/AskCulinary provides expert guidance for your specific cooking problems to help people of all skill levels become better cooks, to increase understanding of cooking, and to share valuable culinary knowledge.
Coral Springs High School, but as a subreddit. Post info, news, questions, advice, etc. revolving around CSHS. Best high school in Broward šš¼ Post your schedules to see what classes you have with friends
The Weekly Brawler is a Brawl Stars blog, looking forward to share awesome Brawl Stars content with our readers. We've a lot of content to offer to our readers, ranging from advanced brawler guides to exciting new ideas!
Is ebay the best place to sell minifigures? Or better to use Bricklink? I've sold stuff on ebay in the past but I've never sold any Lego before (bought a ton). I get nervous about the idea of shipping off an expensive minifigure. I just can't justify sitting on a cloud city Boba Fett... I could buy a lot more Lego instead.
If anyone is curious, I got the Cloud City set for either my birthday or Christmas when it came out.
Thanks!
I want to preface this with the fact that I KNOW Iām most likely being overly scrutinising but my eldest son is autistic (and he is the best thing ever) so I feel like I might be a little more attuned to these things than your average parent š BUT I consequently am not sure what a ātypicallyā developing baby looks like lol. I know that no two babies can be compared but I think itās reasonable to be on the lookout for any early signs just in case he does require early intervention like his brother, and statistically he does have a higher likelihood of being autistic than your average baby due to a diagnosed full sibling.
Our second son (5mo) I am pretty confident is neurotypical as there are quite a few very obvious differences between him & his older brother (2yo ASD) even at this young age. His eye contact seems great & he is definitely a lot more vocal & appears a lot more interested in other people & his surroundings. Of course I have looked at the milestones & I think I can safely say he is meeting them, Iām just not sure of the consistency!
For example: his eye contact is vastly increased compared to his brother, but itās not 100% of the time. It seems normal to me, I donāt feel the need to look into peoples eyes 24/7 but yeah, he is definitely still often distracted by fans, bright lights, etc. But he will (most of the time) be looking at me when Iām speaking, singing, changing him, nursing etc. which is a noticeable difference from his brother.
Another example is babbling - again he does this heaps more than his brother did, & has engaged in occasional āreciprocal conversationsā with us, but again itās definitely not super super consistently. He also does not always look over at the sound of our voice, & is not yet demonstrating much joint attention (although I think it might still be a bit early for that).
ANYWAY all this to say - I guess Iām asking what social engagement & communication skills would you expect of a five month old? Of course I know he will be fine either way but if he is showing any delays Iād love to know ASAP as early intervention has been a game changer for his brother :) TIA!
Cindy and I have been friends for about 2 years now. At first we weren't so close, but the past year she and I got a lot closer and we are best friends now. We share a couple mutual friends which is how we met, but they have been treating her not so great.
They have made fun of her looks/the way she acts all because they think she has a little extra weight on her. She used to be funny and outgoing, but she's shy and quiet now. In regards to that I cut off all those friends because I didn't tolerate them making fun of her.
When they saw how close we were they tried making fun of me for liking her ans they tried getting her to stop talking to me by telling her I thought she was ugly, etc (which is definitely not true at all. She didn't believe me when I tried to change her mind and it took me a while to get her to believe me.
Then I started really falling in love with her. I started complimenting her beauty and trying to be more flirty with her. She has the most beautiful sky color eyes and she is just my type. Her response is obviously "you're only saying that to be nice and make me feel better".
We hung out this past weekend and I borrowed a friends beach house and I took her on a little getaway together. I made my move and at first she was really shy since I was her 1st, but I gave her space and she got comfortable for the time and we had sex. The whole weekend she and I spent it in bed together just laying on each other and talking or just having sex.
After the fact, she asked why I chose to do that for her and I was honest. She said she felt too 'fat and ugly' for me and that I could do better. I got kinda bothered by her talking that way and I told her that I really thought she was beautiful and that I chose her because I like her and am attracted to her.
Now she's been acting kind of shy and she still doesn't fully believe I like her. She does flirt with me now, but at the same time she asked how are we gonna deal with being friends and sleeping together and she keeps doubting herself. How can I help her fully understand I chose her Because I love the way she is and that I don't want her to change anything?
"Dude, what are you laughing at?" Asked my friend Steve as my laughter slowly changed from a giggle to an outright cackle. I was in the chair nursing a PBR and baked out of my gourd. Steve and Darnell were on the couch locked into a fierce game of 2K. They were also crossfaded. There was nothing happening of comedic value.
I said it was nothing as I always do. If you hang out with me enough you'll notice this happens from time to time. Some people are weirded out by it. Fortunately I've always been able to find friends who find it an endearing quirk.
The truth is that I can't explain it. Other than to say sometimes I hear it.
For the life of me I can't describe it. I've sat in my room for hours trying to say it. I've tried to sing it in the shower. I've banged shit together to try to make it. I've used a synth ran through an obscene string of effects pedals and dicked around in pro tools until the shrooms wore off trying to recreate it. I never get close.
I've been hearing it for a long time. At first it was terrifying. I'd hear it in the middle of the night and start screaming in my bed. At first, my parents chalked it up to run of the mill night terrors. They got annoyed when I'd ask "what was that?" Or "where is that coming from?" when they heard nothing and I couldn't even describe it. They got worried when they realized I was serious.
Doctors thought it was neurological. Tests revealed nothing. There was concern I was just acting out and questions were raised about our home life. But we were happy enough. Nothing out of the ordinary and certainly no abuse. The diagnosis was eventually auditory hallucinations. And since I showed no other signs of mental illness, it was recommended that they get me on a strict sleep schedule, and see a therapist specializing in cognitive behavioral therapy.
I realized at this point even at a young age that this wasn't going away, and I no longer felt like I was in danger, so I might as well just pretend that it was working.
The only thing that bothered me, or rather, bothers me. I don't know what it is. Medical science has tried and failed. No textbook in any field, nor just Google for that matter, is useful when it's impossible to spell what you're trying to research.
I'm sure Joel Osteen would tell me Jesus will rid me of it if I send enough money. I had a guy at White Castle tell me he could stop it. I just have to give up all of my earthly possessions, go out to his totally not a commune farm, stop worrying about the guns and drink his bathwater once a day like all of his follo... I mean friends.
Honestly though I don't care that I hear it. Like I said, I don't feel like I'm in danger because of it, it stopped even being annoying long ago. I just can't help but wonder about it. Is it a word? Is it a code I need to break? Is it the name of some cosmic entity who wants me to be it's vanguard but doesn't yet understand our plane of existence well enough to know it's name is a sound that can't be made here? Am I hearing it when I hear it or just thinking about the last time I heard it.
Sometimes I hear it so much that it stops having meaning. Obviously it's never really had meaning.
The best way I can explain what I mean by that is to tell you to think about the penis game. You know, where you and your other annoying teenage friends would be at a park, or a McDonald's and just say penis louder and louder until someone makes you stop. At a certain point penis stops meaning a sexual organ. It no longer conjures images of a big veiny dong triumphantly at full mast. It's just noise. Sometimes it's just noise to me.
Honestly I'd like to just think Lovecraft isn't fiction. But I can't simply because he at least tried to spell his shit.
Every now and then the absurdity hits me in just the right way and I can't help but laugh. I just don't know.
I only know two things. The first is that I'll never know for sure. The second is that until the day I die, sometimes I'll hear it.
I cant believe i love my best friend Leslie. Tbh she is just the best, she makes me feel whole and around her i can just be me, not just pretending to be someone im not. When we first met i didnāt think i would fall in love with her but after a while of talking to her at school i noticed that she really did care ab me and that she was starting to become my best friend. Most people either think we would be a perfect couple or already think we are dating, i wish we were although i donāt want to make a move because she has a boyfriend and even tho i donāt like him at all i will respect her and not do anything that may ruin our friendship. And i think that she may start liking me but then it might also just be her being nice and im just getting the wrong idea. I would really love to be in a relationship with her but i canāt. I know that she is really happy with her boyfriend and i donāt wanna intervene with their relationship. I feel like she likes me too but she is probably more into her boyfriend than me but yet i might just be reading this all wrong and her not actually liking me. She makes me feel cared for like nobody has ever made me feel. I would literally give her the world if i could but idk if we will ever be more than just best friends. Ive only noticed my feelings about 2 weeks ago and ive hated loving her because i know i wont be with her now or never. She means the world to me and thats why i cant tell her the feelings i have for her because then itāll just be awkward between us and weāll distance ourselves from each other. I feel like that would help but i still donāt wanna lose her. I just want to tell her all this and tell her how much she really means to me but if i do iāll just ruin it and my chances of ever being with her will be over. I want to go to a quince with her so that we can dance together but if i get to touchyish with her sheāll know right away that i like her and she wont even wanna be my friend anymore. After writing all this i think that distancing myself just a little from her will probably be the best and try and get distracted with other things or other girls. I could just go on and on writing ab how she makes me feel but then itāll just be pointless because its not like im actually going to get her to be my girlfriend.
Introduction A resume is a document that provides a snapshot of your professional experience, skills, and accomplishments. Think of it as a first impression on potential employers. It should be clear, concise, and easy to read.
There are different types of resumes, and each has its own strengths and weaknesses. The three most common types of resumes are chronological, functional, and hybrid.
Chronological resumes are the most traditional and commonly used. They list your work history in reverse chronological order, starting with your most recent position and going back in time. This type of resume is best for people with a steady work history and clear career progression.
Functional resumes focus on your skills and experience, rather than your work history. They are best for people who have gaps in their employment history, or who have held a variety of jobs.
Hybrid resumes are a mix of the chronological and functional formats. They list your work history in reverse chronological order, but also include a section that highlights your skills and experience. This type of resume is best for people with both a steady work history and transferable skills.
When you're writing your resume, be sure to include the following:
- Your name and contact information
- A summary or objective
- A list of your skills
- Your work history
- Education and training
- Awards and accomplishments
- Any publications or presentations
- Any professional memberships or affiliations
With so many types of resumes to choose from, it can be difficult to know which one is right for you. The best way to decide is to look at examples of each type of resume and see which one best highlights your skills and experience.
2. What Makes a Top Resume? When it comes to job hunting, your resume is your most important tool. It is the first thing that potential employers will see, and it is what will help them decide whether or not to call you in for an interview.
There are a few things that all top resumes have in common. If you make sure to include these elements in your own resume, you will increase your chances of getting called in for an interview.
- A top resume is clear and concise.
Most employers only spend a few seconds skimming through a resume, so it is important to make sure that your resume is clear and to the point. Get rid of any unnecessary information, and make sure that the information that you do include is easy to read and understand.
- A top resume is focused on your most relevant experience.
Your resume should be focused on your most relevant experience, especially if you do not have a lot of experience in the field you are applying for. Don't waste space with irrelevant information; instead, use that space to highlight your most impressive accomplishments.
- A top resume is tailored to the specific job you are applying for.
When you are applying for a specific job, your resume should be tailored to that job. This means including keywords from the job listing in your resume, and emphasizing the experience and skills that are most relevant to the job.
- A top resume is free of errors.
Your resume should be free of any spelling or grammar errors. If an employer sees a mistake on your resume, they will assume that you are careless and not worth their time. Make sure to proofread your resume several times before you submit it.
- A top resume is a unique reflection of you.
Your resume should be a unique reflection of you as a person and as a professional. It should be clear from your resume what makes you a unique and qualified candidate for the job.
If you make sure to include these elements in your resume, you will increase your chances of getting called in for an interview. By taking the time to create a top-notch resume, you will be one step closer to landing your dream
3. The Components of a Top Resume There are three key components to a top resume: content, design, and keywords. Letās take a closer look at each one.
Content
The content of your resume is, of course, the most important part. This is what will determine whether or not you get called in for an interview. Make sure your resume is clear, concise, and free of any grammar or spelling errors. Include only the most relevant information, and leave out anything that doesnāt directly relate to the job youāre applying for.
Design
The design of your resume is also important. A well-designed resume will be easy to read and will showcase your most relevant information. Avoid using overly complicated designs or too many colors, as this can be distracting to the reader. Stick to a simple design that is easy on the eyes.
Keywords
Finally, be sure to include relevant keywords throughout your resume. Many employers use applicant tracking systems (ATS) to screen resumes, and these systems are designed to scan for specific keywords. Include keywords that are relevant to the job youāre applying for, as well as skills that are relevant to the position. This will help ensure that your resume makes it through the ATS and into the hands of a human recruiter.
By following these tips, you can be sure that your resume will be one of the top ones that employers see. With a little effort, you can increase your chances of landing an interview and getting the job you want.
4. How to Write a Top Resume Are you looking for tips on how to write a top resume? If so, you've come to the right place! In this blog post, we'll share four tips that will help you craft a resume that is sure to impress potential employers.
- Keep it concise.
When it comes to your resume, less is definitely more. Recruiters and hiring managers are incredibly busy, so they don't have time to read through pages and pages of information. Keep your resume short and sweet by only including the most relevant information.
- Highlight your accomplishments.
Your resume should be a highlight reel of your most impressive professional accomplishments. Don't be shy about tooting your own horn - potential employers want to see what you're capable of.
- Use keywords.
Many companies use applicant tracking systems (ATS) to screen resumes. These systems are designed to scan resumes for certain keywords that match the job description. So, make sure to include relevant keywords in your resume to ensure that it makes it past the ATS.
- Proofread, proofread, proofread.
One of the quickest ways to lose a potential employer's interest is to submit a resume with typos or other errors. Before you hit "send," take the time to proofread your resume and make sure that it is free of any mistakes.
By following these four tips, you can rest assured that your resume will be in tip-top shape when you start applying for jobs. Good luck!
5. Tips for Creating a Top Resume When it comes to job hunting, your resume is your most important tool. It is your chance to make a good first impression and demonstrate why you are the best candidate for the job.
Creating a top-notch resume can be a challenge, but it is not impossible. Here are five tips to help you create a resume that will get you noticed:
- Keep it relevant
When it comes to your resume, relevance is key. Make sure to tailor your resume to each specific job you are applying for. Highlight the skills and experience that are most relevant to the position.
- Use strong action verbs
When describing your experience and accomplishments, be sure to use strong action verbs. Words like "achieved," "managed," and "created" will make your resume more powerful and persuasive.
- Highlight your results
Employers want to see what kind of results you have achieved in your previous roles. When listing your experience, be sure to include specific numerical data and examples of your successes.
- Make it readable
Your resume should be easy to read and understand. Use clear, concise language and structure your resume in a way that is easy to follow.
- Keep it updated
It is important to keep your resume up-to-date, especially if you are actively job-hunting. Make sure to add any new skills or experience you have acquired. Also, be sure to remove any outdated information.
By following these tips, you can be confident that you are submitting a top-notch resume. However, don't forget that your resume is just one part of the job-hunting process. Be sure to prepare for your interviews and sell yourself as the best candidate for the job.
6. Conclusion When it comes to your resume, there are a few key things to keep in mind in order to make sure that it is as effective as possible. First and foremost, you want to make sure that your resume is clear and concise, without any superfluous information. Secondly, you want to make sure that your resume is tailored to the specific job that you are applying for. Finally, you want to make sure that your resume is free of any errors, both grammatical and typographical.
If you can keep these things in mind, then you will be well on your way to crafting a resume that will help you get the job that you want.
View Poll I have been on and off on this games for at least 3 years i have made so many characters the farthest ive gotten was lost bastille I would love to beat this game once but the beginning just wears me out. I would like try out pyromancy as in the first game i had alot of fun with it but am unsure of what class is best for tht as I have tried sorcerer but really does not feel right.
I (26M) work with a colleague(29M) who has a few months seniority over me. He considers me his closest friend at work and has confided in me about some deeply personal shit. His life is pretty messed up (he hasnt made the best choices) and I know hes struggling--to the point where he's asked me for money, he's joked about offing himself, etc. I pay for his lunch often just so he'll eat. I try to offer him the kind of empathy a friend would bc he seems to really need it. He can be really cool, but working with him is a totally different story.
We both started in the same position, but he was recently promoted where he has some jurisdiction to send me on projects for him.( I was also offered the promotion but declined since I'd like my career to move in a different direction) We work closely every day. I work hard to finish all my tasks on top of helping him out and nothing is ever good enough for him. He'll lose his shit in front of everyone if I ever make a mistake (all of which have been extremely insignificant), and when he makes a mistake, he finds a way to blame me for it every time. He'll switch so fast from being cool to insanely rude, embarrassing me in front of other coworkers by yelling at me or telling me to hurry up, calling me by my job name like its an insult (now that hes promoted). I know I'm competent at my job, I work hard, and am well-liked by management. I just don't know how to deal with how he treats me. Lately I just take it, I dont know what else to do. I don't want to cause a scene, I hate confrontation because I know if it's with him it'll backfire somehow. I don't want to talk to HR or my boss and rat him out, I just want the disrespect to stop. I work with this dude every day. I can't escape him and can't even have lunch in peace. He's attached because I'm the only one who's ever nice to him, but it's only just made it easier for him to walk all over me. Is there a way to still give him the support of a friend and get the respect I deserve? I'm nervous that he doesnt have anyone else. Idk. Help.
TDLR: Struggling friend is simultaneously the worst coworker I have ever had. Blames me for his mistakes and publicly harasses me since his promotion. I'm forced to work with him every day. How do I deal without it backfiring?
Hello everyone. I recently went away for a few days and came back and noticed there was some dark greenish and white mold on one of my bagels in the fridge. They have been in there for a few weeks likely, I forgot about them as they werenāt in an obvious spot, but I donāt think it had any mold when I originally left. There may have been, I have not touched the bagels since I noticed it and now went to ask, so I do not know what the full bag looks like. They were originally frozen so had more ice crystals and moisture. However, I am concerned about how to dispose of the bagels and any other food that may be old. I have an unopened container of Greek yogurt that I believe was sell/or best by about a month ago as well as an opened container of cream cheese that I bought about a month or so ago and has been opened around then. I am wondering if there are any precautions I need to take when discarding this food? I am already definitely not eating any of it, but donāt know if I need to do anything besides throw it in the kitchen garbage in the current containers/bagel bag and then wash hands after. Do I need to take trash out right away or clean more after? Will it be spread in the air? I have read about possible mycotoxins so I am nervous about potentially touching mold with that in it. I also do not know how common these types of food would have them or how careful I need to be when discarding. Thank you for any advice or help!
Link to original story
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/10meqmh/the_big_rock_candy_mountain_part_1/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button The floor of the cell is covered in decades of mildew and dust. This disgusting carpet does nothing to dull the pain as I skip across it, thrown in by someone with the intention of making a point.
My Nameās Mike, and if any of you are the types to go on a deep dive, you probably know A little about me already.
For those of you that donāt, Jesus I donāt know exactly where to begin.
The Cliffās notes would be that I spent a little over a decade either being a serial killer or a vigilante. I wonāt try to justify my actions, both of those are just sides of the same shitty coin. Iām not a person to be idolized or emulated, so I choose not to plead my case.
Now, while I thought that was just about as screwed up as life could get, one day, out of the blue, after burying my best, fuck, my only friend I found myself, somewhere else. A world that looked and felt like mine, but one where the things that go bump in the night actually existed.
Where I came from, Iād seen monsters, to be sure, but only the kind that happen when people break.
Since Iāve been here? Got caught up in some demented gameshow for demons or something, threw a massive shit in the punch bowl of the thing running the production, and got the worldās unluckiest man his freedom.
And that leads me to my current situation, staring down the rage filled, mildly bruised face of that asshole, that fucking, demonic Ted Turner, Art.
He runs a hand aggressively through his slicked back hair, standing at the door to my cell.
āLooks like your little plan didnāt work, exactly as I predicted, you fuck.
I mean, great try with the little cat thing you had, honestly didnāt see that coming. But, Jesus, Mike, what was your end game? ā Art gloats.
āCards on the table? It was a lot better, but shit fell through, that whiskey abomination, it was the one that ratted me out I assume?
That being said, still got Kev out. And you canāt really āflip off his lightswitchā if he didnāt let you screw around with his wiring, can you? ā I grin, I keep it, even as a Gucci shoe slams into my face.
Am I scared? Of God damn course I am, Iāve been pissing myself (metaphorically speaking.) since I realised that the rules of reality donāt really apply any more.
Every new grain of sand on the beach of hell my life has become, tosses me further down the road of mental failure. Shit, thatās half of what fucked up my last plan in the first place.
If I could have just kept my shit together long enough, Iād be sipping a beer with Kev in some shit hole town somewhere. But the only thing harder than trying to stamp down fear in the face of Godās and monsters, is trying to do it while projecting some kind of ādeath fears me ā persona.
Between you and I? Death doesnāt fear me, in fact, it seems to love to hang around. And every day I have to stare down that grim spectre, the closer I get to losing the tenuous grip on reality I have .
āOh, fuck Kev. Heās smart enough to stay off my radar, and too stupid to figure out a way to come back at me.
He's got a 1 bedroom in Idaho or something? Salud, good on him.
You, I had high hopes for, and then you decide to wipe your ass all over my carpet, cost me more than I could even explain, and even, get me a little roughed up. My favorite shell, anyway.
I want to recoup some loses Mike. So, you, get to be a part of another one of my projects.
You thought The Path was bad? Oh, you literal, fucking clown, you havenāt seen anything.
I wonāt spoil it for you, the devilās in the details and all, but you know what everyone loves?
Prison.
Not being in it themselves, of course, but seeing others, especially those they hate in there.
This place isnāt fair, the path was a boxing match with Queensbury rules, this is a handcuffed knife fight.
And I canāt wait to see you figure out, all the little surprises it has in store for you. ā Art laughs and tosses me a battered, ancient looking smartphone, ā Feel free to drum me up some good press online if you want. ā
My heart is pounding, I have to use every bit of will I have to stop from shaking, to roll my neck and sit against the cold, padless cement bed behind me.
I feel sick, my stomach boiling and gurgling.
āFor the love of whatever the demonic equivalent of Christ is, why not just kill me? Iām right here, I have no way of fighting back, and you know damn well that if you give me enough time, Iām going to find a way to wipe my ass on your doorframe next. ā My tone is flippant, or at least, I hope it is.
āThe ego on you kid, you think youāre that guy donāt you?
They exist, donāt get me wrong, probably a couple thousand folks capable of taking me out, but trust me, you are not one of them.
This isnāt some āArchā idiocy where I leave my greatest rival alive. This is me watching you squirm because I can, and making a little profit on the deal.
Donāt flatter yourself. ā Art has produced a long thin knife as he talks, he spins and rolls it absently.
āBefore your guys dragged me off, I met something. A corner store, I donāt know if it was haunted, possessed, or if it was some kind of creature that just decided to look like a knock off 7-11.
Point being, it was out there, ethereal, I couldnāt hurt it, outwit it, even slow it down. I ran from that thing as fast as I could. It gave me some serious Lovecraft vibes.
You, Art, are not that guy. ā I notice myself tapping my finger nervously on the slime covered floor, I focus, stopping the tic.
The tip of Artās knife glows, the sick, grey sheen isnāt heat, but something that makes me start to back up.
āI am, but you will never see that. Youāre not worth the effort.
I want to give you a little something though. ā Art stalks toward me, I stand as I back into the farthest corner of the cell, ā Proud of your face paint were you? ā
Art grins, and for a moment lets some of his true self slip through. For just a moment I see timeless horror in his eyes, a dark black void of consumed souls and unrestrained evil.
That knife parts my flesh with pain like a whip. Without even using the blade, itās presence flenses my face, opening up raw, textured furrows in my flesh.
He leaves after he is done, laughing to himself.
The pain makes me black out, my stomach is boiling, I come to dry heaving, the effort sends me back into the oblivion of sleep.
I donāt know how long has passed, my face feels like it is on fire, and the thick steel bars of my cell door are closed.
It takes me two minutes of cupping my hands under the grime laden steel tap to get enough water to clear off a spot on the rusted, old, wall mounted steel mirror.
No mortal hand could have scarred me as accurately as Art did. The wounds, not healed, but cauterised as to not make me bleed out, used depth, and width, to create a colorless replica of my makeup.
I know trauma, physical as well as mental, and these are scars that will never heal. As the fact sinks in that my face is literally no longer my own, I scream, heart pounding, I split open my knees on the cold cement floor.
Pain flares, threatens to send me back to the bliss of unconsciousness, but I donāt care.
I read Kevās journals, and they paint me in a really⦠positive light, in a sense.
What I mean is, going by what he thought he saw, Iām some kind of supervillian or something. Tossing three hundred pound air conditioners ( it was the outer shell, seventy pounds, physics and luck did the rest.), wrestling Art ( I was clinging on for dear life, had it not been for Jr and the mass of denizens, Iād have been killed with a flick of his wrist.), or appearing like a ghost (people, even immortal are very unobservant. Especially in an emergency.).
Iām great at seeming horrifying, and thatās a weapon in and of itself, but at the end of the day, thatās all it is.
Kneeling in my own blood, vision blurry with pain, I realise how small, vulnerable, and unarmed I truly am.
By the time daylight shines through the yellow reinforced glass window, Iām already awake. Iāve spent an hour and a half calming myself, trying to find some focus, some centre to keep me going.
Iāve been in prison before, back home, first and last time I tried plying my trade outside of America.
Being the stupid payaso gringo that I am I bit off so much more than I can chew that I wound up choking on it for 2 months in a Mexican prison.
The routine of, count, lineup, chow, remained the same.
The demographics of the population on the other handā¦
Being observant is one of my main skills and as I was brought into the absurdly sized cafeteria, I was taken aback at just how many people were here.
Tens of Thousands, easily, maybe a hundred. I try and think of how many missing person cases this accounts for, and even that math doesnāt quite add up.
I quickly inventory the groups that make up the place, not that it wasnāt obvious.
The first, of course are the guards. Some, the majority, appear to be human, well geared up and in intimidating physical condition.
But a handful, they are clearly, something else. Some are smooth featured ebony skinned giants, carrying truncheons that could crush a car engine. Others are grinning, pale skinned bad attempts at human copies, wild eyed and twitching.
Second would be what I called the cultists. They all appeared to style themselves after certain tropes and urban legends, clearly human, but dressing, tattooing and mutilating themselves to appear like, myths, legends, and monsters.
The subtle violence I see tells me Iāve found the gangs.
Third are the Everymen, I canāt see any kind of pattern to them, but they seem to make up the majority of the population. They keep their distance from the guards and the cultists, but on more than one occasion I see then stand, united against attempts at extortion.
The last group, I call the candles, people that are clearly on their way out mentally and physically. Sunken eyed, and set upon from all angles, at any moment these folks could be simply snuffed out.
I keep my distance, and stay respectful, the meandering, twisting line seems to take hours to get me my thick slice of crumbling yellow bread, and thick red slurry that reminds me of porridge masquerading as meat.
My coat is gone but Iām left with the majority of the clothing I fashioned back in the path. I see a mix of unwashed orange uniforms and ācivilianā clothing, some of the cultists, bordering more on costume than wardrobe.
As the massive, butchers apron wearing man in smeared clown makeup sits down, I wish Iād have been issued something more generic. I saw this coming the second I noticed a lump of Chlorophiles in blood stained getups.
āYou sit with us. ā I canāt tell if itās an accent or speech pattern, the clown sounds strange, either way.
I eat a spoonful of the red sludge.
āNo disrespect intended, Iām not one for clubs. Iām going to make no waves, no plays, nothing. Iām a ghost. ā I say, levelly, avoiding eye contact.
Why, you might ask, having been told about my adventures in murder.
Well, thatās just it. Murder is easy, and any time you saw me end a life, it was just that.
A fight, thatās another thing entirely, especially against someone with a significant weight and height advantage.
āNot asking. You got friends. ā The massive clown moves his bulk closer, itās like sitting next to a forklift.
I eat the bread, it tastes amazing until I swallow, then has a foul, chemical aftertaste.
I drink some tepid, burgundy fluid that might be caffeinated.
No weapons nearby, no one watching that might step in. Iām full of bruises and sprains, and probably anemic from blood loss. Not to mention one eye is running at about fifty per cent. Art didnāt sever the optic nerve last time, but he wasnāt gentle. My heart races.
āI donāt play well with people who take clowning and slap a coat of dark paint on it.
You guys are Clown Killers. You are good at killing, Iām sure, but the clown part, itās tacked on.
Myself, Iām a killer clownā¦. ā I had a really good rant planned, honestly, it was a corker, douche bags would have used it in memes for a decade.
But before I can react, with one massive hand, he bounces my face off of the pitted steel table.
It rings my bell, but not as much as I let on. In clowning terms, what I do Is called a pratfall.
For those of you that donāt speak nerd, I oversell the hit, falling backwards, eyes fluttering.
I tip backwards, reaching out my left arm, as if to steady myself. The meat mountain is unbothered, knowing I have no chance unarmed, in this close, he letās me grab one shoulder of the butchers apron. The material is thick, and matted in stains that will never come out, literally or metaphorically.
If you want to take someone out, in a relatively harmless way, you donāt want to choke them. It takes forever, usually ends up killing them, and generally is a bad idea for everyone involved.
Your goal is go cut off blood flow to the brain as quickly and fully as possible.
I hook my thumb around the opposite shoulder strap, and snap my body backward, the apron acting as an impromptu Garrotte.
His right arm is knotted through my left, as he tries to struggle, to put his murderous intent and ability to work, the choke only becomes tighter.
I donāt want enemies here, and I only have so many tricks to play before things come to a knock down drag out fight, so I leave the clown unharmed.
I do need friends, but the look I get as I take a seat at a loose collection of men is cold and fearful.
A red haired guy, five foot nine or so, makes eye contact, āAnything we can help you with? ā he says, fearless.
āYeah, despite the face work Iāve had done, I have fuck all in common with any of those penny wise, Icp, Gacy dressed, assholes.
I need a tribe guys, you all look like the unlucky ones around here, but I donāt want to get involved in bloodshed.
Iām Mike ā I know, thatās only mostly true, but I mean it, either way. I extend a hand.
āChris. ā the red haired guy says, he wears a white dress shirt and surprisingly blue jeans, āThose stains around your cuffs tell me otherwise.
If youāre telling the truth, thatās great. If you are lying, and still sane enough to keep your word, thatās even better. ā Chrisās tone is mirthless, I read him easily. Heās been here a long time for a short life, he looks thirty max, and I shudder to think how young he may have been when he came in.
Chris catches me up on the ins and outs of this place, beyond what a general knowledge of prison would give.
Everyone here has crimes they were not convicted of, that would, otherwise put them in jail for life. A large amount, obviously are murderers, torturers, real bastards.
But a significant minority are just regular folks, maybe a bit thoughtless, but that have collected a litany of small, petty, in cases almost victim less crimes.
No one seems to be aware of the⦠reality t.v. Meets demonic fast food aspect of things, but there is a Doom cherry on this fear Sunday.
There is a single way someone can get out. To earn 20 tokens.
And how does one earn these tokens you ask?
Each day the prison holds an event, to call it a challenge would insinuate a level of fair play that is simply not there. The events range from somewhat fair, a fight or game of chance, to esoteric rituals complex enough to rip someoneās soul from their body.
These tokens are also the sole form of currency in the prison, they can buy everything from commissary snacks to literal free passes from guards.
The economy has created a cut throat society, the heads of the cults not even taking advantage of being able to be free, but simply reveling in the power of being psychotic and enabled.
The weak are enslaved, their lives traded on the off chance at tokens.
So, of course, braindead asshole that I am, I signed myself right up. Feeling a little more confidant after climbing Mount Bozo.
It's 8pm and the volunteers are rounded up and brought to a massive room that has all the trappings of a gymnasium, but the scale is large enough easily hold the focus of tonightās events.
In tiered bleachers all around us, our fellow prisoners cheer and scream. The smell of thousands of unwashed, men is overpowering, the din of excitement is deafening.
But my attention is focussed on the small, single floor home, sitting out of place in the middle of the polished wood floor.
What I wouldnāt give for Demi to appear right now, give me the low down on all the supernatural bullshit that is heading my way. But the longer we stayed in the mountain the less and less the most useful voice in my head could, or would, make an appearance.
I study each of my fellow volunteers, the goal seems simple, last the longest in the home. Men enter and leave within minutes. They come out looking shaken, with minor lacerations, and a general sense of shell shock.
By the time my turn arrives, I think I know what Iām in for.
Iām wrong.
As the baby blue door closes behind me, nothing immediately in the home causes me concern. The fixtures and furniture is a bit out of date, the lighting is, not inviting, and there is a general fog of gloom hanging around.
I smile, Iāve felt this before. Granted I had Demi feeding me supernatural errata at the time, but, Iām positive I can wing it.
āSo, I think I may have met one of you guys before. Back in New York, a Happy-Face corner store, anyone you know?
Scary dude, took a couple of pieces out of me.
But this, itās more like an MMA fight, right? I tap out when you start kicking my ass? ā I stretch, trying to see if Iām getting any kind of reaction.
I inventory the objects around me, last time everything that wasnāt nailed down, shifted, changed and tried to take me apart.
You may have noticed by now, I love using the phrase ā last timeā, and thatās because up until this moment, I havenāt learned a fucking thing here.
Mikeās first rule of paranormal survival, last time means nothing.
āItās youā the voice is young, late teens, and male.
I spin, expecting violence, then, wishing violence.
I know the young man, not this pale, older, revenant with a self inflicted gunshot wound, but I know him none the less.
Iām not being metaphorical when I say my heart misses a beat, I almost fall over, pounding at my chest to stop itās arythmatic pounding.
I knew what happened to him, found it out long after I could do anything about it. And wasnāt in the best of places when I did.
Iāll call him a ghost for simplicity sake, but this kid, heās my first, and biggest mistake.
I based who I turned into on finding what I thought was one of the worst people on earth. This kidās father.
I did things to him worthy of what I knew he did. And to top it all off, I had him die by his wifeās hand.
Well, a decade later I find out, the guy wasnāt a Saint, but he didnāt do anything worthy of the twisted shit I put him through.
I got wind of some false information put out there in a moment of rage by a tech savvy ten year old. The kid never intended it to see the light of day
āI found out about you Mike, I saw that you were a hero. ā The voice is thin echoes like a stuck record.
āNo kid, donāt think that. ā I mumble, Iām shaking, the air is freezing, each breath comes out as white mist.
Iām sitting on the flower printed couch now, and it hits me.
Iād assumed because Art couldnāt screw around in my head last time, the same went for everything here.
Remember what we said about last time.
āMy told me what happened one night, what I made you do.
I destroyed her memory of him, I made a real Hero kill him, I couldnāt keep hurting people. ā I can see images, flashing in my mind, memories that are not mine.
Iām counting seconds, trying to focus, trying to stay long enough to get the token. It has to have been fifteen, twenty minutes at least.
I try to work up a smirk, to convince myself that Iām just being played by the paranormal equivalent of a heckler.
Thatās not it though, This place, this house, is reaching inside me and finding places to look. As I stare into the young manās rotted eyes I know this is some part of him, torn away from whatever rest he was entitled to.
The lights dim, then turn off. The house is silent.
Hollywood gets being both a lunatic and a hitman wrong in equal measure. No matter how much morality you want to inject into the profession, there are going to come times when you make mistakes.
As the lights slowly turn to a dull orange glow, Iām surrounded by the hovering, mutilated forms of mine.
Those that died that could have been spared, those that died because of my inaction, or stupidity. Iāve never forgotten them, I use them to make sure I never make the same mistakes again, but having them looming, screaming, all demanding I hear their stories, their accusations, their placations.
It's too much, I stumble from the couch, trying to avoid the icy touch of these phantoms. For a moment I find some last scrap of courage, I close my eyes, shut out the shrieking din of the dead.
The silence hits like a truck, I focus, trying to calm my burned out nerves.
Then they are reignited like a fucking welding torch.
āThis place didnāt bring us here.
Weāve been right next to you for years Mike. We canāt leave. ā The voice of my first mistake.
Like a toddler I try to run with my eyes closed, I trip over a glass coffee table, clawing my way up the door, grasping at the handle.
I can feel a slight pull now, almost magnetic, trying to drag me backwards.
My hands shake too much, I have to steady my right wrist with my left hand, the floor becomes slick, I see the door, escape start to move further away as Iām pulled backward.
I've taken a hit or two, and had a couple of three day benders that have made me piss myself. But as I stumble, trying to make progress on the nearly friction less floor, I have another unpleasant first experience.
I grab the handle, pulling myself out of the house, launching my body into a skin peeling tumble across unforgiving plank flooring.
Iām a shaking, fetal wreck, by the time Iāve pulled myself together enough to take in my surroundings, I see the red Led clock displaying my time.
42 seconds. Bottom of the barrel. The jeers and booing from the crowd do nothing for my frayed nerves or the storm of fear and anxiety going through my mind.
Iām exhausted, but I canāt sleep, it has nothing to do with the concrete slab that serves as my bed.
My stomach has been knotting and cramping, with each passing second I get more worried I blew some internal gasket in one of the many life or death struggles in the past months.
When I finally manage to vomit, the urge is strong enough I get no where near the filth crusted hole in the floor that serves as my toilet. And my worst fears are confirmed as I see the massive pile of vomit is mostly blood.
⦠and bones? Is that an eyeball? A piece of fur?
The mass begins to pull itself together, bits and pieces forming the most rudimentary attempt at a face.
āJunior? ā I say, stunned.