me, playing tgaa1: ok so this stronghart guy is obviously evil-

stronghart: london is the centre of the modern world. objectively best city. we have AAAAALL the cool technology you WISH you had our technology and public transport don't you ohhhh you wanna be a londoner so bad aren't you jealous of our trams

me, a rural english bitch and certified london hater: well now it's personal. it is on like donkey kong. i am going to have so much fun obliterating this man.

So I’m planning this trip to the British Isles for whenever the hell that’s safe. Vaccination rollout in Canada, where I am, is happening very slowly. But on the bright side, it’s going very well in the UK. So it’s very likely that by the time I’m vaccinated, the UK will be a safe place to travel.

My plan has changed from when I first made it a few months ago. There are a few things I had on my list originally that have since been cut. I wanted to see Stonehenge, but when I looked it up, it looks like actually visiting that place isn’t really worth it. I wanted to take a ferry to France. Now that I’ve looked that up, I’ve decided that if I do any trip to France, it’ll be via train from London to Paris and back. But I don’t know if I’ll bother with that at all. Honestly, with a limited amount of time and money to spend, I’m more interested in spending that on more of the UK than on mainland Europe. But if I do end up taking a train to Paris just so I can say I went to fucking Paris, I will definitely spend the entire commute getting excited that I’m going through the Channel Tunnel, which we all know was created by Jim Hacker from Yes Prime Minister.

I had other things on my list of places I wanted to see. I was sorry the day I cut Southport from the route. I’d had it on there for a while, but at some point I realized that spending a night there would not make sense, and would take too much time and money away from all the other places I want to see. That meant cancelling my plan to visit the Southport Lawn Mower Museum to see Lee Mack’s lawn mower. Which is unfortunate, but in the end, seeing Lee Mack’s lawn mower is quite funny as an idea expressed on a blog but it’s not really worth messing up my whole trip for it.

I have created this map of the route I plan to take around the British Isles as soon as it’s safe. Purple pins are places I plan to spend at least one night; orange pins are places where I plan to just change trains/buses/ferries/whatever and move on. The places where I plan to spend more than one night each are Galway, Manchester, Edinburgh, and London. So in those cities, I’ve put dark red pins in the places where I plan to leave and arrive (train stations, etc.), and yellow pins in the places I want to visit while I’m there.

I also want to take two tours. One starts and ends in Galway, and takes me through Southwestern Ireland, including the Cliffs of Moher and Inisheer Island. The other starts and ends in Portree, and takes me all over the Isle of Skye. On my map, I’ve marked the former tour in pink pins and the latter tour in black pins.

Planning this trip has been a sort of cool exercise in deciding exactly what I personally like and do not like. I have worked out that, from a trip across the ocean, I want the following things:

- Pretty landscapes, especially ones that are different from what one can get in Canada (not to brag, but that’s not a particularly common thing since my country of Canada does have a huge variety of many different types of some of the nicest landscapes in the world, so if I can find any sort of natural beauty that doesn’t exist in Canada, that is very cool to me and something I definitely want to see on my trip across an ocean).

- Buildings that were built before white people first showed up in Canada and started knocking shit down over here. That means basically anything built before 1800.

- Anything that will give me a Harry Potter… I hate using this word unironically, but I cannot think of a better word to describe what I mean than “vibe”.

- Any bar that allows me to enjoy live music of my favourite genres, which means any kind of Celtic-style music, any remotely traditional folk music from any place… honestly I’ll take anywhere that gives me live music with a fiddle that isn’t just there as a gimmick.

- Places that have a sentimental connection my family due to my ancestors coming from there. I have recently found out that my great-grandfather came to Canada at around the time of WWI from Abergavenny, which is a town in Wales. The knowledge that my maternal family comes from there has caused me to put at least one night in Abergavenny on my itinerary. I know my paternal family comes from Ireland on one side and Scotland on the other side, and if I figure out specifics about where they’re from, I will add those specific places to my itinerary as well.

- Anything that is a normalized part of the culture in the UK but is cool and exotic to me as a Canadian (by that, I basically mean I love the idea of seeing someone whom I think of as a really amazing British comedian in a place where they perform so often that they’re not a big deal) – obviously the ultimate example of this would be getting to attend the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, but I don’t think the vaccination schedules will line up in a way that will allow me to do that.

So. This is the plan. I have learned that flying into regular Ireland (as opposed to Northern Ireland) is much cheaper than flying into any bit of the actual UK, due to some shit about taxes. So the plan is to fly into Galway. Take a tour from Galway to see other bits of Southwestern Ireland. Then take a train to Dublin, a ferry to Wales, buses throughout Wales (including heading far enough South to spend a night in Abergavenny, where my family is from), and then taking trains up through Northwestern England (with a couple of days of stopping Manchester) and into Scotland. Going up through Scotland, seeing a fair bit of the Isle of Skye, taking all three of the beautiful trainlines in that country (Glasgow-Mallaig; Kyle of Lochlash-Inverness; Inverness-Thurso and back). Spending a few days in Edinburgh, to see all the cool shit there. Then taking a train down to London, and spending 5-7 days there, taking in the whole city.

I have more specifics to get into about places I want to go, but I’m just going to post this for now. My general itinerary of places I want to see. If you have actual experience with the places, please let me know what you think.

How to lose 30 kilos in 6 months and love every minute

Part 1 > Revelation in France Three years ago, my wife and I decided to call time on our marriage. It was a sombre final chat in the kitchen, sharing the last bottle we might ever share. We were sad but it made perfect sense. We’d tried. My wife said she’d move out down to her parent's house in the country and she asked me what I'd  do, I picked something random from the top of my idiot head and said “Spain.” “Spain?” she said and “Spain” I repeated. No idea where it came from. Maybe I just wanted my departure to be more triumphant, a little more exciting than moving in with parents. Whenever we’d have a fight, that’s what she’d do. I'd run my consultancy for twenty odd years and over that twenty odd years, my role had evolved into taking clients to lunch, dinner, shows and spectacles.  Nice if you can get it but it took its toll on my fitness. By the time I drove off to the Channel Tunnel, I was eighteen stone and I hadn't played a meaningful game of football in years. For some reason, a revelation always hits me a while after the event, more autopsy than eureka. Something that seemed so clear suddenly fogs up in deference to the new truth. Of course she was right, idiot. You always knew that. “If you can’t respect your own body,” she said. “How can anyone else?” And there it was. Respect your body. Respect your mind. Fitness. Breathe new air. Everything is going to change. If my automated blurting of “Spain” was taking me to Spain, then let it be Spain. I would return  triumphant, slim, toned and sleek and everyone would say how awesome and happy and better-without-her I was. I was more than halfway from Calais, driving to a small French town called Île de Ré, an island off La Rochelle on the West Coast. I remember the exact spot because the signs had shown their first direction to Le Mans. From that sign, 300km shy of my target, facing three more driving hours, I lost a lump of time I can’t account for. The next thing I knew there were signs for La Roche Sur Yon. I remembered it from my planning stage because it was pretty close to where I was headed. The sat nav confirmed I was suddenly only an hour from Ile de Rey in what seemed like a blink. I couldn't tell you why it happened and I have no idea what, if anything, I was thinking in the missing time. What I can tell you is the clarity on the other side. My new start. My new energy. My mission. Maybe the universe had supplanted a new person into me. Maybe it took me time to reboot. It felt like it. At that moment, I couldn’t possibly have imagined anything else. I’d booked a little room overlooking the harbour at Le Colonnes. I was soon checked in and I unloaded laptop and cables to start the mission I hadn't quite fleshed out yet. 6 foot 1. 18 stone. I fumbled my finger over the Body Mass Index chart, into the blue, sailing past green and into the orange, and just before getting into the red, there it was. My number. My target. 32.  I was actually clinically obese. I needed to be 24 to fit into that little green zone of health and fitness. 25% of my bodyweight was surplus. This was a holy **** moment as I pulled back from the screen. I closed the laptop and swore foulness on that 25%. My mission had shown its numbers and my plan had started. That night would be the finest French cuisine a man can enjoy and the next day, everything would change. Part 2 > Mission Planning I woke up remembering Le Skipper in the harbour, the fillet steak with crushed pea purée and dauphinoise potatoes that would serve as my turning point.Something I wouldn’t deserve again until my mission was accomplished. I was still buzzed. Normally, revelations are flushed with the first order of the day but not this one. The morning  after a revelation is a test of human willpower. If you fold at such an early point, there is literally no hope for you. If the stakes are this important and you fold, you, my son, are an idiot. As one lady said to me more than once, “It’s not a rehearsal, boy.” I wasn't sure if I was still an idiot or not yet as all manners of sweet and savoury things greeted me in the  breakfast room at the hotel. Bacon, eggs croissants, jam, cheeses and hams, but hang on, my eyes focused on something else, like they were being moved by another force. The fruit section. Normally I'd  be starting a three course mini marathon under the guise of getting the day some energy. Today though, I took a little bowl and filled it to the top with melon and orange, mango, cherries and all colour of things and I sat down with orange juice and looked over at big people and little people, busy people and relaxed people. I knew I was on a different level to them, just for now, in the light still shining on me. Your willpower gets a serious shot in the arm. I had more research to do about the exact food groups I'd  need but I knew this was right. Then the first glimmers of insubordination popped up briefly and reminded me that I had a fallback and that fallback was called lunch and every day I had a fallback plan to the next meal. Maybe fruit wasn't enough, surely a bit of bacon and cheese? No, fuck off, I said, turning a head or two in the dining room. I gestured an apology and then I smiled at the last cherry in my bowl. I munched that little cherry up. There would be no bacon or cheese. Those dark little glimmers were crushed and squished and left pleading as I got up and left the room. I was smiling as I approached Bordeaux. Today's destination was about six hours over the Pyrenees to Pamplona in northern Spain. This is where they do the bull run every July. Basque country, and the Bordeaux signs told me I was about a third of the way there. The night before had included two bottles of Fitou. Le Skipper was quiet and the staff had time to chat. After dinner, I was pretty much the only punter there so they wrapped it up and took me to Bar Kokot with their Austrian Rum. So, there hadn’t been time to do the work I needed but what a fine farewell to my old life. Yet another sign flashed my licence plate and said I was going too fast and I anticipated a box full of speeding tickets waiting for me whenever I got back to London. But I didn't care. I couldn't wait to get to Pamplona and get the laptop out, make my plan. A few hours later I was in my room at the Pamplona Catedral Hotel doing just that. I already knew how much weight to lose. Thirty kilos, almost 5 stone. One of the first results, I found out about the Okinawa diet. Okinawa, a little island off the south of Japan has the longest living humans on the planet. Taxi drivers are ninety years old and still dance. People eat whatever grows near them and that’s it. One photo I saw was of an elaborate table. You could sit about ten people round it. The table was a tea making machine. A few strips of bamboo were hooked up to an inlet and brought mountain spring water into the table. Most of the water would trickle out and continue down the mountain, unsure of why it had been put through the bother,  but when you turned a little handle, the water would be diverted around a spaghetti of pipes and on towards the bowels of the table. It would slip and slide through channels lined with fresh tea leaves and elements gradually heating it up as it travelled. Turn one of the eight  little taps under the  table edge and you have a steaming cup of the freshest tea. So, the fine people from Okinawa told me how you could eat perfectly well and get everything a body needs. And you didn't need meat or anything processed to do it. My first culinary casualties. I also learned that my whole eating schedule had been wrong all my life. The best way to do it is to eat small but eat often. I'd  been so proud of myself some days when I was too busy to eat anything and had six tons of dinner at about 9pm. Wrong. The body is a sensitive little baby. If it doesn't get fed often enough it throws its toys out the pram and truly believes it’s starving. It then converts what you do eat into fat, sensible storage for a rainy day when maybe you do starve. How a brain can fail to tell a body that it’s ok, no-one's going to starve is beyond me but apparently it does. So, by the time I'd  showered and got ready to see what this former bastion of the Roman empire had going for it, I had successfully mapped out my new diet. And it was all the stuff I like to eat anyway. I'd  start with some fruit, in deference to the first successful morning. Then give it a couple of hours and a little low fat cottage cheese on a wholewheat crispbread, and a few crushed walnuts sprinkled on it. Before what was probably the main mini meal of the day, about two o'clock, it was exercise. My wife’s brother had told me the body prefers to exercise then eat as it’s still burning, rather than the other way round. Maybe A little tuna steak with bok choy, a bit of spinach, greek yoghurt and some kidney beans or chickpeas. Amazing things chickpeas, fibre and protein all in one little pill. It wasn't a problem designing these mini meals, the problem was there was too much choice. If you're going to have pasta, have wholewheat pasta. If you're going to have rice, have wild rice or brown rice and not too much of either. Your 5 or 7 a day is so easy to achieve and better. Let your milk be zero fat milk, let your greens be asparagus, broccoli, kale, spinach, artichoke, sprouts and bok choy. Eat nuts, almonds, walnuts. Eat pulses. Kidney beans, chickpeas. Prefer fruits of the forest over others, raspberries, blackberries and the like. Loads of antioxidants. And let your booze be anything but beer, predominantly white wine and a glass of red a day comes straight from the doc. All the stuff I already knew. Lettuce, peppers, tomatoes, celery, onion, garlic. Jesus I could do a meal planner for a month without getting bored.   This was going to be tasty. I could still love my food but carry that aloof grin that comes with a man shedding timber and having fun doing it. I'd  know exactly how many calories came with each mini meal and how much exercise to do to burn them off. The laptop was closed up and my phone map and I set off to explore Pamplona. The city is called Iruna in the native Basque language and there was an ever-present but subtle show of the independence from Spain the Basque people had been after for a long time. Basque flags were draped over balconies and stuck on cars but a local told me, do not take a flag out in public or you’d get carted off. One local comedian had added a bit of graffiti to a low wall, poorly translated as “Anything but a free state is just a load of bulls.” Back in the hotel room, I tackled the exercise aspects. Swimming would always figure, especially in Spain, but what else? Running can be high impact, shin splints and the like. It would be rowing. It’s got everything, loads of muscles getting tickled gently, great cardio and hang on here we go, I can get a machine for the house for a couple of hundred euros. I'd join a kayak club or some such but winter was on its way and even the Spanish winter doesn't lend itself to being in the sea. And that was it, a meal for all moods and occasions and an all year round exercise regime. When it was too cold to swim, double up on the rowing. Just make sure you get in some form of water as soon as you finish exercising to loosen up your muscles. I also learned how little anyone should need a gym (apart from my little rowing machine of course). We really do have everything we need around the house. First of all, a running machine? What? Just run around the block. If you want to run uphill, run uphill. Muscle tone is also important. If you’re shedding tonnage, you want the tonnage that’s left nice and tight. Push ups, pull ups, weights, dips, pec toning, ab toning and your core. You can pull up on anything, a couple of chairs, backs together, get your balance and you’re away. Climb something. I'd  start slow. An hour on the rowing machine, weights and core stuff and finally fifteen minutes of laps in the pool. It was all mapped out. That evening, I sat down in a little restaurant I’d spied earlier, down some steps to a little square, live jazz music in the middle. The menu didn’t have much of the stuff I needed and I’d definitely give the “grosse crevette” and “assaulted pasta” a swerve.   I wondered if this would be a problem going forward. I remembered many menus and I wasn’t sure many of them were fit for my new purpose. But then I saw the celery and walnut salad. Fine, little glass of chablis to go along and everything was still on track. Part 3 > Execution The next day around four o'clock, I arrived at my final destination. A little town called Javea, a hundred kilometres south of Valencia. Look at Spain. There’s a little nose about two thirds down the east coast. Tip of that nose. That’s us, pressed against the sea by the mountains. It felt like its own little island.   First priority after wandering around was the supermarket. Go get the super foods. My place was in Cabo la Nao right up on the point near the lighthouse. My mission hadn’t been created when I booked it, but with my new mission head on, the remoteness of my location would be a good thing. When I went outside to get back in my car, I was reminded it had just carried me from London to south east Spain. Over those 1800 miles, the front of the car had accumulated a second skin of unfortunate insects. Insects of all shapes, colours and sizes had become one single cloak of wonder food for any bird that took a fancy. And they did. A feeding frenzy was underway and even this one approaching human and a mystery cat that seemed to appear from nowhere couldn’t scare them off. They each had an allocated section of bodywork to pick at and they did well but still couldn’t get it all off. The earlier casualties were part bug, part Audi. The nearest supermarket was down in the Cala Blanca bit and was called Consum. It was the strangest supermarket shop I'd  ever done. A hundred euros of good healthy stuff. I'd  never put walnuts in a shopping cart. But I carried the same internal smugness of someone whose every passing minute is making them healthier than everyone else. It was a hot day and I knew if I didn't get it all fridged up quick smart, for the whole six months here, there would be a sea bass, salmon, octopus and monkfish essence in my car. The pool was warm enough not to have to thrash around like a perishing salmon and it was my first test of where I was fitness-wise. It was a fifteen metre pool. Breaststroke was the best all round stroke for  what I was after so I took off up and down. I'd  have to do this for at least 30 minutes every day so how close was I? I managed about 15 minutes and thought it was a good start for day one. My own salmon was ready to go under the grill and I was hungry. Baby steps. The house and garden had to provide me with my makeshift gym. Soon, I had two sturdy wooden outside chairs back to back for pull ups, a couple of buckets from the gardener’s shed filled with pool water. The rest would need no props. The push ups over there next to the pool and that little wall would do the ab stuff. Suspend myself on it and hold myself there for ten seconds, ten second break, repeat until knackered.   I had a little go at all my disciplines. The props held up just fine and my routine was set. There was only one thing missing and it would be the majority of my cardio workout. The rowing machine.   In five days time, it would be on my doorstep. I carried on with my eating regime and stepped up the swimming and workout aspects and on day five, the rowing machine arrived. It was lovely and orange and it went right where I hoped it would, between two columns on the terrace. Then I suddenly realised, apart from the supermarket on day one, I hadn't been out yet. The days had been formed around my mini meals and exercise and going out didn't sound as healthy as staying in. But I had to prove to myself I could carry on the mission in or out. That night, I did go out, met some nice folks, Lee and Tracey from Southend and a drummer called Hector, saw a band and drank white wine and had lubina a la plancha,  grilled sea bass, asparagus and a few slices of grilled aubergine, every so slight drizzle of local honey. My taxi got me home at a reasonable hour and I got out without that heavy feeling I’d get when I went out back home. Always too much beer and always too much red meat. I took a quick stroll round my makeshift gym and my new rowing machine and then slept better than I had for ages. Tomorrow, a full programme for the first time. The rowing machine soon got me sweating. The readout was like trying to wish away the miles in the car, watching calorie after calorie clock away, minute after minute. The machine was fine, nice and easy, smooth strokes, keep your back straight. Pretty soon I'd  done my hour and I took a break for water. The weights and pull up and everything else was becoming faster and I was doing more of them. By the time I got into the pool, I was feeling muscle burn and my heart felt reawoken. With the help of a great little tool called Supertracker, I had it all mapped out. Today I would eat 1200 calories and  burn off 2000. And so it was for the next couple of weeks. The cats started popping in to see what this strange noise was an hour every day and soon they stuck around for some cheeky tuna and I had one or two pusscats to talk to while I worked out. The hour a day on the rower needed a bit more entertainment than the readout. By now I knew my pace and you just have to finish the hour come what may. Being in my own head was amusing enough but I needed a bit more autopilot. The laptop was enlisted to provide comedy shows and every so often, this Spanish course I was taking. The hour started to go by like the missing time I'd  felt in La Roche Sur Yon. I was doing more miles to the hour, I was doing more laps in the pool and I was looking forward to every stage more and more. Pretty soon though, the pool became unswimmable so I got a wetsuit but that only really extended it a few weeks. My regime changed and I doubled up on the rowing. My daily meal plans were sometimes not planned, just cobble together the right food groups in the right quantities. Some of the taste combos were worth jotting down, others didn't really work but still, the scales in the bathroom were starting to show results. I'd got down to 100 kilos from 108 in the first 3 weeks. I couldn't believe the progress. I was never hungry, I felt great and the pounds were escaping with ease. I'd have this done in a few more weeks. I started a weight chart and logged as much as I could, something to be proud of. Then the rate of weight loss slowed. I checked the scales. How could doing exactly the same thing every day cause a different result? I changed the scales so that it seemed more of a dramatic reduction. A bit more research told me the scales were fine, the programme was fine. It’s just the first bit of weight drops off you because you're reducing your water retention. After that, you work just as hard for half the initial result. And don't forget, the programme is increasing muscle mass as well, which weighs more than fat. That's fine. So be it. This was the realistic rate. Months not weeks. And I was enjoying it. I was enjoying succeeding, winning. This wasn't so hard. A couple more weeks went past and still the pounds tumbled. Sometimes the reductions were erratic, same programme, 2 pounds off one day, half a pound off the next. I didn't really need to know why as long as the weight kept dropping. The thing was, I had been looking at myself in the full length mirror by the door every day after my workout before the shower and I still didn't look any different. I knew all the machinery and logic associated with my mission couldn’t all be wrong at the same time so I was pretty sure there would be a decent reason for it and so there was. What you’re doing initially is sorting out your core. That’s where you’re losing the initial weight and water. Your core is what’s getting beefed up and fit, out of sight. It made sense enough to a layman but you still like to see changes. And then it happened. My jeans had been feeling a little looser than normal for a few days and then I realised I needed the belt in another hole. There it was, the first sign. I couldn't confirm it from the mirror but this was incontrovertible. Maybe it was something psychosomatic in my head showing me something, but soon after that, I started to see some definition around my middle, not so much abs per se, just prepping the ground for them. The pounds kept shedding off my weight chart. I will freely admit, I did have one or two blowouts, the need for a kebab and a cold beer, and I knew the numbers would show it, but I was now not actually fitting into trousers and shorts and some shirts looked like nightdresses. I needed healthy persons clothes. I have never felt so happy about an impending cost. I looked good, like I did in my 30s. By the time four months had passed, my target of 80 kilos remained and I was only a couple off at 82. I had two months to drop that and I knew I would. I looked at photos of me in london 6 months before and it was incredible. I looked like a different person altogether. I looked tired, heavy, dreading the next flight of stairs. Warning. This is a pivotal moment. When you’re ahead of the curve and bossing it, its easy to entertain the notion that you can ease off a bit. Physically, you’re probably right but don't do it. It changes your mindset from achieving something to already having achieved it but it’s not yet achieved. Rabbit and the hare. Achieve it first, then reward yourself with easing off. I hit my 80 kilos with five weeks to go and the next five weeks kept me there. It was done. I'd  smashed the shit out that 25%. It was gone. I took off from Valencia and landed at Gatwick requiring second glances at my passport photo. Yes, folks that really is me,  just an awful lot more of me. By the time I wandered down the street to the pub, I'd  already decided I wasn’t going back to the UK for good. Spain was my home now. My mission, my new life was born on the French highways and realised in the Spanish mountains. I wasn't even really thinking of the reaction I’d get when I walked in. I didn’t need reactions. I knew what I’d done. Me and my water buckets, pussycats, rowing machines, the glorious island of Okinawa and singing, dancing Spain. The reaction was complete astonishment. Not just someone telling you you look well. This was holy **** across the board. My choice of a pink leather coat to mark the occasion drew its own conclusion but I was stronger and fitter and more vibrant in mind and body.  And I looked it and we all knew it. Life’s new plateau had been reached with a simple regard for my own well being. A respect for my only asset. And it was simple, inspiring and very enjoyable.

Anaticula Pt 42

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 - Pt 5 - Pt 6 - Pt 7 - Pt 8 - Pt 9 - Pt 10 - Pt 11 - Pt 12 - Pt 13 - Pt 14 - Pt 15 - Pt 16 - Pt 17 - Pt 18 - Pt 19 - Pt 20 - Pt 21 - Pt 21b - Pt 22 - Pt 23 - Pt 24 - Pt 25 - Pt 26 -  Pt 27 - Pt 28 - Pt 29 - Pt 30 - Pt 31 - Pt 33 - Pt 34 - Pt 35 - Pt 36 - Pt 37 - Pt 38 - Pt 39 - Pt 40 - Pt 41 -

“Hey Bernadette!”

Not two hours after your return home you sat on your bed cradling your seeing stone in your palms, through which you saw the elated red headed friend of your mother’s give a quick squeal, “Jaqi!”

“It’s not too late is it?”

She shook her head, “No, of course not, it’s noon here. What’s going on? I heard all bout your big win! Congratulations!”

With a weak chuckle you flashed her a grin then wet your lips to ask, “I was wondering about that offer of yours. For acting lessons.”

With a gasping squeal she asked, “You’re certain?!”

You nodded and grinned, “I think it’s about time I try to get over my audience problems. Performing for a camera might be easier than a crowd at first perhaps?”

She giggled and wiggled in her seat, “Oh this is such great timing! Oh I haven’t been able to write to you yet, though I am on my way tonight to England for a role.” She rolled her eyes, “Some pompous bitch of a boss, with,” she paused with a grin supposedly to amp you up, “An amazing assistant,” after another giggle she added, “It’s mainly silent but I am certain they would be tickled to give you the part.”

“You’re filming soon? They won’t mind?”

She shook her head, “No, in fact knowing I worked with Jewels they asked if I knew you, and I told them you were on the fence about performing. They usually leave the silent roles to last so with your name and clear natural talents they would be wasting their time choosing anyone but you. Besides, it is a perfect first role for you, to get your feet wet.”

“Ok, I um, I did write out a resume,” her brows inched up, “Well, I wrote down a whole bunch of skills that might possibly be useful for roles. Reads more like a lifetime achievement award, even put my grades on it, not sure why-,”

She giggled again, “Oh I am certain it is wonderful. When I get there I’ll come over and I can give it a once over. The film is in Wales though, so you might want to tell your Dad. It’s just for a couple weeks, at least for your part, the rest is mostly about some solitary painting scenes for my character for depth or something. It’ll all make sense later when it’s all pieced together.”

With a nod your plans were sealed, she came out and as your father had already agreed you were off to Wales. A hope that some acting lessons could help you in this was met approvingly by your relatives, Snape and Minerva. News that after the ordeal in the Tournament had an explosion of glee run rampant through the Pears back in France reading that you were dabbling into acting in a Wizarding film alongside a former co-star of your mother’s.  The family legacy was continuing and after hopefully a short production period they could add your first film to the family vault of projects they had accumulated over the years.

Truly you hadn’t missed much as Neville spent the weeks with his parents on their first vacation they took Nellie to Bath as they had been delving into their old favorite novels and hadn’t been since their honeymoon and wished to share their memories with their children.

Hermione was off with her parents to a convention and concert in Australia for a few weeks until she would return to stay with you for the rest of the summer to keep her busy and up on her reading while they worked.

Fred and George joined Ginny and Ron off with Molly on a mini family reunion to help their sick Great Aunt Tessie to get on her feet after hurting her foot in a fall in a gnome hole.

Leaving just Draco, who gladly kept up with writing to Astoria between days of alternated watches by Remus, Regulus and Sirius, who all caught glimpses of his models and novels he poured through between lessons with the violin and piano tutor Narcissa had employed again for him in the summer in his studio not far from your home.

Harry however was an entirely different dilemma. On the heels of the news that Percy had been promoted as Junior Assistant to Cornelius Fudge and Albus Dumbledore was asked to step down from the Wizengamot the air seemed to chill and the moonlit sky darkened.

…

I don't know about you, it's just too hot today, isn't it? And it's going to get even worse. Temperatures in the mid-30s Celsius...that's the mid-90s Fahrenheit, tomorrow, maybe even hitting 100. So, please, remember to cover up and stay cool... with the hottest hits on your FM dial.

“Come on, guys, time to go home.” A mother was helping her son of the swing set opposite Harry, “Come on, love, off you get.”

“Do we have to?”

“Yes, we do. I'll make you your favorite dinner to compensate.”

Dudley and his gang entered the park, “He squealed like a pig, didn't he?”

“Yeah, brilliant punch, Big D.”

“Did you see his face?”

Harry forced a smile onto his face, “Hey, Big D. Beat up another 10-year-old?”

Dudley, “This one deserved it.”

Harry nodded, “Yeah. Five against one, very brave.”

Dudley fired back, “Well you’re one to talk. Moaning in your sleep every night? At least I’m not afraid of my pillow.”

“Don’t kill Jaqi!” One of the guy’s mocked out making even Dudley dry swallow remembering Petunia’s reaction when he had first had a nightmare about your being attacked.

The other asked “Who’s Jaqi? Your girlfriend?”

Harry, “Shut up.”

The second guy mocked, “He’s going to kill us, Mum.”

The first taunted, “Were is your Mum Potter?”

“She dead?” Dudley’s eyes dropped to the ground unwilling to stop the guys around him. The wind picking up and burst of cold air circling them snapped his eyes up again.

“What’s going on?”

Dudley, “What are you doing?”

Harry shook his head, “I’m not doing anything.”

The guys turned to flee, “We’re getting out of here Dudley.”

Fleeing from what they took as a storm Dudley’s gang took off leaving their leader, who raced the other way, wheezing in the corner of a tunnel on the edge of the park Harry had been sitting alone in on the swings lost in thought about that graveyard.

.

Guiding Dudley back again after using his Patronus to fend off the Dementors Harry paused in the street at the familiar small woman formerly used as his sitter in his time with the Dursleys when work called. “Mrs. Figg.”

“Don't put away your wand, Harry. They might come back. Dementors in Little Whinging, whatever next? Whole world's gone topsy-turvy.” She turned to escort Harry.

“I don't understand. How do you know...?”

“Dumbledore asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“Dumbledore asked you? You know Dumbledore?”

“After You-Know-Who returned and Jaqi Black was attacked last year...did you expect him to let you go wandering on your own? Good Lord, boy. They told me you were intelligent. Now, get inside and stay there. Expect someone will be in touch soon. Whatever happens, don't leave the house.”

Harry nodded and led him up the walk and into the house where Petunia asked, “Diddykins? Is that you?” Standing up she moved from the dining room into a clear view of the pair making her mouth drop open at Dudley in his clammy appearance, “Duddy. Vernon, come quick.”

Vernon came around the corner open mouthed saying, “We’re going to have to take him to a Hospital. Who did this to you boy?”

Harry answered, “It was a Dementor.”

Petunia looked him over, “A what?”

Harry wet his lips as Dudley was moved into the dining room table, “A Dementor, it’s um, he’ll be fine, just needs something to pep him up a bit. The effects will wear off.”

Vernon, “And what in the meantime? Just leave him like this?!”

Harry wet his lips and fumbled his hands in his pockets until he found a duck keychain you had given him, “I’ll call Jaqi, she’ll know what they gave us at school.”

Vernon, “What does your school have to do with this?!”

Petunia watched him squeeze the charm you had given him to call you, “Is that a curse? A Dementor?”

Harry shook his head only to watch an owl fly in through the window with a Howler in his beak he let loose that stated without being opened, “Dear Mr. Potter.” The door under the stairs opened itself dropping Petunia’s mouth only to see you climb out of it through a charm you had left there in one of your earlier trips.

“The Ministry has received intelligence that at 6:23 this evening you performed the Patronus Charm in the presence of a Muggle. As a clear violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery...you are hereby expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Hoping you are well, Mafalda Hopkirk.”

The letter tore itself up and you asked making Vernon jump not realizing you were there, “Patronus?” You looked at Harry, who was choosing to not ask why you were in thick makeup, tall heels and a long sleeved and pocketed green dress over thick tights with your hair set in elegant waves tucked back revealing your scar was being hidden. “What happened?”

“There were two Dementors, out near the park.”

You nodded and looked to Dudley waving your hand to summon a bar of chocolate you carried over to him. Gently you helped him up, “Come on Dudley.” On his feet he whimpered and you led him to the couch then turned to charm the channel to one of his favorite shows stirring a hint of a grin onto his face as you crouched in front of him unwrapping part of the chocolate bar, “Now, you just snack on this and enjoy your show. Much better soon enough.”

He nodded and accepted the chocolate as you stood and moved to Petunia and Vernon in the dining room still wide eyed, Vernon, “Chocolate? That’s all?”

“A Dementor is a creature that feeds on your happy thoughts leaving you with your most frightening and dreaded moments of your life. They’re under the control of the Ministry, how one let alone two got here is puzzling, though I promise you the effects are temporary and should wear off in a half hour or so after the attack. He seems better already. Don’t panic, all they’ll say is he had a panic attack or something when he bounced back in the Hospital.”

Harry looked you over as Petunia asked, “Were, you at a party?”

You shook your head, “No, one of Mum’s friends got me a bit in her film, which, I should get back, they think I’m getting some air.” Looking to Harry you said, “Wait here, just another hour or so on set and I’ll be back we can talk it all out.”

He nodded then you paused at his body shifting at your step back to the door, “A film? I thought you hated performing.”

You rolled your eyes, “Give me an hour, I’ll explain.” Looking to Petunia you said, “Just let him relax. Back in a bit.”

.

You did come back, and in the weeks of silence from Ron and Hermione along with everyone else Harry sat up in his room waiting out until he would be taken back to the Grimmauld  Place entrance. His hope being that it was true when you had said he couldn’t be expelled without a hearing first and that Dumbledore would handle that.

Freshly scrubbed without a trace of makeup and scars fully visible in boots, jeans and a sweater you sat with the family calming them all down until you said you had to go. No explanation as to where or why he couldn’t go off to your home right then, just stating you had somewhere you needed to be, leaving him in some odd silent limbo with Hedwig nowhere in sight.

***

Shakily you inhaled and outside a dilapidated manor you approached the gate alongside Lucius and Regulus. Your film role having ended the day prior, a last minute flight had brought you here. Mustering up your courage you eyed the familiar Death Eaters along the way, Igor, Barty, Snape included.

Straight through the halls with their dilapidated illusion dropping into pristine condition until a wing backed chair in front of a fireplace was in front of you. A crossed leg with a raised bare foot left your view and Riddle was standing in front of you with hand extended welcoming you into the chair across from him. All about the Tournament was shared and intently he stared at you until you got up to the graveyard again.

“I am curious, why join me? With all you have achieved in facing off against Fudge? Proving yourself to be of such impeccable moral fiber.”

A smirk eased onto your lips and you said, “Fudge has it coming, the coward, besides, what better cover than the hardworking youngest member of the prestigious Black family. Think of how useful that cover could be.”

“I have.��� Looking over your shoulder he locked eyes with Barty, “It appears you were right Barty.” With a sigh he rose and motioned for you to do the same guiding you through the halls, in which you caught sight of a familiar long pursued criminal, Fenrir Greyback, the man himself who had first infected Remus. Now watching your every move intently with his group of werewolves behind him, “Every one of my followers must be put to the test, no matter their, relation, to me.” Emphasizing the word relation with a glance your way to see your reaction at his using it again.

At the end of the hall you eyed the dining hall with a restraint table in the center with split off sections for your arms coated with bindings of thick enchanted leather straps and uncharmable metal buckles. The very look of the hall making your stomach clench. Leaning in until he felt his lips starting to heat up barely inches from your ear he whispered in Parseltongue, “Let us see if your loyalty to kin is greater than that blood traitorous mother of yours.” Stepping into the room you eyed the table as he said, “Narcissa, prepare her.”

Heels clicked behind you with the door sealing after, hurrying to your side she raised a backless shirt from her bag she helped you into once you removed your sweater and bra. Softly in raising a ice scented leaf to your lips saying, “Chew and swallow this.” In your eyes looking over hers she said, “It severs emotions temporarily and dries out your tear ducts. You’ll need it. Deep breath and climb up.”

With a nod you followed the instructions and laid out on your stomach while she strapped your arms out at your side, your legs together were strapped down as you felt the clear sever of your emotions ceasing your looming panic attack at the filling of the room. No emotions, no tears. A sharp burn landed on your left forearm and the rule was named for you, ‘you cry you die’.

Upon placing the mark on your skin it would bleed and burn for two straight weeks and if a single tear was shed the mark would start to gush blood until you bled out. In failed tries not to scream out the pain was too much to hold off in the first few days. Though each time seemed more and more agitating for Riddle to bear often having him lapping the room to avoid watching it all. 

In and out of consciousness your back was at their mercy with your relatives giving the most convincing attacks on you to ward any others off trying to top them. Every marked Death Eater was welcome to a turn, though a small group only chose to do so under Riddle’s watch. Hours he would monologue missing the leaves your relatives would slip you before you would be left alone in the silent empty room.

***

A week came and went and a knock sounded on the front door on Privet Drive that pulled Harry from helping Petunia with folding the laundry to answer. Opening the door he saw the front entrance to the Black Family Home parting his lips with Remus there, “Hello Harry.”

“Hi. Um, Why didn’t Jaqi come?”

Remus grinned, “She’s not back yet.”

Harry nodded in his confusion, then turned to hurry upstairs, “I’ll get my trunk.”

In his absence Remus introduced himself to Petunia and chatted with her until Harry came back joining him through the door that closed and broke its link with the home Petunia checked by glancing through the mail slot. Inside the main hall Harry asked, “Where is everyone?”

Remus, “Oh, little bit of everywhere. You’ve missed a great deal Harry.”

Harry, “Like what?”

Remus, “Well, we’ve had a great deal of Aurors visiting lately.”

Harry, “Aurors?”

Remus, “From the old order.” Guiding him into the sitting room his bags were floated up to his room while Remus spread out the papers with headlines slandering a great deal of people, Harry, you and Dumbledore included. “Fudge has been busy trying to discredit all he can.”

Harry, “Why is he doing this?”

Remus, “He’s afraid Dumbledore is after his job.”

Harry, “No one in their right mind would believe that.”

Remus, “Fudge isn’t in his right mind. It’s been twisted and warped by fear. Now, fear makes people do terrible things, Harry. The last time Riddle was in power he nearly destroyed all we held dear. And the Ministry will do all in their power to hide from that terrifying truth. Riddle is back and no doubt amassing followers again, meaning we need to recruit as well.”

Harry, “Well if you’re building an army I want to fight!”

Remus sighed, “Let us hope we can avoid your taking part at all. First things first, Dumbledore has been reinstating the old Order.”

Harry, “Order of the Phoenix? That my parents were in?”

Remus chuckled, “We were all in it, but yes. See, Harry, there’s something, we believe, before he would try to come after you, that he would be searching for.”

Harry, “Like a weapon?”

Remus’ head tilted sideways, “In a way. Over all it’s useless, but Riddle put weight in it, so we will have to continue protecting it.”

Harry, “What is it?”

Remus, “A prophecy.”

Harry’s lips parted, “You mean like the one he heard to make him come after my parents?”

Remus, “The very same. He may believe he missed something in it, a way to protect himself again. But, prophecies are tedious and often grey matter. For now, you just relax, Draco should be home soon from the piano to keep you company and the others along in a day or two.”

Harry, “What about my expulsion?”

Remus chuckled, “Your trial will be in front of the entire Wizengamot in a few days. Arthur is going to take you most likely.”

A familiar picture on the table lured Harry to reach out for it, all the Marauders, Lily, Jewels and even you on Sirius’ chest asleep and even Alastor and Snape as well near Remus, “Original Order of the Phoenix. Marlene McKinnon. She was killed two weeks after this was taken. Voldemort wiped out her entire family. Frank and Alice Longbottom. Neville's parents. They suffered a fate worse than death, you ask me. It's been 14 years. And still a day doesn't go by I don't miss your parents. Then Jewels…”

Harry, “Do you really think there's going to be a war?”

Remus, “It feels like it did before. You keep it. Anyway, I suppose you're the young ones now.”

..

Arthur, “Trains. Underground. Ingenious, these Muggles.” Past the gates he got held up in for a moment due to uncertainty on how to pay the fare Arthur led the way through the tunnels and then out to the streets again for a winding path straight to a phone booth he stepped up to. “Here we are.” Harry glanced around then squeezed in with him, “I've never used the visitors' entrance before. Should be fun.”

Through the bustling crowds Harry caught on to a jumble of conversations, “Terrible. Lost a lot of Galleons trading on the potions market.”

“Daily Prophet, ladies and gentlemen. Anybody for Daily Prophet?” A teen selling papers cried out.

Instantly Harry’s eyes dropped to the title reading ‘Dumbledore: Is he daft, or is he dangerous?’

Through a black shining tile lined hallway full of green flashing floo entrances Harry held his pace at Arthur’s side only to peer up at the towers of glass wrapped offices looking over the indoor fountains with golden statues inside under a tall clock. Straight for a lift they walked and Harry raised his eyes to the floating paper airplane memos floating above their heads. Arthur eyed the man entering beside them, “Morning, Arthur.”

Nodding his head he replied, “Morning, Bob.” In a sideways lurch followed by a shot up Arthur caught Harry’s glance at the memos, “Interdepartmental memos. We used to use owls. Mess was unbelievable.” At the next stop of the lift Kingsley entered and passed Arthur a note, “Merlin's beard. Thank you, Kingsley. They've changed the time of your hearing.”

Harry, “When is it?”

Arthur, “In five minutes.”

The voice in the lift announced your next stop, “Department of Mysteries.”

Lucius next to Fudge spoke in a hushed tone, continuously glancing at his watch to ensure he got back to you quickly, “And I'm confident, Minister, that you will do the right thing.”

Fudge, “Yes, but we must be...” The pair stopped talking when they saw the pair passing them by heading for the waiting room Harry was expected in until he was called out.

Arthur, “Remember, during the hearing, speak only when you're spoken to. Keep calm. You've done nothing wrong. As the Muggles say, truth will out. Yes?” Harry nodded confirming the phrase, “I'm not allowed in, I'm afraid. Good luck, Harry.” The doors opened and Harry stood at his name being called leaving Arthur seated on the bench alone in the room.

.

Fudge, “Disciplinary hearing of the 12th of July, into offenses committed by Harry James Potter resident at Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic...Witness for the defense.”

His eyes rose to Dumbledore, who stood from his seat stating his name, “Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.”

Fudge, “You got our message that the time and place of the hearing had been changed, did you?”

Dumbledore broke his joined hands apart in an aloof wave off to his sides, “I must have missed it. But by a happy mistake, I arrived at the Ministry three hours early. The charges?”

Fudge, “The charges against the accused are as follows: "That he did knowingly and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions produce a Patronus Charm in the presence of a Muggle."

Auror, “Do you deny producing said Patronus?”

Harry, “No, but...”

Auror, “And you were aware that you were forbidden to use magic outside school while under the age of 17?”

Harry, “Yes, I was, but...”

Fudge, “Witches and Wizards of the Wizengamot...”

Harry, “I was only doing it because of the Dementors.”

Fudge let out a disbelieving chuckle matched by a few around him, “Dementors? In Little Whinging?”

Umbridge, “Highly convenient.”

Harry, “I'm not lying. There were two of them, if I hadn't...”

Fudge, “Enough. I'm sorry to interrupt what I'm sure would be a very well-rehearsed story but since you can produce no witnesses of the event...”

Dumbledore, “Pardon me, minister, but as it happens, we can.”

Fudge’s face dropped and Mrs Figg was shown onto the witness chair Harry emptied to move into the stands behind him. “Please describe the attack. What did they look like?”

Mrs Figg, “Well, one of them was very large and the other rather skinny.”

Fudge, “Not the boys. The Dementors.”

Mrs Figg, “Oh, right, right. Well, big. Cloaked. Then everything went cold...as though all the happiness had gone from the world.”

Fudge, “Now, look here. Dementors don't just wander into a Muggle suburb and happen across a wizard. The odds are astronomical.”

Dumbledore, “I don't think anyone would believe the Dementors were there by coincidence, minister.”

Umbridge cleared her throat then let out a faint giggle, “I'm sure I must have misunderstood you, Professor. Dementors are, after all, under the control of the Ministry of Magic. And it's so silly of me, but it sounded for a moment as though...you were suggesting that the Ministry had ordered the attack on this boy.”

Dumbledore, “That would be disturbing indeed, Madam Undersecretary which is why I'm sure the Ministry will be mounting a full-scale inquiry into why the two Dementors were so very far from Azkaban and why they mounted an attack without authorization. Of course, there is someone who might be behind the attack. Cornelius, I implore you to see reason. The evidence that the Dark Lord has returned is incontrovertible.”

Fudge spat back making Harry’s eyes narrow at the clear fear in his expression, “He is not back.”

Dumbledore, “In the matter of Harry Potter the law clearly states that magic may be used before Muggles in life-threatening situations.”

Fudge, “Laws can be changed if necessary, Dumbledore.”

Dumbledore, “Clearly. Has it become practice to hold a full criminal trial to deal with a simple matter of underage magic?”

Fudge’s eyes narrowed, “Those in favor of conviction?” His, and a few others raised their hands, Lucius not included, who glared across at Umbridge who sent a sneer his way. “Those in favor of clearing the accused of all charges?” The remainder of those who had not voted already raised their hands and Fudge sighed, “Cleared of all charges.” A slam of the gavel and it was all through with Dumbledore storming out as Fudge did the same.

On his feet Harry turned around softly asking to himself, “Professor?”

At the door opening again Arthur entered with a grin saying, “Harry, let’s get you back home, hmm?” Harry nodded and hurried over to him eager to leave this place hoping that his friends would be back soon.

Pt 43

Going Half

INVOLVED: Cymone Smith and Jaden Young  TIME FRAME: Saturday, January 4, 2019 LOCATION: Hotel; Paris, France  SUMMARY: Jaden and Cymone make love. 

Cymone pulled her hair up into a high ponytail and she let the long weave drape around her frame. She couldn’t remember how many days they’d been in Paris because for hours upon hours on end all they did was made love. Hell, she didn’t know the last time she ate or drank, she was just so full of love after his proposal she was running over with it and she had to release it all the best way she knew how. As she finished her makeup in the mirror, she decided that maybe they did need to get out and go shopping or something. “Baby” she called out to him in the presidential suite.

Jaden laid on the bed, spread out, as he flipped through the channels on the TV, trying to find something to put on that wasn’t in French. “Yeah,” he called out to Cymone as he moved to stand up, turning the TV off and walking over to her. He leaned against the doorframe slightly, looking her over with a smirk. She was so beautiful.

Cymone made sure everything was to her liking on her face before she turned to him draped in a silk robe, lace bra, and lace panties. “I thought we should, get out and do something. What do you think?” she asked him seriously. “We haven’t seen much of the city,” she chuckled lightly as she cupped her hand together, cradling her engagement ring.

Jaden looked her over licking his lips slowly, trying to keep his sexual appetite at bay. “I would love that,” he told her as he walked over and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “You know I’ve always wanted to do those little boat rides down the river with the little tour guide dude guiding us through the tunnel of love or whatever.”

Cymone wrapped her arms around Jaden as he spoke, and she chuckled at him quietly before she said “the Gondola” with a smirk on her lips. “I can call someone and get a time set up for us,” she said her fingers massaging the back of his head as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “What else do you want baby?” she asked him lovingly. “Anything you want…” she breathed.

Jaden chuckled softly. “Yeah the Gondola,” he said slightly mispronouncing it as he dropped his head, kissing her shoulder lovingly as his hands dropped to her ass and he began humping her slightly. “You know what else I want baby,” he said huskily.

Cymone smirked, so young so foolish she thought to herself. As the boy began to hump her, she shook her head “what’s that baby?” she asked amused by his antics.

Jaden chuckled softly, kissing up the side of her neck. “I wanna make love to you until you’re clawing at me and forgetting your own name,” he said with a growl as his arm got tighter around her waist and he began backing them up towards the bed. “Then we can go ride the Gondola if your legs still work after.”

At his words Cymone’s eyes closed biting down on her red painted bottom lip. “Fuck” she said to him as she opened her eyes to look at him as he moved them for the bed. “Oh yeah?” she challenged him, wanting him to give her all he got pint up inside of him.

“Yeah,” Jaden said as he laid her back on the bed and climbed over her, kissing her lips as he pushed his sweats down, his dick plopping out easily. Kicking the sweats off his feet, he pulled Cymone’s panties to the side before he gently placed one of her legs over his shoulder and slid into her in one swift stroke, his eyes rolling back as he did. “Fuck,” he mumbled against her lips.

Cymone watched the boy he was always ready; she didn’t know for how much longer she could keep up with the young boy’s energy. Even now on this trip, her sleeping for hours on end after their sex showed just how much he wore her out sometimes. As he slid into her, she dropped her head back slightly “fuck J” she breathed out he didn’t even remove her panties.

Jaden held her thigh tightly to his chest as he pulled out of her completely only to slip right back into her warm, wet depths. “Mmm,” he groaned out, opened his eyes to look down at her as he did. “Always feel so damn good,” he groaned out as he leaned open her body, her leg still over his shoulder as he pressed it into her chest, giving her slow, even, and deep strokes.

Cymone gripped the boys shoulder “J” she whimpered as he stroked her long, deep, and slow just how she liked it. As he adjusted them both again, her back arched “fuck daddy you feel so good” she groaned out a he hit her spot.

Smirking, Jaden slowed his strokes down even more, milking her deep with his strokes as he began to kiss her shoulder and across her chest before capturing her nipple between his teeth, nibbling gently before he sucked on it, tugging softly with his plump lips. His hand slid down her body and he gently began to strum her clit in time with his slow strokes, looking up at her through his eyelashes as he continued to suckle her nipple.

“Fuck” Cymone breathed once more as the boy began to kiss across her skin, “right there, right” she moaned “there” she said rocking her hips in time with his. “Right there” she said holding on to him even as he began to toy with her nipples. She moaned loudly in the space, her hand scratching down his back before she gasped lightly at the feel of him stroking her clit. “Baby” she cried.

“Right here?” Jaden asked her teasingly as he gave her a hard thrust to that exact spot as he continued to hit it over and over again. “You mean, right here, right here,” he teased her more as he continued to suck her nipple, digging her out even deeper now as his fingers strummed her sensitive clit, her nails down his back turning him on even more and his dick, if possible, grew even harder inside of her. “You gonna cum for daddy?” he asked her as he released her nipple with a pop and gazed down at her as he bit his lip.

“God please” Cymone moaned out towards him “Jaden” she whimpered her chest heaving at the feel. She was going to cum, and a whole lot sooner than she expected. She felt the trickle of her essences with each thrust that he offered her, “oh” she moaned looking down between them as she tried to fight against her own body with no use she pulled his dick out of her heat on her own accord her back arching as she came hard beneath him. Her mouth hung open slightly, but no words or sounds left her as she cupped her heat as her essence sprayed against her own hand. “Shit” she finally breathed as she caught her breath huffing roughly. “Fuck” she said looking at the ceiling, “shit” she said dazed.

Jaden watched Cymone as she fell apart and he continued to tease her, slamming into her spot dead on with each stroke until she pushed him away, squirting her juices. He pushed her hand away as she tried to cover herself and he slithered down her body, his mouth attaching to her gushing pussy as he began to lap at her, drinking down what she had to offer him. He removed her panties taking them off completely, before he sucked and slurped, pushing her legs back to either side, flattening them against the bed as he spread her wide open for his feast.

Cymone felt Jaden as he moved to lick and suck at her heat, she tried to calm down her breathing her body twisting slightly because of his teasing. “Mmm” she said in response to him as she moved her hand to his shoulder, he had her spread out across the bed. Thank God for yoga and a healthy lifestyle she’d break a hip fucking with this kid. “Baby” she whimpered to him.

Jaden lapped at her like a thirsty puppy before he began to suck on her clit as he wiggled two fingers inside of her. “Hmm?” he said looking up at her though his eyelashes as he sucked, grinding his hips against the bed to keep up his momentum.

As the boy toyed with her, she tried to raise herself up on her elbows, moaning at his advances. “Baby put it back in, please” Cymone whined to him.

Jaden smirked as Cymone asked for exactly what she wanted, and he pulled his fingers from her, releasing her clit with a pop as he lifted up and licked his lips, pulling her to the edge of the bed and rolling her over into her stomach. Standing he bent his knees slightly, her legs in between his as he slipped back into inside of her, filling her balls deep as he began to pound her hard, holding her ankles keeping her spread for him as the bed shook from the force of his thrusts.

Cymone watched as the boy pulled away from her, when he shifted her turning around, she breathed deeply. She finally calmed down and had her bearings once more. Adjusting her the way he wanted Cymone whimpered loudly, the boy was using her as an actual toy, a sex doll if you will. And she was trapped forced to clutch onto the bed as he rammed into her repeated and her eyes rolled back, “fuck” she claimed as she buried her face in the bed. “Oh!” she screamed out, much to her surprise.

Jaden held her ankles firmly, despite that fact that she had nowhere to run anyway as he slammed into her, his hips firm against her ass. He wasn’t even retracting them, it was all forward thrusts, his dick staying deep inside of her. Her scream went straight to his dick and he faltered slightly, but quickly recovered as he leaned over her, kissing down her spine as he fucked her hard. “What’s my name baby?” he asked her huskily as his tongue licked back up the curve of her spine.

As he continued to drill her Cymone panted harshly against the thick sheets covering the bed. The boy was going to kill her, what a way to die, in Paris being fucked by her much much younger fiancé on a 1000 thread count covered bed that had furniture laced in gold. What a cougar’s dream come true. Cymone screamed “daddy” as a response to the boy as she finally came back into her own self. “Baby you are killing me” she whined as she continued to grip onto the bed for dear life.

Jaden grunted as Cymone screamed his name and at her whine he slowed down a little, his lips trailing up to her ear. “Do you need me to stop?” he asked her as he slowed his thrusts down to an acceptable pace, his hips bouncing off her ass as he did.

“J I can’t-” Cymone said trying to catch her breath she couldn’t say that, she’d be kicked to the curb. That is why he was with her, so she couldn’t tell him that her old ass couldn’t keep up now. “I’m fine” she breathed heavily as she buried her face in the mattress once more, so much for a beat face and makeup it was all wiped and sweated off by now.

Jaden kissed her shoulder as she said that she was fine. He knew she wasn’t, so he gave her once more thrust before he slowly pulled out of her and pulled her up from the mattress. He climbed into the bed, sitting back against the headboard and he pulled her into his lap. “Ride me,” he told her huskily, giving her a position where she could set her own pace and take pleasure for herself and be comfortable doing it.

As Jaden rolled out of her, she leaned up a bit looking back at him and she got up off the bed with him as well. As he rested against the headboard, she licked her lips climbed on top of him as he asked her to. Grabbing his dick, she pushed him into her hot pussy, and lowered herself down against him smoothly. Grabbing his hands, she locked them fingers together and began to roll into him, swirling her hips around and around before she leaned down and kissed his lips. “Daddy, I love you” Cymone told him kissing his lips again painting him read as she rocked back and forth against him.

Jaden groaned as Cymone lowered herself down on him, his head falling back slightly as her hips swirled. In this position he was her bitch, she could always make him blow a load like this and if she kept swirling her hips like that he really would. “I love you too, mama,” he said against her lisp as he kissed her soundly, his hands on her ass squeezing slightly.

Cymone picked up her pace and she wrapped her arms around his neck bouncing up and down on his lap. “Fuck” she said against his lips as she closed her eyes, swirling and twirling her hips into his. “Yeah,” she moaned sweetly into his ear and she moved to rest her hands against his and she sat upright, rocking into him heavily as the headboard knocked against the wall.

Jaden licked his lips as Cymone really began to work her body and he whimpered slightly as she bounced against him. “Fuck,” he breathed right along with her. He adjusted slightly, bending his legs at the knee as Cymone worked and he held her tight as she rocked into him. “You gonna make me cum like that,” he told her as he smacked her ass.

Cymone smirked at him, crashing their lips together as she continued to rock against him feverishly. “God, you feel good,” she said to him as she rocked her hips, ass clapping against the man as she worked him over. “I can’t get enough of your dick baby” she groaned out to him as she began to bounce against him once more holding onto him as she did.

Moaning, Jaden kissed her back feverishly as she rocked and rolled against him. “Fuck, your pussy is the best I’ve ever had,” he told her. “Can’t get enough either,” he grunted as he kissed her deeply, his stomach muscles contracting as he began to thrust against her bounce. “Damn, mama,” he whimpered against her lips. “Just like that,” he groaned.

“Like that daddy?” Cymone asked him as she continued to bounce her ass against him. “Fuck yeah” she growled as she continued her task, she wanted to get him off. She wanted him to cum for her as she came for him. She gripped his face and asked him, “You gonna cum papi?” seductively. As she slowed her hips milking him she rocked back and forth, swirling her ass.

“Fuck yes,” Jaden growled slightly as he thrusted with her, his eyes closing as he began to lose it. At her calling his Papi, he lost all control and he began to stroke her deep as he began to fill her with his cum. “Fuck baby,” he groaned dropping his head to her shoulder.

As Jaden came inside of her, filling her up with his seed Cymone groaned milking him for all that she had in the moment. “I love you baby, more than anything in the World” she said rolling her hips to a complete stop. “So much baby” she hummed out as she kissed the side of his face.

“Uh,” Jaden grunted as he came hard and he lifted his head slowly, his hips stopping as well as Cymone came to a stop. “Damn,” he groaned, catching his breath. “I love you too baby,” he told her lovingly as he caressed her sides. “You’re my world.”

Day Thirteen: Dynamos

Charles Lightoller was something of an expert in maritime calamity by that fateful week in late May.

He had been shipwrecked four times, the first at age 15. He had rammed u-boats and fought zeppelins in the Great War. He'd been an innkeeper, a chicken farmer, a property speculator - as a young sailor, he'd pranked Sydney into believing the Boers had landed. All this without mentioning that he just so happened to be the highest ranking officer to survive the sinking of RMS Titanic.

Now, aged 66, the retired Commander Lightoller and his son Roger, plus a scout named Gerald Ashcroft, sailed into a war zone on the tiny yacht Sundowner. Their mission; to help evacuate the thousands of men of the British Expeditionary Force. He was among hundreds of vessels participating in Operation Dynamo; Admiral Ramsey’s audacious plan to evacuate the embattled BEF, alongside whatever French and Belgian forces they could.

On that shore stood Major General Bernard Law Montgomery. ‘Monty’ was a career staff officer - he'd been wounded in 1914 and never returned to the front. This battle made him - his cool command of his division secured him a promotion.

Also on those sands was Major Gerald Lathbury of the 48th Division, born to a military family in India. Brian Horrocks, another officer, commanded a battalion. These were low ranking officers today, but the campaign in France had effectively finished the careers of the old hands - Field Marshal Ironside and Lord Gort. When Britain returned - and it would return - they would be in command.

Over in Britain, a young lad in Stoke-on-Trent named John Baskeyfield was trained as a butcher. A career officer in the Irish Guards named John Ormsby Evelyn Vandeleur was serving in Palestine. Stanislaw Sosabowski, a Polish officer determined to avenge the defeat of his country, awaited deployment behind the frontline in France - he would soon find himself evacuated to Britain. In the United States, Carwood Lipton attended Marshall University, while James Gavin worked at West Point.

None of these men were especially connected - yet, in the September of 1944, they would be brought together to participate in the largest airborne operation ever attempted. This would be the combination of Operation Market - the paratrooper portion - and Operation Garden - the ground component.

Together, this made Operation Market Garden.

----

We left Bedford early this morning, meandering down the A1 and then the M25 towards Kent. We rolled through the winding country roads towards Tenterden, the main station of the Kent and East Sussex Railway.

The KESR was one of a number of small light railways in southern England, opened in the late nineteenth century and closed in the 1950s. It was reopened by enthusiasts in the wave of railway preservation that followed the Beeching Cuts, and today operates between Tenterden and Bodiam in East Sussex with a number of small tank engines and diesel railcars.

Today’s engine was GWR 1600-class No. 1638, and though we didn’t go on (prices were a tad steep), we did look around Tenterden station and get a goodly amount of photos, so all was good.

Some people don't like trains. They are bad people.

Following this, we travelled down to Dover to visit Dover Castle. You may remember it as that place I got hit by a bus once. It hasn’t changed since that tragic day – it remains built by Henry II, it still has the WWII tunnels and the fire control bunker, it still has a regimental museum. There’s a new audio bit where they describe Henry II as one of England’s greatest kings, so I’m pretty sure I can safely say that it’s not Thomas Beckett approved.

You know, Thomas Beckett? Famously hacked to death because some knights got really overzealous when the king badmouthed… oh, never mind.

Lapis wasn't hit by any buses and really that's the main thing.

Anyway, that was it for the day – we headed back down the road to Ashford, where I write this tonight. Tomorrow we cross under the Channel to the continent, where we hang around on a beach, look at a small bridge, and get on the highway to hell…

Natalie Jones and the Golden Ship

Part 1/? - A Meeting at the Palace Part 2/? - Curry Talk Part 3/? - Princess Sitamun Part 4/? - Not At Rest Part 5/? - Dead Men Tell no Tales Part 6/? - Sitamun Rises Again Part 7/? - The Curse of Madame Desrosiers Part 8/? - Sabotage at Guedelon Part 9/? - A Miracle Part 10/? - Desrosiers’ Elixir Part 11/? - Athens in October Part 12/? - The Man in Black Part 13/? - Mr. Neustadt Part 14/? - The Other Side of the Story Part 15/? - A Favour Part 16/? - A Knock on the Window Part 17/? - Sir Stephen and Buckeye Part 18/? - Books of Alchemy Part 19/? - The Answers Part 20/? - A Gift Left Behind Part 21/? - Santorini Part 22/? - What the Doves Found Part 23/? - A Thief in the Night Part 24/? - Healing Part 25/? - Newton’s Code Part 26/? - Montenegro Part 27/? - The Lost Relic Part 28/? - The Homunculinus Part 29/? - The End is Near Part 30/? - The Face of Evil Part 31/? - The Morning After Part 32/? - Next Stop Part 33/? - A Sighting in Messina Part 34/? - Taormina Part 35/? - Burning Part 36/? - Recovery Part 37/? - Pilgrimage to Vesuvius Part 38/? - The Scent of Hell Part 39/? - She’ll be Coming Down the Mountain

We’re chasing Desrosiers again.

Jim pulled his t-shirt up over his face and crept down to the lower edge of the crack.  With one foot, he broke some of the crystal flowers, then coughed and gagged when the stink of sulfur filled the air.  Once it cleared, he squatted down and peered into the darkness of the fissure for a moment. Then he straightened up and waved to the others.

“I think it’s okay!” he called.  “It’s warm, but not too hot.  Just be careful of the crystals.”

The others began to let themselves down.  Sharon and Natasha went first, and the rest of them formed a sort of human chain, holding hands up to the slope to where Sir Stephen, the strongest, acted as anchor point.  Nat let go of Sharon’s hand at the bottom, and let Jim help the rest of them down while Nat squatted at the edge of the cleft to see for herself.

Nothing but darkness was visible within, and no noxious vapors were rising out. The heat felt like an oven that had been turned off and was cooling, rather than one that was still on and blasting out heat.  Nat felt a bead of sweat roll down the middle of her back, but it was no worse than the heat of the full sun in Athens.

Clint came and got down on one knee next to Natasha.  “What do you think?” he asked.

“You still got that fishhook arrow?” she asked.

He pulled it out.

“Great,” said Nat.  “Hook it through the back of my t-shirt and let it unreel.  Then I can follow it back if I get lost.”

“And to think, you guys said I’d never use it!” said Clint.

With Clint’s fishline to be her thread out of the labyrinth, Nat turned on a flashlight and climbed into the fissure.  The blue-white LEDs illuminated weird, sharp shapes in the walls, formed by the folded lava.  In places it flinted off charcoal from long-buried trees.  In front of her was a steep slope heading down into the heart of the mountain, but the foamlike structure of the rocks was very rough, so that she didn’t have trouble keeping her footing.  Her main worry was cutting her hands and feet on the sharp rocks, or burning them on something that was still hot.

As she descended it got darker and darker, until the flashlight beam was the only illumination in total blackness.  This wasn’t safe, she thought.  There were too many unknowns.  Anything or anyone could be waiting in the dark.  The fishline could break on the rocks, leaving her lost and stranded.  Even girls from the Red Room had to weigh up the odds of success or failure in a situation like this.  A normal person would never have come down here in the first place.  It was time to go back.

Nat made it halfway, then slipped and fell and had to grab at the rocks. As she’d expected, this was painful, and the stoned dug into the flesh on her palms and knees.  Biting back the pain, she climbed the rest of the way on all fours and emerged, panting, back into the sunshine.  After the claustrophobic warmth inside the fissure, the cool outside air was a great relief.

“Are you o… your hand!” exclaimed Sharon.

Nat looked down.  Her knees were bloody from crawling on the rocks, as was her left hand.  The right one, however, the one that Newton had burned away and Jim had grown back – it was fine.

“Sharp rocks,” she said.  “The tunnel goes way inside the mountain.  It could come out anywhere.  We’d need proper caving equipment to really explore it.  I’m sure they’ve got something in there, though,” she added.  “Newton’s obsessed with the variations on his name.  He would think Naples is the only place for him to fulfill his destiny or whatever.  The New City.”  She paused as another piece clicked.  “Have any of you read the Greek New Testament?  Is what’s left after judgment day called God’s kingdom?  Or God’s city?  Because the New City…”

“Aw, man, this is making my head hurt,” Clint complained.

“A volcano has a channel that goes way inside the Earth,” Natasha went on, as things once again fell together.  “If you really wanted to blow a hole in the planet, to do something that would absolutely bring about the end of the world as we know it… deep down on a fault line would be the place to do it.  You’d end up with something akin to an asteroid impact, throwing dust and ash into the air to block out the sun.  A mass extinction.”

They wouldn’t have known that was possible in Newton’s time, when the best theory about the origin of life on Earth had been that God created it in seven days.  The Book of Revelation may have told Newton what the Anti-Christ was supposed to do, but modern science had told him how to do it.

“Desrosiers will stop him, though, won’t she?” asked Sharon.  “He must have told her that he only wants to make gold.  If he tries to do anything more, she’ll object, right?”

“She’s got the notebooks and everything,” Sam agreed.  “She’ll figure it out.”

She probably would. Desrosiers was the one who had told them that nobody wanted to die.  Even Newton didn’t really want to die.  He thought that by killing everybody else he could ensure his own immortality.  At the same time, when Nat looked around she could tell that not one of them was actually willing to just trust Desrosiers to take care of things. The only way to be sure was to take care of it themselves.

“We must find her again,” Sir Stephen said.

How would they do that? Finding her on Sicily had been very difficult and even then, they’d only succeeded because she’d wanted to be found. How would they find her when she was deliberately avoiding them?

“We know she likes swanky hotels,” said Sam.

“That’s true,” Nat agreed.  At Guedelon, she hadn’t been staying in the tents and bunkhouses with the workers. She’d had a nice RV.  She’d had a nice room in Athens, she’d been at one of the best hotels in Taormina.  She’d be somewhere with a pool and twenty-four hour room service.  “What’s the nicest place in Naples?”

They scrambled back down the mountainside, looking for a train station.  The Circumvesuviana Railway would be the quickest way back to Naples.  It was dark, and they were all sweaty and exhausted, by the time they reached the stop at Ercolano.  Luckily the station was offering water and wi-fi, and they were able to do a search for the most expensive places to stay in the city.  As they waited for the train, Nat called all of them, one by one.

“Bonjour,” she said, when the clerks picked up.  “I am looking to speak to Madame Helene Desrosiers.” They had no evidence she was still traveling under that name, but they didn’t know what other ones she might use. “I am told she is a guest with you, but I don’t know the room.  It’s very urgent.  Her daughter in France has been in an accident.”

The first two hotels she contacted apologized, but said they had no guest under that name.  On the third call, she hit pay dirt.

“I’m sorry, Madame,” the clerk replied.  “Signora Desrosiers has already checked out.  Her ship is departing tonight.”

“Her ship?” Nat asked. There had been a cruise ship in the harbor earlier… was Desrosiers leaving on that?  Had she already realized Newton was up to no good and abandoned him?  But if so, why was she simply leaving instead of trying to talk him out of the end of the world?  Maybe she’d taken the notebooks with her, or something else.  Something he wouldn’t notice was missing until he went to get the reactor started.  There was only one way to find out.

“Which ship?” she asked.

“I do not know, Madame. There are two in port right now.”

“I’ll see if I can catch up with her there.”  She disconnected and told the others, “she’s gotten on a ship.”

“Why?” asked Sam.

“We’ll ask her,” Nat promised.

They caught the train back to Naples, and reached the train station to find that the cruise ship they’d seen there earlier had already departed.  When they checked the timetables, they saw that it had been gone for several hours, and a bit of quick math told them it had put out to sea well before they’d seen the two figures on the volcano.  Desrosiers couldn’t be on that one.  Two others, however, had since arrived: the Pearl Princess and their old friend, the Scorpio II.

“I knew it was following us,” Clint declared.

Nat recalled something they’d read in one of Newton’s notebooks – something Newton himself had later referenced.  “Scorpio is supposed to be poison to the philosopher’s stone,” she said.  “Is it a coincidence, or did Newton deliberately put her on that ship?”

“Do we care?” asked Jim.

“Not really,” said Nat. “The only thing we care about is how we get on board.”

Sir Stephen frowned, watching the people coming and going on the docks.  It must have been nearly time for the Scorpio II to depart, because there was quite a lineup waiting to board.  Crew members were checking ID.  They weren’t going to be able to get on board that way.

Nat didn’t consider that a problem.  During her career as a spy, she’d stowed away on board airplanes, submarines, trains, and semi trucks.  She’d infiltrated banks, museums, shops, drug repositories, and police stations.  A cruise ship ought to be easy – every window and door on the entire ship was a possible way in.  They just had to pick one.

It couldn’t be anything on the side of the ship that faced into the port, of course, because they would be seen by hundreds of people.  There would be slightly fewer watching eyes if they went in at the stern, but still too many.  That meant they had to go around the starboard side, the one that faced out into the bay.

The first step to that was stealing a boat.  Naples was a holiday destination, so there were several private yachts moored in marinas all up and down the bay.  The group boarded one of these while the owners were eating a late dinner at a restaurant, and took it to the Scorpio II.  They approached from behind, figuring it was less likely anyone on board would see them from there.  The bottom few rows of cabin windows, likely to be splashed in rough seas, did not open. Higher up, there were staterooms with balconies.

“This is not a ship,” said Sir Stephen in awe, as they brought the little yacht alongside the towering vessel.  “This is a cathedral!  This is a dozen cathedrals!”

“It’s a palace,” said Nat.  “That’s the whole point.”  She studied the rows of balconies.  “We’ll take the lowest entrance we can, because that minimizes the risk of anyone seeing us climb past… that one there doesn’t have any chairs on it.”  She pointed to one on the corner on the starboard side.  “That probably means nobody’s staying there… they wouldn’t waste balcony chairs on an empty stateroom.”  She hoped.

“This is gonna require something bigger than a fishhook,” Clint said critically.

“You wouldn’t just happen to have anything, would you?” Nat asked.

His serious expression switched immediately to a bright smile as he pulled out another arrow. This one looked normal until he pressed a button, and four metal spines sprang out of the sides of the shaft.

“Grappling hook arrow do?” he asked.

“Grappling hook arrow sounds perfect,” Nat agreed.

Jacob

Remember the short story i posted way back when?  Yeah, this is the edited version

December 12th, 2043, 4:02 AM

Exhaling the cold, crisp winter air, Jacob looked up at the sky.  The night was once again a dull orange-gray, bright city lights bouncing off low hanging clouds, as if the past forty hours hadn’t even happened.  He still wasn’t crying.  It had been a very, very long day… night?  What do you even call it when you’re up for that long?  And that was another thing he did to avoid thinking about things, wasn’t it, desperately pursuing the most inane of thoughts.  Snow began to fall.  Once the summoned taxi arrived, he collapsed into the vehicle, suddenly almost unable to move.  It was a nice thing, wasn’t it, that there were no more drivers that’d be tempted to ask questions, huh?  He thought back… —- December 12th, 2043, 2:53 AM

They were supposed to have time for naps, but somehow it still hadn’t happened.  Jacob filled out the last sheet on the last patient to leave his care, and got the chance to sit down and commiserate with a resident who’d been up for sixteen hours himself.  Incredible, really, how many people were coming in, the hospital even had to call in many people that were supposed to have the day off.  He almost fell asleep right then and there when his pager buzzed - another patient was arriving.  He returned to the ICU just in time for the patient to be rolled in on a gurney.  A young man, brown haired with tattoos covering most of his body, who had a broken left arm sticking out at an awkward angle, and burns on his right arm.  He had a familiar face.  The nurse handed off the forms, minor concussion and blood loss as well.  It was a fairly standard operation, and quite similar to the other cases that had been flooding the ward.  

Mid-operation, Jacob only realized something had gone wrong when the young man suddenly stopped breathing.  He attempted to resuscitate the man, but it was too late.  Looking at his face, Jacob suddenly realized where he’d seen it before: it was Lewis. –––

May 12th, 2036, 11:10 PM

Jacob’s 21st birthday had passed without celebration two days before.  Now that exams were finally over, Jacob let Lewis drag him out to drink, for once.  Lewis had been Jacob’s closest friend – not that that was saying much – since freshman year.  Lewis was a tall, lanky man with well kept but short brown hair. After asking the frowning bartender for a beer, Lewis turned back to Jacob.  “What do you want to drink?

“I don’t know… whatever you think would be best, I suppose.”

“Bartender, another beer?”

The bartender quickly served another.  Lewis began to drink, while Jacob stared off into space.

“What’s the problem?  I’m paying for this, not you, and this place isn’t exactly cheap?  I mean, we even have a human bartender.  The least you could do is enjoy yourself a little bit, for once.”

More silence.

“Are you worried about exams?   Jacob, I’m sure you did fine, you studied way, way more than I did.  There’s nothing you can do, now anyway, so why not relax?”

Jacob frowned and nodded.  He admired - envied - Lewis’s ability to relax and be satisfied, even though Lewis was near the bottom of the class.  But then again, the former likely had something to do with the latter.

Lewis went onwards.  “And let me guess, you’re worried about writing your med school applications?  Jesus Christ, you have to rest, sometime.”

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

They managed to talk, for a little while - Lewis talked about the book he read before exams, the latest news about the fight over the Basic Income bill in Congress.  Jacob had little to add to the conversation, but, at least, it was nice to talk for once. ––– May 20th, 2037, 2:42 PM

After the graduation, Lewis and Jacob met on the quad.  By some miracle, Jacob had graduated Summa Cum Laude. 

“Are you glad to finally have that behind you?”  Lewis asked.

“I suppose so,” Jacob replied.  “How are your plans on that startup going?”

“Okay, I suppose.  I’ve contacted a few investors, I don’t quite have them sold but they are listening.  And you, do you have any plans for the summer?”

Jacob smiled, “I’m planning on taking a few summer courses on programming in France.”

Lewis looked somewhat disappointed.  “I thought you hated programming.  You don’t have to do anything right now, you have no one to impress, you’re already accepted to med school, and you’re still just going on and on and on?”

“Well, I mean, more and more stuff is being automated, I have to get in a little bit of flexibility…”

“That’s your problem, man, you know?  You always, always just go with the flow, do what you think others want, strive and strive, you never really ask what you want to do.  Have you ever broken a rule, had fun a day in your life?  Listen, just take the summer off, take a vacation, do something for yourself for once,” Lewis said.

“Well, I guess so.”

“Make a choice!” 

Jacob paused, for a long time.  That, a break, would be a nice idea, yes, I’ll do it, maybe you could come with me, somewhere -

“…This is something that I need to do.  I mean, France is a nice place in the summer, and nowadays, I need every advantage that I can get.  I’ve lived my whole life preparing to be a doctor, more and more stuff is being automated, and I don’t want to get sidelined at this point.  I’ll drop a course or two, but, I should have buckled down and done this beforehand instead of those history courses, and I guess I’m now paying the price.”

“If that’s how you feel…”  Something had gone cold in the air between the two men.  They still had each other’s contact information, but over the course of the next year, the messages between the two would become more and more infrequent until they petered out altogether.   —- December 12th, 2043, 4:20 AM

Jacob had always imagined Lewis being happy, content, successful.  He’d just never really thought about any other possibility… that was just the way things would happen, because Lewis was that kind of person.  Maybe it was part of the reason that he withdrew himself from Lewis - some subconscious part of the mind wanting to keep that foundational image steady.  

But now, it cracked, and another series of events fell into place in Jacob’s mind.  On one of the last few messages, he remembered complaints about investors calling for immediate profitability when the company still needed to just grow.  If the investors spooked, or if the market Lewis was aiming for wasn’t as spacious as he thought, or a million other things, the business could collapse like so many other “Next Big Things. “ And then, where would Lewis head, who’d spent his time building connections and making ideas for an entrance into the business world instead of buffing up his GPA for a steadier job?  He could find something, but, well, anything can go wrong, and when they start going wrong it’s difficult to stop the slide all the way down, no?  Those full body tattoos – there are so many others competing for the slot that any little thing would render you practically disabled, you’d only see that on a man who’d lost hope.  

…Ten hours ago, he had shooed away a secretary who had told him there was an important call for him, and never got a long enough break to remember it.  Now, he wondered if maybe whoever it was had also called his cellphone.  5 messages in voicemail, from… another hospital?  Tap, read the transcriptions…  

-20 hours, “Your mother had a heart attack today…

-10 hours, “We’re sorry to inform you, but your mother has passed away…

He had to actually listen to them, just to make sure he’d gotten it right.  Really?  Really! —- December 12th, 2043, 4:28 AM

The car finally parked in front of his apartment complex.  As if on autopilot, he walked through the doorway, through the uninhabited lobby, and stared at the elevator door for thirty seconds.  *Ding*.   A minute later, he was in his apartment.  He wondered what was on the news.

“…Protesters expressed outrage over refusal to raise…”

Flip the channel.

“…Police have restored order after the riots in the Southwest Quarter…”

That would explain all the burns and broken limbs.

He still envied Lewis.

All this, all this, and it had gotten Jacob nowhere.  Decades of dedication, and for what, some dream in the distance?  He wasn’t worthy of it.  He was a failure, clumsy, stupid, lazy, unworthy, a fake.  Would he ever have that satisfaction, that ability to take life as it came?  He doubted it.  There was no light at the end of the tunnel.  Or if there was, he couldn’t wait for it.  When was the last he really, really talked with someone?  Or when he really felt like he was having fun?  Was it worth waiting, struggling any longer?   Lewis was gone, he’d abandoned him, then killed him.  His mother and father both died without so much as a goodbye.  He was never going to be happy.

Slitting his wrists - no, he never had any tolerance for his own pain.  Jumping - too attention seeking.  His sleeping medicine… yes, that would work, wouldn’t it?  Just, say goodbye to those nights so tired and drained and frustrated that he couldn’t so much as go to sleep, now permanently.  He got a bottle of water from the fridge.  Then, down, one, by one, by one…

——

December 14th 2043, 11:05 AM White walls, the resident in the corner.  In retrospect… In retrospect… he couldn’t believe he’d taken the whole bottle at once.  How many failed suicide attempts had he seen of that variety?  Had he really been that dumb, that impulsive?  He could probably say goodbye to his career, at least.

Son clashes with Lloris as Spurs beat Everton - Click on link to subscribe my channel https://ift.tt/34vXvMA Facebook - https://ift.tt/2Vjiyz6 Twitter - https://twitter.com/HsrSports Pinterest - https://ift.tt/2ywdZIH Tumblr - https://ift.tt/2z5qwmL Blog - https://ift.tt/2VlBDRu #Sports #SportsNews #Tournament Hugo Lloris and Son Heung-Min after the match against Everton. (AFP Photo)LONDON: Hugo Lloris insisted he had made peace with Son Heung-min after the Tottenham stars were involved in a furious row during their side's 1-0 win against Everton on Monday. As Son walked towards the tunnel at half-time, France goalkeeper Lloris confronted the South Korea forward, shouting at him and shoving his shoulder. The usually placid Son responded angrily and the pair had to be kept apart by team-mates Harry Winks and Moussa Sissoko as the altercation threatened to boil over. Lloris was irked by Son's failure to close down a loose ball in midfield moments before Everton threatened through Richarlison. "I think to concede a chance a few seconds before half-time because we didn't make a press annoyed me. But yeah, that's football," Lloris said. Neither of the feuding players was hauled off at the break as Tottenham manager Jose Mourinho tried to keep the peace. Son and Lloris looked to have buried the hatchet when they hugged at the final whistle in north London after Tottenham secured their second win since the coronavirus hiatus. "It just belongs to the changing room. Outside you can say whatever you want. What happened is just part of football sometimes," Lloris said. "Let's be honest, we are in a situation we are not happy with so we have to fight, to make sure we all go in the same direction. "Most important is to stay focused on the team. We can only do it as a team. "When you play a season like this one it's very easy to fall apart but we showed we are still together. "There is no problem at all. You could see after the game we were fine." Tottenham sealed the points thanks to a first half own goal from Everton defender Michael Keane, who deflected in Giovani Lo Celso's shot. It was somehow fitting that the always combative Mourinho's 200th Premier League victory featured the flare-up between Son and Lloris. In fact, Mourinho was delighted with the row because it showed a desire to win. "That's beautiful. It's probably as a consequence of our meetings, so if you want to blame someone blame me," he said. "I asked them to demand more from each other and put colleagues under pressure. It was the situation of the first half where an amazing kid, a team boy like Sonny, that the captain thought 'you have to do more'. "A team of nice boys, the only thing they can win at the end of the season is the Fair Play Cup. Something I have never won and have no interest in winning. "What happened should not happen on the pitch, it should happen inside the dressing room, but I promise you my winning teams we had big fights in the team." Tottenham's second win in their last 10 games in all competitions lifted them into eighth place in the Premier League one point behind north London rivals Arsenal in seventh. Just a year after reaching the Champions League final under previous boss Mauricio Pochettino, Tottenham have been reduced to fighting for a place in the Europa League. This win ensured they could still avoid being out of European competition entirely for the first time since the 2009-10 season. Everton haven't beat Tottenham since 2012 and a first defeat in four games could end their European hopes for this term. Thursday's limp 3-1 defeat at Sheffield United left Mourinho questioning the desire of his players, but took the lead in the 24th minute thanks to a welcome stroke of luck. Son found Harry Kane in the area and his effort deflected to Lo Celso, whose shot was going wide until it span wickedly off Keane to wrong-foot Everton keeper Jordan Pickford. Everton finally threatened in stoppage-time when Richarlison burst forward to shoot wide after Son failed to chase down the loose ball. Following Lloris's angry exchange with Son, both players were in the spotlight for more positive reasons in the second half as Tottenham held firm.

England's moment of truth: Will Royal Marines and psychologist help them deal with big-match fears?

New Post has been published on http://harryandmeghan.xyz/englands-moment-of-truth-will-royal-marines-and-psychologist-help-them-deal-with-big-match-fears/

England's moment of truth: Will Royal Marines and psychologist help them deal with big-match fears?

England have won their first game in tournament football only five times since 1950. Since reaching the Euro 96 semi-final, which is a sore point for the current manager, they have won just two games in the knock-out stages of major tournaments.

So when Gareth Southgate, who missed the crucial penalty against Germany in 1996, sends his team out against Tunisia on Monday, their first tournament fixture since the debacle of losing 2-1 against Iceland at Euro 2016, there should be no great expectations. England’s record is abysmal and Southgate, more than most, knows it.

The man who said he felt he had let the country down after that miss against Germany has pondered the England conundrum longer than most and, as an international player, FA staff member, Under 21 manager and now national coach, has a deeper insight than almost anyone.

The England team have won their first game in tournament football only five times since 1950

But whatever England manage to do against Tunisia, no one will be able to say that Southgate has not tried his utmost to shift the dismal dynamic of the national team.

When he has stood in front of his players, he has reminded them that he has been in the eye of the storm of national hysteria surrounding a losing team and been personally blamed for the failure.

‘What’s the worst that can happen?’ he tells them. ‘I’m still here, standing in front of you now.’ That is not to diminish how that can feel. But he wants this team to overcome the psychological barriers which have hindered their predecessors. 

Which is why a group of players found themselves on Woodbury Common in Devon last year. The sweeping hills, the wind and rain rolling in from the Channel and the rutted ground do not suggest a connection with football or Russia 2018. But if England can finally perform well in a major competition, it may yet claim a stake in the nation’s football heritage.

As might Major Scotty Mills of the Royal Marines and the psychologist Pippa Grange. Both have played their part in attempting to avoid the kind of psychological meltdown seen against Iceland.

Around this time last year, England players turned up for training at St George’s Park to prepare for a crucial qualifier in Scotland and a friendly in France. Gathering in the dressing room, they sensed something was afoot.

Since Euro 96 semi-final they have won two games in knock-out stages of major tournaments

Before they had fully comprehended what, a Royal Marines sergeant major strode in and ordered them onto a coach. Mobiles were surrendered. The location of the destination was not to be revealed even to family. And certainly not to their clubs. They were heading to Commando Training Centre Royal Marines in Lympstone where generations of soldiers have been trained. Meeting them there was Major Mills.

The players, including Harry Kane, John Stones, Dele Alli and Raheem Sterling, were ordered to change, get dressed in military fatigues, surrender any luxuries and were sent on a five-mile hike. That night they camped rough on Woodbury Common.

Some, like Stones, had done this with the Scouts. For others it was far outside their comfort zone. ‘You could say it was a risk going there,’ said Stones. ‘People can be a little bit nervous or apprehensive if they haven’t done something like that.’

Stones claims he slept well under the stars. Others lightheartedly say he was chattering so much that he kept everyone awake. The management were beginning to see some of the bonding they had hoped for.

Last year England players went to the Commando Training Centre Royal Marines in Lympstone

The most gruelling tests were to come. All had to finish the assault course. But the most traumatic part was going through an underwater tunnel. The idea is that you have to surrender your trust to the Marines, who will push you under the water and throw you through the tunnel. ‘Some of the players aren’t good with water,’ said Stones.

For many the idea of being underwater and out of control is a real phobia and the players were not helped by being told the story of a Marine who got stuck in the tunnel and almost died. True or not, it spooked many, but everyone completed the task. ‘All of the boys and the staff encouraged them,’ said Stones of those who were nervous.

Southgate addressed the players afterwards. He knows how headlines work and what would happen if they lost to Scotland. Playing soldiers would seem a ludicrous diversion. ‘It isn’t about these next two matches,’ he said. ‘It’s about Russia next year.’ His point was that he needed them to trust each other as a group on the pitch when the time came and plans had gone awry.

As it was that Saturday at Hampden, England were winning with 87 minutes played. By 90 minutes they were 2-1 down and the expedition looked a little preposterous. Kane then equalised with 30 seconds of injury time left. But Southgate was sincere in saying the benefits would not be won in the short term.

The most traumatic part was going through an underwater tunnel, which boss Southgate did

Woodbury Common was just the start. The Marines have regularly visited training since and Mills is hugely popular with the squad.

Southgate, though, is insistent that he wishes to downplay links between militarism and the England team. His maternal grandfather, Arthur Toll, whom he idolised as child, was a former Marine.

Southgate always says he belts out the anthem ‘just in case my grandad is looking down.’ But he has also seen the dangers an overemphasis on war-like themes can bring and the jingoism of some fans which quickly becomes racism.

He is at pains to make clear that it is the ability of the Marines to think on their feet and adapt to adversity that he wants to tap into. That and the need to depend on each other.

The final part of the programme has been designed by Grange, the Loughborough University graduate with a doctorate in applied psychology who took on the macho culture of Aussie Rules football in her previous job with the players’ union.

She only started work in January, but has made an immediate impact. Her experience with AFL players has helped her engage easily with Premier League footballers, traditionally reluctant to share any weaknesses for fear of being picked on by peers or perceived as soft.

Southgate has found her a key ally in getting players to open up and admit to vulnerabilities in team meetings, the theory being that trusting each other off the pitch will enable them to do so on it.

‘Pippa has a way of getting everyone to open up,’ said one participant. Danny Rose said that the open culture was a factor in him being able to talk about his depression publicly — and that he felt rejuvenated playing after doing so.

Typically Southgate and Grange will head up team meetings and players will also meet in smaller groups to discuss issues, including dealing with any racism in Russia.

In the final week before they left, the players were visited by former armed forces personnel who are amputees.

England captain Harry Kane will lead out side in their World Cup opener vs Tunisia on Monday

Rose was particularly taken with the testimony of Lee Spencer, a former Marine who has lost his leg but who is rowing the Atlantic solo. ‘That was a real eye-opener,’ said Rose. ‘I thought I had a difficult year and you hear their stories. He’s been through adversity and he’s not going to let that stop him. And that’s the same that the gaffer wants from the lads. If the guy to the left of you is in trouble, in the Marines you would literally have to give your life to help.’

Fabian Delph added: ‘A lot of the game is mental and how to keep a calm mind. We’ve looked at different ways of coping and it’s been eye-opening. It’s just how to reset your mind if you make a mistake.’

The real test will come on Monday if they go a goal down against Tunisia or are struggling at 0-0 late on. Play badly and the reality is nothing can protect you from a bad press. But it is clear the FA and Southgate have at least attempted to address the problem head on. Southgate might once have felt he had let the country down.

His legacy may be ensuring that this generation do not have to feel the same way.

September 19, 2017 I have decided to create an original + uncensored space with the intention to a) gather and sort through some of my own thoughts b) share what I feel to be worthy information with others and c) openly explore a wide variety of relevant topics that I've been vigorously studying for quite some time. Over the years curiosity, concern, and genuine personal interest have led me to research a broad array of information which I strongly feel is not only generally ignored by the masses, but often times ridiculed or exhausted before even given a fair moment of attention or consideration. Truth is not always kind and it is rarely comfortable or safe. Raw truth can often times feel very scary to take in despite ones best attempt at keeping an open mind and strong heart. That said, if you sincerely claim to be any sort of thoughtful human of substance and honor.. then you must know and breathe the following fact: IGNORANCE IS NOT BLISS. In some ways, it has almost become uncool or faux paux for a person to speak ones mind or effectively express their personal, honest and unfiltered thoughts in the present day. In other ways; people of all creeds, sex, ethnicity and age merely mechanically parrot others without attempting or being bothered to do their own research and evaluation - they skip right over the very critical part of personal analyzation which is absolutely key to (in turn) responsibly forming any original opinion at all. Many may mimic or mirror the opinions of their parents or other family members, maybe they restate narratives their friends tend to support or perhaps they simply regurgitate a few key words that a news anchor read off from yesterdays cue cards on channel whatever. Don't get me wrong, I have an immeasurable + absolute sincere respect for many individuals in the truth movement and for all those wanting to learn what is real. I don't believe there is anything more commendable than an individual who is willing to openly advocate for ALL human (and animal) rights by directly speaking out against the evil doers on this earth who repeatedly commit injustices like it's nothing. Accountability depends on knowledge. Acknowledging unpleasant issues and evils out loud (not only to ourselves, but also to others) is a crucial part of exposing the harsh realities left in their wake. There is no doubt in my mind that people all over the world are absolutely waking, but so many more are still fast asleep. Snapchat this, Facebook that, tunnel vision and daily routine take precedent and so on. Let me take a moment now to say this.. I myself value entertainment very much and I believe with all my soul that the importance of enjoying this life here on Earth in all ways humanly possible is *imperative* to keeping your spirit happy and afloat. I do not live to work, rather work to live. I collect new experiences with great fondness and I have had just as much fun at a $20 dinner as a $200 dinner. I am a concert addict and the music that deeply moves my soul truly has the unique ability to bring me alive in childlike ways. I listen to 90's trance for hours and hours at home. Bones Thugs will never ever not make me dance immediately. I never get sick of it. I regularly spend quality time with souls dear to me. I love to swim. I love all seasons and all food. The ocean makes me smile from miles away. A hint of salty air and a single ray of sunshine makes me indescribably giddy. I love to watch films of all kinds and I'm a total YouTube junkie, just like the lot of us. I often binge read books and articles during my free time to the point that sometimes, I actually have to set a manual two hour alarm to avoid blowing the whole day away and getting sucked into the author of the weeks world. I have to physically and mentally set limits over my own Self on particular days so I don't get too carried away.. so that I am still able to adequately focus on my present as well. I work full time and pay my own bills. I eat 10-12 snacks a day. I stop to pet every dog I see on the street no matter where I'm heading or what time it is. I consistently make time for traveling because creating new experiences, immersing myself in other cultures and living a wild life of adventure is half of my whole heart. In this life, I am a free spirit by design.. that said I value my family, my relationship with God and the love in my life immensely. As an adult I have acquired countless hobbies, interests and responsibilities as most of us do over time. I also regularly make time to study, research and learn more about the world I live in because I consciously choose to do so. I am so naturally drawn to caring. I couldn't even help it if I tried because this deep desire for trueness is in my very blood for better or worst and it runs all though my innermost core. I unquestionably yearn to not only grow as a free thinking person, but also to willfully expand my mind more and more with each passing day until my very last little breath. I thirst to question that which deserves debate. Occasionally, I seek answers to questions that are difficult or cannot truly be answered clearly, this can be equally rewarding and frustrating depending on the matter at hand. Here's a touch of background about me so that you can have a simple idea of where I came from as we move forward. I am originally born in Bulgaria (South East Europe) and fled from communism and the hell it left behind once lifed when I was a child. I always kept up my first language and to this day I am proudly fluent in Bulgarian. If I do have children of my own, they too will undoubtedly be raised bilingual. My family (parents and I) were temporary relocated to Germany after applying to countries outside of home via legal channels with proper papers/passports.. in crucial moments there were even in depth handwritten letters brought forth stating why 'they' should accept us into their land. That was what it is when it was. Nothing was guaranteed and everything was a gamble. When we did eventually find out that we were leaving, my parents were not allowed to tell anyone of our plans or whereabouts, not even family. We were permitted to take a total of two suitcases for three whole people. One was filled with clothes, the other packed with books. Maybe that's a part of why there is a deeply instinctual thirst for knowledge in my very blood. And maybe it isn't. I later attended kindergarten in W. Europe, I spoke + sang fluent German and after a couple of years of living in a Bavarian hotel we received more word from afar which prompted us to proceed along our path. Ultimately, we were given the option to move to St. Louis, Missouri or Thunder Bay, Ontario. My sweet parents were so brave and hopeful for better days ahead. This awesome courage is something that I can never ever repay them for, even if I tried. Despite all that they had been through back home - and despite all that they had battled and conquered always fighting tooth and nail, real masters of the poker face - the Land of the Free would surely hold a more promising future for us all. So off we went. We were each sworn in legally before a judge, took on US citizenship and then immediately dropped off with our two suitcases in tow straight into a small one bedroom apt in the middle of a grim city containing just a single mattress on the floor and a perfectly empty fridge. We didn't have an air conditioner and no one warned us we would need one. My father immediately hit the ground running and got a full time job to support us, an air conditioner was bought and a few years later my brother was born. The rest is history. As far as formal schooling goes, I went to an elementary school in North City and then later a second in South City - after that I attended a public county school until my senior year and I did not receive any formal education after I graduated high school. I have touched almost every state and spent a great deal of time in Europe, Asia and Africa. And I have a thousand more places I want to go. What I quickly learned in the years to come was that even though my high school was widely considered to be an extremely solid and reputable one, I wasn't ever really taught much about the rest of the world during my time there. We studied slavery, the Bill of Rights, the American Civil War and the Holocaust every single year. The same criteria in just slightly different forms from 6th grade thru 12th. I took math classes and I also learned how to cut open a frog and a worm during science. I learned how to play kickball and volleyball and struggled to knock out a few pull ups in gym. As a 'subject,' World History was extremely general and brief, and that particular 'subject' was only optional to graduate. You could easily have chosen the 'US Government' option if you so preferred it. Required reading was restricted to a minimal and predetermined list which was given to the teachers as a manual at the start of each semester. We took mandatory geography tests covering all the states, but were never taught too much about the rest of the worlds corners. All my friends assumed Bulgaria was somewhere in South America because it kind of sounded like Bolivia. 18 year old kid adults from 'good families' and 'nice homes' actually thought that Paris, London and Amsterdam were names of countries. They didn't know where or how to quickly find non cities like France, England or Holland on a globe unless given more than a little time to squint and wonder, spinning the neon colored globe globe round and round. No one ever taught us about Mao. No teacher mentioned Stalin. Not a singular note was taken regarding atrocious genocides all over the huge continent of Africa. My GPA on paper was very high but I felt somehow limited in my learnings later on as I began to jet around and experience new lands, cultures and countries on my own. So as I grew older and literally began to see more and more of the world as 'we' know it, I also began to question my own smarts. I began to touch different continents physically and trotted on to experience some places I had never even heard of before. I discovered cities and towns I couldn't pronounce and most times, I found myself consistent feeling invigorated by the massive breath(s) of fresh air. But occasionally, I felt unignorable deeply stunted inside.. almost child like, like something had been omitted along the way. Something big. I decided to teach myself everything that I possibly could including what was omitted earlier in my primary education. I feverishly studied world history, religion and cultures of all kinds, maps and atlases galore, languages and dialects. I studied people near and far. I studied myself. I also passionately studied the unpredictable realms of the rapidly changing world all around me in the form of journals. I wrote down so much. I filled stacks of notebooks with my learnings and flipped tons of pages along the way.. and then more pages and more pages. I read til my eyes burned. I dove into foreign press, I wrote to my senators, I watched the local news. I got lost on the Internet. I let it all sink in as much as I could take it. I did all of this because I wanted to. We are now living in a time where the brave ones who do speak out against the norm are often immediately labeled as subversive, crazy or overly "intense." These outspoken individuals are often times written off by society + regularly ridiculed for their thoughts and expressions.. as a result their messages are quickly discarded into a never ending trash bin manned by the mindless and secured by the masters.. ironically enough their voices simply just get thrown away probably ending up somewhere right alongside free will and basic rights. That said - I have always, *ALWAYS* whole heartedly believed in being a voice and not an echo, so here we are. Everything you see and read here is meant to be digested just the way it is presented, my writing and imagery of choice is always forward and direct - no more, no less. I'm not ever going to hold your hand or explain myself as if I am addressing a fragile sheltered little babe. I'm just going to share with you what I can, while I can. A few months ago I created an Instagram account (separate from my personal) where I approached topics which I felt were extremely important to our world today. I just wanted to share my findings with normal people, or most simply with anyone at all who felt like having a look. That account ranged from revisiting history to accessing current day events.. neither modern day politics as we know it nor honesty were ever excluded or sugar coated in the slightest. Soon enough people were engaging in back and forth intelligent conversation, giving regular feedback/input, asking questions and sending me kind messages of gratitude. This was so much more than I could have ever expected from just another social media outlet.. yet one day when I hopped onto IG to log in, very much to my surprise - I found that my username was no longer valid and my account had been wiped clean. This happened overnight. No warning, no reason.. here today + gone tomorrow, literally. No Instagram rules were remotely violated along the way, but down it went. Point in case: censorship is real. If you haven't realized that humanity is being systematically dumbed down by now, then it is highly likely that you too, have been systematically dumbed down somewhere along the way. I used to have a 'popular' blog online years ago where I shared personal writing photos of my life, travels, interests, etc.. that site seemed to mash together almost all my passions under the sun (music, film, art, fashion, recipes, etc etc) but I never really got 'political' there by choice - I wanted to keep that separate. I knew that I had to be very careful with my viewpoints if I ever wanted to be a writer or accepted by publisher(s) later on. Well that blog had a few million visits and a ton of followers when I decided to delete it (by choice) one day. People from all over the world wrote to me and I met dozens of them in countries all over which was super rad. Despite all that hype, for some reason it had just ran its course for me and I can say with certainly that I was definitely more bummed when this recent Instagram with just a couple hundred 'followers' was abruptly taken away bc I didn't make that choice myself. While I'm very well aware that your followers are not always your fans.. it has just become increasingly more important to me to focus on what matters to me most, everyday and in every way. Of course I still love movies and exploring exhibits at museums near and far. I still study fashion magazines from cover to cover and attend shows just like I always have. But I have a deeper desire to share with others, that which is purposefully being withheld because I wholeheartedly believe it affects us all in the end. Moving forward, I will be posting pieces I have written on topics including but not limited to; HAARP: what is it and why should you know more about it, why traditionalism and nationalism are not equal to racism/hate and the reason I will probably never vote for president in the USA again, even though I literally moved to America for freedom of democracy. The irony is so real. I am going to look inside the unignorable and ever growing parallels between the Roman Empire and the United States because they simply fascinate me. I'll review their differences too, but you will soon see for yourself that the similarities greatly outweigh the latter. I'm going to discuss impeding race wars, media manipulation, distraction tactics, corrupt politians, illegal wars, unjust occupations, false prophets, and the many toxic poisons that are destroying us not only as individuals but also as a whole. Along the way, I will share my own fears and doubts with an audience of 1 or 100 because the simple truth is: I clearly don't have all the answers, not even close. You'll read about systematic indoctrination and it's direct ties to the endless bloody wars based on lies that our very tax dollars pay for year after tired year. You'll read about why the system was born broken. I'm going to tell you all about how I discovered that most things we have been taught to believe are just part of a big story. I'm going to describe the game as I know it, call out the big players and acknowledge the pawns. I may have to remind you that the narrative is not in your favor. It never was and by the looks of things, it may never be. It doesn't mean doom and gloom. It means that self educating and awareness has never ever been more important. Until then, please remember this much.. A nation of sheep is bound to be governed by wolves. You should never confuse education with intelligence. And last but definitely never least, thinking for yourself out loud is the absolute best thing you can do in this life. ❤✌🏼

SWISS SLEEPOVER AT CAMPING AAREGG If I mention Switzerland I imagine your mind is putting together a scene of a snow covered mountain skyline, chairlifts ascending skyward, snowboarders carving out paths in the snow and possibly an evening of Apres Ski, and in all fairness, you wouldn’t be wrong.  But what about Switzerland in Summer.  There is a completely different side to this alpine region that many never see.  Beautiful blue skies, scenic mountain passes and spectacular panoramic views that stretch as far as the eyes and mountains allow; and everywhere is so green and vibrant, the lakes as turquoise as amethyst.  Switzerland is truly a beautiful place.  There just aren’t enough adjectives in the dictionary to do Switzerland justice.

The bluest of blue

ARE WE NEARLY THERE YET Car packed, DVD’s playing to keep Lily-Belle and Matilda occupied, a few treats to keep everyone happy during travel time, and we’re off, our European adventure has begun.  We travelled by road and ferry from Northern Ireland to Holyhead to Folkstone, which is on the Southern coast of England, then our first ever trip on the high-speed Eurotunnel Shuttle, followed by a lengthy car journey through France and Luxembourg to our sleepover destination at Camping Aaregg, Switzerland.

Is that a crack in the wall

Goodbye England, Bonjour France

VA VA VROOOOOOOOOM On route through Switzerland, we came across a couple of Corvette Stingray’s parked outside a restaurant, absolutely gorgeous motors so I couldn’t resist stopping.  As I took photos of the cars, one of the owners approached, a huge cigar hanging out of his mouth, and he beckons me toward the car whist saying something in Swiss (I assume).  I thought he was offering to let me have a drive, but I couldn’t decipher his gestures, and as he didn’t speak English and I don’t speak Swiss, I smile, shake my head, shrug my shoulders and carry on with the journey.  I hint to my darling wife that one of these babies would look great parked on my drive, and I also mention that I do have a ‘big’ birthday coming up in three years, hint, hint!

Stingray Supercar

Very red and very fast

MILES AND MOTORWAYS Our journey to Camping Aaregg in a nutshell; we had a 2.5 hour drive to the Irish Ferries port in Dublin, a 4 hour ferry from Dublin to Holyhead, a 6 hour drive to Rochester where we caught up with our very good friends Graham and Sandra; we stayed for 8 hours chatting about this and that before driving for 1 hour to the channel tunnel, we were on the Eurotunnel shuttle for just over 30 minutes, then a further 7 hour drive from Calais to Lake Brienz in Switzerland, plus the odd half hour stop for toilet breaks.  Thankfully, not once did we hear the infamous phrase ‘are we nearly there yet’.   We still had a little under 7 hours of driving to get to our holiday destination in Spiaggia e Mare, Porto Garibaldi, Italy.  Before that, an overnight stay in a luxurious Swiss hotel on the shores of the beautiful Lake Brienz.

The beautiful turquoise Lake Brienz

MEN DON’T ASK FOR DIRECTIONS We arrive at Camping Aaregg, Switzerland a little after 15:00 and I (Daddy) have no clue what lies ahead; all travel and accommodation has been organised by Lynne, if it was left to me we’d never leave Ireland.  I have no sense of direction (I rely heavily on my car sat-nav), and I’m useless when it comes to organising travel.  I am rather well-known within the family circle for not being able to find a car park exit!  I’m very happy to do all of the driving and Lynne usually sorts everything else, it works well for us.

I’VE BEEN FRAMED Lynne attends the reception at Camping Aaregg and after a few minutes appears with a staff member who leads the way to our accommodation, the lady referred to the accommodation as a Woody Tramp, to me it was a glorified garden shed, where on earth was my luxurious Swiss hotel, with room service, and a spa and, and…someone has to be pulling my leg, no way am I staying in a shed, I’m not Bill Oddy!  I am half expecting Jeremy Beadle to jump out of the hut!  Of course, Lynne thinks it’s hilarious!  Lynne is obviously living in a parallel universe to me as she absolutely loves the Woody Tramp, the style, the colours, the location…the location I can’t argue with, the backdrop of mountains is breathtaking.

Woody Tramp at Camping Aaregg

A LUXURY SAUNA We enter the ‘shed’ and the heat is horrific.  From the outside it looks like a shed, on the inside it feels like a sauna, the joys!  Lynne informs me this is called ‘glamping‘, and I decide that whatever it’s called, it isn’t for me.  The temperature at Lake Brienz is unusually hot for this region, a barmy 31oC outside, and still rising.  After a ‘heated’ discussion with my ‘soon to be divorced’ wife (I jest, she would probably murder me well before I could file for a divorce), I reside myself to the fact I have no choice but to stay overnight in the Woody Tramp at Camping Aaregg, I am extremely bleary eyed and tired after two long days travelling, I need sleep!  I hasten to tell you all that this isn’t the first time that I have been less than impressed with my wife’s choice of accommodation, oh no!  It is a short one minute walk to the bar, so I dander off and console myself with a very cold beer.  Lynne and the girls unpack a few overnight essentials from the car, we are leaving for Spiaggia e Mare, Italy first thing in the morning.

Time for a cold one

Veranda and bar at Camping Aaregg in Switzerland

TIME FOR A DIP It’s getting hotter, 34oC, so the girls get changed into their swimming costumes and we head to the lake, it’s a mere 20 metres from our Woody Tramp.  The Swiss sky is blue with a few wispy clouds forming in the distance.  The turquoise water of Lake Brienz feels cool and refreshing; water that has come directly from the glacier mountains.  The girls enjoy splashing about in the lake, whereas I am content to sit with my feet dipped in taking a few photos and enjoying the view, it’s so tranquil and calm beside the lake.  The peace is soon shattered when a couple of Swiss fighter jets do a fly by, this continues on and off for about an hour or so.  They are amazing to watch as they twist and perform ‘dog fight‘ maneuvers through the mountains, the noise is incredible.  I tried to get a few photos of the jets in action but it proved an impossible task.  There’s a large inflatable assault course floating on Lake Brienz, a bit too far out for Lily-Belle so she stays close to the shore.  We are joined by a Coot and then a Swan and her cygnets, knowing just how protective Mummy swans can be, I get the girls to exit the lake and we return to the Woody Tramp to get ready for tea.

The girls taking a dip

Inflatable assault course

Swan Lake

FUN FOR THE LITTLE ONES Lynne came across Camping Aaregg during a late nights internet surfing many years ago.  In typical Lynne fashion, she saved it somewhere in cyberspace for future use.  I can see exactly why she put Camping Aaregg, Switzerland on our list of ‘Must Go’ places!  The site itself is relatively compact and personal; there is a children’s play area with a trampoline, small zip line, swings, roundabout and a climbing frame.  Directly in front of reception there is a giant chess board.

Boing-boing-boing

Checkmate

You spin me right round

Having a swinging time

Motorbike mayhem

Springy number 7

CAMPING AAREGG On the Camping Aaregg site, there is a small shop for essentials, a restaurant and a bar.  We settle down on the wooden veranda outside the bar.  Daddy and Mummy enjoy a well deserved beverage and get in the mood for Italy by ordering a large pizza!  Lily-Belle and Matilda don’t take long getting through the pizza and it’s various toppings.  As you can probably imagine, the facilities in the ‘shed’ are limited, after all, it is glamping, so we pop along to the shower and toilet block to freshen up before bed.

Don’t be smelly, use Nelly

Clean as a whistle

Insert your own loo and number two joke here

Watching me, watching you

WHO’S A SMELLY NELLY Who would have thought that one of the highlights of Camping Aaregg would be the toilets!  Lily-Belle and Matilda were ecstatic to find children sized sinks and toilets, they even had elephant and teddy bear showers, how cool is that!  There was none of the usual bedtime stand offs of ‘I don’t want to brush my teeth’ or ‘do I have to have a shower?’.  indeed not, both girls would have spent the night there if they could have.  After finally dragging the girls away, it was back to the hut to settle down for the night, after-all, we do have a long journey ahead tomorrow.  Aside from the heat, we were impressed by the cosy size and the sleeping arrangements in the Woody Tramp; you wouldn’t think it from the outside, but it’s actually a fair size, the hut held a table and chairs, dressing table, small kitchenette and two huge double bunk beds.  Lily-Belle and Matilda loved having to climb the ladder to sleep up in the rafters.

Bunk bed buddies

MORNING, BUT I HAVEN’T SLEPT YET The three girls slept well in the Woody Tramp and one of them snored the whole night, I’ll give you a hint…it wasn’t Lily-Belle or Matilda!  The combination of snoring and the stifling heat meant I never got a wink of sleep.  The Woody Tramp does have windows, but as soon as you open them, mosquito’s come in.  We had no choice but to leave them closed all night.  Back to the shower block to freshen up, brush the teeth and make ourselves semi-presentable for today’s journey to Spiaggia e Mare, Italy.

THIS KITE DOESN’T NEED STRINGS As we approach the exit of Camping Aaregg, Switzerland, we could hear the distant sound of fighter jets, but due to an early morning haze, we couldn’t see them.  We hand the key back in to reception just before 09:00 and we’re off, Italy bound.  As we leave the glamping campsite I see a couple stood looking toward the sky and pointing.  A pair of Red Kites riding the thermals, majestic and effortless.  I grab the camera and snap away, unfortunately only one of the photos is worth keeping.

This kite doesn’t need strings

WHEN IT COMES TO LENSES, SIZE DOES MATTER About half a mile from Camping Aaregg, there’s a magnificent waterfall nestled into the mountain side, I pull over to take a photo out of the car window, and in the corner of my eye I see a fighter jet coming in to land, we decide to see if we can get closer, and we can.  We pull up right next to the runway, a small group of photographers are gathered with an assortment of camera’s and lenses, I’m almost too embarrassed to bring out my Nikon D3200, but I do, and I add my 55-200 lens to make the camera look bigger, it was still like putting a goldfish next to a great white shark, I’ve never seen lenses as big.  The photographers start clicking away as a Swiss Fighter Jet makes its descent toward the runway, touchdown…really smooth landing.

F/A-18C Hornet J-5012

Mercedes Sprinter 313CDI

Waterfalls, natures very own tap

A rare glimpse of Pilatus PC-12

A LONG AND WINDING ROAD We stay and watch a total of four jets land, the photographers begin to pack up and leave and we do the same.  Our journey to Italy takes us over one of the most ionic mountain passes in the world, the Susten Pass.  A winding road with more curves than a pool party at the Playboy Mansion.  There are switchbacks, hairpin bends, steep climbs, even steeper drops (should you fall over the edge) and the most spectacular scenery you could possibly imagine.  The Swiss Army has quite an inconspicuous presence in this area, you see the vehicles, you hear the jets, but you never see any military personnel.  One can only presume they are using the Alps as their training ground.

The scenic Swiss Alps

NOT YOUR EVERYDAY PLAYGROUND The Susten Pass was built between 1938 ad 1945 and is 2,260 metres at its highest point.  The 26 miles of road connects the villages of Innertkirchen in Canton Bern and Wassen in Canton Uri.  This iconic road is a playground for thrill seekers in high spec cars and on powerful motorbikes, the pass also attracts cyclists from all over the world.  The challenge is to make it to the top and back down again, preferably without the use of Air Ambulance (or a hearse).  It looks like a real lung buster on a bicycle!  We pass several cyclists heading up the mountain, very slowly, and several cyclists fly past down the mountain, very fast! Fearless or Stupid, it’s not up to me to decide.  We just hope they all make it up and down in one piece.

Throttles and thrillseekers

1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Feeling the need for speed

SHOUD HAVE PACKED A BOBBLE HAT We climb the Susten Pass and stop where possible to take photos of the monumentous mountains and cascading waterfalls, we are completely overwhelmed by the beauty of this region.  As we began the drive in Innertkirschen, we noted the outside temperature as 26oC, and as we climb towards the top of the Pass, the digital numbers on the car thermometer drop one by one, 11, 10, 9, 8…we increase the temperature inside the car, toasty warm.  We stop at the Stein Glacier which is located on the South side of the pass.  A quick Wikipedia search tells me it is about 2.5 miles long, and decreasing in size.  Back in 1973 the glacier was a little under 4 miles long.  Such a beautiful place.

Stein glacier

TIME FLIES WHEN YOU’RE ENJOYING THE VIEW Our journey to Spiaggia e Mare began at 10:30 with a drive over the magnificent Susten Pass, the time has flown by and it’s just before 15:00…we haven’t reached the top yet!  Close to the summit we stop at a cafe; it’s a self-service cafe and the staff don’t speak any English, and we don’t speak any Swiss.  We point at the sausages, gesture x4 and take a seat.  The food was nothing to write home about, bland and expensive is about as much as I can say really.  We continue along the Susten Pass and very soon we begin our descent.  There’s nothing more satisfying or as blissful as descending swiftly (but safely) down a sharp twisting road in a car, well, maybe on a bicycle, but for today I’m happy in the car.

We continue the final part of our road journey to Spiaggia e Mare, passing through Milan en route.  It’s just before 21:00, the sun is setting and we still have 2 hours of driving left.  Lily-Belle and Matilda are fast asleep.

Sunset over Milan

WOULD WE GO BACK Well…Switzerland is a must for our family to return to; the scenery is spectacular and there’s an abundance of things see and to do, but what you can see and do depends on the time of year you visit, our stay was late June 2016. We would be more than happy to stay at Camping Aaregg in the future but maybe not in the Woody Tramp.  On site there are bungalows situated right on the lakes edge, fantastic panoramic views, the bungalow would be our choice for any future visit.  The Susten Pass should be on everyone’s ‘bucket list’ and we do mean everyone, such an amazing iconic drive.  We fell in love with Switzerland and just wish we would have stayed a little longer to explore the region.

LILY-BELLE SAYS I have always wanted a bunk bed so I really liked the hut, me and Matilda got to sleep on the top bunk.  I liked being right next to the lake for paddling. The assault course looked good but it was to deep for me.  The showers were fun, the water came straight from the elephants trunk, I would like a shower like that at home. MATILDA (age 3) SAYS The elephant was good.  I like(d) the pizza.

tip:  take plenty of wonga, Switzerland is not cheap. tip tip:  if you plan on using the motorways to travel through Switzerland, you need a ‘vignette’, on your vehicle windscreen, the cost for our car was £32.00 and the vignette lasts until 31st January (yearly) regardless of which month you buy it.  You can buy your vignette online before you travel, or at petrol stations (not all) and at border control.  We nearly forgot to buy one, do this at your peril…you will be fined well over £100 if you get caught on the motorway without one.

Travel Itinerary Ireland to Holyhead:  Irish Ferries  £294.00 (return trip) Eurotunnel:  1 car £85.00 Camping Aaregg is seasonal so please phone prior to visiting to ensure your journey isn’t wasted note: season opens on 1st April and closes on 30th September Date of stay:  22nd June 2017 (mid season) Tel:  (0041) 33 951 18 43 Email:  [email protected] Woody Tramp Pricing:  Accommodation £56.00 (this is just for the hut) Adults:  £9.00 each per night Children age 6-15:  £5.50 each per night Children 5 and under:  free

information, currency and prices are correct at time of post

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All views, opinions and experiences are that of The Callaghan Possy and are correct at time of publication.  Photos taken by Andrew Callaghan for use and distribution by Around The world In 18 Years.

SWISS SLEEPOVER SWISS SLEEPOVER AT CAMPING AAREGG If I mention Switzerland I imagine your mind is putting together a scene of a snow covered mountain skyline, chairlifts ascending skyward, snowboarders carving out paths in the snow and possibly an evening of Apres Ski, and in all fairness, you wouldn't be wrong.  

New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/business/cherry-tomatoes-could-cost-10-more-within-a-week-of-brexit-2/

Cherry tomatoes could cost 10% more 'within a week of Brexit'

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Media captionTomato prices may go up in the event of a no-deal Brexit

The cost of cherry tomatoes could increase by more than 10% if there is a no deal Brexit, say growers in southern Spain.

Earlier this week, I visited a vast site near Alicante, where 60 million kilograms of cherry tomatoes are grown, picked and shipped every year and a third of them are bound for the UK.

But growers are worried that a no deal Brexit is going to push up the price we pay for them in the shops.

Jorge Brotons is the commercial director for Bonnysa and deals with all the big UK supermarkets. The business has been growing tomatoes for the UK since 1956.

Why Dutch fear no deal will leave onions to rot

No-deal Brexit ‘to leave shelves empty’

“We’re trying to understand what the different scenarios can be. If there is no deal, we’ll have to trade in a different way as tariffs will be applied, new inspections and this means we add new processes to current situations,” he says.

Ultimately it means more work, more time, more people to make checks and all that means more costs.

“The cost in agriculture and margins are very very tight, and the history of prices shows tomatoes haven’t increased in 15 years,” he says.

“With all costs increasing our margins are so tight – we can’t absorb any more cost and any more costs in that chain means losses and having to decide to do something else.”

Image caption A worker processes cherry tomatoes at the Bonnysa plant

We start the day at Bonnysa’s vast greenhouse complex which spans a huge valley in northern Alicante. The sun shines brightly and the temperature is around 15 degrees, a reminder of why salad growing here is much easier than in the UK in January.

In the greenhouse we visit, we meet two pickers undertaking the fortnightly harvest. Within 15 minutes they’ve gathered trays of their bright red bounty and it is on to the factory for processing.

The pickers have no idea how many cherry tomatoes pass across the factory floor per year – they laugh when I ask. And it’s not hard to understand why. They’re everywhere.

One sorting line spreads them, then photographs them and another separates them. We see all of the big UK supermarkets’ labels on the boxes bound for the UK, but I can’t tell you who they are as the firms requested confidentiality. For them, it is too sensitive to be heard talking about Brexit – even when it’s just tomatoes.

Image caption Trota transports 200 lorries of tomatoes to the UK every week

Angel Jiminez is director of exports at Trota, a logistics firms that sends 200 lorries of tomatoes to the UK every week.

So how would a no deal Brexit affect their business? “Right now there is no paperwork involved to cross the border and we can cross easily, but more paperwork means delays. Time is money, more days is more time – and it is the final buyer who pays for everything.”

He also says the haulier industry is no where near prepared enough: “Brexit is not going to be easy at the beginning.”

Uri is one of the many Trota drivers that transport Bonnysa’s cherry tomatoes to the UK. It’s Monday and he’s just about to begin the 2,000km journey from the Alicante plant, across Spain and France, and on to Britain through the Channel Tunnel.

Eurotunnel is the preferred crossing for most perishable food items, and by volume the tunnel carries more food than car parts because of its speed and access to market. For Bonnysa it is vital that it continues to function smoothly after Brexit, whatever deal is achieved.

At least according to the company that operates the tunnel, firms need not worry.

“Here at Eurotunnel we’re ready, soft Brexit, hard Brexit we’ve been preparing for two and a half years. We’ve taken the worst case scenario as our goal all the way through,” says John Keefe, director of public affairs at Eurotunnel.

“We will be able to deliver our transport system from day one from both sides.”

I join Uri in the truck from Calais and we head through the tunnel and into Folkestone for the final leg of his journey – on to the supermarket distribution centre. All in all, it takes just over two and a half days to transport a tomato from Bonyssa’s vines to sub-zero temperatures in Dartford.

They’ll be on the supermarkets on Friday in time for your weekend salad.

There is zero friction on our journey (apart from some snow), but the concern from Spain is that the introduction of new checks and customs at any point in the trip will add new costs if there’s a no deal Brexit – and that means higher prices for UK shoppers, a thought shared by Justin King, former boss of Sainsbury’s.

“The nature of our very efficient food supply chain is there is little surplus cost or margin along the way,” he says. “The more inefficient it becomes, the ability of suppliers and retailers to absorb that is very limited. They will be passed on to consumers and really quite quickly.”

Short Story

Criticism welcome, I’m trying to work on Jacob being a bit more relatable.

December 12th, 2043, 4:02 AM

Exhaling the cold, crisp winter air, Jacob looked up at the sky.  The night was once again a dull orange-gray, bright city lights bouncing off low hanging clouds, as if the past forty hours hadn’t even happened.  He still wasn’t crying.  It had been a very, very long day… night?  What do you even call it when you’re up for that long?  And that was another thing he did to avoid thinking about things, wasn’t it, desperately pursuing the most inane of thoughts.  Snow began to fall.  Once the summoned taxi arrived, he collapsed into the vehicle, suddenly almost unable to move.  It was a nice thing, wasn’t it, that there were no more drivers that’d be tempted to ask questions, huh?  He thought back…

—-

December 12th, 2043, 2:53 AM

They were supposed to have time for naps, but somehow it still hadn’t happened.  Jacob filled out the last sheet on the last patient to leave his care, and got the chance to sit down and commiserate with a resident who’d been up for sixteen hours himself.  Incredible, really, how many people were coming in, the hospital had even had to call in many people that were supposed to have the day off.  He almost fell asleep right then and there when his pager buzzed - another patient was arriving.  He returned to the ICU just in time for the patient to be rolled in on a gurney.  A young man, brown haired and tattooed, with a broken left arm sticking out at an awkward angle, and burns on his right.  He had a familiar face.  The nurse handed off the forms, minor concussion and blood loss as well.  It was a fairly standard operation, and quite similar to the other cases that had been flooding the ward.  

Jacob only realized something was wrong when the young man suddenly stopped breathing.  He attempted to resuscitate the man, but it was too late.  Looking at his face, Jacob suddenly realized where he’d seen it before: it was Lewis.

–––

May 12th, 2036, 11:10 PM

Jacob’s 21st birthday had passed without celebration two days before.  Now that exams were finally over, Jacob let Lewis drag him out to drink, for once.  Lewis had been Jacob’s closest friend – not that that was saying much – since freshman year.  Lewis was a tall, lanky man with well kept but short brown hair.

After asking he frowning bartender for a beer, Lewis turned back to Jacob.  “What do you want to drink?  

“I don’t know… whatever you think would be best, I suppose.”

“Bartender, another beer?”

The bartender quickly served another.  Lewis began to drink, while Jacob stared off into space.

“What’s the problem?  I’m paying for this, not you, and this place isn’t exactly cheap?  I mean, we even have a human bartender.  The least you could do is enjoy yourself a little bit, for once.”

More silence.

“Are you worried about exams?   Jacob, I’m sure you did fine, you studied way, way more than I did.  There’s nothing you can do, now anyway, so why not relax?”

Jacob frowned and nodded.  He admired - envied - Lewis’s ability to relax and be satisfied, even though Lewis was near the bottom of the class.  But then again, the former likely had something to do with the latter.

Lewis went onwards.  “And let me guess, you’re worried about writing your med school applications?  Jesus Christ, you have to rest, sometime.”

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

They managed to talk, for a little while - Lewis talked about the book he read before exams, the latest news about the fight over the Basic Income bill in Congress.  Jacob had little to add to the conversation, but, at least, it was nice to talk for once.

–––

May 20th, 2037, 2:42 PM

After the graduation, Lewis and Jacob met on the quad.  By some miracle, Jacob had graduated Summa Cum Laude.

“Are you glad to finally have that behind you?”  Lewis asked.

“I suppose so,” Jacob replied.  “How are your plans on that startup going?”

“Okay, I suppose.  I’ve contacted a few investors, I don’t quite have them sold but they are listening.  And you, do you have any plans for the summer?”

Jacob smiled, “I’m planning on taking a few summer courses on programming in France.”

Lewis looked somewhat disappointed.  “I thought you hated programming.  You don’t have to do anything right now, you have no one to impress, you’re already accepted to med school, and you’re still just going on and on and on?”

“Well, I mean, more and more stuff is being automated, I have to get in a little bit of flexibility…”

“That’s your problem, man, you know?  You always, always just go with the flow, do what you think others want, strive and strive, you never really ask what you want to do.  Have you ever broken a rule, had fun a day in your life?   Listen, just take the summer off, take a vacation, do something for yourself for once,” Lewis said.

“Well, I guess so.”

“Make a choice!”

Jacob paused, for a long time.  That, a break, would be a nice idea, yes, I’ll do it, maybe you could come with me, somewhere -

“…This is something that I need to do.  I mean, France is a nice place in the summer, and nowadays, I need every advantage that I can get.  I’ve lived my whole life preparing to be a doctor, more and more stuff is being automated, and I don’t want to get sidelined at this point.  I’ll drop a course or two, but, I should have buckled down and done this beforehand instead of those history courses, and I guess I’m now paying the price.”

“If that’s how you feel…”  Something had gone cold in the air between the two men.  They still had each other’s contact information, but over the course of the next year, the messages between the two would become more and more infrequent until they petered out altogether.  

—-

December 12th, 2043, 4:20 AM

Jacob had always imagined Lewis being happy, content, successful.  He’d just never really thought about any other possibility… that was just the way things would happen, because Lewis was that kind of person.  Maybe it was part of the reason that he withdrew himself from Lewis - some subconscious part of the mind wanting to keep that foundational image steady.  

But now, it cracked, and another series of events fell into place in Jacob’s mind.  On one of the last few messages, he remembered complaints about investors calling for immediate profitability when the company still needed to just grow.  If the investors spooked, or if the market Lewis was aiming for wasn’t as spacious as he thought, or a million other things, the business could collapse like so many other “Next Big Things. “ And then, where would Lewis head, who’d spent his time building connections and making ideas for an entrance into the business world instead of buffing up his GPA for a steadier job?  He could find something, but, well, anything can go wrong, and when they start going wrong it’s difficult to stop the slide all the way down, no?  Those full body tattoos – there are so many others competing for the slot that any little thing would render you practically disabled, you’d only see that on a man who’d lost hope.  

…Ten hours ago, he had shooed away a secretary who had told him there was an important call for him, and never got a long enough break to remember it.  Now, he wondered if maybe whoever it was had also called his cellphone.  5 messages in voicemail, from… another hospital?  Tap, read the transcriptions…  

-20 hours, “Your mother had a heart attack today…

-10 hours, “We’re sorry to inform you, but your mother has passed away…

He had to actually listen to them, just to make sure he’d gotten it right.  Really?  Really!

—-

December 12th, 2043, 4:28 AM

The car finally parked in front of his apartment complex.  As if on autopilot, he walked through the doorway, through the uninhabited lobby, and stared at the elevator door for thirty seconds.  *Ding*.   A minute later, he was in his apartment.  He wondered what was on the news.

“…Protesters expressed outrage over refusal to raise…”

Flip the channel.

“…Police have restored order after the riots in the Southwest Quarter…”

That would explain all the burns and broken limbs.

He still envied Lewis.

All this, all this, and it had gotten Jacob nowhere.  Decades of dedication, and for what, some dream in the distance?  He wasn’t worthy of it.  He was a failure, clumsy, stupid, lazy, unworthy, a fake.  Would he ever have that satisfaction, that ability to take life as it came?  He doubted it.  There was no light at the end of the tunnel.  Or if there was, he couldn’t wait for it.  When was the last he really, really talked with someone?  Or when he really felt like he was having fun?  Was it worth waiting, struggling any longer?  Lewis was gone, he’d abandoned him, then killed him.  His mother and father both died without so much as a goodbye.  He was never going to be happy.

Slitting his wrists - no, he never had any tolerance for his own pain.  Jumping - too attention seeking.  His sleeping medicine… yes, that would work, wouldn’t it?  Just, say goodbye to those nights so tired and drained and frustrated that he couldn’t so much as go to sleep, now permanently.  He got a bottle of water from the fridge.  Then, down, one, by one, by one…

——

December 15th 2043, 11:05 AM

White walls, the resident in the corner.  In retrospect… In retrospect… he couldn’t believe he’d taken the whole bottle at once.  How many failed suicide attempts had he seen of that variety?  Had he really been that dumb, that impulsive?  Well, he could certainly say goodbye to his career, at least.