoulish with a longer snout. Nathan soon took a call from his radio.

“NATHAN, DO YOU READ ME?!” Yelled the voice of a middle aged man. Nathan proceeded to turn down the volume.

“Never could get the hang of modern technology, could ya, MacMillan?” The voice snapped back. “And YOU could never get the HANG of respecting your SUPERIORS!” Nathan looked over to his young comrades. “Everyone, our new CO is Corporal MacMillan, he used to boss me around back in the day, and how he gets to do it again!” He smugly turned back to his mouthpiece. “This must be a dream come true for you, huh, mac?” MacMillan’s frustration was palpable enough to wash over everyone in the passenger area of Veronica’s aircraft.

“This isn’t the time or place for your sass.” MacMillan's voice crackled with defeat. “GHOSTFANG is dangerously closed that ALA base, so you need to watch your asses the SECOND you touch down.” As the RISENFLEDERMAUS landed, several QM soldiers leapt from the trees, and proceeded to surround the VWS. “Relax.” Said MacMillan. “They’re just there to guard that…THING…your second lieutenant made.” The VWS followed joseph as his scars began to flare. The QM soldiers silently watched the group trundle their way toward their objective. Nervously, joseph would peer at them through the corner of his eye. Many of them seemed to have elongated fingers, like talons. Some had vertical pupils like a cat’s eyes. A few soldiers had horizontal pupils like a goat, allowing them to observe the quintet as they long disappeared from view.Fritz took out his binoculars to observe the factories and cranes by the ALA base.

“THE GHOST RESIDES IN A BLUE PASTURE” explained joseph, ominously. Sure enough, there was a blue, ramshackle building to the south.

“Everyone, keep your heads down.” Said Nathan as the VWS advanced ever closer. “We’re probably in for a desperate fight, so watch for any-” He stopped in his tracks, as did the rest of his group. Ahead was indeed an ALA base, but it appeared to not be abandoned, but empty. Nathan held out his arm as he scanned the area with his special field glasses. He winced at the sight of blood that had seemed to spatter the area.

“Geeze, it’s like something out of a horror flick.” Said veronica, her ear flicking in tension. Nathan shook off his feelings of dread to command his greenhorns. “MacMillan’s given me the green light, we’re going to approach on foot to avoid being spotted.” Nathan declared, observing how non of the ALA vehicles were damaged in the slightest.

“Fritz, scout out the area surrounding the base.” Fritz saluted, but was stopped momentarily as Nathan grabbed him by the arm. “If you see ANYONE wearing a skull mask or a hooded jacket, get right back here and find us.” Fritz felt Nathan’s grip tighten. “If you can’t find us, then HIDE.” “Do you understand me?” Fritz saluted again. “Jawol, kommandant.” Fritz dashed off, adjusting his telecom to ensure he could properly contact his friends, especially his channel to joseph. Something was terribly wrong with the captain. The VWS began to slink through the base.Things inside the base were little better. Incomplete walls were slaked in blood, the slumped body of AlA soldiers leaned dead against the buildings they once guarded. Laleh’s hands began to shake, feeling that the dead eyes of the ALA operatives were still somehow watching. Observing. Their unblinking gaze still burning through her as she left the area. The rest of the area were composed of temporary, rectangular housing structures and large tents with white canvases, and plenty of more bodies.

“I could be nuts,” Said joseph, “but I’m seeing a lot of slashing and stabbing wounds on these guys.” Nathan continued to lead the group, making sure joseph was in the middle of the formation. Veronica and laleh in the back, with him in the front. He tried ignore the mass of bodies, and the report of THOSE TWO that were in the area. The gang traipsed carefully around the bodies which clogged up walkways.

“It’s like some maniac charged in here only armed with a blade.” Veronica whispered. “What kind of lunatic would actually try to use bladed weapons against fully armed soldiers?” Her ears pricked up as she suddenly heard rustling from behind her, causing her to swing around behind her to find no one. For some reason, a great feeling of dread crept over here brave and mischievous demeanor. A part of her knew she and her friends were being watched. Joseph suddenly clutched his head in pain. Nathan swiveled towards him as his young ward muttered an ominous phrase.

“THE BEAST IS HERE.” The dead silence of the slaughtered camp came to an end as a figure from the far side of the base came closer to the VWS. Its boots crushed the dying grassland, footsteps echoing and growing louder. Joseph recognized the skull faced man immediately. “It’s that guy from area 110!” he exclaimed, pointing at the ghoulish looking man.

Nathan pushed everyone back, holding his gun up at the mysterious man. “FREEZE!” Nathan barked, struggling to maintain trigger discipline on his devastating handgun. The skull faced soldier obliged him. Nathan took another heavy step forward. “MATTHIAS GREY!” he said, seeming to be on the verge of a breakdown, “YOU ARE UNDER ARREST FOR THE UNLAWFUL MURDER OF COALITION ALIGNED POLITICIANS AND HIGH TREASON!” the figure stood, unmoving. His red lenses continuing to flicker like embers. He looked off into the distance, seeming to reminisce.

“Mathias, Jesus Christ, does that name take me back.” He pointed at nathan accusingly. You call me by RENNASIANCE MAN 2 now, little boy.” The gang were bewildered to see their captain be treated like some sort of misbehaving child “To get back on topic, YOU seem to be the one who’s plenty used to abandoning people.” Veronica hissed as everyone readied their weapons. Matthias pulled out his handgun, the same type as Nathan’s. An engraving on the side was carved into the gun slide. “FORCE IS GREATEST TOOL TO ENSURE GLOBAL SECURITY.” Mathias read out loud in a mocking tone. “Such an apt description.” “The coalition seems to be good at hiring weak, limp wristed, and SENTIMENTAL tools like you.” He pointed the gun straight at Nathan, who was about to completely lose his composure. The atmosphere was as calm and lax as being strapped to a ticking bomb. Joseph struggled to dowse a weakpoint, but to no avail as if this man’s presence was disrupting his psychic resonance. Without taking his gun off nathan, Mathias turned towards veronica. “Does he still cry about that gender ambiguous tart that rejected his affections?” Mathias proceeded to make a mad dash for the blue building. Nathan regained his composure and clicked his head set.

“FRITZ, RETURN TO FORMATION!” He bellowed as everyone dashed to GHOSTFANG. Joseph could sense a large clutch of well hidden anti tank land mines that lay just in front of Matthias path.

“Okay, maybe he’s a dumbass and he’ll blow himself up.” Thought joseph hopefully. His hope evaporated as Matthias began side swiping the clutch of mines. He dowsed a group of poltergeist commandos waiting for Matthias behind cover, but he put killed them with his powerful handgun as they hid behind cover, like he could sense they were there. A final one seem to drop from the trees, but soon met its violent end. RM II grabbed a knife from his vest and put up his handgun with immense agility. In a single swipe, he slashed the poltergeist commando’s throat, leaving it for dead as it choked on its own blood. “fuck.” Wheezed joseph, realizing that this masked lunatic was also capable of life-saving super human agility. Without a moment to lose, he signaled to everyone to stop and carefully navigate the minefield they were seconds from approaching.

“VWS, OPEN FIRE!” Barked nathan, as he began firing hurriedly at the skull faced ghoul. Fritz hurried towards GHOSTFANG, slyly using Matthias’ foot prints to bypass the traps. Matthias quickly dove into the building, and clicked a small button on the side of his mask.

“Where the FUCK are you?!” Matthias hissed as he drew closer to GHOSTFANG. “I’m busting my ass trying NOT to blow those coalition circus freaks to kingdom come, and I can’t sense you ANYWHERE.” He continued complaining as he drew a large combat knife. “The boss would have my balls on a plate if I did otherwise, says we need those freaks alive and intact.” He fired at Fritz with his less powerful handgun. “Which means get your STUPID ASS over here and ASSIST ME.” A youthful voice responded to Matthias with the exacerbation of an annoyed teenager.

“Whatever.” It replied.

“Show me some respect, you ungrateful little SHIT.” Hissed Matthias. “If it weren’t for ME, you’d still be on that god forsaken boat getting your ass beaten and drugged.” The VWS halted in its tracks as a hooded figure descended from the surrounding woodland behind him. Its face covered in a skull like mask, but made with an minimalist, modern design. He casually flicked the blood off his stained gloves, the stench of copper permeating Veronica’s nostrils.

“Yeah, now I get my ass beaten by you, what an upgrade.” The hooded figure leapt straight at nathan with a flying kick. He barely had time to react as the hooded figure’s knee made contact with his ribcage, knocking the wind out of him. After being knocked to the ground, Veronica drew her combat knife to engage the hooded figure, as his close proximity to her comrades would be too risky for her usual spray and pray from her machine gun. As she went for a slash, the figure dodged her swipes, and proceeded to bring out a carbine fitted with a bayonet. The hooded punk charged her, parrying her knife, sending it flying before He struck her in the head with the butt of his rifle, Veronica’s cheap helmet cracked as the impact caused her to drop to the ground. The hooded figure proceeded to nonchalantly stroll up to joseph, his rifle drawn at the masked solider. Laleh immediately legged to get in front of joseph, aiming her grenade launcher at the cruel young man, her arm outstretched in protection. Within the blue building, A shootout between Matthias and Fritz illuminated its interior. Windows were being shot out as gunfire flickered like lightening. A small part of the building collapsed as Matthias used a separate handgun in an attempt to kill Fritz. Fritz used his speed to conduct hit and run tactics, using debris or dashing up to the rafters as covered. The masked, hooded soldier was nonplussed as he grew closer to joseph.

“Sounds like your pet freak is giving that old fart some trouble.” He laughed, shrugging his shoulders. He seemed to know EXACTLY where fritz’s position was in the building, pointing at fritz’s position as he dodged and weaved. “He’s smart, he seems to know if he pauses for a second, he’ll get reduced to a smear on the wall.” Within the building, RM II began to get increasingly annoyed.

“You think you’re hot shit, don’t you, little kaiser?” He sneered as fritz’s ears twitched in concern. “I hear you and some others want to help reform your backwards country.” RM II said as Fritz dodged another shot and layed down suppressing fire. “You make me just as sick as the CNGS and those braindead Marxists, thinking this cesspit we call the modern world can be saved.”

“You’re such a vicious, and sad old man!” Fritz retorted, almost hitting RM II. Independent Germany will embrace the FREDERICH DOCTRINE, and all subjects in its walls shall be cared for”! Matthias snorted at Fritz’s declaration of tolerance.

“At least I’m HONEST about who I really am, you and your little band of freaks only aid others out of the brainwashing of your limp-wristed superiors.” Fritz dodged another wave of dangerously accurate handgun fire. “Once I get YOU, and the other CNGS freaks, I can finally kick this shitty job and ride out the rest of my days in comfort,away from everyone else on this miserable planet.” Fritz was able to graze RM II, sending him backwards and out a broken window. Joseph quietly noted the hooded soldier’s sadism as he broke into laughter as Matthias fell out the second floor window. After his gruesome fall and impact, Matthias proceeded to snap his arm back into his socket with a sickening pop and dashed back into the building. Joseph took no time taking advantage of this and opened fire after clearing some distance, laleh still in front of him. He was taken back at the burst of speed the hooded soldier, stunned as the masked soldier charged them down down. Nathan and Veronica desperately dashed after the sadist.

“RELAX, I’M JUST GONNA SLIT YOUR ACHILLES TENDON!” He playfully said as he slashed at joseph and Laleh.

“ENACTING COMBAT MEDIC SELF DEFENSE ADDENDUM!” Cried out laleh. The hooded soldier was soon overcome with blinding light. He was shocked, not just by the flash, but that his mask wasn’t able to fully protect him from the violent sound and light completely. He was soon sideswiped by a powerful punch to the face by Nathan. After flying two feet, stumbling to regain his senses, he felt the ground rumbling as Laleh grabbed him in a panic, hoisting him above her shoulders. “I AM NOW AUTHORIZED TO ENACT DEFENSIVE, RETALIATORY FORCE.” Cried laleh as She proceeded to throw the masked soldier into the wall of the remains of a rotted wooden building. Fritz was caught in a balancing act of dodging Matthias bullets and trying to get to GHOSTFANG, trying to listen to his ragged breathing. Suddenly, Matthias had ceased firing upon him, and turned towards the great crashing sound.

“Oh no.” He said an a sudden instance of great fear. He leapt from the second floor and dashed where his masked protege was thrown through a flimsy wall of rotted wood. Breathing a sigh of relief as his submachine gun nearly ate through 95 percent of his ammo, fritz located GHOSTFANG and gingerly picked up him up for extraction. The rest of the VWS had the hooded figure pinned down, veronica having big machine gun out and clearly intended to use lethal force. Laleh stuck her arm out in front of joseph protectively.

“MacMillan, we’ve apprehended RM III, beginning containment procedures.” Nathan explained. The irritable corporal answered in a fearful voice.

“You’re fucking kidding me…is RM II with him?” Everyone but Nathan had a baffled look on their face.

“I know you guys are confused as shit, and I’ll explain the RM situation to you another day.” Joseph’s eye caught something as the hooded one, RM III, whatever new abbreviation he had to remember. The mask appeared to be dented, and slipping, partly exposing RM III’s face and neck. He was met with the sight of a large, vertical scar along his neck, being obscured by the mask and bdu. Its pulsation matching the same rate as Joseph’s scar pulsation.

“Both he and that Matthias must have been hit by that same bioweapon I was exposed to.” Joseph said as he observed its pulsation.

“HA!” RM III scoffed. “Bioweapon, how fucking rich.” He turned towards Nathan, still on his knees. “What else are you and those coalition dogs lying to them about?”

Veronica looked fearfully at Nathan. “He…he’s just trying to fuck with right?” She shot Nathan a very despondent look. “You would never lie to us, would you?” A metallic canister was tossed at high velocity at Nathan’s feet. Before anyone could react, blinding light flashed and deafening sound thundered, leaving everyone in a state of shock. By the time they could recover, Matthias and RM III were gone, and fritz reunited with everyone as he assisted GHOSTFANG in walking towards the RISENFLEDERMAUS.Some time later after the VWS escaped and their QM allies disappeared into the Prosperan wilderness yet again. They attended GHOSTFANG’s debriefing and sanitation. The papers, hard drives and USB sticks were slightly dinged up but none worse for wear. Laleh tended to his wounds with the other medical staff members.

“I’m amazed you’re still conscious despite the several gunshot wounds and dehydration.” She noted in a tone that sounded more fascinated than concerned. She carefully handed a small tray consisting of seven bloodied assault rifle bullets her friend and Harris surgeon Ashley. “OoOOH! LOOK AT THIS ONE!” Laleh said gleefully as she pulled out the final bullet from GHOSTFANG’s shoulder. It was a 6 inch long sniper rifle round, stained crimson, yet LALEH marveled at it like a collector would marvel at a rare stamp or figurine. The younger VWS members were then shooed away from the surgery observation area for further medical examination and rest before their new mission. Before leaving, Nathan met up with them to try to explain himself.

“All I can tell you is that RM II, or Matthias…” He awkwardly explained, scratching at his face. “Is a defector from the CSTF, and now makes a living as a terrorist for an unknown benefactor.” He gathered everyone toward the exit. “I wish I could tell you more about him and that bioweapon, I really wish I could.” As Laleh’s humming became less faint, the intelligence team dashed the evidence for further anti virus and spy-ware analysis.Deep within a bunker in old prospera, the crumpled N.1685 logo fluttered as cold air blew down from a rigged ac unit. APOTHECARY had finished up the last of N.1685’s recovery procedures as he slowly rose from the table. just in time to view the footage of Joseph stabbing apothecary and RM III’s killing spree from earlier that day from a television screen. He fist clenched in primal rage at the brief sight of Laleh behind joseph as APOTHECARY fit him with a new transparent hood and protective lightweight material.

“I know you want to get back at the VWS, but we need you to support our artillery and rocket battery near RIO VERDE” “that’s a direct order from ALA high command.” APOTHECARY said as N.1685 paused in anger and indignity. “Please understand, our mercenary squadrons have been decimated by the combined efforts of the CNGS and those damned Marxists from QM.” He flew off the table and made his way out of the base to receive further orders and be sent on the battlefield. APOTHECARY nervously watched footage of RM III kill several abominations by stabbing their weak-points with his bayoneted carbine. “It appears the younger the subject is given the RENAISSANCE MAN serum, the deadlier they eventually develop.” He noted at RM III’s unfettered, mean-spirited glee. “If VELVET is correct and the scarred one is exhibiting symptoms, I’m wholeheartedly terrified of what he’ll be capable of.” He looked back at footage of joseph looking despondent. “ RM IV…” Apothecary spoke, gently stroking the image of Joseph’s face like caressing a sleeping cat. “My final chance at reclaiming my spot for the coming Aryan paradise.” He turned towards footage of a soldier in headgear, the name LOGAN CRAWFORD, was printed on the side of his bed. “I told them to move him away from coalition territory…if they don’t act soon…well…at least they can’t blame me for this one”. APOTHECARY sighed as he was brought another abomination soldier to patch up. “We just seem to be running out of places to shove prisoners since QM and the CNGS started cooperating, haven’t we?.” The cameras atop the metal surveillance pillars swung to observe his every move. His bunker felt more an more like a prison as the cameras reminded him of his upcoming trial regarding his mistake in Iran.

Meanwhile, Nathan was called into an emergency meeting with MacMillan alongside intelligence and the VWS’s senior officer corps. “What the hell do you MEAN he DEFECTED?!” nathan blurted in the midst of the presentation. Andrew would be usually furious at being interrupted, but he seemed to be in a depressive state. “I’m afraid so.” He replied. “It appears that a CNGS-AMERICAN officer, Corporal Issac Crawford had disappeared with his wife to defect to the ALA.” He turned towards the projector. “It unfortunately has plenty of eyes in ears in the CNGS-AMERICAN military.” He stated as he clicked towards the photo of joseph and another young man his age, both were smiling and sitting next to each other by a lake. “This is Issac’s son, Logan, and several weeks ago he went AWOL from his post in Corsica.” The rest of the VWS senior corps. remained stoic while nathan become more concerned.

“I know for a fact people just don’t vanish of American military bases.” Nathan said. Andrew looked at him again with another sad expression.

“Logan was the apparent cost for gaining a high ranking position within ALA high command, he is in a prison hospital with our next person of interest we must rescue.” Nathan was floored.

“Those poor kids…” he murmured, wiping sweat off of his brow. “They had no idea an older guy in their life was some radicalized nutcase…” His face became twisted in anger. “Selling your only fucking son like this…when I get my hands on that son of a bitch, I’ll-”

“I’m afraid it gets worse.” Said Andrew, switching to disturbing photos of Logan strapped to a bed, scar tissue forming over one side of his face. The footage displayed a name tag on the bed itself; RM V. A large screen popped up filling the monitor with the title of “KNOWN RENAISSANCE MEN.” Aside from telling its readers that it was a classified file and that unauthorized reproduction was forbidden, it also showed the most recent information about 5 “RENAISSANCES MEN”. RM I’s profile read; “NAME: CLASSIFIED. ALIASES: RM I ALLEGIANCES: UNKNOWN. WANTED FOR DESERTION AND SABOTAGE OF CNGS INTEL, MATERIALS AND OPERATIONS.” RM II’s profile read; “NAME: MATTHIAS GREY. ALIASES: RM II ALLEGIANCES: CLASSIFIED WANTED FOR DESERTION AND MURDER OF CNGS PERSONNEL.” RM III’s profile had the following descriptions. “NAME: UNKNOWN ALIASES: RM III. ALLEGIANCES: CLASSIFIED. WANTED FOR MURDER OF CNGS PERSONNEL.” RM IV had Joseph’s picture with the caption: “NAME: JOSEPH BAKER. ALIASES: RM IV. ALLEGIANCES: CNGS. SHOWING SIGNS OF BEING A PROPER RM II REPLACEMENT.” RM V showed Logan in a helmet: “NAME: LOGAN CRAWFORD ALIASES: RM V HIGH PRIORITY TARGET. TO BE RESCUED IMMEDIATELY.” Nathan had no idea how he would break this to joseph…

To be continued in vol 5.

#valiantwarriorsquadron #monster man #monster girl #military #short stories

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whatdoesshedotothem · 2 years

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Wednesday 18 July 1838

7 ¾

11 ½

Breakfast at 9 40 at which hour F74° - A- and I off to the chapelle de Héas at 11 ¾ - at the Pont de Sia at 12 52 – turned up the Gèdre dessus at 1 40 sending Pierre to the bureau de douane in Gèdre for a permit for the horses – declined giving a written one, saying that the 1st douanier we met would have a right to send us back if he chose – we risked this – I dismounted at 3(just after passing 3 or 4 of the large beautiful saxifrages – what we call sedems at home – growing out of the rock along the Gave de Héas – Charles said not a year growth yet – to look after them in 10 days hence) – dismounted at 3 and walked 25 minutes then mounted again for

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5 minutes and alighted at the Chapelle de Héas at 3 ½ - on seeing the chapel, recollected that I had been there in 1830 – very fine day – chapel a Greek cross - the great altar facing the door, and all gilded round about as in Spain – an altar in each little transept – really very neat – vaulted roof painted (or washed) imitation-brick-word with marbled ribs – boarded floor – walnut-wood wainscot all round about 7ft. high and above rude fresco painting – trees and houses – within a border – no regular curé – but service there on occasions and great many come en pélérinage to the shire of the virgin notre dame de Héas – the church under the care of a decent-looking rather elderly man satisfied with the franc I gave him for himself but which he said should be for the repairs of the church – It almost seemed as if the church belonged to him as a private property – over the altar (left transept on entering the church) Charles pointed out a rude representation on canvas of purgatory – we had had merely a peep of the cirque as we rode along, for, on coming out of the chapel – it was hid in brouillard – found A-‘s basket without noyau bottle and the 2 eggs too old boiled for her to eat – gave them to our sacristan who ate them up at once – went to the cottage not far off – ordered 4 eggs to be ready in ½ hour – it was however an hour before we sat down to them with bread (1/2 what ½ rye) and butter at the door, A- afraid of fleas in the house – Charles told me with delight that the woman had some vin de Carignan – alas! it was of inferior quality and tasted so strong of the skim it had been brought in that neither A- nor I could endure it – she ate 2 of the eggs and a little bread and butter and I ditto ditto and the other 2 eggs and tasted a little vin du pays (du côté de Tarbes) very fair wine – Charles and Pierre had had goats milk and bread and the woman so satisfied with the 1/50 I gave her that she gave Charles a little wine and would not let him pay anything – Off from Héas chapel at 5 25 – in 25 minutes (at 5 50) at the great rock dated

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1650 and said to have fallen from the opposite mountain in this year and with such force as to have sent it thus far up the mountain on the other side the valley – supposing nothing buried in the ground, this [?] mass would at least = 7x7 yards cube – Charles said as I believed in the virgin (had said in the church on being asked, that I believed she was the mother of our saviour Jesus Xst tho’ I did not believe in purgatory nor did the sacristan) he would tell me the history of this rock – that some méchans having stolen away the virgin from the chapel she alighted on the top of this rock elle s’arrêtât la and thence went back to the chapel – poor Charles evidently a believer and I said nothing to shew myself the contrary he Pierre did not know this history – I fancy Pierre is less credulous than poor Charles – I alighted at 5 55 at the rock and wrote these memoranda in pencil in my little rough book – A- was out of sight and on foot when I overtook her a little while afterwards – we walked together to Gèdre dessus – she mounted just after passing the bridge over the gave de [Cambiel], and I walked forwards – got much heated but without thinking followed the wider road all the way and got down to the bureau in Gèdre – this perhaps detained us 10 minutes – gave me a heating to get up with them a little beyond the road I ought to have taken and after 1 ½ hours’ walk I remounted my horse at 7 25 and rode all the rest of the way – it was about 8 when we reached the Pont de Sia and met there a fat gentleman and 2 ladies and a child or 2 and a priest – when and how would they get back to St. Sauveur? – at home at 9 10 – the servants had had no dinner had expected us every moment – dinner at 9 25 and each came to our room at 10 20 A- seeming not more tired than usual – very fine day F72° at 10 20 pm sat looking at my map (Charpentiers’) of the Pyrenees –

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loving-mate · 2 years

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Song #1

Juliette must’ve been no older than 10 or 11 when she first realized what love felt like. The sensation of wanting to get up every morning just to catch a glimpse, a smile, anything from that one special someone. Kaden was the first of the many boys for which Juliette felt the fire in her heart burn. It was only in elementary but she remembers how much fun Kaden was to be around. She doesn’t remember too much from this time of course as she was young and there is far more important information taking up residence in her head lately but never the less a feeling is there. Juliette was very different back then. Some may have described her as happy go lucky, extroverted and all around not super anxious. The problem was and has remained that Juliette was content with just being around the object of her affection. She never looked for more because she didn’t know she was capable of handling such intense feelings and to be clear almost ten years later, this we know to be true. Like I said though, she doesn’t remember much but the very moment her best friend took her first love. That’s right it was the early betrayal that set the standards so low. Years later it was confessed to her in one way or the other that for a time her feelings were reciprocated by Kaden. The song for this particular time has to be something light hearted and exciting maybe classic like Howie Day’s Collide.

Song #2

If you thought the first was brief I give you number two who was a mere blip in Juliette’s life compared to later songs. Here was Walter who admittedly she cannot place how long after song one he came along but she does remember the time it came crashing down. You see Juliette’s number one rule was to never tell a soul about the deep admiration she felt for another being but if there was a time in which perhaps her lips could not remain sealed then her biggest worry was that it would somehow reach the one soul she could not afford to lose. Anyways from what is left in the memory it all happened after she told her friends, who then proceeded to repeat the secrets to Walter in the cafeteria in front of the whole class. Unfortunately since this is such a brief moment she cannot place the events that occurred following the situation. The song here is unclear maybe something simple nor even secretive would fit the collective feeling of the time. I think he knows by Taylor Swift ultimately wins.

Song #3

This is the last song leading to the formative years of Juliette’s adolescence. She does remember most of the events that occurred here although the timeline is a little messy. It all came out of the blue to be honest, at recess there was a game happening where Tanner and his friend were participating. Tanner’s friend Matt spilled the beans in a tone Juliette couldn’t quite understand, was this all a sick joke or did Tanner really just confess a crush on 12year old Juliette. Whatever the case was the first thing Juliette did was run away. I’m not kidding she straight up left. Now while you wonder about the whereabouts of said girl, I have to be clear that in hindsight this was kind of weird but alas twelve year olds don’t really think straight not that future Juliette makes the best decisions either but she has good reason. Anyways to make a short story long, she finds her friend and tells her. After this pivotal moment Juliette who honestly hadn’t even noticed Tanner until this moment begins to notice him, a lot. While the time they had to get was brief she learns a bit about him. Most notably that his favorite song that year was by gym class heroes who in todays age might as well be an antique but thus gives you a year to rationalize what events happened to you that year. She also has the pleasure of catching him mid stare a few times and ultimately a small amount of casual conversations with the boy. As the end of the year comes many of the students think about what middle school would be like but Juliette had some devastating news that ultimately shaped adolescent Juliette a little too well. She was going to be moving, which meant that any type of relationship with Tanner would be lost. And it was. There was a few times where a mutual friend of hers would reach out on his behalf and he even gave Juliette his number but she never had the courage to call to my recollection. And just like that song number 3 faded out in a sizzle. The song here is No Promises by Cheat Codes and Demi Lavato. To be fair this is probably lighter than what she felt at the find since I remember her being distraught. However the future is a much darker place that I refuse to bring up until I have no choice.

Song #4

This song lasted from the sixth grade until the 10th grade of high school. As you can probably figure it was a time of devastation met by hope and then destroyed again by the tricks of time. However, I cannot deny that 5 years later this love doesn’t tinge the heart of Juliette once more. This love was so deep so naive and ultimately so doomed. You see Mate was a perfect person for so long. Juliette was also caught of guard by Mate and to be honest she has no idea if this was all a misunderstanding but when Evert said that Mate had a crush on her, he turned her world upside down. You see this year was very tough on Juliette, she was a new student and had been separated from the security of her twin sister and has therefore become rather introverted and subdued. She spent a lot of her time drawing and reading. This was the way she would be for the rest of her life it would seem.

The teachers seemed to know something as they were always sat together in a multitude of classes. From their home room in 6th grade to their English class in 7th and 10th. Juliette was sure he had at some point also felt as she had but the fact remains unconfirmed to this day and probably forever since even now she has no idea what would happen were she ever to be unfortunate or fortunate enough to stumble into his life again. For those six or so years she liked him she tried her best to be close but not close enough to arise any suspicion from him although looking back I’m sure he has known for a long time. The problem with Mate was that he was nice and he was nice for a long time. He would always strike up conversation and in earlier times participate in whatever shenanigan Juliette had come up with the be closer to him. Lastly although at some point several people had let him know of her feelings, he never made her feel bad for it. He also never acknowledged it directly which gave Juliette a lot of freedom regarding the things she did or said. I remember that even up until the 5th and final song, Juliette was not able to look into Mates eyes. This was because she couldn’t afford to acknowledge any sort of feelings she had in front of him and although it happened that in chemistry he sat in front of her and would turn back to chat she never got the courage to look into his dark brown eyes.

That’s the thing about Juliette, above all she is a flaming coward. She rarely does what she wants for the benefit of her wanting it. She doesn’t ask of others for the pleasure of it. She hates this about herself and to her dismay at twenty one years old it is one of the only things she still has in common with her teenaged self. That and a lack of confidence that runs so deep it makes the devil himself cry ugly tears. The fear of everything runs unfortunately thick with this one.

For the last couple of years her infatuation continued she lost to several other girls and was never one to receive an affectionate word from Mate. The older they got the less involved until he was just someone who sat at the same table sometimes. The person who Mate has become is scary to her. He is not who she fell in love with and that is just the way things are. By the end of their High school experience he was mainly in her attention only by rumors about his girlfriend and such. The situation as it is is such a shame. She knows that if he had been with her things would have been different.

The song here is hard to pick, lovely and lonely so another classic it is. Yellow by Coldplay.

Song #5 the one that fucked her up

This rather silly engagement happened when Juliette decided she wanted a prom date. Silly girl didn’t know what she was about to get in to.

Juliette met Haneul in her math class her sophomore year of highschool and in the short span of 6-8 months ruined her life to this very moment 4 years later.

Since Juliette had already devised her plan to be friendly and flirty for once in her fucking life. She picked him out of the boys she new and had met that year. He was quite yet loud smart yet dumb and overall a complete mystery to her. You see Haneul was not new to the school but sometime in their freshmen year he had switched schools, so when he came back he had grabbed the attention of a few people. Now I cannot exactly recall how she came to sit next to him in said math class but they had the table to themselves and at some point she had gotten his Snapchat.

The following couple of weeks they spend chatting during the night and those couple of weeks were all it took for Juliette to fall in love against her better judgment. She spent so long talking to him that the days they didn’t chat were unusual and extremely lonely. More than anything I think she used it as an escape. Those years she had begun to struggle with the thought of further education and where it was that she could afford school. She lied to him about a lot of things concerning her future like where she wanted to go and what she wanted to study. He had told her his secrets and she told him some version of hers. The fact that this relationship was built on lies should be the first red flag but it was actually what she had heard from others that made her build walls in the first place. Multiple girls close to him had expressed their discontent on his emotional state. He talked about them to other people and they had all found out. The rumor she recalls clearly was that of Katelyns. Katelyn was someone Juliette would consider extremely close to Haneul. She was his friend and probably tried to be more. In regards to the rumor, she had heard that Haneul had told people that she was obsessed with him. In that exact moment Juliette had already for seen the future. She only awaited the day she heard that rumor about herself.

For the next couple of months she grew to realize that she desperately wanted to be his. He would flirt with her online and she would do the same. It was the easy way and she liked that she didn’t feel overcome with the sense of impending failure because she knew that as long as she was able to think about her words before she sent them, she couldn’t make a mistake. She couldn’t let him know who she was, and it was perfect that way. However with the promise of a relationship Haneul got uneasy, he asked her too talk to him outside of the cloud and to dates. She could complete neither.

You see every time she ran into him in the hallways or in class she froze completely. If she saw him coming one way she would quickly turn around and run the opposite way. She felt she could only talk to him if they were alone and that was rarely the case. He was unavoidable however and it frequented that they would end up in the same group with nothing but glances exchanged. It does not help that I don’t think Haneul tried very hard either. When he did say something it was not in regards to her and it stayed that way. A secret from everyone. It was probably the fact that she knew only bad things were coming that kept Juliette from sharing the intimate details from her friends and this led to the feeling of being trapped. She also knew any kind of move could trigger the rumor she was so afraid of. Although that day did come and she wasn’t sure what action had caused it. What she did know was that she could never forgive him for destroying her place of escape.

He did try though. The day she found out she spoke about it out loud in her math class with her friend and he must’ve known since then or even before because that night during their usual talks Juliette tried to bait it out of him with no avail. That left her no choice but to stop all forms of communication. That did the trick because not even days later there was the first of many apologies. At first she tried to sympathize but in the back of her head she knew she would have never done this to him. He had humiliated her whether he knew it or not and in front of all her friends she was told by a person who he had been chasing because yes, Juliette couldn’t have been the only girl he was chasing as she knew about Katelyn, Becky and Nicole to name a few. Juliette was bound to find out as both Becky and Nicole were friends with her.

Juliette tried to stop loving him she really did, but everyday was a mixture of love and total betrayal. She couldn’t help but imagine him telling his friends everything they talked about. He had no right. He continued to try and string her along but sometime in December she blocked him. It was a decision she still regrets because she cannot come to undo such a thing. She knows that unblocking him will cause only pain to her. She will see what has become of him and who he shares his heart with now. He reached out several times but by senior year they might as well never have known each other. This however didn’t stop the run ins as this school was rather small and every event led to run in. A day in the fall was the last time she spoke to him, it was also the first time. And what did they speak about you ask, Juliette cannot recall for it was something so mundane so unimportant it may as well not have happened.

Graduation came and went and it had been a whole year since she last spoke to him until the graduation of a family friend that just so happened to be the same school his younger sister attended. She saw him again and felt all the anger and grief all over again. He looked nothing like she remembered him and the glance lasted only a second. Juliette has come undone again.

Juliette will remember this forever.

For this tragedy there is no song, here are many:

Traitor- Olivia Rodrigo

August- Taylor Swift

Evil Spider- Beene

Heavy- Dizzy

Roman Candles- Dizzy

Love is a Game - Adele

Loveless/Hard Feelings- Lorde

Manta Rays- Chloe Moriondo

Pink Lemonade- James Bay

#shitpost #short fiction #messy bios #sad #love #poetry #i've been betrayed #story #story time

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tapestriies · 3 months

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Giselle

so the brain is revisiting my oc Giselle Didier. Time to take a stab at a revamp & recap of her dramatic story (which was originally written over 10 years ago and then with some alluded to collaborative backstory things done ~5 years ago) ! Newly inspired by various female tragedies out of Hogarth, a bit of Fantine, & the ballet Giselle.

If there is one thing Giselle Didier loved - it was to dance. Starting from humble beginnings and growing up in an orphanage, the impressions of what she saw from a band of troubadours and dancers as well as dusty old books on ballet answered Gigi's burning question if her means to ends in life could also be her gift and passion.

And so she sought a life of freedom and self-expression by pursuing her gift and becoming a ballerina. Her dreams brought her to the greatest of places and capital of dance - Paris. But to dance on the stages of Paris was no primrose path. But the arduous journey only makes holding the dream in the palm of one's hand only sweeter.

Yet what could stop the inevitable end one that starts with such bright promise only to end a Willi?

[More under the cut!]

Act i.

The road to success is hardly easy. In much happier years, there still lay a mountain to climb and several failed auditions when dreams were still dreams. Yet this did not yet deter Giselle. She's a hurricane when she sets her mind to a goal. To make ends meet worked any odd-job she could find from working in coffee houses to seamstressing, to gigs beside her friends at the tavern cabaret; and practiced rigorously with local instructors of the artsy side of Paris (who, while they lacked the prestige of the ballet schools she aspired to, were no less excellent teachers of dance). The lower rungs of Paris were content to her, it was a struggle, and there was the bad and ugly side to it, but at least some were authentic.

At last, Giselle made her breakthrough among the corps du ballet. Many years pass, and Giselle dances. Whether she is a rising star or not is anyone's judgement, but she cunningly navigates her way and is most happy to do what she loves. She even begins to aspire in her future to become choreographer of the corps de ballet, or at least ballet mistress to teach ballet to the younger generation. Her future seemed bright.

Act ii.

If only, certain people hadn't come into her life that derailed her from her dreams.

It is not long after this that Giselle madly falls in love with a newly arrived lead dancer, Albert. Yet what she does not know is that he is a nobleman in disguise. Their dances are passionate, and it is her best work.

Alas if there was only someone to warn naive girls of such men! However much too late, to Giselle's horror, her lover is exposed to be a nobleman by another dancer named Ilarion. Worse, Albert is also revealed to be engaged to the patroness noblewoman Lady Bathilda.

Knowing they can never be together, the heartbreak to Giselle's weak heart would be enough to make her go mad. Her grief inconsolable when face to face with his deception.

This catastrophe makes Giselle deathly ill. If fate would, she'd have joined her sisters and betrayed maidens of the true Willis. But fate it would seem had different plans for her.

The conclusion of this act of her life Giselle doesn't speak about. Perhaps there's a newspaper story, or perhaps it's only told by the silent walls of the Opera stage.

Act iii.

Giselle emerges in the 'afterlife' after dedicating nearly all her years to her dancing career.

The ‘Queen Myrtha’ leader of her new 'Willis' was none other than Madame Adrienne de Beaumont, a woman of mystique.

Giselle was just her housekeeper. She became so after losing a bet and debt with Madame, making the grave mistake of not knowing who she really was beforehand. Let alone Madame de Beaumont's other business - her business as a madam.

But it wouldn't be long before the attention Giselle garnered even as a mere maid made her coerced into that other business, with promises of better pay. Pay that Giselle needed. But Giselle would not comply. In fact, every coercion made her more of an unpredictable liability. To make her point, whenever left alone with any of the ‘cochons’ (any one clients sent encouraged to persuade her) were left with bruised egos... or physical bruises.

Fighting back, Giselle had less to lose now. Yes, de Beaumont could have her arrested, but even with bribery it risked investigation into that 'other business'. But where else could Giselle run to? De Beaumont wouldn’t give her a reference to a new house to work as a maid. She could perhaps pick up any other small job or move to a smaller town to teach but had no money, not without that remaining unpaid debt looming she would surely be hunted for.

If she complied with de Beaumont, perhaps there could be a silver lining to it. Giselle found Albert's name was among her clientele ledger, and it could seem the perfect revenge against him to blackmail. But GiGi could not bring herself to do this. Perhaps it was not Albert's life she wanted to protect. Perhaps she would sacrifice her revenge for forgiveness. Protect her own and what remained of her dignity. But still her desire for freedom, if not justice and revenge, was insatiable.

Spitefully, Giselle would climb out of this picadillo one way or another, and so came up with a plan.

Specifically, an escape plan.

Seemingly relenting, Giselle negotiated that if she was going to meet the Madam’s expectations and earnings and pay off the burdening debt without accruing worse interest, she should have no client but one - and only one of her cochons. A more reputable life of a courtesan than a mere tainted dove. De Beaumont surprisingly was amenable.

That fateful night Giselle was to be carted off, her life would never be the same.

She did not know what lay before her. Only perhaps it was better this way back to those lower rungs again. She came from the gamin and gutter, and knew it best to navigate in this dance of survival.

Giselle played along and played the part well for as long as she could, following de Beaumont’s orders and guidance for a successful and pleasurable business venture. Finally, De Beaumont arranged her with an Englishman named Edmund.

Here Giselle enacted her calculated escape. After beckoning the Englishman to the comfort of her room before their departure. For a toast, Giselle insisted. Or rather, ensuring he had enough to drink to impede his full senses. At the opportune last moment, Giselle sprung to the action of attack. She knocked the Englishman unconscious and tied him to a chair, before making a mad dash for the window to flee through the Parisian rooftops.

Fortunately, she managed a successful flight.

Unfortunately, someone had caught on to the odd commotion too quickly and alerted de Beaumont. Giselle had no time to finish changing before Madame de Beaumont's staff could break the door down.

In nothing but her shift, drawers, corset, and with whatever she had in her pockets, Giselle draped the bedsheet over her in some form of makeshift covering and like a runaway fled into the night.

The carriages of de Beaumont and the now conscious Edmund chased after her. Yet the trail ran dry and they could not find her.

Like a ghostly Willi, she had vanished.

OC Cameo - (Criminal!AU) Madame de Beaumont :: @reverdies ;)

And whom she crosses paths with that night, a certain Jean, again things would never be the same... ;)

#c: giselle #story: giselle #cameo muses ft.#reverdies

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marmutgembil · 7 months

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Moving out, and lots of hugs (of goodbye ones and hello ones)

(this was originally written on August 30, but I forgot to post it)

Life currently, more or less, according to plan and one by one, my wishes slowly manifest into life.

I felt it in my guts that I will be (finally) in Bali around August or the most late is September, even though I still write in my daily manifestation about how I will found a new job at Bali in July, but my intuation said it's not that soon, but still not gonna be so later.

And I was right! I got a new job offer on some middle-up tier agency, where I would learn A LOT of new things, which is very exciting and I am giddy just thinking about it. (With better pay too!).

But I am not gonna writing about the new job—yet—but rather, on how I thought that this is gonna be another moving out to new city, since I do move out every year, since I was 19.

It is not the same.

Everything changing.

My home base, Bekasi, won't be my homebase soon. No longer would be the city I would reply everytime someone ask where I come from.

The realization that last weekend, is the last final time I lived in my own home in Bekasi, before my parents move to their retirement house.

I reminded myself that no matter how living in Bali near my partner is the ideal, I should live in the moment and savoring every seconds my own live too, like appreciating Bekasi home while it last.

I love our small garden and the old tree that has been there 10 years ago we moved there, undisturbed, despite it doesn't even grow fruits properly for years.

Or the ghosts of other plants that tried so hard to thrive, but alas, none of us has the warm hands to make them grow.

The memories of my guinea pigs that running around, both in the front or back garden, all of them happily munched on the fresh grass that no on bothered to keep it short, ended up being being feasted on by generations of guinea pig pets we had.

There's no part of the that house I dislike, except maybe the basement. But, even with all the ghost and some paranormal activity that sometime occured, the whole space fit perfectly for our needs. It has the right amount of bathrooms and bedrooms, the air flow and how it always feels cooler than the outside, even without turning on the fan.

And then—My sister asked, is this gonna be the last time my title at home is a mere daughter and sister? Soon, whenever I come home, it would be with my husband. How do you react with such question?

Change is the only constant, the only constant is change.

I said a big amount of goodbyes, hugs a lot and took so many pics, and it only means the people I love and that loves me grow bigger, something I was surprised I have, but definitely not complaining at all!

The promises of visitings, the thoughts of invites and coming to the future weddings, the promises to meet up again in the future whenever it's available, I would say those are the things that keep me wanting to continune this life.

And of course, mandatory coffee with my bestfriend of 13 years now.

We had some falling out, periods of us not speaking, small arguments and disagreement, us not agreeing each other's boyfriends, silent judging but still being supportives.

Honestly, I am worried about her, because she never left our town, and still trying to finish her degree. But at the same time, I also feels assured, because no matter I moved out to different cities and job hopping, she is always there, unmoving and unchanging, like your favourite mole.

I gonna miss her a lot.

But then, I've been only here for like, 4 days, but every morning now I feel so at ease. The weights that was always looming over me everyday, is now gone. I breathe easier, no more suffocated, fall asleep far more easier.

He is now no longer ouf of my reach, I can touch, hug, kiss whenever I want to, and I'd be lying if I am not over the clouds right now. Really. The weights I carry is vanished. Is this how everyone that's not in LDR relationship feels? Damn.

But at the same time, I am afraid that this is a temporary happiness, where I am way too happy, something dark will take turns.

The lack of never ending same ruko buildings also helps me a lot. On God, the live of Squidward in Squidward village really not for me, a nature girlie. The lack of green space that hasn't been commercialized, someone should be in jail for that.

I can't wait to see how much growth I would have later!

I watched a Tiktok, where someone said: You can choose any city, but ultimately, it is the city itself chooses you. You can moving in, but if the city doesn't choose you, sooner or later you'll be moving back anyways.

And that is not wrong at all! I am so grateful of my decision to be brave, moving out to different city each year, because all those experience really shaped me as a person, and have interesting back story to tell.

Can't wait to fullfill this era of more adventures too!

#curhat #writing

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verbo-s-e · 10 months

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july 12, 2023 9:10 pm

some fourteen, maybe fifteen or so years ago, i had a dog who died on this day. i remember, painfully because it’s the day before my cousins birthday. her name is the same as your partners. i don’t need to bring up irony. at a mere 16 years old, i was blamed for something so horrific and tragic that was never my fault.

it’s something to unpack, probably in therapy. definitely not here. but my point? aside from a strange reflection into my already sad past? i don’t remember now. maybe it’ll come back.

oh! there it is. for so long after my beloved dogs actual horrible death, i blamed myself. for years. isn’t that what i’ve done here? what a way to be reminded of the self inflicted guilt prison i create for myself. it’s my thing.

love that for me.

but! alas. make no mistake here — i own 100% my part here. second: i don’t regret my decision. and you know what? maybe there’s some guilt there. maybe there’s not. i’m still processing.

hence … *motions limply* all this.

i process through words. and lots of them. verbose remember? *taps noggin* your words, not mine. for once.

so with all the processing i’ve done, why do i still feel no closer than at the start of all this. i need a fucking lobotomy is what i need.

got any rusty screwdrivers?

🫠

#verbo-s-e #verbo-s-e blog

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lasterstoney · 2 years

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RANGE by Ogola Laster Stoney

CHAPTER ONE: NIGHTMARISH

By the way, it is criminal to deny that the Lord’s Resistance Army rebellion is the cause of the worst ever tragedies in the contemporary history of Uganda. These LRA, as they are commonly known, are notorious for murdering hundreds besides displacing thousands of northerners from their homes. However, there are far darker events that have exclusively infested and greatly impacted upon the psychology of my fellow Acholi tribesmen. Unsurprisingly, they seldom share most of these ordeals for reasons you may soon discover. Personally, on December 19, 1998, I was confronted with exceptionally ruthless evil in my birthplace of Mucwini Sub-county situated in central-east Kitgum district.

Naturally, in such a context you would least expect a fifteen-year-old boy — like I was back then — to be permitted the slightest freedom of breeding the curiosity to encounter the said threat. But alas, my parents casually tasked me to ride on a bicycle across the open grasslands to sell harvested cassava in the thinly populated trading centre, three and a half miles northeast. Moreover, I used ominously irregular footpaths to move livestock in search of their signalgrass in the occasional peasant maize farmsteads within the adjacent greatly desolate villages. Being a bibliophile and the only scholar left in the household, the latter task was my sole routine in a period such as the school holidays, that had happened barely three weeks prior. This was after my promotion to primary seven; which would start in February the following year.

Doing the aforementioned tasks singlehandedly is surprising unless you learn that my current lighter weight is an unfortunate misrepresentation of the earlier meaty-body stature. Weighing a little over 143 pounds. That was significantly heavier than my brothers: Abitech and Omollo of 12 and 11 years respectively. Also, it could have been that my fairly short height of five feet, three inches — slightly below my brothers’ and teenage sisters’ Lanyero and Kadim — did not hold back a general consensus that I was a figure quite intimidating. I was often told that mere tightening of my knuckles made their jawbones reverberate; and when I threw blows in their faces, recipients felt as if hit with 10-pounds-heavy potatoes. Those who wished to deny others’ livestock prompt access to the basically erratic boreholes and streams knew better than provoking me.

However, uncle Bongomin often said that even the most hardboiled acknowledged that through my pair of tender-looking light brown eyes, I sought far too hard for appeasement. That I went to the extent of empathising with a person insane enough to overtly confront me regarding my light skin colour. The other household adults including my dad, mum, and aunties Atoo and Lucy remained indifferent to this. They never sided with the villagers who found this appearance rather unusual and in sharp contrast with the relatively darker complexion commonly associated with either my lineage or tribe. This oversimplification ignored the literal possibility of brown skin genetic traits being repressed throughout some prior generations, until me. Regardless of having minimal formal education, their reservations were solidified by the relatively high regional temperatures considered to facilitate the prevalent complexion.

On the aforementioned date, my ordeal began during a scorching gloomy midmorning. Barefoot, and dressed in a short-sleeved cream shirt and black shorts, I and our twelve roped goats were about five minutes to reach home from the fields, two miles southwards. Moving on the brittle ground covered by scanty couch grass, I suddenly heard: BLUM! BLUM! Sounds of random gun blasts! Though I was convinced that the shots were not within a one-mile radius from my position, their concurrent echoes created the impression that they ensued rather closer. In the subsequent silence, I paused to figure out the source. Instantly, I heard indistinct muted masculine and feminine wailings — of my family members!

In the chaos, I fiercely hurried the goats, not to join my family for breakfast as expected, but to guarantee our entire safety. Arriving via a hardly used south route through the backyard, I stepped onto our property of roughly two acres, located precisely south of Mucwini. Progressing past the predominantly rusty spear grass in the background, I saw a parade of nine chickens peacefully pecking at the countless grasshoppers interspersed in the vegetation. My nervous sweat-dripped face did not stimulate the birds to indicate an awareness of any recent dread. Anyhow, what combative role could they have played in that event? After all, they are not intelligent beings! The unusual complete absence of a human voice at home at daytime confirmed my premonition!

Unhesitant, I advanced towards the western foreground. Eighty yards ahead, the grass was protruded by five imperfectly round (three metres radii), high-peak-grass-thatched muddy huts: each decorated with circular white drawings on their wall. The huts more or less enclosed a thirty-feet-tall, probably fifty-year-old desiccating mango tree. Beneath the tree’s shade is where the two adult males usually sat, doing their usual eavesdropping while awaiting the next meal. My kid brothers were occasionally near the middle-aged men. Reaching there exaggerated my anxiety; for the first time in a long time until that day and in a similar moment, none was seated there.

Since one of the huts — the kitchen — was thinly smoky, I approached it to investigate. Inside was a sunken fireplace, holding a three-stone stove, a thick wooden pole blazed between two of the stones and heated a giant black clay pot half-full of porridge above. Cooking this breakfast was as often supposed to be a shared effort of the enchantingly gorgeous pubescent kid sisters. As each girl vigorously stirred the mixture of maize-flour and water with a mingling stick, mum and the two aunties (all three in their early thirties) gracefully supervised them. Like the males, none of them was present. The same result applied to the rest of the huts I quickly progressed to check. I turned in various directions of the compound and as loud as I could, called out names — only receiving the replies of the pleasant-sounding edible flycatchers.

Before thinking of a panic next step, my concern shifted to the unattended boiling food on the fire! I thought all the liquid could evaporate for it was way beyond the boiling point. So, I took off my shirt and used it to gently lift off the pot down to the kitchen floor, and covered its ceramic’s opening with a metallic pan. I wore my shirt and strolled around the expansive compound, covering every square metre in search for a slight indication of at least an injured person. Not to mention the absence of an inadvertently left detailed clue or trampled grass to prove a recent crime. Also, nothing like some minutes-old footprints in the ground to hint at an escape, or a scuffle to suggest a defense for survival against a foe or predator. My heart started pounding fiercely, such that I felt like my feet were in a torrential stream.

I had to ignore the prospect of the second of three departures in search of more pasture and water for the livestock which happened right after breakfast. Meanwhile, I figured to first return to the storage hut and probe whether my dads’ hunting spear, longbow, and all their nine arrows were in place. I intended to confirm a dubious departure to hunt an antelope which was an activity done only by men and only at nightfall. Firstly, there was the bow, and only eight arrows among some stacks of timber — one arrow was missing! At the middle of the bowstring were faded fingerprinted bloodstains — of seemingly fresh blood.

Though a fledgling to clearly tell apart human blood from that of any other mammal, the smell was very much of the former. Judging by the gunshots and this clue I sensed an abduction by the LRA. They were the most likely suspects capable of this besides government forces; for both wielded guns except that I believed the latter used them altruistically. And the week before, I had heard that the rebels attacked parts of Gulu district neighbouring Kitgum to the west. Also, the day before, an unconfirmed report had claimed that they had for the first time threatened the western sub-county of Layamo before the forces intervened and killed a dozen of them. Could the rebels have evolved their techniques of abduction by sedating their victims instead of brutal force?

And what I thought could make their work much easier was committing crime in this village that had a small demographic of 50 people at most. Our closest neighbours — also relatives — lived three miles northeast. Accessing their homesteads directly from ours was via a slightly visible trail, fifteen inches wide, connecting the courtyard northwards to other equally narrow paths radiating from it. Some of these paths culminated into a weathered road a full hour's walk northwestwards. If it is the rebels, I thought, my family was being transported on other roads but the weathered, to avoid intrusion of any scale!

It was noon when I furiously woke up from that thought blankness while still in the storage hut. “The hell was that? Was it a nightmare”? I yelled on top of my voice. “Of course, this is real. Why shouldn’t it be”?

CHAPTER TWO: THE NIGHTMARE IS REAL!

All farm equipment — a panga, four hoes, two slashers — were intact and splayed under other piles on the floor. I unintentionally picked up the 20-inches-long carbon steel panga. Stepping out of the hut with it, I hit the trail heading for the homestead exit, leaving the farm animals behind. Just outside the exit, the complete absence of trees and shrubs promised me a slight good view and aural in each direction. In front of me was an occupation of dry maize crops, choked by the regularity of thatching grass. This is where the nearest relatives’ three-acre run downed land began. On my right was the northeasterly path entrenched in quite similar vegetation yet with slight variations of black-jack. This stretched to at least four acres away. However, amidst the black-jack, a stone’s throw away, something did not seem right.

At first, it seemed like people had left some clothes in the vegetation. This was quite worrying. I decided to crane my neck forward with little motion. Indeed, it was suspiciously concerning. There were three figures resembling mannequins. Two females in yellow and black dresses had lain side by side, and stiff on their bellies. And beside them was a male in a green shirt and brown shorts. Each one’s head was covered with a grey cloth.

Startled, I dropped in the grass; laying low to keep out of sight in case it was bait. For some reason, my heartbeat had slightly relapsed except those grasshoppers that chirped and flew all over the place causing more concern. After a minute, I stretched my head up and carefully circle scanned the area. At my distant left, there were nightshades with just a few lumps of elephant grass fallows left for sale to other pastoralists. Fifty-five-year-old uncle Nyeko, the owner used the observable paddocks ahead in the same direction for seasonal goat raring, especially during the biannual wet seasons. A whistling flurry of wind cautioned me to pan quickly to my right. Only to see whirling grass particles. Keeping my head secure, I settled that no observant was just around the corner.

I forced my body up and quietly approached the figures. Getting closer, until I stood just above the figures — I knew them! Bowing down on my knees I splayed the herbs away from the lady first and then the other two. And slowly pulling away the cloths — Aunt Lucy, Omollo and Kadim. There were massive blisters in their swollen heads as well as in their respective noses, ears and mouths. The drying specks of maize flour indicated that their heads might have been brutally sunk in the boiling porridge I had left on the kitchen floor. Tremblingly opening their eyelids, not a bit did they twitch; an unsettling sight. Touching their chests; I sensed no pulsation. There was no movement of the torso and neither was any indication of breathing through their noses. They were dead!

I felt fiery electrical impulses all over my hands. My bones shook unnaturally; ligaments in my elbows and laps felt weaker and slightly disconnected. The sole of my feet itched even more. I was sweating out of control. “But no! The LRA cannot be this intricate”, I quit trembling and reasoned out. Even a brawl could not have stopped them from sparing the life of a teen girl and a youthful woman for abduction. This might have been a modus operandi familiar to a dying belief held by village elders, clan leaders and their loyalists. They were so desperate to convince those noncompliant Acholi who diverged from their value systems. They warned us of deaths in bizarre circumstances — without use of weaponry — orchestrated by ancestral spirits.

Upon reflection, I recalled our two entrepreneurial grandparents twice or thrice hinting on an enigmatic five-acre farmland. This was during at least two weekends whenever they returned from Kitgum town 52 miles away. They mentioned the owners best-known as Mr and Mrs Ogwal — a formerly affluent cultured couple. That in the early 1970s, they reared a thousand heads of cattle and around 400 goats on their land. Later, these were faulted for becoming materialistic vultures. This apparently provoked an ancestral spirit. And according to the chiefs and elders the spirit apparently kills anyone who entered the farmland. Annually, no less than 20 cases of homicides bearing close resemblance to my three dead family members were considered a testament to their initial indulgence.

Unlike me the other family members granted the geriatrics audience with safe reluctance, yet cynically regarding all their narratives as cleverly constructed pretenses aimed at make-believe. I found them rather amusing and half-believed their other lore, appreciating especially their standpoints on the fantastical elements. I often listened until they delved into themes of our heritage: love and respect for one another, decency, marriage, inheritance, productiveness and fetish for deities among others. Seriously, there was an overabundance of indefensible tales that I think had gradually diluted their planned purpose of shaping our flimsy lifestyle. I mean for civilization’s sake no clearheaded person would approve of something they have never seen.

Do not get me wrong, there was a time, after days of trying hard to assemble facts concerning the farm, a male schoolmate quite my age warned me that it was some sort of deathtrap. He said it was situated two villages away (or approximately eight miles) north of our own village and just two miles after the school I attended. But, after he denied never to have seen the farm himself, I doubted his credibility. Another critical issue was the location. The place being two miles from school — and likely within the same village — would be much easier for at least one of us (me and the schoolmate) to locate, hence the inevitability of not taking his suspicions literally. Besides, I had also never witnessed the corpses until the three I was cradling on that dreadful day.

At that point, I became quite aware that this manifestation of murder preceded the death of the other supposedly victimised family members. In that respect, I was to try beyond my limits to reach them before they were slain. So, I thought of hurrying to catch up with them, assuring myself to capably overwhelm whatever threat that would dare stand in my way as I saved my household — the only supportive people I knew. Placing back the three bodies where I had originally found them, I covered their heads just as initially. I got on my feet — still equipped with the panga — and chose the northeast to the next home. I frantically began running there: primarily to locate my family’s whereabouts, and somewhat intent to report the murder.

CHAPTER THREE: IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF MADNESS

Along the course, while passing by the infrequent dry maize crops on either side of the path, I noticed that the herbaceous undergrowth was gradually being replaced with rocks. At least five minutes later, the day grew dimmer, for the clouds were closing in. Seconds later, my running was brought to an unexpected stop when I saw tiny blood droplets on the path. This struck a little suspicion in me, thus provoking me to cling my weapon tighter. But, since people around got lots of leg injuries far too often due to reliance on foot soles for travels, I calmed down myself. With the swaying raspy maize leaves producing eerie rustles in the easterly winds, I now carefully walked down the path, ensuring that my raging eyes wandered everywhere.

Ten minutes later, I was cheerful to have arrived close to my destination. My view of the outlying seven huts was partially impeded by the overhead dried maize inflorescences spread throughout their rocky compound. Then, I heard gleeful laughter coming from within the compound. This was convincing enough for me to advance towards the eastern aspect, for their main entrance. Shortly before I even turned left to enter, my keen sense of hearing picked up sounds of what seemed like soft disorganised footfalls of sprinters running in random directions. An imagination of my unnerved family members fleeing clumsily! Sadly, this noise was instantly cancelled when I involuntarily continued walking down the compound.

Towards the now quite exposed huts — with the standard circular organisation like ours — the hilarity grew louder. Still, there was no person within my general field of view. Then the footfalls’ sounds returned and now with a much higher pitch — but with no sight of the makers. I thought that may well have been a result of my then traumatic condition. In a distance, the huts were finally fully visible, and at the centre were three people; two of my uncles (24-year-old Lukwiya and 26-year-old Ongwen) from my mother’s side and Nyeko from my father’s. There was no sign of their four kids or even their dog around; they were either tending to livestock in the fields or fetching water at the well. Noticing me they repellently shouted: “why are you here”? Well, this was quite unexpected. At least to me.

“Isn’t my appearance strange enough to suggest shock”? Instead, I noticed an inexplicable hostility in their gaze that was reminiscent of my mothers’ dislike of enhancing our unkempt compound; we never grew crops at home, which was weird to me. Now they stood up on their feet, and hysterically started moving towards me. Their disturbingly aggressive wrinkled faces suggested they wished to inflict harm. So, I quickly asked them where my parents were before they reached within 10 yards away. Instead Lukwiya and Nyeko switched to quietly drawing nearer. The men were slightly shorter than I was but Nyeko was as tall as my family members — over two feet taller than I was. Their hands were muscular, each seemingly capable of lifting two combined 100 pounds’ heavy sacks full of cement from the floor up to the head.

Then, Nyeko shouted edgily “So it is true you’re murderous”! I softly replied back: “Wha…what are you talking about? I am looking for my parents and siblings”. They all responded saying: “So you people socialise with others only if you’re in need? Your entire home. Do you intend to kill us with what you’re holding”? they were referring to the panga. Lukwiya suddenly picked a huge rock from the ground. He tossed it at me as if aiming to hit my head. Miraculously, it missed my neck by an inch to avoid a spinal fracture. I was so scared, but I could not move towards the exit. I nervously asked what the matter was! Lukwiya just revealed a black polythene bag. Inside were 10-inches-thick reddish quartzite stones.

As they made calculated slow movements towards me, I picked up the previously hurled rock that I was now standing not far off from, and threw it back at the party, intent to incapacitate one of them. Unfortunately, I saw the stone follow an elliptical trajectory and brushing off Lukwiya’s head, causing a wound just above his left ear. They looked overwhelmed by my throwing accuracy, and so did I. As he collapsed to the ground due to shock, the other two coldly got more stones — I did not count — from the bag, and shared them between themselves. What’s wrong with them? There’s an injured person in desperate need of first aid here, yet there is still a noticeable hostility toward me! I was alarmed. They seemed to be hiding a disturbing secret.

Without a fraction of a second granted to me for further dialogue, they started throwing the stones. This time, the projectiles arrived exactly in my position clearly intending to kill. For the first stone, I raised my weapon. The stone deflected off of it. Other stones were coming faster. With significant effort, I dodged all the stones save for one that hit and injured my right thigh, just slightly above the knee. I utilised the same stones they threw, and with maximum ferocity we exchanged them as we promptly moved back and forth to evade further injuries. Even with the burdening combination of an injured leg plus holding the panga in my left hand, I hit Nyeko in the chest. He experienced a lethal breakage in his ribcage, leaving only one healthy adversary standing. With a nervy face, Ongwen quickly retreated into the granary and locked the door.

Thinking that this was where my family is surely hidden, I started wobbling after him. However, I was interrupted by Nyeko who started coughing uncontrollably. He coughed louder, until he took a deep painful breath. I guessed he had used too much energy that left him with a deficient amount to continue. I turned to the still bruising Lukwiya who lay immobile; staring back at me but incapable of releasing a word. I could not bother with him, so I approached Nyeko and gruesomely scolded him while asking about my family’s whereabouts. I did that over and over until his revival a few seconds later. I repeated the same inquiry and about the gunshots, but he now acted as if inept to speak, only uttering, “You’re…you….are…”

I held the panga across his throat and staring straight in his eyes, I saw only dubious melancholia filled in there. Ongwen who was now barricaded in the hut opened the door and flashed away behind it. My eyes turning back to Nyeko, I vociferously asked for the truth: what was going on! He started speaking properly, often breaking eye contact though. However, what came out of his mouth was one of the most confusing pieces of information I had ever heard. He started with saying that there was always a plan by my family to get rid of me, only that they wanted this to happen elaborately. But I cut him short to reiterate the question about the gunshots: “who shot the bullets”? He interrupted me, saying, “I’ve heard no gunshot, I swear. You might’ve thought that up”.

Then, I asked him about the cursed ranch, whether it played a part in their disappearance! He replied, “Perhaps, yes… But I thought you guys are indifferent to this…save for my parents… your grandparents”! Asking him about the Ogwals and what happened to them, he was reluctant at first — until I briefly strangled him with the panga.

CHAPTER FOUR: THE VULTURES!

Restlessly, uncle Nyeko started with, “Okay…these were the ideal Acholi our parents often personified”. He continued telling me that the pastoralists were sociable towards their relatives, friends and servants; supporting them with finances, or meat during times of brief famines. This persisted until 1978; when over 80 percent of their animals were stolen during one of the various raids carried out by some gun brandishing cattle-rustling tribe from the distant east.

The man was extremely enraged to borderline insanity; becoming disgruntled. He constantly blamed the government for abandoning farmers in similarly distressful conditions. For the first time, he started hating and accusing those — including their own 12 servants — he suspected of jealousy towards their riches. For failure to handle the new situation, all the servants deserted his farm to look for employment elsewhere. Days passed and there was not a slight positive change in his rapidly declining sanity. He started inquiring on robust local methods on how to restore their riches; indifferent on whether it required utilisation of the metaphysical. In village fêtes, attendees talked of necromancy topping his list.

Now hell-bent on mystically protecting the farm against intruders and potential curses from antagonists, he journeyed in his Peugeot northwards, to a tribe of uncertain origin in Sudan. There he was recommended to an allegedly nameless sorcerer aficionado; who was popular among some rich Sudanese and specific obscure northerners for his reliable witchcraft. In the night two days later, Mr Ogwal arrived with the sorcerer at the farm. This happened amidst heavy verbal confrontations from elders who disapproved of exotic mediums in Kitgum. Hours later after 5am, in the farm’s center, the trio made rituals; animal sacrifices accompanied by weird walking patterns — whose rendition no one could pull off — to apparently summon ancestral spirits. Nothing obvious was seen.

After ten futile days of daily rituals, the couple seemingly

wanted to quit with this plan; asking for a refund on part of the initial payment. The sorcerer downplayed their request; convincing them that he never fails at his job — and that he needed more time from the blatantly impatient couple. He even changed his previously seen style to speaking in even unheard-of tongues: rurenyei rurenyei, nkabara nkankedde durekkei. He even sprinkled viridescent powder all over the place, but nothing of value was observable thereafter. Now this was seen as even more ludicrous and inconveniencing to even the nosey passersby. It made the performer border on showmanship; one who was now tinkering in his business rather than producing results.

However, in two nights, something happened. A gray whirlwind inexplicably appeared in the compound, and an entity arrived through it. In the lowlight, none besides the enchanters saw things clearly enough to describe the entity. Only a rumour spread in the villages: that it was a smoky-like ghost. Hereafter, what ensued between the couple and the sorcerer was the most difficult information the villagers ever wished to get. But people alleged that the couple were satisfied with the results. There was an agency with which the unescorted sorcerer departed on foot from the farm, declining to say a word on his way to town. He never responded to the confrontations from insistent elders who told him: “Ajwaka, bin, ikello Kiir. Ikello Cen kur jok”.

People assumed he was obviously stressed after days of under pressure heavy work. But leaving such a debatably incomprehensible entity in the hands of inexperienced people regarding the mystical arts was rather scary. Either way, the pastoralists apparently harnessed its power and achieved their supposed desired goal of establishing concealed magical charms around the land perimeter. No one knew how they achieved this, but it worked; for almost a decade, not a single raider ever set foot in the farm, nor the areas around. Also, the farm had perennial water points and palatable grasses — even during droughts. This enabled the farm to hold hundreds of livestock that the villagers could only dream of having.

The couple hired a record 32 labourers for the different ranching tasks: care, milking, sale of beef, mutton and goat meat to buyers from other districts and transporting the mentioned products to other destinations. These desensitised employees were hired from neighbouring districts as the locals rejected the employment opportunities. By this time the elders and their loyalists interacted less with the pair and their farm; fearing the place and its dwellers, including the plants and animals must be evil-possessed. Imagine the chemical and physical properties of all life inhabiting the farm comprising of evil genes! Eating anything from there led to death. “And it is this incongruence that hinted that the entirety of story was mere sensationalism and stupid”, uncle concluded. He suddenly stopped recounting. I could not tell whether he was making a fool of me for those past five minutes or so. Is he just stupid? I asked.

Then I realized that he stopped exactly when we heard children chants coming from the exact opposite direction I used while entering the premise. Clearly these were my cousins coming. Next, I wanted to know the fate of the entity and what he himself thought of the Ogwals’ supposed greed. So, I pestered him some more. But he told me he did not even understand how he perceived most of the events he had just mentioned. Implying he may have fabricated some of the lines within the story just to buy as much time as possible to ensure that someone caught me for attempted murder or something. In a raspy voice that could not reach even ten yards away, he started ululating: he is here…here is the killer! He momentarily lost his breath, yet my cousins were almost within 300 yards.

Wasting no time, I stood up and quickly went behind the huts following the direction where the escapee uncle last passed earlier, only to infer that he had jumped over the dwarf caustic vine hedgerow. I decided to enter each of the huts, though less sure there could be my people hidden inside. I was right. And my cousins were looming in the distance. Through the open spaces between maize stems close to the ground, I could see more than six pairs of legs, not counting the dog’s. These cousins, just like their parents were not so close to us. Also, they were part of the aforementioned bullies; therefore, they would have been of little help in my quest. “I must go after Ongwen instead”! I asserted.

Then I heard one cousin yell: “The murderer murdered a family…now he wants to kill our family”! With this façade, I had absolute certainty that my own relatives could have been fully involved in my family’s disappearance and are trying to vilify me. But with the indifferent Nyeko’s engagement, I assumed they may be influenced by a mysterious authority. In the northern backyard, I saw a bicycle laying on the floor, so I wobbled to it and grabbed it by the horn, raising it on its wheels. I perceived that taking the direction on the other side of the hedgerow might facilitate my chances of locating my family. Besides, establishing the nexus of my relatives with the crime would be blissful. Unlike the adult males whose tracking skills were limited to wild animals, human tracking was my forte. The dog started backing in the compound as my cousins attempted to revive the injured.

CHAPTER FIVE: THE CURSED RANCH

It may have been just a few minutes after 2 pm. I limp-jumped over the caustic vine, and landed on the other side without making the slightest sound regardless of being in quite a safe distance from my antagonists. I was vaguely aware that the latter would concentrate on the now inert people to allow me considerable time to cover as much distance as possible and catch up with the fleer. In the trampled scanty signalgrass, I jumped on the bicycle and started riding following the tracks northwards. I was so blessed that the grasshoppers remained still enough not to give away my position. I continued wildly as the tracks slowly disappeared. And the vegetation slowly transformed greener. I looked up ahead and noticed the day had turned unnaturally grey and humid. I had never seen a day quite like that before; producing a feeling of drowsiness to hit me.

I paused in the greenest signalgrass I only imagined after reading their description in science books. Thus, conditioning me to reflect on how every event that happened prior was perhaps psychological. Mere gazing on the grass reinvigorated a repressed desire of reminiscing the biannual rainy seasons — when rains fell virtually each day. When nature was strikingly magnificent: the grass, the crickets and butterflies hiding behind emerald leaf blades, the lizards and rodents creeping on red anthills, foraging for their convenient meal. It was even more beautiful in the twilight: the relatively less bright sunrays in the western horizon piercing through the clouds to reflect a glossy gold colour.

Something was indeed trying to push evil thoughts in me! I could feel it but it is hard to prove this at the moment, even emotionally. “This is enemy territory I am standing on! Basing on the previous portrait this must be the Ogwals’ cursed ranch”! Has my constant isolation finally taken the best of me? I thought. Truthfully, I was that only member in the family usually more unwilling to engage in social situations. Spending lesser time with my family except during nighttime shortly before we slept quite early, at 8 pm sharp. Honestly, this facilitated my escape from the insufferably dreary family interfaces by spending most of the day alone, except for myself, the animals and a couple of text books. Now I was genuinely missing the presence of my family yet minutes ago Nyeko had mentioned that they wanted to get rid of me — a blatant lie.

Against my willpower, I learnt that it was an hour after I left home at dawn. I and the goats were over one mile east of home, seeking the rare signalgrass. That day was also my first in a long time — during school holidays — to avoid abandoning them for any available tree branch on which I relaxed and revised one of my books. Perhaps, if the rebels’ threat on Layamo sub-county had happened, I could for the first time had been greatly hesitant to move so far away from home that day. Pulling the thirsty goats by their ropes, I directed them farther east, until it seemed as if they were bleating to pause a little while — I intently refused to grant them their request.

Since my family was allowed occasional access to the neighbouring pasturelands, another half a mile in the same direction, I frantically guided the animals there. Eventually, we reached a serene ranch, with the required nutritive forage. The poor goats could not wait for my signal to go for their meal. I stood by the edge and watched them for a while. As my eyes scanned the land area, I saw there was no sign of livestock rearing at all. Not even a sign of a single homestead. Notwithstanding, my school was still thirty minutes away, and in a different direction. The fields were covered with elaborate grasses and herbs that captivated us. Entering it with caution was what I did even with a clear understanding that there was not a chance of harm awaiting me.

In the steadiness of wind, a familiar airborne substance of what I currently know is the odour of sulphur ensued. For a short while I paused pondering how such a small concentration of the colourless gas could send an awkward but powerful feeling to my sense of smell. Afterward, my entire body waned due to sudden electrification. I was lost! I decided to walk back, pulling the ruminants along. For almost a mile, we moved in the young signalgrass and dandelions. I walked, utilising my blurry eyes to look back over my shoulders several times, for I heard tiptoes behind me. Inadvertently, my foot missed the ground, causing me to tumble head first amidst the dandelions, and passing out.

Minutes later I revived but with my eyelids so heavy I was unable to open them. I still felt the panga in my left hand, implying that it was the real-time future moment in which I was still pursuing after Ongwen. Had I broken free from the memories? Yes, I was sure I did! However, I detected the smell of sulphur again — and felt weird electrical activity in my amygdala. Opening my eyes, it was weird to find myself enclosed in near-vantablack darkness. I got up and started walking in a direction I could not tell; now unaware of the generally flat and treeless scenery, except for sporadic Acacia shrubs. The rustling noises from my feet, loud sounds from cicadas, plus an unstable mood explained my trembling as I continued.

Quickly, it grew quieter; quiet enough for a slight body movement to sound like a mild thunder, and whistling winds like howls from a pack of feral dogs. Shortly, I unintentionally started shuffling on trampled grass, possibly to avoid alarming a nearby savage being: a carnivore, a hunter or the LRA. Abruptly, I felt the icy temperature; it was unforgivably cold I assumed my blood vessels were practically transporting icy blood. “How did I even wind up in this eerie place”? Extremely unnerved, while anxious to awaken from a likely nightmare. Only to step on a prickle, which fiercely penetrated the sole of my left foot.

Instantly, I dropped the panga down and placed one hand over my mouth to avoid shrieking from the agony. Gently lowered myself with the other hand to sit on the dewy grass — extracting the spike from the wound. However, I sensed that blood brimmed unusually — oh no, it damaged an older laceration, hence the previous limping! I could not make of when and what caused the wound, but instinctively thought the previous blood clotted a few hours ago. “I am truly running away from something”! I exclaimed in horror. The pain amplified each minute, until evanescent flashbacks forcefully appeared in my head: memories of being in a company of very lovely people, six hours ago. “Yes, I was with my family and our mothers were pouring porridge in our respective mugs, as Lanyero warmed the previous day’s roasted grasshoppers in a tiny saucepan”! I whispered.

Then, there was a pungent pain in the persistently gushing wound that interrupted. So, I pressed my hand to it to accelerate the coagulation. Afterwards, I felt so exhausted to proceed, hence reposed, hopeful for a gradual acclimatisation to the chilly air. Even so, my concentration became slightly more stable than prior, enough for me to chronicle the previous fleeting memories. Not a single revelation appeared, though — “amnesia probably”! I gazed up for a slight view of the night sky. There was still total blackness; igniting my desperation for the tiniest ray of light. Trust me the beam from a firefly would have been as luminous as a floodlight in that situation. Looking up again: “Wait, is the moon stashed behind those dark clouds? An impending storm in a dry season that might end in late January next year”!

No, actually it is the sun from the flashbacks! As baffling as things got, nothing denied me the power to rediscover that the memories were being mystically engrained in my head. At that exact point, my eyes cleared — as if from sleep paralysis — to see clouds dusting the atmosphere and slightly eclipse the sun. “It is still afternoon”! I wondered. Seconds later the sun was unveiled, and its rays fell upon a home that looked much like our own. It was at least a mile away. “What”? I wondered even more. Then I did not get lost in the first place! There was a shocking realisation that there were no cumulonimbus clouds; the environment was just too hazy. Worse still was the sudden awareness that I was in a blood-stained creamy shirt and stranded in perhaps a 300 square metres waterlogged area.

I got up and moved forward, only to realise my legs were submerged in clayey substrate within the knee-high clear cool water. I developed some escalating shivers running beneath my flesh. Through the water I saw several torn pieces of white polythene bags marked ‘Made in China’, ‘Made in India’, and ‘Made in USA’ on them. I used the panga to scoop some pieces up to get a closer look. On the calm water surface, I pulled a few together like pieces in a puzzle. The connection made a huge blue printed label marked NPK. I decided to maneuver through the swamp yearning for dry terrain. In the clay, my feet touched thick metallic water pipes — five inches in diameter — of water. When I followed them 60 yards ahead, they were connected to a submerged decrepit algae-covered foundation of a large bungalow. I could not tell its age, but it was apparently not less than 30 years old.

The seven compartments seemed to have had three beds, a decaying leather couch, mugs, source pans, ‘70s clothing among other things. This is the exact spot of the Ogwal’s house. I saw the algae-filled brown broken bricks looking extremely weathered; suggesting that this happened something like 20 years before my ordeal. This was no natural swamp; but water just licked through the busted pipes causing the logging. I saw dry land less than 50 yards away and forced my way through the water to reach there. There were eight skulls and more than 20 ribs and a femur in the mud in front as I climbed out of the water into the signalgrass. Being desensitised to such a sight was relieving. Needless to say, some of those bones belonged to the Ogwal household.

Sealed transparent polythene C3 envelopes were here and there. Inside each one of them were acknowledgement receipts, confirming that high-level transactions took place. Other paper copies included purchase orders and invoices that had fading stamps and blue ink writings indicating dates especially in 1980 and 1981. Others included court orders and various official documents I could not understand. The place was clearly abandoned and uninviting, save for the vegetation and water. There was a notebook that had a map of vehicles bypassing the town in the northeast to connect to the main road towards Kitgum town. I saw postal letters from China, Sudan, Zaire, United States of America and Kenya, all indicating business partnerships I cannot provide full detail now. Others showing when and which customs might have been used for transporting the livestock products.

Now, beyond were innumerous blood droplets splattered in the grass. My courage was shaken by this. I could tell that horror was a few steps away if I continued into the haze.

Quickly, I pierced together the aforementioned findings to determine the remainder of the Ogwals' storyline. Picking up from Nyeko’s last account, I theorised as follows. Witnessing the benign success of the Ogwal’s in the early 1980s, the panicked chiefs and many other Acholi communicated throughout Mucwini blaming the couple for vanity. And this would yield nothing good except bringing curses and inexplicable punishments upon them and their associates. A few ordinary fellowships, however diverged, arguing that using our own ancestral spirits is indeed relevant so long as one utilised a local medium to summon the entities. “…possibly, the medium may be of Acholi descent and living in Sudan, who knows”? they may have added.

In response, Ogwal might have superficially slammed the

critics, claiming that the complaints are by the undiligent. Surely, these were mere conceptions passed down by their equally hysterical descendants. I told myself this: “There was no witchcraft let alone an evil presence in the farm; people were just simply picking on them simply because they were rich. That sensationalism affected their ability to uphold modernism”. Even the senior agricultural officer in Kitgum saw no problem with the couple’s progress. But the villagers strongly rejected them as some district agricultural entrepreneurs were coerced to fiercely deny the couple membership of local farmer groups. The Ogwal’s chose to ignore the prejudices and moved on, seeking other approaches to gain from their farm products.

Shortly, Ogwal decided to shift focus to conducting business with only foreign markets especially Sudan, Kenya, China, United States of America and Zaire, most of which consisted of smuggling products through the porous district borders. In the process, they became incredibly successful despite being locally outlawed. They used ground water for watering their pasture during dry seasons. They used fertilisers to enhance pasture output; which explains that the viridescent powder spread by the supposed medium was actually NPK.

When most of the Acholi servants irrationally confirmed that the farm was indeed cursed, for they failed to understand the science behind the high yields, they left their respective jobs. Quickly, they attempted to avoid adverse infestations they inherited in the farm, by accepting to take part in the cleansing ceremonies suggested by the elders. They were told about ‘Moyo kum’ and ‘Moyo piny’, as the traditional techniques for cleansing their bodies. Others were given raw eggs to either eat or step on. These were followed by various reintegrating rituals to allow them properly mix with their fellow tribemates.

Meanwhile the Ogwal’s seemed to have maintained a strong

rejection of the rites; for they were recording sustainable success stories in their ventures. This might have angered the people including my grandparents. And as a response the angered locals forcefully entered the farm, slaughtering the Ogwals plus their subordinates. They destroyed their constructions, and stole their vehicles and other farm equipment. Though this has remained a theory on my part. Anyhow, with livestock left without active keepers, the former likely fell sick and died. Days later, without the couple’s appearance anywhere, a gossip spread out about their disappearance. Their entire corpses, including skeletons were eaten up by vultures and wild dogs. The local authorities and the police probably failed to trace them.

Not very long, the entirety of north Uganda started having frequent drought cycles. During which, Ogwal’s brother or relative came from Kitgum town and reluctantly accepted full rights from the district Administrator General to the latter’s property. But he and his family chose to stay away from it. When the droughts became harsher than normal, some people failed to contend acute scarcity of pasture and water for their livestock, hence spontaneously sought them in the farm. Moreover, after 1986, unfamiliar random people periodically intruded the place and surprisingly left unscathed. This did not deter most of the villagers’ indecision to do the same. Instead, the villagers confronted and slain the individuals suspected of entering it without negotiation.

And why did they give up on the cleansing rituals? Did theseprocedures prove vain or it was due to conflict in its efficiency that led to most of the participants later dying bizarre deaths — big lesions, stabs and others? Or most possibly, they never did quite figure out who or what exactly was killing the Acholi! I saw a full five litres of blood poured on the ground. “Oh, and this blood implies that they are still killing people in this place. Or most probably people may still be fighting for resources in here”. And there I was, in the cursed ranch, thinking that all along they wanted to kill me and my entire family by forcing Ongwen to lead me there!

CHAPTER SIX: THE ENTITY

Now, the stench of blood was growing greater, and so did that of sulphur. I quietly sidestepped the pooling blood following its direction. I heard a swish of a knife through the air and thudding flesh. This was indicative of someone hacking another. Bones cracked with each swoosh. I moved closer, swaying buzzing houseflies. As the houseflies finally gave me a slightly clear view ahead, I saw the best application of annihilation. A corpse was being chopped by a dark figure. This seemed like the only live human around. “Who is it? Ongwen”? Besides the figure, there were several other human carcasses piled on top of each other. These seemed older in comparison. I could see bones of cattle and what may possibly have been that of goats or sheep. What was quite out of place was the lack of a clear explanation for why the older skeletons were heavily painted crimson. They also had creamy white maggots moving all round.

There were low voices in my head: adenoidal sighs in a language I have not heard anyone speak to date. Only the communicator knew whether these were incantations or not; nothing close to Acholi or any of the luo dialects. Sensing a grey colouring at my left, I turned my head there. Catching a glimpse of a humanoid silhouette — approximately seven-feet-tall, headless, garbed in long, dark-grey strands of elephant grass — figure bathed in thick fog. Standing at least 20 yards on the bloody peat ahead, unable to sink through; probably levitating, or simply floating! Surely this was not illusory and neither was I delusional to consider this unreal. I was sure that was not human. Yes, humans are incapable of levitating, I reasoned. “If this is not so then I must leave this place as soon as possible”, I thought. Assuming the entity had not noticed me, I attempted to sneak around it to escape on the other side. I moved slowly — very slowly. The muddy ground just amplified the squelches of my feet. My body temperature rose a little. Teeth started chattering.

As you might have guessed, the thing noticed my presence! I froze — quietly preoccupied with flight. Immediately, the figure placed a polyhedroid helmet-like object on its neck, and turned towards me. I accelerated my movement. But, as unlucky as I was on that day, my leg got stuck in the muddy clay. It stomped closer and closer swiftly towards me. Finally stopping a few feet away. With its face rather inconspicuous, I could not see anything remotely suggesting our own species, or even the ghost of our ancestors; bear in mind that I had vague descriptions of these thanks to my grandparents. But it stood there, intensely gazing straight in my face as if in much need of a staring contest!

There was an eruption of anger from it; it hissed loudly as larger volumes of grey waves were released from its body. In a flash, a one and a half metres long organic arm reached out at me from its cloak, ridiculously long husky fingers clinched me by the neck. In the same manner, another set of fingers from the other hand held my mouth. With the tightened grip against my throat, I could hardly breathe. This resulted in my eyes rolling back in the head. At that instant, with little oxygen in my lungs, I only inhaled — exhalation was near impossible. Sensing familiar concentrated scent of sulphuric substance down my lungs, I struggled against something that touched me yet I could not do the same. I suffocated beyond my capability to fight back.

After several seconds of an inevitable losing battle on my part, the thing inexplicable released me. I was hyperventilating. I momentarily lost balance; and dropped on the ground. But I quickly got up, still holding my panga. I just moved forward. I looked back at the creature that just stood in the air seemingly facing me. I could neither see its legs nor feet — the creature’s clothing design — if you can call it that — covered the torso.

Now, without peering back at the entity, I proceeded northwards by frenziedly maneuvering and wrecking the papyrus. I could barely see beyond 10 yards. There were tens of mosquitoes covering my goose bumped arms. Somehow, I saw the farm fringes in a brief moment. I lurched that direction without hesitation. As every forward movement led me farther away from death, I began sensing the end of dread. I stepped outside what I believed was the cursed ranch. “I’m a survivor”, I convinced myself. I was terrified though. I longed to be home. Even without a thorough survey of the farm to identify the bodies, I was sure my family members were not among them. My assumption was that Ongwen was killed. I walked west with little hope of meeting anyone along the way. “Honestly, if what is holding my family captive was what I encountered a few minutes ago then let the captor win. I’ve lost”. Yes, I had given up. That is what a sane person should do. I needed to be home. I could care less about anyone’s absence to report the murder and disappearance of my family to.

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE PREDICTABLE TWIST

Time check seemed like half past 4 pm. I walked on the scanty footpath. I had to be careful enough to avoid stepping a few feet to my left — in the edge of the horrible farm. There were three cattle browsing on the dandelions to my right. No keeper was around to watch after them. “The owner is possibly stupid”, I yelled. Shaking my head in disbelief while I passed by them. I could not think of more negative comments after seeing two hens walking around. Again, my blurry view fell on another ghastly sight! I was frustrated. This was too much for me to take. But I felt like there was nothing controlling me; my thoughts were completely clear. This enhanced the believability of my next encounter. But due to very recent past experience, I still cared less. “Home is my next destination no matter what I see”, I said while I moved forward to witness the horror!

Two corpses of men, each with a single bullet wound through the temple. Swarms of houseflies were feeding on them. They seemed to have been escaping towards the ranch unaware of the macabre evil that lies in it. Melancholic yells arose ahead as I progressed onward. At first, my unreliable view saw grey smoke from thin yellow flames rising above some muddy huts. These were shops on fire!

Yes, I was already on the trading centre’s outskirts, looking upon the blazing business huts within it, at a distance of over quarter-mile southeastwards. How I got there was not my concern, I just wanted to get myself food to eat and treatment for my immense injuries. I was already nauseous due to the excessive blood loss. I wobbled into the uninviting centre whose human inhabitants were steadily coming into my view. Nearing the retail shops, I heard on my right indistinctive wailings from ladies crying for the loss of loved ones: mama maaaa eeeehh. These were fairly louder than what I heard at the very start of my ordeal. Uncomfortably curious, I approached like a soldier behind enemy lines; tiptoeing forward.

Sunbirds, the omnipresent species in the desert date tree loomed out from within the leafy branches and flew off into the air above the deserted shops. My presence could have scared them off. There was an open area where the sale of cattle hides and farm tools took place. Only the hides were present in the puddle of fresh blood. There, I could see two dust devils spiraling. In that direction ahead, there was a massacre beyond words. I only hoped the evil would still be manipulating me some more, but unfortunately, it was not the case. No one regardless of their extent of psychosis could stand such a sight. This was a sight of brutally dismembered corpses: five ladies, eight men, and two infants. Three of my relatives were by them, digging the hard-fissured ground for burial.

Reaching closer to them, they noticed me in a manner suggesting cynicism. Their eyes all bloodshot indicating they had been crying for half a day or so. I approached them and inquisitively asked why the wary look — they did not respond, however. Not to bother people who regarded my presence as a real threat, I moved away taking the path on my right northwards. I saw other survivors without noses, lips and ears; grotesquely mutilated. Others sneaked back from their hideouts and overlaid soil on bodies. I saw a man in green running in the opposite direction; it was Ongwen running towards me. I was alarmed at first but felt relieved shortly after realising that he was bleeding through his nose. It was a little blood flowing through.

He stopped right in front of me and said that my family is beside the granary store. He pointed at the only brick-walled shop, six blocks ahead north and alleged, “They are responsible for all this homicide and still committing more”. I angrily pushed him aside and moved on — toward the grocery store. Did I trust him? I did not, but given the circumstances I was curious to find out. Feeling queasy and quite pneumonic, I saw dad walking north while pulling Lanyero along with a yellow sisal rope tied around her waist. Where is aunty Atoo?

And guess who was wielding an AK assault rifle and dressed in a bloodied woodland camo military shirt? Bongomin was! He also had his feet in brown jungle boots. Abitech was right beside them in normal clothes — bloodied blue shorts and a green T-shirt — and slippers. He was clutching a bloodied wooden club. Did he bat Atoo to death? How Bongomin got clothing that was meant for the UPDF was not the issue at that particular moment. But was I surprised by him and Abitech? Not so much. I was only quite surprised by their killings of relatives without even breaking a sweat. They followed behind mum, Lanyero, and dad, who was ahead of the party, pulling the girl behind. The latter three all dressed in bloodied clothes; possibly from the violent murder spree. Questioning the sanity of the two weapon-wielding males, I waited for all of them to be a little over 200 yards away from the centre, so that I could make a better interception. They decided to branch off into the metre-high rusty spear grasses that connected to the next village. I warily tailed them, avoiding to step the blood droplets from Abitech’s weapon. In the camouflaging grass, I moved slowly to a stone’s throw away from them, startling two grasshoppers with my soft footfalls. A threatened flycatcher flew off, probably signaling the family members to a pause.

Panic sent me moving swiftly to my right, feet brushing against the grass. The panicky movement compelled me to nearly collide with a three feet tall anthill, just five yards ahead. Taking reliable cover behind the anthill, another gunshot went off — it was very loud my ears intensely ringed. Only Lanyero’s cry stopped this a few seconds later; it was loud in what seemed like an agonising shout: aaii iiihhi! “Goodness, is she being mutilated”? I ragingly thought. Lifting my head higher, I saw dad and mum being gagged with strands of yellow cloths. The rifle and Abitech’s club were a serious barrier to my attempts in providing quick help with my deadly weapon. I even considered the certainty of abandoning what was left of my sane people in an attempt to flee an avoidable death of my own.

They mocked the two, shouting: "You think you would remain ambivalent forever? Accepting this National Resistance Movement government currently in power”? you think they’ll ever like our tribe? Next, they bound them extremely tight, with sisal ropes. They started shading tears, though refusing to wail in front of the crying Lanyero. The terror was beyond unendurable. They drop-kicked them to fall on the ground. And Abitech, using another sisal rope, viciously flayed them — ten to 12 times on their backs and abdomens as the victims panicked in terror. I was completely broken down emotionally but still dissuaded to ambush them. Bongomin drew out an arrow — I guessed this was the missing one from our storage hut — that was tucked in his trousers. I knew the next action would be far more brutal than I had ever witnessed to that point.

In quick succession, he started scything dad in the arms. The gore made me tremble, for I would still do nothing. They proceeded to firmly hold my dad and forced him to lie straight on the ground, whole body facing downwards. I could not clearly see what was happening in the grass. Probably, Bongomin put the sharp end of the arrow on the left side of his biceps area. Dad pleaded for them not to do what I knew was going to happen next. They used the butt-stock and started hitting the arrow as if piercing a nail through a wall. I thought this was disturbing and would be glad to avoid seeing it. But I assumed the arrow passed through on the other side — the chest. I thought his death was abrupt for the arrow had pierced through his heart, maybe.

Before they turned to the females, I could not take it anymore and stealthily crawled my shivering figure backward. As I imagined the quivering of their bodies being battered by Abitech, mum was wailing terrifyingly for the loss of her husband. This reinvigorated some energy of a sort in me. Suddenly, I recalled that interspatial winds were now constantly blowing. “I won’t give up on Lanyero and mummy”, I said. “Not with this insanity! They have probably never faced a kid so devotedly prepared to die for the ones he loves”. The wind would enhance burning the place thus distracting them for me to have a better chance of fighting. I took a few steps back to look for pieces of wood twigs. An acacia branch was conveniently close.

Amidst the noisy chaotic situation, I quickly broke the twigs into two. In one of them, I used the panga to dig a tiny hole through. Quickly, I inserted the other twig into the hole and immediately started rubbing the twigs several times to cause as much friction as possible. But, like many concepts taught theoretically at school, things hardly workout that easily. I rubbed and rubbed but with no positive result I desperately needed. “It could be my tingling palms, resulting from the icy body temperature”! I thought. The snarls and outcries by the females amplified more. Another gunshot jolted my fairly disoriented attention. I was sure that killed someone. I rubbed one more time and there you are — the twig produced a small flame, and shortly some smoke. I surrounded the dying flame with the palms of my hands to avoid the swooshing winds from killing it.

It was almost dusk; around 5:45 pm. Once again, there was uneasy silence. Yet I proceeded to put the dying flame on three combined leaf blades. The flame died down but light-grey smoke continued coming out. I realised this option was a bad idea. So, I decided to throw away the twig and just fight some family members.

CHAPTER EIGHT: BLAZING MUCWINI

But now there was no one in sight. I walked northwards trailing the bloodied leaf blades — I started hearing low cries. Now, there was a fire growing ten yards behind me. Seeing Lanyero being dragged further ahead by Abitech, I hurried. Further ahead, Bongomin thrusted mum with the muzzle of his gun. They seemed to be escaping the spreading fire; frequently looking over their shoulders as they rushed. Smoke started growing thicker behind me.

Lanyero’s squinting behind a little resulted in her rugged face catching my eye through the smoke. I bid her to run away; the girl leaped against the ropes of her restraints to clinch mum instead. This yanked Bongomin — who was now holding her — out of balance. However, I suddenly heard grunting right behind me. Quickly turning to see someone swinging a club, I shielded myself with the panga before he struck my legs. It was Abitech. He tried to swing the weapon again, but I made a single turn on him and swung the panga to cut through the right side of his neck. I probably saw blood gushing out from the wound onto the vegetation. As he was taking what seemed like ages to fall down and die, I saw Bongomin leaving the girl and lunging at me; wanting to bang me with the gun. I held the blade side of the panga, and flung it hoping to stun him. It however failed. And he just came.

Dad sprang from nowhere and whisked me, sending us revolving over twice in the vegetation. I thought he was saving me from the raging Bongomin — but not at all. Instead, he held me hard to the floor and beaconed uncle to come, saying: “time’s running out”. He turned to me and with a hard cough said: “Please calm down son, all we’re trying to do is to gauge how strong you actually are. Other household members are safe. All we want is to grow stronger and defeat the current government. You seem to be having power as no soul has ever had before. And it’s all courtesy of that ranch you've been crossing all these days. No mortal can stand a chance against what you’ve inside of you now. Please join us…join the LRA rebellion…and we fight for this country and our own prosperity. We cannot remain poor forever son”.

Instead, I ignored him. Believing that he was being manipulative and most likely what they had done to other family members and villagers. His hands were already wet with more gore after I writhed at him to save myself from whatever their machination was. Fortunately, I saw the panga two yards away. Trying to reach for it resulted in Bongomin strangling me as if aware of my next step before and. Though he strangled harder, it was even more apparent to me that they were not aiming to kill me but likely to stun me. Using this to my advantage, I punched his neck in quick succession until he started spluttering drops of blood to the ground. Slating him backward to the hot ground as my jaded dad — now just 20 yards away on the other side of the road — irately looked on. The ladies quietly joined him, giving me a bit of hope that they were safe for the moment.

I immediately struggled up and jumped on Bongomin, tossing three blows to his jaws. But he did not flinch. Those blows would have shattered his skull, but nothing significant happened, only a drop of blood from the previous wound. Looking at the gaining ferocious fire behind, I got off my prey and rushed to grab myself a rifle. Yes, because why not…all it takes is to pull what I hear is called the trigger. Which I could see, I assumed. Abitech, still not dead was crawling away from the hot ground. This was unthinkable. With my left hand gripping the handguard, the other handheld the pistol grip at shoulder height, pointing the muzzle directly at his back. I quickly inserted my index finger through the trigger guard, and pulled back the trigger. PBAHPBAAAAH. The rifle fired. But the recoil sent the bullets up into the air. No bullets came out afterward. Thinking the rifle had malfunctioned, I hurled it to crackle his feet. The buttstock hit his left ankle. He squealed. I was nearly inclined to sympathise with him. Actually, I did not. These people had turned into unsympathetic savages. “You deserve nothing short of death”, I said to them.

As I went to finish off the wheezing Abitech, Bongomin, already on the other side of the road where the fire could not reach shouted at me, “stop”! He was coughing uncontrollably though. I lifted my face for a glance. He was holding dad, mum, and Lanyero hostage with the panga amidst the thin grey smoke. The females were wailing harder this time. I struggled to my feet and started staggering towards them. With an apparent chuckle, he impaled dad in the heart — instant death. The ladies squealed in horror and leaned on the corpse. Sure, that Abitech was still a fledgling yet to master the art of combat, I left him and raced towards Bongomin. But, Abitech turned — and his entire weight moved fluidly, throwing a single high kick to my forehead. I dropped on the ground. I could not believe what had just happened to my wounded head. His eyes had turned from dark-brown to black. I believed the kid was no longer made of only flesh and blood, but also the devil himself. Even the way he thrust his foot on my tummy as I recovered from that blow was majestically brutal.

I grabbed his leg and pushed him away from me, sending him clutching at the fragile vegetation. Blood was flowing down my chest and shirt. But he immediately bounced back on his feet — like a professional kick-boxer. I tried to tussle him back down to the ground, but no way. The kid, like a hungry hyena excitedly running after its wounded prey, was just relentlessly ferocious. With a low kick on the balls of my injured limb, he smacked me to the floor. On the ground, I held my thigh tight, as if that would even lessen the pain. He charged at me, mentioning his jealousy; that I was a scholar and would have a far better future than him. But thank heavens for turbulent air currents, and fire; flames closed in and the floating red cinders rained on us. This scolded Abitech’s skin and hair. He screamed. With his right hand, he rubbed his hair in agony. I started hurried for the road— at least 15 yards ahead. Abitech followed behind. “You should’ve killed me while I was asleep if you hate me that much”, I shouted at him. “This is the only opportunity I have ever been given to kill you”, he yelled back. Abitech seemed jaded to escape the yellow flames. He was shrieking and coughing. He looked slightly timid, as if back to what I knew was his normal self.

Coughing was all over the place as I approached the main road. He continued saying that there was no way I would escape the chaos of the day until my death. But I had had enough of indirect phrases. I just wanted to make sure he did not survive. Winds blew the flames and cinders in our direction. The lower ends of my shorts caught a small fire. The fires scolded my left knee — but I continued moving anyway. Reaching the edge of the road, I rolled in the dust to put the fire out. I succeeded in this. I saw Lanyero and mum looking back at me with a slight painful relief on their faces. They seemed okay. But, the heavily injured Abitech was still in the burning garden. I knew he was now turning crispy. With my whole body in terrific pain, I turned my attention from him to focus on my own survival. My entire body was very warm, besides the smoke in my lungs. My body faced upwards. I rested on the right side of the road, just eight yards from mum and my sister, to wait for rescuers.

CHAPTER NINE: MACHIAVELLIANS!

After what I thought was an extended period of feeling weightlessness, I recuperated just in time to hear random wailings. It was still dusk, and in the distance, was a total mess; the ash was clearing out as thin smoke rose from the smoldering battlefield. Black anthills and destroyed black walls of five huts indicating that the place had human inhabitants. Seeing the sobbing mum and Lanyero seated in the black-jack but hugging nonetheless, I hurried and curled over to clinch them. They first shared a troubled glance, and then faced me again. Mum asked: “Are you sure you’re okay”? Lanyero responded instead, saying: “You know he can’t be okay”. Why everyone responded to me in vague or cryptic manner had gotten worse at that moment. However, a loud murmur from behind forced me to change my neck and face in that direction. I saw Ongwen coming within a distance of 100 yards. Along him was a group of six other elders including my two grandparents and chiefs. Behind all of them were a dozen UPDF soldiers. They were armed with AKMs and dressed in their full woodland camo military combat uniforms, including black leather ankle boots.

They looked and pointed at our livestock and poultry that were in Nyeko’s paddocks and elephant grass. They talked among themselves as they continued approaching us. When they finally reached us, the soldiers viciously held me by my shorts against my will. An elder shouted about why it was taking the police so long to arrive. What I came to realise was that everyone seemed scared of me. Ongwen went on to clearly ascertain that the red tints on my shirt were not to be tampered with: “Hold him properly this time”, the uncle said.

They accused me of aiding the rebels — whom they did not apprehend — for setting fire on my home and other surrounding villages. They asked me where they were camping, in order to rescue Abitech. All my family members save for grandparents, mum, and Lanyero were confirmed dead. How? I did not know then I do not know now. Atoo’s corpse was found on an erected spear in our storage hut. The cops arrived in a police pickup, and handcuffed me. As confused as I was, they forced me onto the car. They could not explain anything to me, despite my constant yells to let me go.

Before I was driven off into custody in a faraway safe house, the elders looked on. I saw the kind of indifference that I could have never associated with them before. Since then my thoughts have been filled with deathly hostility. I have been with an intoxicating desire for revenge against the LRA in order to see at least one of my household members again. Their meaningless quest to utilise concealed powers and beings for malevolent purposes has partly contributed to this. And, the lingering smell of blood and brimstone is my constant reminder of human nature at its worst.

#Kony LordsResistenceArmy #ShortStory Novellette

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