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terribletaletime · 2 years

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Gluttony and wrath

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It was Monday June 19th, 12:01 a.m. When Jon woke up with his stomach biting and growling. He was starved; the one thing on his mind was a savory midnight snack. Well, with how hungry he was it would be more like a midnight feast. He threw his comforter off of his body and hopped onto the floor. He quickly jumped back onto the bed when his feet hit the floor. For some reason, the floor felt as if it were burning.

"What the hell?"

He wondered what could possibly explain this phenomenon. Jon considered for a moment that maybe he was just in a really weird dream, that the boiling floor was just a figment of his imagination. His stabbing stomach quickly proved that theory to be wrong.

"Well... it is summer, I guess. Maybe this is just some global warming thing."

Jon reached down to the floor and grabbed the slippers next to his nightstand. Luckily, these padded his feet enough from the heat to make the ground walkable. He headed into his kitchen to see what delectable delight there was to devour. Even the air in the kitchen felt hot. He was relieved when he opened the fridge and was blasted with a wave of cold air. He smiled to himself when he saw his leftover lasagna from the night before. It was his late great grandmother's recipe. To him, nothing in the world compared. She was fresh off the boat from Italy, and had magical hands when it came to food. Now, his wasn't nearly as good as hers, but by god was it close enough.

Jon walked over to the couch and sat down next to his sleeping dog Odie. He made a chchch sound to delicately wake the dog up and threw him a small piece of the lasagna. Odie snatched it and ran into the next room to devour it. Jon let out a chuckle and turned on the TV. His joy abruptly ended when he saw the screen. There, in bold letters, he saw on the news "HUNDREDS DEAD OVERNIGHT!" His stomach dropped, what was this? John turned up the volume on the TV.

"For the past nine mondays there have been hundreds of unexplained deaths. Entire families go to bed and the next morning nothing but their bones are found. The bones that are found are miraculously completely clean, there is not a speck of flesh or blood found on them. From in-home cameras we're able to estimate it happens sometime after midnight, as all of the camera outages we've tried to recover midnight is the time it goes completely black. Police departments everywhere have said they have no clue how these deaths are occuring. Please, lock your doors and be vigilant."

Just then he was interrupted by a pained whimpering sound.

“Odie?"

He cried out for his dog, but there was no response. He crept through the halls, trying to be as delicate as possible. After what he saw on the TV, he was paranoid that even the slightest noise would get him killed. He walked into his bedroom when he saw the most horrific sight. Odie's bones lay on the floor in front of him. He felt as if he were in a museum looking at a dinosaur exhibit. The bones lay there perfectly cleaned and arranged. He slowly backed up when he heard a creak from the hallway. He ran into the closet and held his breath. Slowly, a giant beast crept into the room. It was cat-like in appearance. It walked on all fours, it was fuzzy and orange with brown stripes, it had whiskers, triangle ears, and a long snout, but there was so much off about it. Its legs dragged as it walked, it was about ten feet in height, its teeth were long and sharp, frothy white foam dripped from its mouth, its eyes were a bright red, its body was engorged with fat, and it had claws the size of a butcher's knife.

"Jooooooooooooon," it said in a deep growling voice. "Where are youuuuuuuuuu? I'm so hungry, perhaps you could feed me."

What was this this thing, how did it know Jon's name, how did it get into his house, and how the fuck did it do that to Odie? All of these questions raced through his mind. His lungs started to burn and his vision was getting spotty. He was holding his breath in for too long, he needed to breathe. The creature circled the room and started to head out when Jon finally let his breath out as it stepped over the threshold. In a moment, the creature ran to the closet door and pried it off.

"Well, hello there friend. I've enjoyed our little game of hide and seek but unfortunately you've lost."

It's laugh rattled the room. In a quick moment, Jon grabbed a coat hanger and jammed it in the creature's eye. It screamed so loud his ears started to ring. While it ripped the hanger out Jon made a run for it. He ran to his front door and tried desperately to run out when he discovered the door wouldn't open. He looked out the windows and everything was pitch black. He couldn't even see the faint glow of the moon. He heard furious thumps quickly approaching and had to think fast. If he couldn't escape, his only hope was to fight. He bolted to the kitchen and grabbed two of his biggest knives. One in each hand, he stood ready for the beast to approach. It didn't take long for the beast to catch up to him. Its eye was bloody, but somehow healed. The hanger... it did nothing. How was that possible, how has it healed already?

"My oh my Jon, what do you have there? What do you plan on doing with those?"

Jon clenched his hands around the knives and grit his teeth. He was terrified and shaking, but he did his best to stand strong and appear as menacing as he could.

"Go to hell!"

He screamed as he ran and stabbed the beast. One knife went through its skull and the other through its heart. The beast wailed in agony and fell to the ground. It lay there unmoving bleeding out. Jon kicked it to ensure its death and let out a sigh of relief once it remained still. He did it, he beat the beast. He avenged Odie. He avenged the hundreds of people that had died. He fell to his knees and wept. All of this was horrible, so so horrible. A rumble came out from in front of him.

"No... please... no..."

The rumble became louder, and soon a laugh followed it.

"Don't you get it, Jon? I can't go to hell, we're already there."

"What?"

Jon lifted up his head towards the beast who was slowly rising.

"I am hell, I am glutton, I am sin. I am Garfield. With me I bring the burning fury of the world, ready to devour all of you pathetic mortals. You pollute the earth with your filth and betray your fellow man with your selfish desires. For every one good deed done by a mortal, there are a hundred horrid actions done. I am here to rectify gods pathetic mistake and eradicate every last one of you."

The beast now stood tall, fully healed from its wounds. He had tears in his eyes, he had never been more scared.

"It's over oh my god it's over I'm dead I'm so dead"

He repeated the same thing in his head over and over again as the beast got closer, when he noticed there was an opening. He ducked and sprinted underneath the beast's legs and ran for his life. He ended up running down the stairs and shoving himself into his basement closet. He was trapped. It was only a matter of time until the beast would find him. What was he going to do? He couldn't escape the house and he couldn't fight the beast. He felt hopeless until he noticed something in the corner of his eye. A box of rat poison sat on the shelf next to him. If he couldn't kill Garfield from the outside, maybe he could from the inside, but how would he get him to ingest it? He thought for a moment until the sad reality dawned on him. There was no escaping Garfield's wrath. He will find Jon, and he will eat him. This was an inescapable truth. However, if Jon eats the entire box of rat poison, and then Garfield eats him, maybe he too will be poisoned. Maybe Jon's death can mean something, maybe, just maybe, he can save others. The beast's footsteps grew louder as Jon shoveled the fistfuls of poison into his mouth.

"This will work. It has to," he thought as he heard the closet door behind him creak open.

#jon arbuckle #garfield and odie #garfield the cat #garfield #garf #lasagna #murder fic #cursed fic #joke fic

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terribletaletime · 2 years

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Neko-napped

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Farquaad put on his suit and tie, preparing for another awful day as a teacher. God, his students were ungrateful brats. He'd teach and teach but they never once paid attention to him, though. Not unless he hat his hat off, and that was only to laugh at him. You see, Farquaad was cursed with a great shame. His mother really pissed off a bitch of a witch and she cursed him with two little cat ears. It made him a freak his entire life and, much like his classroom, he was always either ignored or laughed at. He never found his person, he never found a friend or a lover who could just look past it all and accept him endlessly. Not even his own parents loved him unconditionally. They never once looked him in the eyes. He was an outcast, and he had to confront this reality every time he looked in the mirror. How pathetic.

Shrek hid behind a bush. If he made the slightest movement, Farquaad would know he was there. He couldn't let that happen. No, everything had to be perfect. He watched every movement Farquaad made from the view of his kitchen and Livingroom windows. God, did his heart swell every time he had looked at Farquaad. He was his teacher, and from the moment he saw him he had fallen in love. Shrek, too, was an outcast. Ogre's were seen as filthy violent beasts, and the idea that one could ever be smart enough to be educated was a joke. He had fought his way to get to college, and the millisecond he had stepped on campus he was met with resistance and laughter from both his peers and teachers. Farquaad, however, always treated him right.

The small man walked outside of his home and locked the door. He secured his hat on tightly and started to make his way past his bushes and towards his car door when suddenly he was tackled. He resisted and struggled, but the weight and strength of the large man restrained him. He was tied up with thick scratchy rope and a chloroform rag was put over his mouth. He shook his head and tried to hold his breath, but ultimately it was a useless struggle as he eventually succumbed to the gas-induced slumber.

Farquaad woke up cold and wet. He looked around and saw that he was in a dank and closed off basement. There was a water leak above him, probably from faulty plumbing (do you have plumbing problems like Shrek? Call Pete's Hard Pipes! He'll fix up your pipes real good, for only $12.78 every 30 minutes he's on the job! It's a steal! Quite literally a steal! Every material we use to fix up your house we robbed from you the night before. So, really, you pay us to get your pipes back. Call now, and for fucks sake don't even slightly get the idea to call the cops because we'll have a guy come break your kneecaps!). The light was dim, so he couldn't see perfectly but he could see the vague outlines of the things around him. He was laying atop a large bed with soft comforters and pillows, there was a large cough with a tv sitting right in front of it, there were posters and paintings all along the wall likely to try to make it seem less-threatening than it actually was, there was a toilet with a room divider next to it, and there was a dining table with two chairs. One of the chairs had chains and cuffs all around it.. He saw a camera in the corner with a dim light shining onto him. It seemed to be the only light source around.

"Hey!" He called out, desperate for help. "Hey where am I?" He tried to move, but suddenly realized that he was chained up.

"Shit, what's going on here?" He saw the door on the top of the stairs open, and out came a tall, fat, and green ogre. He quickly recognized it as Shrek, the only student who actually listens to what he has to say.

"Shrek, is that you? What are you doing here? What... what am I doing here? Surely this is all a misunderstanding, right?" Farquaad let out a nervous chuckle.

"Oh Fara, my love, you are so truly naïve. Can't you see what I've built for you?"

Shrek flicked a light switch and there the room was revealed in full view. Everything he had seem before was now illuminated, and he started to realize the small details. The bedding was exactly the same as what he had at home. The posters and paintings he had were all of media that he liked and places that he had been to. Even the dining table and couch was the same as what he had at home.

"What... how..." Shrek bent down to be at the same level of the now quivering and confused man. He put his hand on Farquaad's mouth and shushed him. He then moved his hand towards Farquaad's cheek and gently caressed it.

"Beautiful," Shrek said. "You're beautiful in every way." Farquaad pulled his head back.

"Don't fucking touch me! Listen, Shrek. I respect you as a student, sure, but this? Shrek this is insane. You have to let me go, I wont tell anyone. I swear on my life, Shrek, I'll keep this between us. Besides, you've got this delusion in your head I'm somehow beautiful but you don't even know me. Not really. This will all be for nothing if you truly did, so let's quit while we're ahead, yeah?" Shrek seemed to get angry at this statement.

"Why would you EVER say something as shameful as that? You are the love of my life! You are the most beautiful man I've ever seen!"

"No, I'm not! I'm shameful, if only you knew! Maybe they're all right, maybe Ogre's really are morons because you can't even understand a simple fact that I'm nothing more than a freak!" Shrek took a step back, completely shocked at the fact that the person he worshipped had turned on him. He looked at Farquaad with disgust and started to walk away. Fearful that if he went away he may never come back, Farquad called out to Shrek.

"Wait- I, uh, I'm... I'm sorry. It isn't you, Shrek. It's me. I've got a secret that, well, I've done everything I could to hide it but people always find out and people always leave me for it. You're not the moron, I am. I shouldn't have taken my fear of you turning on me out on you." Shrek stopped in hid tracks and he turned around, his face riddled with pity.

"Everyone always looks down on me," Shrek said. "But you never did. You always believed in me in class. You would help me with assignments, give me extensions, and call on me when I raised my hand. I've tried to talk to people before, to love them. Every time I go to meet someone, they run away. I couldn't let that happen with yo. My heart swells at the very thought of you. So, I've been watching you every day. I've been studying every little thing I could about you so that way I could know exactly how to make you happy. Farquaad, I know your secret. I've been seeing you from your windows every day. Your ears don't scare me. The only thing that scares me is the thought of you ever looking down on yourself, the thought that you think that you don't deserve any love."

Farquaad started to tear up and turned his head away. Why, why did he feel this way? Shrek gently removed his hat and stroked Farquaad's cat ears with tender love and care. Shrek was his captor, he was the enemy. He was supposed to do everything he could to run away and hide. Yet, all he wanted to do right now was to be with Shrek. For the first time in his life he was unconditionally loved. In fact, he was so loved that Shrek risked everything to build a small life together. Maybe, just maybe, this sick fate was their destiny. Maybe something as deprived like this was perfect for two freaks. Farquaad leaned in and kissed Shrek. Nothing had ever felt more right in either of their lives.

It had been three months of the two of them living together. They had fallen into a routine. They wake up, Shrek makes them a breakfast they share together, Shrek leaves to go to class and to work, he comes back, Shrek makes them lunch, they watch TV together for a few hours, make out a bit or maybe even go further, eat dinner, and then cuddle before dozing off to sleep. It was perfect. To both of them, it was their fairytale dream life. However, what neither of them realized is that their happy ending would soon come to a crashing halt. Shrek had just come home from class when he seemed agitated.

"What's wrong, love?" Farquaad asked. They had spent enough time together to know the subtle bodily hints to tell when the other is upset.

"We have a problem. They're coming."

"What are you talking about, Shrek?" Shrek sighed as he sat down on their bed.

"I've never told you this, but the university reported you missing about two months ago. They've been investigating it ever since. Once I found that out, I bought a police radio scanner for my car and... I heard over the radio that they're coming. They figured out exactly what I've done and they're on their way. They're going to separate us, we'll never be together again."

"No, NO! They can't do that. Surely there's a way around this. I'll testify! We can say it was all some sort of weird fetish thing, right? They have to believe that, right?" Shrek let out a wry chuckle.

"They'll never believe that my love. There is a way for us to be together forever, though." Shrek pulled out a pistol from his pocket.

"With this, we die together. In our each other's arms, we will be eternally joined. They can't take that away from us." The sirens started to become audible.

"Okay," Farquaad said without hesitation. Let's do this."

Shrek hugged Farquaad as tightly as possible. They both started to sob siflty as they felt the warm embrace of the other. Shrek kissed Farquaad's head and pulled the trigger. His lover's brain splattered all over his face, bedding, and the walls. He cried even harder, and pointed the gun towards his head.

"Here's to forever."

#lord farquaad #farquaad x shrek #shrek #neko #neko fic #joke fic #murder fic #cursed fic

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terribletaletime · 2 years

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Bananarchy

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Evil. Gru had become evil. After twenty years of his darling daughters fleeing the nest and living their own lives far away from him, he had become soured to the world. It's not like his daughters hated him and fled an abusive father, it's just that life swept them away. Slowly, they all moved across the country and started their own lives. Of course they try to find time for their father, but as we all know life just... happens. As the once doting father realized that his daily chats with his darling daughters became rare occurrences, he got angry and bitter. His mother dying didn't help his situation, either. Every little person that brushed by him and tried to speak to him was somehow responsible for all of the pain and fury he felt.

Gru's devious acts used to be theft and miscellaneous little tricks. His evil would inconvenience and scare people, but that's where the line would be drawn. However, as Gru's anger festered his urges increased. It started out with beating a guard that caught him during a heist. The guard was fired up, furious that he was bound. If only they had gagged him, too. He goaded Gru; he screamed at him and called him a coward. He said a true man wouldn't bind him up, and instead would fight him like a man. Gru walked over and nearly bashed his face in. If Bob didn't intervene, then he would've been long dead. Maybe that would've been the better option. The man's face after that was deformed, covered in scars with an eye missing.

He loved it; nothing excited Gru more than the adrenaline he got from his brutality. The violence made him forget the aching hole in his heart that his absent daughters had left. Even if just for a second, it numbed the unbearable pain, but it was never enough. The more atrocities Gru had committed, the more he craved it. It went from beatings to homicide at an alarming rate. His inventions to shrink and steal things became inventions to slaughter as many people as possible. He would experiment with new and fun ways to do it; he would squeeze the life out of someone with his own hands one day then burn someone to death with a ray the next.

"Ba sup Whaaat? pik tos reffud da be (this isn't what it was supposed to be)", Bob thought.

When Bob was just a child, he had joined forces with Gru. Together they comitted various fun and petty crimes, but he never signed up for murder. Gru didn't care about this, though. He wouldn't confront his own feelings, so nobody else was allowed to feel theirs.

"Kill her." Gru growled at Bob last week.

"Radbad... radbad domo batooay ba. Ka pudum't vivo com gaenu asa ka batooay ba. Lam's sola a lip, Gru. Lam's sola a fucking lip (Please... please don't do this. I can't live with myself if I do this. She's just a child, Gru. She's just a fucking child.) Bob pleaded for the young girl's life. They were robbing a bank and the girl and mother just happened to be cashing a check while it was going down. The girl, who could be no older than seven, threw herself over her mother. She sobbed as the color drained from the woman's eyes and the pool of blood grew around her.

"Mom, mommy, please! Please wake up please! Mommy!" The girls shrieks echoed throughout the building. Bobs heart sunk into his stomach. He pressed the gun to the girls head. She didn't even notice it, her focus was locked onto her still cold mother.

"Ba tis ta merciful tipa da batooay (this is the merciful thing to do)," he thought. "Ta pappala tis een agony recha prompo. Lam sola ethnob la mama ads a agden, asa lam lumfag ba pen lam polo kaylay da vivo com pak sin alga dia de la levo. Pak tis no levo sec ehkit (The girl is in agony right now. She just watched her mother eat a bullet, if she survived this then she would have to live with that image every day of her life. That is no life worth living)."

Bob was desperate to justify the situation. If he did, that meant he wouldn't have to life with the crushing overwhelming guilt. It didn't work, though. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the sobbing girls' chunky blood-soaked brains splattered against that wall. He couldn't bare it. It felt as if there was a truck parked on top of his chest. Every breath he took made it feel as if he were working out for hundreds of hours. He was exhausted, he had to do something. He sent out a secret memo to all minions while Gru was out to gather in their basement base.

"Siblings, radbad bebada. Ka cono ta mew ka dub nama daunting, pelo feila bare nan ugly dun. Gru tis kapee de hottoe (Siblings, please listen. I know the words I speak are daunting, but they bare an ugly truth. Gru is out of control)." A concerned murmur was heard all throughout the room.

"Kan pem fem dugoda eyed yokpye, pem bonded com pak lonely pes lip. Le mobla nos mara filinn yee paslay. Pem hagan la mucha agei modkif elm yee disorder askoud. Pik tos agei, pik tos fid. Seep me unami to ba, kan tos ta tepo veela to dif zelp ba via (When we were bright eyed children, we bonded with that lonely angry child. He made us feel welcomed and wanted. We had so much fun causing chaos and disorder everywhere. It was fun, it was happy. Let me ask you this, when was the last time you truly felt this way)?"

The minions' whispers reached a halt. Pure silence spoke for them. Nobody was happy anymore, nobody was okay anymore. Fear and pain soaked their every thought.

"Qatavo, pem talp cep noor vow ohosae ba ka yee ivycay da tepo hagtot. Qatavo, pem talp bin gru. Noor uts, noor sadness, noor gaspen, pik sama tadda be fino. Pem sama tenga ta oebun wagleu wop yee hub noor hodwhy. Whaaat? batooay to tom (tomorrow, we shall raise our arms against this man and commit one last murder. Tomorrow, we shall kill Gru. Our pain, our sadness, our confusion, it will all be over. We will keep the general population safe and gain our freedom. What do you say)?" Loud cheers filled the rooms. Bob, for the first time in years, was filled with hope. Finally... finally it'll be over.

The next morning, Gru walked through the door. Bob grabbed his gun and pointed it at Gru's head.

"No, gru. Non diejag. Tu reign de terror tis fino. Nopa unama sama seegem tadwiz ta brutal curse tu kor nop (No, Gru. Not anymore. Your reign of terror is over. Never again will anyone suffer the brutal curse your hands hold)." Gru let out a laugh that seemed to echo throughout the entire house.

"What, do you think I fear you? You think I fear your pitiful little gun?" He smirked. "Do it, Bob. Pull the god damn trigger."

Bobs fury bubbled and boiled over. He pulled the trigger, but instead of a loud bang all that was heard was a quiet click. Gru once again let out a loud laugh.

"Oh Bob, you fucking moron. You really thought you could kill me?" Bobs minion siblings surrounded him, holding up various weapons towards him.

"They told me about your little... stunt. I'll give it to you, it certainly was a nice try, but come on. They're not all cowardly wimps like you."

They grabbed Bob and dragged him outside to the backyard where there was a large cross standing on top of a bed of hay.

"No, no radbad stop! pem roopa templa a talamo ohosae lom, radbad! le pudum't tenga gego cos com lo tyranny (no, no please stop! We still stand a chance against him, please! He can't keep getting away with his tyranny)!"

They didn't listen to him, though. All they did was laugh as they strapped him to the cross and put a thorny crown upon his head to inflict maximum pain and ensure he was as... flammable as possible. They threw a torch upon the pile of hay and watched as Bob slowly was roasted to death. HIs screams filled the air, making the atmosphere heavy. They did what they had to, they did what they had to. If they didn't do this, he would kill them. Even if they had succeeded in killing Gru, where would they go? They did the right thing, right?

#despicable me #gru #minion #minions #murder fic #joke fic #cursed fic

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terribletaletime · 2 years

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A late night noise

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I yawned. It was around eleven at night and I had just finished my homework for the day. It was time to finally go to bed to get some sort of rest in hopes of actually being awake enough to pass this class for once. I went out into the dining room and saw my family was there. They were all saying goodnight to each other, as apparently we all had something keeping us up that night. I hugged my two brothers, my mother, and my father. I went into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and got changed into my pajamas, and had a glass of nice cold water to wash down my nightly pills.

As I made my way down the hall I started to feel like my body was being weighed down. I stumbled into room and hit my bed with a thud. It was unusual for me to feel so exhausted. Sure, it was late and I had mentally exhausted myself... but this tired? I was honestly too drained to think of it any further than being a little confused. It took me likely a little under a minute to fall asleep. I can't remember exactly, as at that point my eyes were so heavy I couldn't keep them open long enough to properly look at the clock.

I was woken up a few hours later by a loud bang. It took me a while to be able to pull myself out of bed. My head was fuzzy and the room was spinning. Christ, what the hell? I sat down on my bed and breathed in for a few moments and tried again. I crept in the hallway careful, god forbid it was somehow a burglar or worse. into the hallway and crept through the house trying to find the source of the thud. I figured it was just one of my dogs, but I could never be sure. I went into the kitchen and grabbed a knife, just in the rare case that it could possibly be an intruder. Halfway through me walking down the hallway I heard another bang, along with with my mother's blood-curdling scream. I felt my heart skip a few beats.

The door to my parents bedroom was mostly closed, but it was open just enough to peer through. On the floor was my father's body thrown on top of my older brother's. Their heads both had a bullet hole smack dab in the middle of them and blood leaking from it. I bit my hand to avoid screaming until my throat was raw, but even then it didn't stop me from sobbing. I could hardly comprehend what I was seeing. Surely, surely this wasn't real... this couldn't possibly be!

The attacker took a step forward into my line of view. Holy shit, it was Alvin Seville, as in Alvin form Alvin and the chipmunks. My parents took over managing their business when their adoptive father, Dave, disappeared a few years ago. I guess now I know where he went. As I saw Theodore and Simon carry my my struggling younger brother and hold him down over my father and older brother's lifeless body reality became harder to deny. My brother fought and squirmed, but he was tied up with rope pretty tightly. The three brothers laughed at his attempt to break free.

"Your husband couldn't answer my question and one of your son's paid the price. If you don't fucking give me what I want, then not only will I shoot you and this other one, but your daughter sleeping in the next room over? Well, she may or may not have taken the wrong kind of pills. We'll sell that bitch and sell her off to god knows who. Maybe that'll get rid of the debt you owe me." He snapped his finger and Theodore put a gun to my brothers head, and Simon put a gun to my mothers.

"Now, I'll ask you one last time. Where the fuck is my money? Time and time again we've preformed for you, gone on tour for you, and recorded albums for you. We know you've been pocketing more off of us than you've been letting on. So fork it over. Now."

"Please, please!" My mother furiously shook her head through her sobs. "We don't have it! You've gone crazy, Alvin! We've always been honest with you. We can show you our financial records if you need the proof, please!"

"Wrong answer."

Alvin's face soured as he snapped his fingers once more. His brothers shot both my mother and brother. This time I was unable to contain my scream.

I saw him, Alvin, trap my mother into a corner. "Where's my fucking money?" He asked her. "Your cunt ass sold my fucking albums, but I never got the money." She cried out "I don't know, please I don't know!" This seemed to infuriate him. He took the large butcher knife and hacked her throat and didn't stop hacking until her head was completely off. I couldn't stop myself from screaming this time, and they heard.

I made a break for it, running into the forest in my backyard. My lungs burned as I ran more than I probably ever had before. Each footstep I made had made a loud crunching noise from the leaves under me. Unfortunately for me, this made it easy for them to find where I was. Every step I made, they were one step behind. Theodore and Simon shot their guns at me. I ran diagonally, hoping that somehow this would make me a hard enough target to hit, but one of their bullets hit my arm causing me to face plant onto the ground. They stopped running once they saw I was down. Alvin laughed menacingly as he approached me.

"God, I must commend you. Nobody's ever gotten away from us before. I guess we've learned our lesson, from now on we'll use more pills. Now, we were going to make a buck or two off of you before but unfortunately we have a rather strict policy of no witnesses. I guess now that we've got the time, would you like to say any last words?"

I groaned as I flipped myself over. I glanced to my sides, and that's when I saw it: a large and sharp stick. It wasn't much, it sure as hell was better than nothing. I grabbed it and stabbed Theodore with it with all of my strength. He keeled over, and while Alvin and Simon were still in shock I grabbed his gun and shot the two of them. I had killed the two people who had killed my family. I should've felt relieved, I should've felt happy, I should've felt proud but all I felt was numb.

I physically lived from that day on, but mentally I died. Every time I close my eyes I see the bodies of both my family and the chipmunks. Sometimes I wonder, would it have been easier if I had just let them kill me?

#alvin seville #alvin and the chipmunks #dave seville #simon seville #theodore seville #murder fic #joke fic #cursed fic

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terribletaletime · 2 years

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In the belly of the beast

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You finally got a ticket to your favorite band, Alvin and the chipmunks. You could barely contain your joy as you were, by far, their biggest fan. Your entire room was covered in posters by them. All of your shirts were Alvin and the chipmunks themed and even your bedding had their faces and lyrics on it. Your obsession started years ago when they had first come out. You stumbled across their YouTube video while in some random rabbit hole, and it all went downhill from there.

Theodore was by far your favorite member. There was just something about him that you just loved. Everything from his looks to his voice drove you crazy. He was just so... cute! He was like a lost little puppy that you just wanted to stuff in your pockets and never let go of. He was so innocent, so wholesome, you'd give absolutely anything to meet him.

At first you could never go to their concerts because they always played in States you never were and then by the time they did finally come around the ticket prices were far too expensive. You worked hard, though, and finally got yourself some.

Alvin was your favorite band member by far. You grabbed your coat and headed out. The walk there was cold and long, but eventually the awful walk payed off as you got to the arena. It was huge and quite confusing. You gave your ticket, got checked, and went in. There were so many fans there, it was almost intimidating. It was too overwhelming for you, so you went to go find someplace that wasn't crowded. You ran through multiple hallways and ducked past busy guards who were too busy fending off other fans. You just needed to be alone for a bit, you just needed to collect your thoughts. You didn't talk to many people in your life. Everyone was always driven away by your obsession, they always felt as if you were annoying and weird. So, large crowds weren't really your thing. You saw a closed door and went right for it.

You opened it up and there you saw the very chipmunk you had spent so long obsessing over; there, you saw Alvin. He had his cheeks stuffed. He was clearly eating something. You stumbled on your words. You couldn't find anything to say. That's when you noticed a dark red liquid coming from his puffed out cheeks, and a stray arm on the floor. Oh my god, he was eating someone. You went to run but Theodore and Simon were now blocking the door. You turned back to Alvin. He swallowed his human meal and ran after you. He caught you. He tried to scream but it was clear that either nobody could hear you, or nobody cared. Alvin bit into your arm. Blood gushed out and the pain was unbearable. You screamed again and started to sob. Then off came the other arm.

Now being left truly defenseless, he grabbed you and unhinged his jaw like a snake and swallowed you whole. It was warm, tight, and slimy. You tried to use your legs to stop yourself from falling but it was of no use. Soon you fell into his pool of stomach acid headfirst. Some of it got into your mouth, tasting horrid. You did your best to sit upright, spitting out the rancid liquid that got into your mouth. It was hard to breathe, which made your heart beat faster and faster with anxious thoughts.

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy sh-"

You frantically repeated this in your mind over and over as you screamed and screamed. Ultimately, it wouldn't matter whatsoever as Alvin's fat furry belly would muffle any noises you and any of your other victims may have made. Alvin started to move, and you and all of his other stomach contents jiggled around furiously. Many things rammed into you as this happened, but you were unable to see what any of them were until he finally opened up his mouth again and tilted his head back to consume another. Suddenly, the dismembered corpses floating around in the thick red liquid were illuminated. Before you could scream, the newest victim fell right on top of you, holding your head underneath the acid.

Your lungs burned, your chest exploded, and your head pounded. Luckily for you, this agony was only momentarily, as your life would soon cease to end. Whether it was from the acid eating away at you, you drowning, your body being crushed, or from your heart simply giving out nobody would ever know. The chipmunks were good, too good, for no body would ever be found. Their secret for being so human-like would ever be known. They'd continue to forever be the most beloved band, and you'd be forgotten long before their fame even slightly began to die down.

#alvin and the chipmunks #alvin seville #dave seville #theodore seville #simon seville #vore #vore fic #joke fic #cursed fic

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terribletaletime · 2 years

Text

An unexpected gift

•

It was our wedding night. The ceremony itself had been amazing, we said our vows right in front of a massive waterfall and then danced the night away in a dining hall fit for royalty. That time was up, though. I now stood in front of our hotel room in my itchy wedding gown hand in hand with my new husband. This was the start of a new life, it was almost scary. He smiled at me and squeezed my hand.

"You okay, babe?" Alvin could tell something was wrong, he somehow always knew me better than I even knew myself.

"This is all so new, I'm so nervous."

"About what?"

"I don't know... our new life together, I guess? There's so much we haven't done, we haven't experienced. What if I mess it all up? What if I get you to hate me?"

Alvin just gave me a blank, almost shocked look. I thought for a moment I had made my anxieties true, I thought I had made him hate me somehow. That was until his solid expression shattered into smiles and laughter.

"Nothing you could do could ever make me hate you! You're stuck with me until the end of time, my dear. No matter what happens in life, we're bound together."

We kissed and he swooped me up into his arms, carrying me to our bed. We had been abstaining for years now, and now it was finally our time. I was Mrs. Chipmunk, and I couldn't be happier to finally be with my husband. He was the man who grounded me at my worst, he was the man who made me laugh till I cried, he was the man who knew exactly what I needed when I needed it, and he was the man who I could come to with anything without ever fearing judgement. There was no man on earth I would rather give myself to fully.

Our lips locked in passionate joy, his hands softly travelled down my body. He slowly undid my dress, pulling apart the ribbon holding together the bodice. Once I was fully revealed to him, he threw apart his own tux and threw it to the floor. Finally, after years of desperate and true love we had fully joined as one.

It had been six weeks since the wedding, and life had hit a rather, er, rough... patch.

"Alvin, are you alright?" I said to my now vomiting husband, this now marked the eighth puke of the week. He had been experiencing nausea in the morning along with bad heartburn. Not only that, but he'd been moody like crazy and has been having these awful cramps. It was all so weird.

"Obviously not." He snapped, agitated. Ugh, another one of his mood swings. I rolled my eyes. This wasn't like my typically light-hearted love. It was time for a change, we couldn't carry on like this.

"Alright," I said grabbing his arm. "Time to go to the vet."

The waiting room was silent and smelled like wet dog. I hated the vets, all the poor sick animals that had to be put down made my stomach churn. Every time I heard the distraught screams of someone getting the distressing news that the animal they loved was to soon die, I couldn't help but think of Alvin and every "what if" possible. I could tell he felt the same, his leg was thumping and he threw himself into his phone. He scrolled mindlessly on social media, any time I attempted a conversation he would just give empty replies, not even hearing my words as he was too deep in thought.

"Alvin?" The nurse called out.

"That's us!" I said in the most cheery voice I could, trying to put a light mood to the awful situation. I hoped that maybe Alvin would calm down if he thought I was somehow calm. We walked into the cold room and was met with an man with a withered and wrinkled face. A smile was stretched wide on his face as he tapped the pen to his clipboard.

"Mister Alvin, I've read your chart. It seems we need to do an ultrasound to see what's goin on in those guts of yours, a lot of puking and pain I hear? Don't worry, we'll get ya feeling nice with any hope real soon." He gave a wry laugh as Alvin got onto the large metal table and lied down.

"This'll be cold." The old man said as he put the gel onto my husband's abdomen. He moved the stick around before gasping.

"How... no that can't be right." We started to get worried now. He shouldn't be saying that. Was he sick or dying? Did he have cancer or some fatal disease? Alvin grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight. This was the first time in weeks that he initiated any form of physical touch.

"Doc, please, what's going on?"

"It appears, ma'am, that your husband is... pregnant." Shock filled my body. How the fuck is this possible? He's a man, a biological man! This shouldn't be possible. I was reeling. How... how could this be? It was then that I heard light sobbing sounds coming from Alvin. I was so trapped in my own feelings that I hadn't even considered how he was feeling. After all, he was the one who was pregnant.

"Alvin..."

He ripped his hand away from mine and huddled up into a ball. The vet looked at us and excused himself, giving us time to talk in private.

"I'm sorry," all he could say over and over was that he was sorry.

"What for?"

"This, this... cursed thing! I've ruined us, how could you ever love me when I'm like this?"

For a moment, I was left speechless. I just stared at him, he was so miserable, but I wasn't. I was happy, I was so happy. The idea that we may be starting a family, no matter how we got there. He was still my husband, no matter how moody. I had to make this right, but I didn't know how. All I could think of was how much I loved him, how much he meant to me. That's when our wedding night came to mind. I smiled and took his hand back.

"Nothing you could do could ever make me hate you! You're stuck with me until the end of time, my dear. No matter what happens in life, we're bound together. You said those words to me on our wedding night, you promised me a future together. What makes you think I'd ever feel differently?"

He looked up at me and smiled. Together, we laughed and kissed. This was the start of a new life; this was the start of a life where the two, or rather three, of us truly lived together in bliss.

#alvin and the chipmunks #alvin seville #theodore seville #simon seville #dave seville #tw mpreg #mpreg fic #joke fic #cursed fic

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terribletaletime · 2 years

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How knitting and crocheting can be therapeutic

•

Dementia, mental illness, and chronic pain are all incredibly dangerous due to what they can do to the mind. Dementia is a general term for the loss of memory, the ability to form words, and to problem-solve, a medical condition that involves dementia is Alzheimer’s disease. Dementia mostly affects those who are ages sixty-five and older, so much so that those in that age group have a one in fourteen chance of getting it (Alzheimer's Association). In just the past ten years alone, dementia-related deaths for those over seventy-five have doubled in the past ten years. In 2007, 40,253 deaths of those over 75 were related to dementia, and in 2017 the number was a staggering amount of 87,199 (Alzheimer’s Research UK, 2020).

Mental illness describes a wide range of conditions that affect one’s emotions, thinking, and behavior. Two conditions that are classified as mental illnesses are anxiety and anorexia. Mental illnesses are common, with one in five adults in the United States experiencing it in some form (Apa). Mental illnesses pose a serious threat to one’s health, as an unfortunate side effect of mental illnesses is often suicidal tendencies. In 2018, the tenth-largest cause in the United States of America was suicide, with around 48,344 people ending their own lives (CDC, 2018).

Chronic pain, like dementia and mental illness, is a generalized term. Chronic pain covers all types of ongoing pain that usually last more than six months. Chronic pain can be caused by an injury or illness, or sometimes it just appears without any known cause. (Cleveland Clinic). Chronic pain can impede one’s ability to perform mundane tasks such as normal housework, walking, and using stairs. All of this can lead to dependency on family and, if it gets bad enough, caretakers. (Stamm, A., T, Pieber, K, Crevanna, R, Dorner, E., T., 2016). Chronic pain has also known to create shame in those who have it, as they may feel inadequate since they cannot perform tasks they used to be able to do or sometimes not even be able to be around family and friends as much as they may like to. This shame causes severe self-worth issues and can lead to a massive decline in mental health (Virant, W., Katie, 2019). When surveyed, around 32% of 1,512 people seeking help for their chronic pain mentioned that they had some form of suicidal thoughts (Edwards, R., Robert, 2006), and around 10% of those who had committed suicide in 2014 were found to have been struggling with chronic pain (Roy-Bryne, Peter, 2018).

Dementia can take away both one’s autonomy and life, and the rising numbers of deaths are of great concern. Mental illness can negatively impact a person’s view of themself and the world around them, leading to dangerous thoughts and tendencies. Chronic illness can make just doing something as simple as walking an agonizing experience. With all of that in mind, it can be understood as to why people are looking for ways to help cope with and prevent these conditions. One method of therapy, art therapy, has shown great promise. For those living with dementia, art therapy was proven to help not only boost episodic memories and even had a positive effect on the dementia patient’s mood. This study had dementia patients view paintings in an art gallery, and create art themselves. After a four-week follow-up, it was found that episodic (long-term) memory had been enhanced. They also found that the patients were able to talk easier and form more proper sentences. (Eekelaar, K, Camic, M., P, Springham, N, 2018). On page 9 of Bonnie Thomas’ book, Creative Expression Activities for Teens; exploring Identity through Art, Craft, and Journaling, she explains how art therapy can help struggling teenagers. “Good communication is challenging for even the most eloquent and self-assured adults, so how can we help foster good communication in teens? Words are not always enough. There are times when people need something more to express their deepest most vulnerable thoughts and feelings. This is where art and creative expression come in-it is the perfect companion for teens. Art and creative expression can unleash a whirlwind of emotion; it can say what words cannot.” This excerpt explains how art therapy can provide a voice to teenagers who struggle in expressing themselves, and this helps greatly as it will give a therapist or mental health professional a more accurate view into the mind of their patients so they can more accurately help them. A thirteen-day study on 658 adults showcased another positive on art therapy, and that was mood enhancement. It was reported that most people, who had spent time doing something creative that day, felt happier and flourished that day (Tamlin, S., C, DeYoung, G., C, Silva, J., P., 2016). Those with chronic pain, too, benefitted from art therapy. In a hospital, a study was conducted with 200 patients that were in pain. It was reported that, on average, those who performed creative activities for up to fifty minutes per day were happier and in less pain. Kelsey A. Skerpan, an art therapist with Harvard-affiliated Massachusetts General Hospital, commented on an article about this study, explaining why the results of the more positive mindset may be. “When people are in pain, they often lose their sense of control since their pain dictates what they can and cannot do, engaging in art therapy helps them reclaim ownership in their lives in terms of what art they choose and the steps they take to create something unique. It can provide a powerful form of self-expression as well as a creative outlet.” (Solan, Matthew, 2018). In short, art therapy gave those suffering back a sense of prideful power, which in turn made them much happier each day the fifty-minute routine was followed.

With these proven positive effects of art therapy, many are starting to consider it, however with how many different things fall under “art” it can be hard to pick one particular craft to practice. Studies are showing that knitting and crocheting may be the perfect method for those who are struggling with dementia, mental illness, and chronic pain. In one 44-year long study surveying 800 women, the study had shown knitting had been proven to be a positive effect in these women’s lives, as it found that the women who were artistic and had participated in these activities, in which they listed knitting, had a 46% less chance of developing Alzheimer's (Bazilchuk, Nancy, 2019). In another study, it was found that those who knit were shown to have anywhere from 30%-50% fewer chances of developing mild cognitive dysfunction (Meth-Wick Community). These two studies, whose findings seemingly overlap, prove that knitting can delay the progression of Alzheimer’s. Knitting doesn’t just help prevent dementia, but it can also provide aid to those currently struggling with it. A group called knit2gether organized a meeting for twenty dementia patients to knit with one another. A dementia support manager at Alzheimer’s Society Barnsley, in response to hearing about the group, praised knitting as a hobby for those with dementia. “If someone has dementia their short-term memory may be affected, so if they tried to learn a skill today they probably wouldn't be able to retain the information. However, the memory of a skill learned in their earlier years can remain intact.” The families of those in the group noticed amazing changes, such as their loved one being able to remember more and socialize with more ease (Alzheimer’s Society).

With mental illnesses, the effects of knitting and crocheting were also found to be beneficial. In one international survey posted to a knitting site where 3,545 people responded, they claimed that knitting helped them relax and ease their anxiety (Reily, J, Corkhill, B, Morris, C, 2013). There’s medical reasoning to back up those survey results, too. When people feel anxious, a common side effect is a raised heartbeat (Lindberg, Sara, 2020). The chest pain and racing heart that often comes along with this can create an uneasy feeling or even cause more anxiety (Chemocare), and a study has proven that knitting can lower someone’s heart rate (Lexington Square, 2016), and within doing that it helps ease the unpleasant feeling their anxiety-induced racing heart may be causing. In another study involving thirty-eight women admitted to an eating disorder unit, knitting was also proven to help those with anorexia. 74% of the women reported that it lessened their eating disorder-related fears, 74% reported that it had therapeutic effects, and 53% reported that it gave them a sense of pride (Clave-Brule, M, Mazloum A, Park, J., R, Harbottle, J., E, Birmingham, C., L., 2009).

Lastly, with chronic illness, knitting has helped in two major ways, such as pain management and boosting pride. Sharon Gutman, an occupational therapist who treats people who have illnesses that lead to chronic pains says that she has found that knitting has helped her patients by bettering their mental state and physical abilities. “Mind-stimulating activities such as these have been used by occupational therapists to alleviate symptoms of depression and to help improve motor functions in people with illnesses such as Parkinson’s disease.” (Mascarelli, Amanda, 2014). In one study, it was also concluded that knitting can help alleviate chronic pain as, in a group of fifteen members, those included reported that as they were knitting they did not feel pain as they sat for a prolonged amount of time. Normally, these people would suffer from that, however as they knit they faced little to no repercussions for sitting for an extended time. The same study found another benefit for knitting with chronic pain, and that was the participants would gain a sense of pride from their knitting projects. Those with chronic pain can often suffer from self-esteem issues as they may become limited in what they can do each day, however, knitting has proved to help boost their pride- as when they finish a project it gives them a sense of accomplishment. (Corkhill, Betsan. Davidson, Carol).

With the confusion and loss of self that dementia may cause, the life-threatening mental state mental illness may induce, and the inability to perform usual activities without horrid pain that chronic pain can be known for, those affected by/the loved ones affected by it usually are desperate to find a way to help stave off or manage these three awful things. Thankfully through art therapy, more specifically knitting, those who are looking for help may have found the perfect answer; knitting’s ability to prevent dementia and provide memory aid to those who already have it, ability to strengthen the confidence of those with poor mental health issues and help increase their daily happiness, and ability to help alleviate the pain and shame that those suffering from chronic pain make for a wonderful option for those who require therapeutic help.

Source List

Alzheimer's Association. What is dementia? (https://www.alz.org/alzheimers-dementia/what-is-dementia). Accessed on January 19, 2021.

Alzheimer’s Research UK. Deaths due to dementia. (December 8, 2020). (https://www.dementiastatistics.org/statistics/deaths-due-to-dementia/#:~:text=Deaths%20due%20to%20dementia%20for,quarter%20(25.5%25)%20in%202017). Accessed on January 19, 2021.

Alzheimer’s Society. A knitting group providing a way for people with dementia to remain involved in the community. (https://www.alzheimers.org.uk/get-support/publications-and-factsheets/dementia-together-magazine/knitting-group-providing-way-people-dementia-remain-involved-community). Accessed on January 19, 2021

APA. What is mental illness? (https://www.psychiatry.org/patients-families/what-is-mental-illness). Accessed on January 19, 2021.

Bazilchuk, Nancy. Crosswords, knitting, and gardening lower the risk of Alzheimer's. (March 25, 2019).

(https://sciencenordic.com/alzheimers-dementia-forskningno/crosswords-knitting-and-gardening-lower-the-risk-of-alzheimers/1553869). Accessed on January 19, 2021.

CDC. Leading cause of death. (2018). (https://www.cdc.gov/nchs/fastats/leading-causes-of-death.htm). Accessed on January 19, 2021.

Chemocare. Rapid heartbeat. (http://chemocare.com/chemotherapy/side-effects/rapid-heart-beat.aspx). Accessed on January 19, 2021.

Clave-Brule, M, Mazloum A, Park, J., R, Harbottle, J., E, Birmingham, C., L. Managing anxiety in eating disorders with knitting. (March 14, 2009).

(https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/19367130/). Accessed on January 19, 2021

Cleveland Clinic. Acute pain vs. Chronic pain. (https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/articles/12051-acute-vs-chronic-pain#:~:text=Chronic%20pain%20is%20pain%20that,for%20weeks%2C%20months%20or%20year). Accessed on January 19, 2021.

Corkhill, Betsan. Davidson, Carol. Exploring the Effects of Knitting on the Experience of Chronic Pain – a Qualitative Study. (http://www.stitchlinks.com/pdfsNewSite/research/Poster%20Britsh%20Pain%20Society%20March%202009%20copy.pdf). Accessed on January 19, 2021

Edwards, R., Robert. Pain-related catastrophizing as a risk factor for suicidal ideation in chronic pain. (December 15, 2006). (https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/16926068/) Accessed on January 19, 2021.

Eekelaar, K, Camic, M., P, Springham, N. Art galleries, episodic memory and verbal fluency in dementia: An exploratory study. (2012). (https://psycnet.apa.org/record/2012-05716-001). Accessed on January 19, 2021.

Lexington Square. Not Just Your Grandmother’s Hobby, Knit for a Stronger Heart. (February 23, 2016). (https://www.lexingtonsquares.com/blog/not-just-your-grandmothers-hobby-knit-for-a-stronger-heart/#:~:text=Studies%20show%20the%20repetitive%20movement,heart%20rate%20or%20chronic%20tachycardia). Accessed on January 19, 2021.

Lindberg, Sara. How to lower your heart rate from anxiety, or a panic attack. (March 9, 2020).

(https://www.insider.com/how-can-i-lower-my-heart-rate-from-anxiety). Accessed on January 19, 2021.

Mascarelli, Amanda. Might crafts such as knitting offer long-term health benefits? (April 21, 2014). (https://www.washingtonpost.com/national/health-science/might-crafts-such-as-knitting-offer-long-term-health-benefits/2014/04/21/d05a8d40-c3ef-11e3-b574-f8748871856a_story.html) Accessed on January 19, 2021.

Meth-Wick Community. A yarn you can believe: knitting reduces risk of Alzheimer’s & other dementia. (https://methwick.org/2017/01/yarn-can-believe-knitting-reduces-risk-alzheimers-dementia/). Accessed on January 19, 2021.

Reily, J, Corkhill, B, Morris, C. The Benefits of Knitting for Personal and Social Wellbeing in Adulthood: Findings from an International Survey. (February 15, 2013). (https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.4276/030802213X13603244419077). Accessed on January 19, 2021.

Roy-Bryne, Peter. Chronic pain is a risk factor for suicide. (September 17, 2018). (https://www.jwatch.org/na47486/2018/09/17/chronic-pain-risk-factor-suicide). Accessed on January 19, 2021.

Solan, Matthew. Art therapy: Another way to help manage pain. (July 12, 2018). (https://www.health.harvard.edu/blog/art-therapy-another-way-to-help-manage-pain-2018071214243#:~:text=The%20researchers%20found%20that%20participating,cannot%20do%2C%E2%80%9D%20says%20Skerpan). Accessed on January 19, 2021.

Stamm, A., T, Pieber, K, Crevanna, R, Dorner, E., T. (March 28, 2016). Impairment in the activities of daily living in older adults with and without osteoporosis, osteoarthritis and chronic back pain: a secondary analysis of population-based health survey data.

(https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4810518/). Accessed on January 19, 2021.

Tamlin, S., C, DeYoung, G., C, Silva, J., P. Everyday creative activity as a path to flourishing. (October 17, 2016). (://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/17439760.2016.1257049?journalCode=rpos20). Accessed on January 19, 2021.

Thomas, Bonnie. (2011). Creative expression activities for teens; exploring identity through art, craft, and journaling. London, UK and Philadelphia, PA: Jessica Kingsley Publishers.

(https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4810518/). Accessed on January 19, 2021.

Virant, W., Katie. Chronic illness and shame. (March 17, 2019). (https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/chronically-me/201903/chronic-illness-and-shame) Accessed on January 19, 2021.

#knitting #crocheting #crochet #yarn #fiber work #fiber art #yarnaholic

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terribletaletime · 2 years

Text

An essay I wrote for school a few years ago, maybe two or three, about systematic racism in America. I feel it still holds up.

•

Systematic racism in America has been a debated thing for a very long time. Chances are, this very subject has started a fight or two at a family dinner. It’s not necessarily the argument that systematic racism ever existed, because it would truly be hard and ignorant to deny that most of America was built on the backs of slaves, the argument is more if it still exists or not, if white Americans still benefit from it. The answer found through research is that yes, black Americans are still feeling the devastating effects from systemic racism.

To be able to talk about the current day effects systemic racism has, we need to go back to the roots of it. Let’s talk about segregation. Segregation was the separation of white Americans and black Americans, started in 1896 when the supreme court declared it legal. This allowed white Americans to have finer jobs, housing, busing, and schooling, white black Americans had the more severely underfunded and poor versions of all of these. According to history.com, during the great depression unemployment rates for white men were around 39% while depending on the area, for black men it was anywhere from 50% to 60%. Segregation made it easy for the white men to get good jobs, and the black men to be unemployed. During segregation, black Americans were seen as a shameful thing that many companies did not want to be associated with.

Black families were struggling, and to make matters worse, many practices to make good housing for them were arising. According to History.com, there were zoning laws and red-lining during 1930-1970 that made it very easy for politicians to mark off black-segregated housing areas as dangerous and poor. Because of this, it made it incredibly expensive or impossible for black home owners to get loans. Not only this, but in Richmond, Virgina, white politicians passed a law that made it illegal for a person to move into a neighborhood in which they could not marry most of the residents in the area, and considering that anti-mixed race laws were put in place during that time, it meant that black families could not move into mostly white areas.

In 1877, segregated schools became a legal concept, and a disheartening one. Schools made specifically for black students were also severely underfunded. Many of the contributing factors came from segregation, as the public schools were supported by tax dollars and in poor communities where unemployment was so common they just didn’t get the money they needed. According to loc.gov students in the black segregated high school in Kingston, North Carolina were asked what their ideal classroom contained, and they soon came to realize that everything they had dreamed of, like basic supplies and bigger classrooms, the white school had.

Because of white Americans being able to have access to better schooling and a wider range of jobs, white Americans prospered more. They completed highschool at a higher rate, which according to census.gov, in 1960, meant about a twenty one percent difference. The percent of Americans twenty-five years old and over who had completed four or more years of highschool was about forty-one percent for white Americans, while black Americans were only usually able to graduate about twenty percent of the time. In the same year the statistics for Americans who were twenty-five years old and older and completed four years of college were looked at. There they found that about eight percent of white Americans have finished and graduated, and only three percent of black Americans were able to finish and graduate.

Tie it all together and now you have a system that is designed for black families to be poor. They were forced into poor, dangerous neighborhoods and because of unemployment rates, red-lining, and discriminatory laws, they were forced to stay there. Not only that but their education was poor, which meant it was even harder to get good grades, graduate, go to college, and/or get a good job. There is no denying that in 1890s-1970s systematic racism was a plain and open concept. Everyone knows it, it’s quite impossible to deny.

The big debate is not over whether or not systematic racism ever existed, because with slavery and segregation there’s just no possible way to deny that it ever was here, but rather it’s over if systematic racism still exists. Many deny it, saying that because the laws are no longer there, that there is no possible way that the concept still could exist. However, that argument can easily be proved to be wrong. It’s almost like an olympic race. The white contestants were able to run free, while the black contestants had to run with their legs tied, and then halfway through the race officials decided that it was unfair and cut their legs free. Though, instead of making measures to make sure that they’d be able to catch up and make up for the unfair start they had, like maybe pausing or restarting the race, they instead just told them to continue running.

Once legal segregation ended, black families couldn’t just magically move out of the poor communities. The years of unemployment and poor education left them without the money they needed to be able to move out of the communities. Some families got lucky, they were able to get jobs, get a proper education, and move into good areas, however those opportunities for many were rare, and still are. What this ended up causing many black families falling into poverty. If you look at mostly any state in America, you’ll find the poverty rates in the state’s black communities are higher than in it’s white communities.

Looking at the 2017 poverty rate and population counts from KFF.org, Texas.gov, and theatlantic.com, three major states show this poverty inequality; Texas, New York, and Florida.

In Texas the overall white population was estimated to be around 11,779,132 and the estimated amount of white residents in poverty were estimated to be around 775,800 people. The overall population for its black residents was around 3,289,228 and the estimated amount of black Texans in poverty was around 547,900. This all means that, despite the fact that there is an overall population difference of 8,489,904 people, there were only an estimated amount of 227,900 more white residents than black residents in poverty.

If you boil all of these long complicated numbers down, the total population for white Texans overall is around fifteen times bigger than the population for those white texans in poverty, however the overall population for black residents is only six times bigger than the population than those in poverty.

Almost the same can be said for New York. The total population for White New Yorkers was 10,652,400 while the poverty population was 781,500. The total population for Black New Yorkers was 2,735,300 while the poverty population was 507,800. There is an overall population difference of 7,917,100 more white New Yorkers than Black New Yorkers, however the difference for the poverty rates is only 273,700. This means that the white population is around thirteen times bigger than it’s poverty population, however the black population is only an estimated amount of five times bigger.

Lastly, the same pattern was found in florida. The White Floridian population was at an estimated number of 11,058,700 and their poverty population was at 833,700. While the black Floridian population was 3,097,400 and with a poverty population of 587,600. Even though there was an overall population difference of 7,961,300 between the white residents and black residents, the white ones being in larger amounts than the black ones, there was only a difference of 246,100 in poverty rates. This also means that the overall population for white Floridians was thirteen times the poverty rates, while the overall population for black Floridians was only five times more.

What all of these big and confusing numbers mean is that there is an immense divide inequality in the communities. If things in America were truly equal, then the rations would boil down to the same numbers. For example, since in Florida the white population is thirteen times the poverty population, equality would mean that the black population would also be thirteen times the poverty population. So, instead of the high number of 587,600, it would only be around 238,261 people. However, the poverty rates for white and black populations are only off by around two or three hundred thousand people, which when you look at it alone may seem like a big divide, but when you look at the overall populations it’s actually really small. The white populations overall tower over the black populations by the millions, yet somehow only two hundred to three hundred thousand more white Americans are in poverty than black Americans in each state.

Systematic racism, whether we like it or not, exists in America. Though the horrible laws like segregation, zoning, and the marriage housing laws that got us to that point many years ago are now gone, the effects of them never really went away. The poverty gained from these laws stayed. Just because people now legally could move into stable white neighborhoods and move to the well funded schooling didn’t mean they financially could. They were still poor from the lack of opportunities, and the lack of money, for many, carried on through their kids as they suffered from their parent’s poverty and poor education from their area. Looking over the 2017 statistics and poverty, these gaps become horridly undeniable.

If you compare the graduation rates between 1960 and 2012 then it’s clear to see that we’re getting better. According to governing.com, white Americans nationwide graduated at a rate of eighty-six percent, while black American students graduated at a rate of sixty-nine percent. While white Americans still clearly have the upper hand, there is a noticeable positive change. Instead of the disheartening graduation rate of about twenty percent in 1960, the number rose by forty-nine percent. Because things are better, many people like to deny that there is still a problem. However, just because things are better than what they were, doesn’t mean that things are good. Imagine if someone was dying from cancer, and they finally found a medicine that is working. The cancer is being managed, but isn’t fully gone and still poses a threat to the person. People who deny systematic racism still being a thing because the numbers are better than what they used to be would be like someone going up to the cancer patient and telling them that their disease no longer lives inside of them because they’re healthier than they once were. At the end of the day, the disadvantages are still there, and we as Americans, instead of turning a blind eye to them should strive to finally close the gap and go for true equality.

#systematic oppression #systematic racism #racisim #blacklivesmatter #black lives fucking matter #blm

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