Estelle getty youngest golden girl

The Golden Girls

2013.06.15 20:06 charbok The Golden Girls

A place to share images, memes, and other Golden Girls-related content.

2023.06.05 11:51 OkGap5167 Everyone writes Me and history. We read

When I knock hard on luck's door, it opens Our neighbor The Door
It is not only luck that hides in a corner of your life.
I swear by the one who created the sunset. The light will shine
How do I put my heart in her pocket, then call out loud, girl, you are a thief
Hey waiter
I want a totally immature heart, a little time, and my old devil
After she abandoned her poor lover
She now drinks poison with a golden spoon
-M Al-Enezi

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2023.06.05 11:34 AgereSylveonDarling [Let's Build] D100 A little bit of everything for your aristocratic woman~

Do you ever wish that lists had a bit more accommodation for the gentleladies of your fantasy retinue? Weeeelllll step on up to your one stop shop of anything for the highborne girls!~ (Fair warning that most of this list is coming from a huge personal list of concepts that I've had for a long time, so I don't remeber any names of original creators as I never expected to share the list or anyting on it. If your concept is on here, please do contact me, please, so I can give proper credit)

  1. A hairpin adorned with an elvish love note, folded into an origami flower; you always smell nice, no matter how dirty or sweaty you are (u/ChihuahuaJedi)
  2. A veil of creamy, silken fiber shorn from a unicorn’s mane, hung from a braid of cloth-of-gold.
  3. Sweetpearl II: Spoilt pageant pony, a gorgeous Andalusian mare. Fears being alone, and great at making you feel guilty.
  4. A delicate shawl, lacy and fringed, woven from pearly spider silk.
  5. A dark blue silk mantle lined with white mink fur and embroidered in abstract silver diamond patterns at collar and hem.
  6. The Ladies Who Lunch - a guild of the who's who in feminine society that have been issued a holy mandate to find the very best cheese and wine pairing. Often women in full corsets and gowns are found spelunking into forgotten country wine cellars
  7. Phoenix Flan - A delectable Flan that, once halfway eaten, bursts into flames and reforms as Creme Brulee
  8. Ice sapphires. Usually cut into small cubes, these are placed in cups to keep the contents cold on hot days.
  9. A snow globe, and inside, there's a beautiful little pastoral town with rolling hills and pink and blue flowers. You shake it, and in a swirl of pink and blue petals, the scenery has changed to a snow-dusted town. Also goes vice versa.
  10. A small jar of golden nails with flower shaped heads that can only be driven by a glass hammerhead.
  11. A single brilliant blue rose petal that smells faintly of almonds, rolled up in the finest white silk handkerchief.
  12. Sewing Kit. One of the needles is coated in a potent drow sleeping poison.
  13. Flower bread is made from various types of powdered flowers giving it a light floral taste.
  14. Heavenwurst, a sausage made of ground up Angel Wings.
  15. This Drow elf matron wears expensive, white gloves woven from finest spider silk.
  16. A clockwork butler. Every noble needs a servant, though people who keep as dangerous company as yourselves may need something more sturdy than an ordinary butler. For you, the king has prepared a gilded, perfectly-crafted clockwork device to give to you to help you on your journey. It can cook, it can sing, it can engage in basic conversation, it can do duck calls, it can identify mushrooms, it can make your bed, it can dust your cupboards, and everything in-between. While looking and acting like a clockwork automaton, like a man who's powered by gears and levers within himself, he has the stats of a duodrone.
  17. Unicorn Horn Broth - Shimmery golden soup with a taste like a sweet honey roast, often has a small dusting of nutmeg. Has intense healing properties.
  18. A Lady’s saddle, with bit and bridle included. The fixtures are in gold, studded with translucent pink garnets, the leather is of the highest quality.
  19. A tiara that allows you to experience the sensory experience of a black cat as long as you wear it and close your eyes.
  20. A tapestry woven from the finest silk. It depicts a king and his court having a feast in a garden. A kirin (or some other appropriate holy creature) flies across the sky in the background.
  21. Fae Mouse-Dragon - Likes to viciously attack flowers and nap in the destroyed petals. Uses emotion magic on you to communicate its needs and feelings, so try to keep her happy unless you want bad vibes. She sheds her scales once a month, and they're a powerful aphrodisiac when consumed!
  22. A stall of assorted crystal bowls and cups displayed with wax fruits, all of it outlandishly overpriced.
  23. Unicorn Wax: Burning this wax-like substance that is found under the tongues of certain unicorns and inhaling the smoke will cause the user to experience hallucinations of a magical, bright, and colorful world for 1d12 hours, and increases wisdom by 1 for 1d6 hours.
  24. A baby’s mobile bearing four silver plated doves, elegantly sculpted, with translucent blue azurite eyes, suspended from a teak frame.
  25. A gold statuette carved in the likeness of a canary and is small enough to fit in a pocket.
  26. Bride’s day – Commemorating the beginning of summer, all the new brides dance with the unmarried women, to imbue to them their own marital fortunes. The dance takes place in the kings courtyard and no males are allowed in. At the end the queen usually tries to set up an unwed dancer with a royal family member.
  27. At a party the torches emit perfumed smoke that are enchanted as aphrodisiacs or some other effect.
  28. An expensive water feature or fountain is filled with wine, it is in the shape of people and animals doing very risque things.
  29. Golden Scissors - A pair of golden scissors, if you snip a thread from any clothing, however ragged, it shall transform into a magnificent suit or gown of gold thread that perfectly fits and flatters the intended wearer.
  30. A large crystal decanter etched with grapes and vines with an electrum lip, handle and foot.
  31. A Gentleperson's Toolset - A rather large and expensive set of tea, along with a huge and renewable stock of platinum quality tea leaves and sweets of all kinds.
  32. A long, elegant quill made from a peacock. The eye in the feather seems to reflect the light, and the quill tip is masterfully crafted of mithril.
  33. Heartseeker - This pair of velvet gloves allows the wearer to sense the suites of any cards it's touching.
  34. A slightly worn, satin collar that fits any creature it is placed on. It's got the cutest little bell affixed to the front of it.
  35. Wand of Feathery Feline Pleasures. A wand that creates a moving illusion of a feather tuft for cats to play with. Each illusion lasts about ten minutes.
  36. Smellen’s Sweet-Smellin’ Snuff Case'. A box that encases the wearer's nose and prevents them from smelling anything outside of the box. Includes a tiny drawer to place a desired scent.
  37. PipeDream™. A fancy looking pipe used for smoking. It can be used to blow different shapes, colors, and even bubbles.
  38. Celestial salt and abyssal pepper shaker set.
  39. An intricately detailed figurine posed as though singing to an audience on a balcony above her. Her eyes sparkle with tiny jewels to make it appear that she is crying
  40. Cruel Queen’s Sangria - A favorite recipe of an ancient, dethroned tyrant. Her sangria is sweetened with dragon fruit, blood orange and star fruit fit for a crown.
  41. A large tin canister whose lid is stamped with the image of a bountiful orchard whose trees are overflowing with fruit, the ripest of which has fallen and filled a cornucopia. The container is brimming with dozens of well-preserved dried currants.
  42. A hag (or any other long nailed creature) giving visitors a scalp massage. She makes wonderful conversation and speaks fondly of her grandkids.
  43. A silver hip flask engraved with drunken satyrs in various acts of foreplay with nymphs.
  44. Kaleido cakes - Boldly colored cake, made of shifting geometric patterns with different flavors, but always with a moderate dusting of powdered sugar. Simply rotate the cake until the flavors change to your personal tastes, but your friends can change it too.
  45. Stardust Sauvignon - A dry white wine that is traditionally served in silver cups.
  46. A single small pink satin pillow. Intended for a lap cat.
  47. A bright white, woman’s bonnet with a pink silk ribbon tied around the front into a delicate bow.
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2023.06.05 11:29 GroundbreakingAge225 We truly live in a society

We truly live in a society submitted by GroundbreakingAge225 to shitposting [link] [comments]

2023.06.05 11:09 xClxudyStxrsx Random vampire lore story

So this dream was a transition from another dream, a stupid one at that, where my brother was pregnant and a charger gave birth for him. It starts in a train station during the Golden Age and a little girl with her father are walking towards a train, before a vampire comes up to them and attacks them, making his kind's first appearance in human history.
Time skip a bunch of decades later, there is a very edgy boy I'll name Ko that was recently assaulted by a very beautiful, tall appearance. He lives in a world similar to ours where secret societies of humans fight evil vampires and is shown writing very edgy messages on long bricks then dropping them on people passing by at night. Or maybe vampires. Ko is doing that from the 10th floor of a building belonging to this secret society, and there is an announcement from the HQ telling him to stop throwing fucking bricks out the window or they'll send backups. He then quickly runs in the hallway, where he meets a group of girls who debate on how to stop them vampires once and for all, and how there might be a traitor between them, in this building of anti-vampires. A new member walks up next to Ko and gives him a thick lock of her own precious long bright blue hair, which is said to repel vampires, saying he can find a way to stop this war. The group of girls turn their heads and beg Ko for at least one little strand of it. Again, Ko makes a run for it and finds his best friend. They brainstorm together ideas about how they could protect people from vampires using that fistful of hair, while remaining anonymous. Then they remember how grocery stores like Kaufland give kids small packages of collectable toys and pictures after every purchase of 50 dollars, so they decide to sneak that night in a factory that produces this stuff and cut up the strands of hair into pieces and put each of them in a bag, writing on the back of the packages that it's magical mermaid hair. The idea surprisingly works, and kids keep that stuff in their pockets.
Then there's a cut that shows us the royal family, where there is a quiet little prince who steals the hairs and uses them to fill up a ginormous fishbowl, knowing the true nature of the hair and also being terribly afraid of vampires, so he stocks up on that shit. Ko finds out and that kid is like "Oh, you got me. Take all these hairs except for like a dozen.".
In the last part of the dream there is a cut to a fight scene in a dark grocery store. A big middle-aged guy with a goatie is covered in blood and tries to talk sense into a tall, scarily beautiful vampire, saying that she can't go on like this forever and how she's been causing problems for centuries for fun. The woman smiles and hits him with the final blow. SHE TURNS OUT TO BE THE HQ OF THE ANTI-VAMPIRE GROUP!!
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2023.06.05 11:01 AutoModerator Angie Bellemare / "The Daily Grind Planner" - Week Of June 05, 2023

Instagram: @angiebellemare & @thedailygrindplanner
Angie Bellemare, just another basic AF Disney-obsessed white bitch who shills for Beachbody for a "living". No, she doesn't appear to have an actual personality and her everything about the first glance at her instagram feed screams "daddy issues" and "always picked last for kickball".
Snark on this caricature of an 11 year old girl who lives in the body of a seemingly 40-something year-old woman here ⬇️
Please don’t post screenshots of comments.
Do not encourage anyone to contact anyone else and do not discuss or post any communication that you may have had with this individual. Keep it factual and as always, the HunSnark Rules apply.
The Snark-CliffsNotes on Angie Bellemare, courtesy of u/Bubblegumejonz:
"Started beach body very early on. Upline is janelle summers. She got in early enough to create a large down line. She has a very active YouTube channel when she posts over the top decor hauls, early morning routines and overall bullshit with the subtle undertone of recruitment via her “fit gym”.
Lives in a giant, modern home. Visits a giant modern cottage and a giant modern house in Fort Lauderdale. Giant cottage and Florida home belong to her loaded in-laws, of the Farm Boy grocery store $60 million deal.
Recently built a house in Golden Oak on Disney property. House valued at around $3million.
Over the top lifestyle with endless hauls of crap goods. Says it’s all because of beach body, but really it’s family money.
She’s married to the petit Andre who does nothing but game all day and geek out of Disney. They don’t seem to have any friends or hobbies outside of being big Disney weirdos.
Edited to add: she was the 2021 top hun. In her daily planner she makes success club 300 her weekly or monthly goal. She recruits a lot of people through her for gym, which is really just her beach body group but she’s so shady that she rarely says beach body in her posts or videos. At first you get sucked in by her rich girl videos that seem kind of fun, but then when you peel a few layers back you realize she’s just a beach body hun."
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2023.06.05 10:38 ginasffs She's Still Calling Me from the Woods

When I was nine, I found the woods.
Now, I know that doesn’t seem too impressive at first.
The thing is, I think I was the only one who could see them.
I toddled over after church on Sunday, still wearing the pink bows in my hair and carefully skipping over any patch of earth that wasn’t covered in grass so I wouldn’t stain my Sunday shoes.
There was a large field near where I lived that my mother deemed safe enough for me to play in with all the other neighborhood kids. It wasn’t a playground by any means, just a vast stretch of land that never sprouted anything worth picking. I was alone that Sunday, walking around the dead field until I could barely make out the wavering smudge of my house in the afternoon heat.
I regret it now, but at the time, I decided to slip under the barbed wire fence and run off, hoping to find something pretty. I wanted a sunflower for my hair.
That’s when I found the woods. I didn’t even realize there was anything out there; I lived in the last house on the block, and from there it just stemmed out into that empty field. No one ever mentioned the woods, not even the adults as a warning not to go in.
Obviously, I went in.
The trees were black and gnarly, with thick knobs and protruding roots so overgrown, they reminded me of bony fingers with too many knuckles. Crisp leaves in all shades of brown littered the floor, and I loved the satisfying crackle underneath my Sunday shoes as I explored.
Looking back, I don’t know what it was about the woods, but I was captivated. I was running through the trees, making tremendous leaps over streams, and just playing like the child I was. It felt like I was in another world when I looked up at the canopy of leaves and branches, sunlight glittering through the green.
It felt like minutes, no more than an hour at most, before I noticed the sky was ripe and orange. The sun was setting already.
I sucked on my teeth before sighing. Sundown meant going home. I made my way toward the direction I came in when a wispy breeze fluttered over my body, lifting the lace ends of my dress and sending my hair flying off my shoulders.
I shuddered, but kept walking.
I made it home just as my mother stepped out on to the porch to yell for me.
“Oh, there you are, Faith. Come insi—where is your bow? Little girl, I told you to change before you went playing in the field in your Sunday clothes!”
I reached into my hair and realized she was right, I was missing one of the ribbons meant to be tied around my plaits.
“I wasn’t in the field, I—“
“Hush now, I don’t care for excuses. Go on inside and I’ll run your bath.” She tsked, shoving me inside with a rough hand on my back.
The next morning, I spoke to Jeremy at the bus stop. He was my neighbor.
“Jeremy, why haven’t you ever shown me the woods?” I asked.
“What woods?”
“The woods past the field. Don’t play stupid.”
“I ain’t playing stupid. I never seen no woods, and I lived here twice as long as you. You’re stupid.”
“I am not, Jeremy! The woods are over there,” I pointed past the field. “And I’ll prove it to you after school.”
“Fine, bighead, let’s see.”
The entire day I was antsy. Finally, we sat together on the bus ride home and I knew I would be proven right.
We dumped our backpacks and lunchboxes on my porch and marched through the field. When we got to the fence, he hesitated.
“My momma says not to go past the fence because then she can’t see me.”
“Oh, you chicken, then?”
“Shut up,” he said. He looked back towards the neighborhood before rolling under the fence. I followed, ducking beneath the wire.
I led the way, the same way as I had taken yesterday.
Only this time, I couldn’t find the woods. We must have walked for ten minutes before Jeremy spoke.
“I don’t know why I believed you. You’re just a liar. I knew there wasn’t no woods.”
“There is too! You don’t know nothing.”
“Wasting my time for this… Loony, you are. I’m going home before my momma starts whining.” He turned around and I watched him until he went under the barbed wire fence again.
Where were the woods? It didn’t make sense.
I felt a cold wind wash over me, prickling at my skin. I rubbed at my arms and looked up.
My bow!
It had become undone and was just a pink ribbon gliding through the air. I chased after it, but random bursts of wind kept it out of my reach. I spun in circles and scuffed my shoes and knees as I hurried, my eyes ignoring the ground.
It finally smacked against a tree, and I realized I was at the woods once again. I grabbed my ribbon and shoved it in my skirt pocket, distrustful eyes scanning my surroundings. I could still see the edge of the field, so I hadn’t gone far, but it didn’t make sense. Why weren’t the woods this easy to find with Jeremy?
I raced inside anyway, gleefully crushing hard leaves under my feet. This time, I started kicking together piles of them in a path, jumping from stack to stack and relishing in the experience.
As I peered past the black trunks of the trees, I realized it was sunset. But that couldn’t be true, school had just ended half an hour ago. I hadn’t even had supper yet.
I backed out of the woods and when I blinked, the sun was back up, shining down brightly on me. I went back inside, examining the stark difference in the sky. When I looked to the left, outside the woods and into the open, it was sunshine. When I looked to the right, into the depths of forest, the sun cascaded yellow and orange through the dark, black trunks, just like a sunset.
I went back every day that week, and every day it was the same. It was always sunset in the woods, no matter if I went in the morning or afternoon. It was strange waking up on Saturday mornings and spending hours watching the sun frozen halfway down the horizon.
After about a month of spending nearly every day in the woods, I heard a laugh.
I think it was a laugh.
The sound was a whisper in the air and I could feel it gusting around me.
“Hello?” I called out.
Silence, just for a beat.
A round of giggles came from behind a nearby tree, but I couldn’t identify which one. It sounded like it was surrounding me. It was a guess, but I assumed it was little girl laughter. I had always wanted girl friends, so a spark of excitement shook through me.
“Hey, come on out!”
She didn’t say anything, but I heard footsteps take off and I bolted after them.
There was no path of shoes in the dirt, no overturned leaves being kicked through, nothing but the faint ghost of a breathless laugh.
“This isn’t funny,” I announced with a deep frown, clutching at my aching side.
The laughter stopped immediately.
I sucked in a deep breath.
My shadow was dark, I noticed. Much darker than it had ever been in the woods. The usually orange sky was fading fast, cold navy overtaking warm citrus colors.
“I’m going home,” I said. I don’t know why I did, I just had to let her know. “Play with me tomorrow.”
“Wait,” a girl’s voice.
I spun in a circle, unceremoniously slipping on some of those crisp leaves. I couldn’t see her.
“Wanna see something neat?”
“Who are you,” I asked.
“A girl offering you something one last time. Wanna see something neat or not?”
I stood up and patted my skirt, dusting the dirt off.
“Show me.”
A small hand waved from behind a particularly rotten tree. I grinned and chased after the figure, darkness enveloping any discernible features; she was only a shape running ahead of me. Her voice was youthful and she was no taller than me, and I was not a large child.
We giggled in those little girl laughs as we went further and further in the deep thicket. The sunlight was nearly gone, I could barely make out my own feet as I chased after the girl.
“Where we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
I groaned.
“Hush, we’re nearly there.”
I rolled my eyes, but obeyed.
“What’s your name?”
“Nearly there now, Faith.”
I slowly stopped myself, fear ebbing its way into my chest for the first time.
As if she felt my pause, she stood as still as the trees, unwavering in the growing winds. Her dress didn’t even flutter with the breeze like my skirt did.
“Why did you stop,” she asked in a strained voice. “Don’tcha wanna see? See the surprise?”
I took a step back, nearly fumbling over a thick root.
“My mother must want me home by now.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“You don’t know my mother.”
“Oh,” she sighed, her head dipping forward, long hair covering her face. “I know a lot more than you, Faith.”
She started laughing as she turned to face me, the soft sound morphing into an unrecognizable cackle.
It was so dark now, I couldn’t see much else but her. Her skin almost glittered, but there wasn’t any moonlight.
“How do you know my name?”
“You told me. You don’t remember?”
I shook my head, and though she wasn’t looking at me, somehow she saw it.
“Faith Brown. You have a bad memory. I told you I know more than you.”
The whistle of sharp gusts of air pierced my ears, her voice barely floating through the sound. My hands were sticky, cold and sticky.
“What’s your name? You know mine.” I asked again.
“You should go on home. Your mommy is really scared right now.” She said it so matter-of-factly, faint but sure.
I hated her voice, I wanted to hit her. I wanted to reach my fists into her long, ugly hair and pull it out of her face so I could spit in it. Never in my life had I ever felt so much vile, abysmal hatred for someone. It frightened me. Most of my thoughts were on my mother, though, so I didn’t pause to reflect on these realizations for too long.
I took off running in the opposite direction, praying I was heading the right way. I was sprinting like the fastest horse on the track, but somehow her laughter was right on my shoulder, cawing loudly inside my brain.
“Bye bye, Faith! Let’s play tomorrow.”
Again, I felt that prickling feeling of disdain. I nearly turned around and chased after her again, just to pummel her.
Instead, I focused on how the clearing was approaching. I ducked my head and let out a shaky breath of relief when I found myself out in the open.
Slowly, tentatively, I peered back at the woods, fully expecting to see her standing there.
It was so dark, I couldn’t see past the first couple of trees. They guarded the entrance, standing like ghouls with long, grotesque branches like bony fingers outstretched to me.
The walk back to the field was brisk; I was on edge, a growing knot weighing in my stomach that I wouldn’t make it home.
I had never been out so late. There wasn’t a cloud above to block moonlight, but even then, the moon was absent. I had no guide home, so I continued to trek in blackness, hoping I would see the streetlights soon.
I wondered if I would see her again—
A crushing grip yanked my shoulder, spinning me around and sending dirt flying as my shoes scraped the ground.
Large, strong hands shook me, and a white light blinded me. I was gone, I was dying in that moment, my soul fled my body.
“Calm down! I need you to stop screaming, honey. Stop, tell me your name.”
I heard a click and the light was much dimmer. I hadn’t realized I screamed at all.
My eyes adjusted, and I noticed the golden glitter of a badge.
“Faith Brown.”
He sighed, genuine relief in the motion.
“Let’s get you home, sweetheart.”
The night passed in a blur. I was holding his hand as we walked through the field. He said several things into the machine on his chest. My street was flashing with red and blue. My mom was smoking a cigarette on the porch. She shouted at me, but I didn’t hear a word until her icy fingers were digging into my arms, clutching me tight against her.
I slept in her bed that night, I think. I didn’t go to school that next Monday. I don’t think I went at all that week.
The next time I felt conscious, grounded back in reality, was when I accidentally pushed the glass of lemonade off the table. Shards went skittering across the kitchen floor, bouncing until they hit the walls.
“Sorry, mother!” I bent down to start picking up the pieces when my mother grabbed my wrist.
“You dense little girl, don’t touch glass!” She hissed at me before her eyes softened. “Baby girl, it’s dangerous. I’ll clean it up, you — carefully — throw the bag outside. Can you do that?”
I nodded absently.
When my mother wrapped the glass in a towel and secured it in a waste bag, she sent me to the trash cans outside. They were in the backyard.
I hopped down the steps, the feeling of being out of the house already foreign. A breeze nearly made me jump.
Despite the wind being negligible, one of the bins tipped over.
A single brown leaf fell out, gliding through the air and landing right before my feet.
I don’t know how I knew, but it was obvious to me that this lead was from the woods. It fluttered at the ground a bit, the crisp corners pointing past the field, wanting me to follow. It was enticing me, urging me to just obey. I felt a strange pull in my chest, a physical tug that made my shoes scrape against the dirt and inch towards those cursed woods.
I stomped on the leaf, my teeth grinding together as I used my heel to shred it to pieces.
For a while, things seemed to be getting better. The wind didn’t call to me and I stopped having nightmares featuring a black and white figure. The girl. Jeremy even told the older boys to stop teasing me about it all.
I thought it was over.
A month had passed, maybe two. Church had finished and all us neighborhood kids were playing tag in the field. Maybe it was all the others there that made me feel safe enough to go with them.
An older girl from the middle school was it, and I scurried away from her, but I tripped on a long, pointed stick. I skidded to the dirt without an ounce of grace, dust and pebbles digging into my clothes and skin. I picked up the wooden branch and waved it around.
It was like a magnet, zeroing in on one specific direction: directly to the woods. Again, I felt that tug in my bones, my mind blank as I was almost roped in. It felt like my feet weren’t even leaving the ground, just that some unexplainable force was luring me in.
None of the other kids saw me. Or they did and didn’t care. I would rather believe the former.
I blinked.
I was back. I was in there, alone, and the sun was setting fast behind me. Dread coursed through me and I spun around, my grip taut on the stick in my hands. I clutched it to my chest, my heartbeat rising rapidly.
It was getting so dark so fast. It felt as if the blacker it got, the harder it was to breathe. Everything was so, so loud; my ears pounded, my shaky exhales were crashing waves, the rustling trees were windstorms.
The song was excruciating.
I strained my body to focus. The song—this ominous chanting that suddenly began, a crooning chorus of voices was somehow the faintest trace of sound and the most excruciatingly powerful racket possible.
I couldn’t describe it accurately if I tried. The most I could say was that it reminded me of the choir at church, but the emotions it evoked were polar opposites. There was no unified comfort, but an unrelenting hymn, slow and mournful.
With nimble steps, I inched away from the anthem, fearful of the voices stopping at hearing my footsteps.
Bright red lights exploded like fireworks.
I saw them all.
Vaguely, but undeniable. A hoard of people, all just as ghastly white as the first girl, their sinful song louder and closer. Their faces were hidden being long strands of hideous black hair. They all looked the same, a crowd of the same kin.
She stood at the front, closer than all the rest.
The burning in my throat was agonizing, bile threatening to spill out as she lifted her head. Her face, the blankest white I had ever seen, was empty save for two black holes where her eyes should have been, and a carnivorous mouth lined with rows and rows of almost-humanlike teeth.
Her face was flat, no curves or features anywhere but those haunting eyes. They were like craters, dark and empty. Still, I knew they were boring into my soul.
I was petrified. I wanted to run off as fast as I could. I couldn’t do it backwards, but I simply couldn’t look away from the swaying mass of people in front of me. I couldn’t imagine what they would do if I turned around.
I didn’t have time to make a choice on what to do next because she launched into action. She moved like a newborn animal, gangly yet purposeful, and she was heading straight for me.
She couldn’t catch me. That was all I knew.
I bolted, adrenaline carrying me with a strength I’d never have again. I was practically flying through the trees.
They were alive, leaning in and closing the gaps, making it harder for me to dart between them. Their branches scratched and nipped at my face and arms, but I could barely feel it.
“Faith, we need you at the communion!” She screeched behind me, dangerously close.
Her voice was loud, but the song from the crowd was fading. I was getting close to freedom and she knew it.
I heard her pounce and then I was slammed to the ground. Her body was light, but cold enough that where her hands touched me, the skin felt like I was soaking in an ice bath.
I couldn’t breathe, my lungs throbbing inside me. I was beyond afraid, my body acting in autopilot because my mind was mush.
I screamed, a deep, guttural shriek that surprised her. With a swift movement, I stabbed the wooden branch I still held into one of the black craters on her face and she fell back, hissing and howling like a feral creature.
I used the brief moment of distraction to shove the stake in deeper and run. I ran with all my might, the steady pounding in my ears protecting me from whatever curses she screamed after me.
My vision was going dark at the edges, my chest aflame with pricking pain building inside me. I was going down and I knew it, but I could see it then: the edge. With a final burst of speed, I catapulted myself out of the woods and as far as I could get.
I collapsed in the field.
Sometime later, my mother was shaking me to consciousness. I couldn’t move, but I bawled in her arms, scrapes and scratches riddling my body. When they changed me at the hospital, there were deep claw marks on my back.
Within two weeks, we moved. I lost a lot of my childhood. Outside of this period, I can only remember bits and pieces of what should have been joyful times. It took a long time for me to feel safe.
And I did. For a good while, I felt safe. I didn’t think of her or anything that happened for many years, the only reminder my scars on my back and the occasional flash of nightmares.
I was okay.
Until this morning.
My daughter, my darling little girl who gave me hope and a warm feeling of peace just by being near her, was coloring beside me as I finished something on my laptop.
I glanced down to her page and was nine years old again, looking right into the black abyss of two soul-sucking eyes above a sharp, dripping mouth.
“Baby,” I croaked, “baby, who is that?”
“Oh,” my daughter hummed. So blissfully unaware. “She’s a girl I met in the forest yesterday.”
I could feel every painstakingly difficult year of therapy slipping away from me. With a trembling hand, I ripped the page out of her notebook and crumbled it, ignoring her cries of protest.
We live nowhere near a forest. I can hear that song again.
submitted by ginasffs to nosleep [link] [comments]

2023.06.05 09:57 Bruks05 New Slots Games at Wild Casino Online

Have you checked out the new slots games at Wild Casino Online? They are awesome! They have some of the most innovative and exciting themes and features I’ve ever seen. Some of the ones I’ve tried are Spinfinity Man, where you get to be a superhero and use your powers to win big; The Golden Owl of Athena, where you get to explore the ancient Greek mythology and enjoy free spins; and Mr. Vegas, where you get to live the high life of a Vegas high roller. They also have some classic favorites like After Night Falls, A Night in Paris and Good Girl Bad Girl. There’s something for everyone at Wild Casino Online. You should definitely give them a try. You might even hit the jackpot! 😁#wildcasino #onlinecasino #slotgames #casinogames #gambling
submitted by Bruks05 to CryptoMarketsshot [link] [comments]

2023.06.05 09:38 FleeFleet [TOMT][ANIMATION] Boy painting fence until zombies start popping up

I've very vague on the details unfortunately so I apologize:
I believe this was mid 2000s when I saw this, most likely 2005. It was on some cartoon channel that I don't remember the name of unfortunately. In this animation, a boy is painting a fence green with an adult I believe. The adult leaves, and the boy continues painting. Suddenly zombies start popping up around; a song is playing during this iirc, but I'm not sure of the genre. If I had to guess, probably heavy metal. The animation keeps showing the different zombies while the boy takes on a defensive stance, holding his paint brush. After the song ends, the zombies just disappear and the boy, seemingly unphased, goes back to painting the fence.
I believe this short animation was part of a show, so I'll recount what else I remember from said show:Episodes seemed to start (and end) with some horror creatures in a haunted house talking to each other. I don't recall what they talked about, but I think most of the monsters were like disembodies heads or skulls. One episode I remember is some rusty old armor knight in the haunted house becoming alive and trying to adjust to his surroundings. He comes across two teen girls and tags along with them to some sort of medieval-themed stage play going on in the town. He fights a golden armor knight on the stage play and after defeating him, wears his armor. He then goes back to the haunted house iirc.
Again, sorry for the extremely vague details, I was like 4 or something at the time so its all very hazy. I appreciate any help./
submitted by FleeFleet to tipofmytongue [link] [comments]

2023.06.05 09:23 andisando F22 virgin in college, getting my thoughts off my chest

If anyone reads this please don’t take this too seriously haha. I just wanted to get my narcissistic thoughts off my chest.
I am a 22 year old female virgin. I’ve never had a boyfriend, or girlfriend for that matter. In high school I never cared to have a boyfriend, and I felt that i was weird that I didn’t want to have a relationship. I knew of 2 people who liked me: one was a kinda a creep, and the other was a senior at the time and also a creep.
My brother thinks I’m a lesbian and he likes to joke about it, but I’m pretty sure I like any gender, but since I’ve never actually been in a relationship I don’t really know.
And not to toot my own horn, but I don’t consider myself ugly. Sure, I’m like 100 pounds overweight, but if I really set my mind to make a change and lose the weight, I would be unstoppable. Under all that weight, I have a similar body to my mother: large breasts and a small waist, and I even consider my face to be pretty, under the increasing size of my cheeks and my new double chin.
One persistent issue that I could never figure out was why older disgusting men would be the only ones to “flirt” with me. Is there something wrong with me? Is it because of my body? (I basically have the body of a middle aged mother of 3). Even when I was at minimum “acceptable” in high school, non-creepy boys never actually liked me (from what I remember)
The main problem right now is that I absolutely have no motivation to change, and it is completely my fault. Im pretty sure I’ve had depression since middle school, which contributes to this unmotivated state of mine.
As I get older, the horniness is increasingly getting to me. I find myself lusting after different types of men that I would’ve never liked in high school (when I was 40 lbs lighter and better looking). Nowadays if i see a man in public who I think is attractive all I can think is “I wanna bump uglies with him”. If any of you have watched the golden girls, basically I feel like Blanche when she goes down her sex-crazed memory lane.
I just want to lose my virginity, just to get it over with. I don’t really care about that purity crap. But I’m too afraid to actually go through with it because one, I can’t actually fit anything inside, not even a tampon, so that’s a whole other issue on it’s own. And two, I don’t want some loser to say that they took my virginity. In all honesty I can go out right now and find some random person and have sex with them, but I don’t want to end up at that point where I lower my standards just to get laid. (It’s hypocritical, I know, why should a fat girl like me have standards)
I’m never getting married or having children, so it’s not like I’m on the search for “the one”, but I don’t want to just lose my virginity to some random.
In conclusion, I don’t know what I want LOL.
submitted by andisando to virgin [link] [comments]

2023.06.05 09:12 Nursemommy33 Sleep tips

Looking for some advice/tips here... My baby is around a year and a half old. He's usually a pretty good sleeper but sometimes if he gets woken up at night he has a hard time going back to sleep. It seems almost like he thought it was a nap and he's not tired anymore and wants to play . I've tried rocking him, giving him some milk, sound machine, having the TV on really low but sitting in the dark (golden girls used to work)... just wanting to see if there any other suggestions out there.
submitted by Nursemommy33 to Parenting [link] [comments]

2023.06.05 09:02 Sunby138 Special interests! I don't have many people to share them with, so if you share similar ones that's cool.

Special interests! I don't have many people to share them with, so if you share similar ones that's cool. submitted by Sunby138 to autism [link] [comments]

2023.06.05 08:21 Keyboard-muse How to deal with her depression

Hi, my upwbpd has again an episode of interchanging being angry and being sad. Yesterday in the evening she walked through the house crying somewhat. I tried to speak to her, but she left the room. In bed she let me listen to a song on her phone, where it was about a girl who felt she was pressured to be perfect but she feels almost broken doing never good enough.
I asked her if this kind of songs help her to feel better. "Even now you blame my choices", she said. "Even the music I listen is not good enough". I told her I did'nt blame her choice of music, I only asked if this kind of music helps her to come out her sad mood, or that it confirms her bad feelings and keeps her there. And I told her there is for me no need for her to be perfect. She may be herself. I touched her for some moments and went to sleep. I do not want to give up my sleep anymore because of her moods.
Sometimes it is easier to ignore the angry side of her than the sad one. I cannot bring myself anymore to be honest empathic and try to sooth her sadness. I am more observing and analysing her behavior and then touch her to let her feel I am near. But her sadness does not trigger feelings of pity for her in myself. I am more confused and shy and afraid to say things making her feel even worse instead of better.
We have had these weeks or even month of silent treat very often (last year more than 10 times, almost every month). Sometimes a number of days more normal, but then a new trigger and she get upset or very sad. But from the outside it looks te same to me: she does not say goodbye when leaving for work, of going to sleep. If I ask questions I get very short or no answers, or she speaks so soft I have to ask: "what did you say?". She ignores me, but expects at the same time that I am there to comfort her when she is feeling bad. She does not always explicitly say that I am the cause of her feelings, but in the way she communicates, it is clear that it all happens to her and is caused outside of her. She is not asking for help or to hold her in my arms. She is not telling about her feelings, if I ask, then often it is: "you know what I am thinking".
It is hard to be with her and stay sane. I feel a lot of stress building inside me, some hyperventilation, painful back and neck muscles, etc. I can still handle it mentally and be there for the kids, but I feel also always very unsure when she is around.
I wanted to share my thoughts, of course supportive comments are welcome.
Perhaps someone has the golden tip how to tell her she is doing damage to me and the kids with this behaviour. I blame myself for trying to ignore her most of the time and not finding words to address to her how she damages us. It is hard to correct someone who is feeling sad.
submitted by Keyboard-muse to BPDlovedones [link] [comments]

2023.06.05 07:25 cloliii Preparing for marriage & spouse to move in with me & my family is unhappy with it.

I’ve noticed that I’m in a season of my life that’s very different. That’s the only way I can explain it. I’m 21 years old, my boyfriend is also 21. We are both born again believers and on the same page when it comes to most everything. We communicate very well, we are very honest and open with each other, we don’t have a-lot of conflict, we are very loving and gentle with each other and we have also made a commitment to wait for marriage. We encourage each other to grow in Christ and remind each other to pray and read our Bibles every day. We have a very healthy relationship. We are very happy with each other and I truly feel like God has blessed me with him. We want to get married soon. I don’t care if we have a big wedding or if we just go to the courthouse and get it finalized. I just know this is the man God wants for me. That being said, I’ve always been very reliant on my family. I’ve always been very close with my family. I consider my mother and my sister in law to be my best friends. They are! Since I’ve fallen in love and made a commitment to my boyfriend, I’ve become more reliant on him and God, rather than my family. This is a big deal, because I’ve always been way too reliant on my family whether it be for emotional needs or financial needs. Now, I feel I’ve matured, because I want to have my own life with my fiancé. This is what I’m supposed to do, my husband is supposed to come first. Of course I’m practicing that now, because he’s my future husband. Jesus comes first, then my fiancé of course! I have my own home that my parents paid for, which I’m so grateful for! However, I need to get my house done- the electric, plumbing, etc. I plan on helping my parents pay for it, but I’ve never wanted my own space so badly until now. My family has expressed being upset that I “don’t hang out” as much. They often show that they are upset about how much thought and time I put into my fiancé… but I feel as though this is normal behavior, you’re kind of supposed to cleave unto your spouse. My family, I feel, just doesn’t like the fact that I’m growing up and leaving the nest. I’m the youngest and I’m a girl lol, so I try to understand, but they also complain that I need to grow up and things like that…. But when I try, they get mad. I’ve been spending more time alone, often outside listening to gospel music, praying, playing with our goats, etc. I just do things on my own, even though I’m not even leaving our property, everyone is upset that I “Ignore” or “Avoid” them but that’s not what I’m doing. I need time alone, I am naturally preparing for my marriage without realizing it… until now. I spend more time alone, I spend more time with Jesus, I’m trying to get my house fixed up, so that when I do marry my fiancé, he can move in and we’ll have our own home and we can start our family. I just want to know if I’m in the wrong for this, my family makes me feel really guilty about putting my fiancé before them. & I want to know if it’s normal to prepare for your spouse by spending more time independently & with Christ. Prayer always helps, so I ask for prayers as well. For a happy, healthy, God centered marriage. I also ask that you pray for my family.. & I just want them to let me grow up.
submitted by cloliii to Christian [link] [comments]

2023.06.05 07:23 ZenithDSilverlight What kind of doll is this?

What kind of doll is this?
My mom was given it back in the late 1970s and was told it was made back in the mid to late 1800s. It has no identifying marks but there are some clothes that mom got with it. (for additional context, an elderly woman had no heirs and told the school to give it to the most deserving girl. They chose my mom, who at the time was the youngest in the district's deaf program). Her joints still move pretty well, but she feels very fragile and her head needs to be supported when picking her up because it's pretty mobile as well. She's hollow, and we're not sure what she's made of, but her hair looks like some strangely are synthetic and some are actually human hair. Her head and body seem to be made of two different but similar materials, and her body is maybe made with a mold? This seems to be the case because of her hands. Again, we don't really know anything about her, so any info helps.
submitted by ZenithDSilverlight to Dolls [link] [comments]

2023.06.05 07:14 TheCann0li [US] [SELLING] Destiny Lovers, Golden Time, Combatants will be Dispatched, My Monster Secret, Others and Figures.

Selling off Manga and figures that I no longer like all that much.
All the manga is G4 or better as I only read these once or not at all and they lived on my shelves.
The figures lived either on my shelf or in a glass case, both spots in light controlled rooms with no possibility of direct sunlight. They will be shipped in their original boxes so shipping will be pretty pricey, especially for some of the bigger ones.
Shipping for Manga is $5 flat.
Prices for Figures are based off Ebay/Solaris pricing, generally 10% less, but I can be flexible if you show legitimate shops selling legitimate goods. Definitely open to offers, got more coming soon and could use the space.
PRICES FOR FIGURES DOES NOT INCLUDE SHIPPING. I really don't want to do estimates for figures since they vary in size so much.
I also have a bunch of small Figures that I don't really want. Free if you buy something else, just let me know which one you want.
Series Volumes Price
After School Bitchcraft 1-3 $20
Ayakashi Triangle 1 $7
Breast are My Favorite Thing in the World 1-3 $20
Combatants will be Dispatched 1-5 $40
The Dark History of the Reincarnated Villainess 1 $7
Destiny Lovers 1-6 $50
Drugstore in Another World 1-2 $14
The Duke of Death and His Maid 1 $8
Outbride 1-2 $14
Golden Time 1-6 $50
The Great Jay will not be Defeated 1 $8
Gunbured Sisters 1 $8
I'm the Hero but the Demon Lord is also Me 1-4 $30
LDK 1-5 $40
Lust Geass 1-3 $20
My Monster Secret 1-9 $75
Say I Love You 1 $8
Sex-Ed 120% 1-3 $20
Failure Frame (LN) 1 $5
The Devil is a Part-Timer (LN) 2 $8
Hazure Skill (LN) 1 $8
Devil Survivor 1 $8
Hellsing 4 $8
Satan's Secretary 1 $8

Figure Price Store Link for Reference
Rias Pole Dancing $70
Rias Swimsuit $300
Cat Girl $75
Classmate Who Won`t Let Me Drink Water $100
Akeno Lingerie $200
Coconut Race Queen $70
Succubus Lucilia $100
Ane Naru Mono Chiyo $275
Koakuma Riasu-Chan $100
Akasa Ai $100
Musahi Miyamoto Casual $100
Punishing: Gray Raven Lucia $50
Kana Kojima $100
Sensei wa Marumaru $115
Eco Misoji $75
Shia Shione $70
Natsumi $200
Musahi Miyamoto Berserker $100
Ningguang $250
submitted by TheCann0li to mangaswap [link] [comments]

2023.06.05 06:44 Logic_Wondernaut I (f22) know a lot of people are not going to understand or care How I feel, but I need just to about what its like to be in a body that I feel like is hated based on my skin tone.

Im christian and a black woman and that I feel like doesnt mix well. Ive been a christian all my life pretty much, when I was younger it was actually easier for me to be a christian, because even though I was exposed to a lot of the world, I was still naive, I had hope, I saw the world in a brighter lens, as ive age, ive understood that Dr.King didnt really solve racism or the back community like the elementary history books taught lol.
I wasnt really raised in an all white neighborhood or an all black neighborhood, it was just very diverse. I had white friends, asian friends and some black friends etc, but I never felt like I fit in with anyone, and sadly especially black people, I was bullied a lot by black people, even though I am black. I was called weird or an oreo or fat, too black, ugly...I am a bit goofy, but im just nerdy...and was raised a lot in the church so I think I moved differently then most kids growing up.
I wont lie, at an early age, I kind of peeped that being another race or another skin tone was better than my own, so I wanted to change it, I wanted long straight hair like other races of women, I wanted to be light like other races of women, and at a really young age I started to find most people that looked like me ugly, Thank God I have been able to kind of get out of that headspace now officially.
(A bit of some back ground): I have six siblings, 3 on both sides have the same parents, I was a surprised and the youngest, so I am the only one that doesn't have the same dad on one or mom on the other as the 6, one particular sibling when I was a kid would constantly talk about how her features were european like which all of my siblings are beautiful and lighter than me, and even though she was dark skin men of all races still found her pretty because she had European features and or looked exotic. She use to say this and I internalized it at a very young age, maybe 6 or 7. This is when I started to hate my skin tone and my features.
This is all so much but, to make a long story short, I feel like I dont fit in anywhere, I dont fit in with black people because tbh Im still traumatized by how I was treated by them and still am treated by them
When ever I try to talk to other black people about this, mainly black women, its like they never want to talk about it. Whenever I say, I feel like my skintone has prevented me from doing things that really make me happy, they say that I still need to be happy, or that they dont need negative energy. In particular, about dating, its like my people are oblivious to how screwed we are, I cant talk about how me being dark skin makes it hard for me, because either I will be told that plenty of men like black women like me, or I will be told that they never had an issue getting dates.
Well I have.
Im not saying I take care of myself, I use to be 300 pounds, I have lost a lot of weight, and in that weightloss I was diagnosed with body dysmorphia, so not only do I think my skintone is disgusting but I also have to keep a sheet over my mirror so I dont see the loose skin that I have from loosing a lot of weight.
I go to the gym 2-5 times a week, for about 3 months now coming up, Im trying to like my hair and actually learn how to take care of it, but I cant help to think no matter how much I try, I will still just be the fat ugly dark black girl.
I feel guilty for saying I hate being black, but I do, I hate having to look up whether people of my complexion can travel to certain places around the world, I hate having to be afraid to talk to boys because I have to wonder if they like black girls, I hate being viewed as lower IQ just because I am black, I hate it, I hate it, I just want to be normal, I want to feel comfortable and beautiful and not feel like my existence is a parasite to people...
I just want to feel...idk I just want to not feel so trapped
submitted by Logic_Wondernaut to offmychest [link] [comments]

2023.06.05 06:01 dogsnolegs2 golden girls

golden girls submitted by dogsnolegs2 to Sorority_Girls [link] [comments]

2023.06.05 05:55 Bellgram How do you get a 1.5 year old to sleep?

My toddler just refuses to sleep recently and I'm afraid to leave the room because my oldest will have to suffer through the crying.
I've got two girls who share a room, 3 and 1.5. It's been two to three weeks that my youngest has just refused to sleep when I'm putting her to bed. My husband and I take turns tucking each of them in. My oldest takes time, but she eventually passes out. My youngest has gotten quite a growth spurt in the past month or so, making it much harder to hold her. I used to sit in my rocking chair, hold and soothe her to sleep, but her legs are just too long and she gets uncomfortable.Recently, she constantly needs to hold her stuffed bunny while we rock her, but she also thinks it's funny to drop him as a game and will throw a fit if we don't pick him up again.
It's easier for my husband as he is taller with longer arms to hold her, but he has trouble occasionally too, often getting frustrated and leaving the room altogether until she calms down or passes out on her own.
We've tried just setting her in the crib and stroking her hair or back, but she just smiles and wants to play instead. She has severe separation anxiety, especially with me during bedtime. If either of us is out of view even for a few moments, she's standing up in her crib and looking for us.
Does anybody have any solutions? I feel bad just leaving her to cry as some of my relatives have suggested. Not because we haven't tried it. We did it with my first and it worked, but by doing so with the 2nd, my oldest is left to try and sleep through her sister's sobbing. It's just a difficult situation.
submitted by Bellgram to toddlers [link] [comments]

2023.06.05 05:33 moishepesach [HR] [MS] For Whom The Willow Weeps

Question: If April flowers bring May showers, what do May flowers bring?
Answer: Puritans and misery.
Part 1 - May Flower Moon
I'm no expert but I'm pretty sure this is a ghost story. It all started in early May under the, "Flower Moon".
In the still of the night, I awoke from a deep sleep to witness a moonlight so spectacular it hurt my eyes.
Fumbling for my glasses, I found them, dropped them, cursed, then almost stepped on them. I finally got them where they belonged thinking I needed to use the bathroom. I glanced at the digital clock on my desk.
3:33 am. Again.
Willow weep for me
Bend your branches down along the ground and cover me
-Ann Ronell as sung by Billie Holiday
The birds were chirping loudly. I shuffled to the window. I looked up wide-eyed at the sky. There was the moon; big, round and golden like it didn't mind a big electricity bill. As I used the bathroom, I remember thinking that I didn't ever remember a full moon so bright it could light up my apartment.
I washed my hands then splashed warm water on my face. I cracked my neck. I dried my hands and face with a towel. I remember thinking if I didn't get back to sleep the day was going to suck.
Shuffling back into my bedroom I thought to look for my ski hat. I figured I could pull it over my eyes and escape the light under the blanket. Flower Moon was beautiful but so too is sleep. If I could just hide under the blanket perhaps it wasn't too late for sleep to creep up on me.
I have been renting the same sunny shoebox in old Brooklyn for more than 20 years. It's a corner apartment on the second floor of a 19th century walkup. Across the street, diagonally resides a community garden fronted by a very tall and expansive weeping willow tree that won't let me move away. I didn't know it's age until recently. But it's younger than me. Most things are these days.
I shuffled to the corner window to squeeze the blinds tight and that's when I felt grateful, grateful I had decided to use the bathroom first.
There, at the base of the hundred-foot-tall willow, behind the wrought iron fence, illuminated beneath the moon's glow, I witnessed something that froze my blood and tested my aging bladder. Standing beneath the moonlight, I saw, clear as day, a little boy in footed pajamas with a trap door. The little boy was holding a blue stuffed Grover Muppet in one hand and crying.
Trying to get a good look at the boy was like trying to look at something from behind a campfire. There was a shimmering distortion. What I could clearly see was that he was pointing down at the ground in front of his feet with the non-Grover hand. Suddenly, the little boy spun his head up and around looking directly at me. Eye contact occurred and then too, something I can't explain.
First, a truck transporting fuel broke loudly for the red light at the corner. Through the open windows I smelled what seemed like diesel. I grew light-headed. The room spun around. I remember thinking this feeling smelled both nauseating as well as timeless.
I reached down to try and pick up the floor and that's when it hit me in the face. A sharp pain across my cheek like I had been slapped in a 3 Stooges short. I felt icy fingers grab the hair I had not had in over 30 years and jerk my head back. I smelled more diesel. I grabbed the edge of the desk to keep from losing my balance.
Holding on to the desk, I noticed my mind's eye was playing the little boy's face like a movie. The camera panned in. His little boy face filled my consciousness like I was watching from the front row. He was about four or five years old with long dirty blonde hair. His face looked familiar from a dream.
Then, another slapping pain turned my last good cheek. Losing my balance, I fell ass first to the floor.
Out the window, from on my ass, I watched the traffic light turn green. I heard the truck lurch into gear, rev it's engine then drive away. As it rumbled off into the distance my equilibrium returned.
Muttering my life sucked I gently shook my head and felt for damage. Just my non-existent pride. I got myself vertical, yet once again; feeling a distinct twinge of anxiety.
I looked out the window but the little boy was gone. An FDNY ambulance took his place, it's siren jarring me back to reality. I closed the blinds and got under the blanket. I never did really get back to sleep that night. Or ever since.
Part II - Unhappily Ever Since
Sad as I can be Hear me willow and weep for me... -Billie I keep seeing a little boy under the tree... - me ...
The first thing I want to say is that I keep waking up for decades at exactly 3:33 am.
It's the exact time my decrepit birth certificate claims I was introduced to this world. Can't say why, but ever since digital clocks became a thing, I'm up more often than not to witness 3:33 am transpire. Never remember it happening before digital.
One of my friends recently told me it was an angel number. I don't know anything about angels. Never met one. But I for sure have met some demons in my day. In fact. you might say I was born of demon mother, and I might not be offended. Back to my birth certificate. I was born and yes, still live in Brooklyn, New York. There were gaps but it's my home.
I moved to this particular apartment building a few months after 9/11. I had moved in with a woman at the tail end of doing a romantic nickel, but that fell apart like Madoff, Abramoff or Fuckoff, and she married another dude a year later. So, there in 2002, I and my faithful golden retriever, Spenser, found ourselves, for the very first time, on our own. And, we liked it.
Like I mentioned, Spenser and I lived diagonal to a community garden that fronts a big and beautiful weeping willow tree. I felt an immediate kinship as my favorite book as a child had been, "The Giving Tree" and that's what she reminded me of; only more beautiful.
There will be more about the tree. Anyway, the tree and I dwell in an old part of south Brooklyn called Park Slope, infamous for being the stomping grounds of a young Al Capone, and, believe it or not, young me.
That was a long time ago. Things have changed a lot since Al and I, were separately roaming the streets of Park Slope, looking for adventure and whatever came our way. I came up in the day when if you cried your mother would give you something to cry about. And, not going to lie, I cried a lot. I don't remember my dad that much.
I remember he was a hippie. I remember he had a big beard and moustache and long hair. I remember his denim jacket was always cold, smelling like weed and cigarettes. I remember he gave me, "The Giving Tree" and taught me how to read it. And then, I remember he was; gone. Just. Gone.
I also remember my mother. I remember her never talking much. I remember her just smelling like hair spray, cigarettes and instant coffee with sour milk. I never was able to drink milk, not even as a child, and to this very day just the sight of a milk carton turns my stomach to acid.
I lived alone with the old lady about half a mile from where I live now. Yeah, in over thirty years I made it a whole thirteen blocks. Like I said, my pride was non-existent these days unless I was sitting on it. Another, weird thing besides waking up at 3:33 am is I have a lot of memory lapses. It has been getting worse the last few years. Especially, since old Spenser had a seizure in my arms back on the 9/11 of '09. He was fifteen and my best friend. I'd always loved dogs. But after losing Spenser, I couldn't quite remember things right all the time.
Sometimes, it was little things. Like did I turn off the stove or lock the front door. Other times, it was deep things, like did the telephone repair man try to do something to me when I was five and left home alone. Like did I pull a kitchen knife on him before he scampered out like a thief in the night; scared he'd be caught by my screams for Batman? Did I remember my mother having strange guests over late at night? Did I remember being locked in my room? I just couldn't remember anymore.
I had taken to obsessively keeping lists. But you can't put ghost-busting on a list, can you? And that was my real problem. Ever since, the May Flower Moon the haunting just kept rinsing and repeating. Eat edibles, Nyquil, and Advil PM and still wake up at 3:33am. Smell diesel. Wave of nausea. Little boy in garden. Little boy crying. Little boy pointing at something. Little boy looking up at me. Little boy. Little boy. Little boy.
By last Friday, I was a mess.
My work is suffering. I am too embarrassed to tell my aunt or besties I see a little boy. They already think I am weird enough and last thing I need is a wellness check.
To remain scientific, I have continued my daytime visits to the garden whenever it is open. Everything seems so lovely in the day. I even brought the new woman I am seeing. She fell in love with the tree at first sight. The flowers are gorgeous. And the roses; so mesmerizing. Even the fish in the koi pond are happy.
But at night. Something isn't right.
...Weeping willow tree Weeping sympathy Bend your branches down along the ground and cover me Listen to me plead Hear me willow and weep for me...
My new friend at work I mentioned, who told me about angel numbers, asked me recently if something was bothering me. She told me when we met, she is in the midst of a spiritual awakening.
Part of it includes awakening every morning to read the Tarot cards and commune with who, or what, she calls, "spirit".
I cracked and told her about the little boy under the tree. She didn't bat an eye. She told me spirit wants something from me. I didn't know what to say to that so I just left it alone. I guess I'm afraid what if she's right. And what if I don't like what, "spirit" wants?
Last night was Saturday. I had a dream.
That night I dreamed about a collie I had when I was a very young boy right after my dad split. Her name was Pearl. I had found her on the street on my block and for some inexplicable reason had been allowed to keep her.
Not long after, one hot summer day in Prospect Park, when my mother was going to give me something to cry about, Pearl suddenly ran down the hill she was frolicking on, making a wide sweeping arc that screamed, "ride or die, full throttle, and damn the fucking torpedoes," it's trajectory directly between my mother's legs. Fur overcame flesh just in the nick before I was given something to cry about.
Instead, I laughed.
I laughed so fucking hysterically at the sight of her on the grass, on her ass; smug look gone with the wind; replaced by an expression seething red menace that would have been McCarthy's wet dream.
And, like the little boy at 3:33 am, Pearl's eyes met mine. She seemed to nod her collie head, as if she were acknowledging that, yes, she was the best dog and don't you forget it. I didn't cry much for a while after that till I came home from school and Pearl was gone. Just gone. To some farm I was told. Where she could be happier. So, I guess I did get something to cry about after all.
And then last night I had a dream.
Part III - It weeps for me?
I dreamed of Peter Pan and buried treasure. I dreamed of Stove Stop stuffing and commercials loud enough to drown out a breech birth. I dreamed of Spider-Man letting Uncle Ben's killer go free. I dreamed of being American. I dreamed of Watergate, the fall of the Berlin wall, 9/11 and watching people jump out windows to avoid burning to death out the window of my office.
I dreamed of Iraq and Afghanistan and George Floyd and Covid and never-ending cycles of boom and bust. I dreamed of a golden carrot on what started out as a stick but soon morphed into what I realized was a branch. A long flowing beautiful branch covered in red. A branch that hung low. It swayed along the ground, swayed above my head and there I was.
I was in the garden. Under the tree. I felt drops of warm dew caressing my face. I was about to reach up to caress the tree. My tree. I noticed I was wearing pajamas. Not the black satin jammies I had been wearing for decades but old footie pajamas. They were Star Trek pajamas. With three golden rings on the cuffs and a trap door.
A drop of dew fell in my eye. I wiped it away and looked at my hand. It was red. Red with blood. My Mickey Mouse watch involuntarily color-coordinated with the blood. It appeared to be just after 3:30 am.
Suddenly, a dog appeared. It was Pearl. Then another, it was Spenser. They jammed their snouts into my flannel covered crotch. I pet them both and noticed my tears mixing with the dewy blood drops turning them a soft pink under the moonlight.
"Good boy. Good girl." I said.
"Hi," a voice I recognized but couldn't place said.
I looked around. And there, was, the little boy. And, in his hand was Grover.
"Hi," I heard myself say.
"Who's the dog?" he said.
"That's Pearl. And this is Spenser." I answered.
"I know Pearl, silly. She's my dog," then, "Hi, Spenser."
Spenser left my crotch for the little boy's. They went together like peanut butter and sandwiches.
"Where are your parents?" I heard myself ask.
"Dad left. Mom told me to stay here until she comes back."
"When was that?" I asked.
The little boy shrugged then, "Been a while I guess," and he started to cry. Spenser got agitated and started to whine. I approached. I went to put my hand on the boy's shoulder and he jumped.
"Hey, it's okay." I took my hand back.
He looked up at me. Then he said, "You want to see something?
I said, "Yes."
The little boy fished around in his pajamas and pulled out something, it looked like a piece of rolled up construction paper secured with a red ribbon that matched the bloody dew drops.
He un-scrolled it then solemnly showed it to me.
It appeared to be a child's treasure map. That ended in the garden. Only it wasn't a garden. It said, "JUNK YARD" and there was a big X next to the corner of the rectangle the words were written in. I looked down at him.
"There's no junk yard here, son," I said.
The little boy looked away from Spenser and up at me. Pearl ran to his side. I felt six eyes on me.
"That's what you think," he said
A moment later there was the loud cracking of fireworks being detonated. I awoke in my bed. Fumbling for my glasses, I found them, dropped them, cursed, then almost stepped on them. I finally got them where they belonged thinking I needed to use the bathroom. I glanced at the digital clock on my desk.
3:33 am. Again.
I ran to the window to look out. But, unlike every other time for the past month, the boy was not in residence. He was gone. Just. Gone.
Part IV - The is The End
Gone my lovely dreams To weep my tears along the stream Sad as I can be Hear me willow and weep for me
This was fucking ridiculous. I am sane. I am not mad. I'd been reading, "The Giving Tree," too much. Spending too much time alone working from home. Maybe I just needed to get away. Take a trip somewhere.
I realized getting back to sleep was going to be impossible. So, I went into the kitchen and made a pot of tea. No milk.
Back at my desk, my "SHIT. FUCK. DAMN." glass mug of tea firmly in hand, I took a deep breath. There was no point in giving myself a heart attack. Maybe it was just anxiety. Maybe panic attacks. I had dated lots of neurotic women. That could be it. Maybe some Lexapro and I'd be good as new. I decided to check my email.
A woman I used to date from Queens and stayed friends with had sent me a link entitled, "Birth of a community garden." It was video to my garden. Before it was a garden. Over forty years ago. It was a decrepit vacant lot filled with dead cars and refuse and apparently had been a neighborhood drug bazaar. Like I said, things have changed a lot since Al and I were young as springtime.
By the time I moved back you would have never known what things had used to look like. Spray painted signs that read, "NO DRUGS SOLD HERE!" and the like. Just like the Batman, Dark Knight, the 80s were a time when Urban Renewal was striking back. And before you could say, "corruption at City Hall," there was fecund soil where once had stood God knows what.
It gave me hope that humanity wasn't so bad. Maybe I had just been going through a tough time. Maybe I should quit while I am ahead and get a good night's rest. So, I closed the blinds and went to bed.
Why I am never sleeping again
That night I dreamed I was part of the junk yard's saviors. Hauling out decades of festering trash and replacing it with good old Mother Earth. A whole community coming together to commune with nature. I felt myself smile.
All day we hoed the rows. The fecundity of the soil filling my nostrils. There was food and laughter and soon day turned to night. One by one all the gardeners left into the dusk. Soon I stood alone next to a young woman. She held a green army duffle bag. And two shovels.
"You look like a big, strong man. They're going to be planting a weeping willow tree here soon. But first, I wanted to leave the earth a special gift to grow up with the tree. This time I think we should give to the tree. Won't you help me?"
I felt a passing twinge of disgust. I rubbed my upper lip with the back of my hand and thought I smelled the faint smell of diesel. I heard myself say, "Hand me a shovel."
An hour later I had fulfilled the lady's request to deposit the duffel bag deep within the new garden's soil. She lit a cigarette I recognized. She blew some smoke in my face and it smelled like sour milk.
"Ever read a boy and his dog?" she asked.
I nodded.
"This is the opposite," she said. I smelled the diesel again and then remembered no more.
This morning I awoke feeling none too swell. I got my glasses on without dropping them for a change then sort of hobbled to the kitchen area to make some tea. I opened the blinds and there was my weeping willow tree. Swaying gently in the Sunday early June overcast chill.
Implacable. Inscrutable. True to it's nature. The day was gray as a widow's anniversary.
Well, there's always tea, I thought, ever the optimist. And then I dropped my, "SHIT. FUCK. DAMN." mug on my foot, simultaneously battering and scalding it. I let out a yelp.
Then, mouth agape, I smelled the diesel waft in the window by the fire escape. The window, where, leaning against the fire escape's stairs I witnessed something that froze my blood and tested my aging bladder.
I spied two shovels and an empty duffle bag.
I wonder what spirit will have to say about that?
Gone my lovely dreams To weep my tears along the stream Sad as I can be Hear me willow and weep for me
Willow Weep For Me?
submitted by moishepesach to shortstories [link] [comments]

2023.06.05 04:46 throwawayacc241267 Is this too much info dumping for the opening scene?

Maya's heart was racing as she ran through the dark streets, her eyes darting around for any sign of danger. The entire military and every law enforcement officer in the country would be looking for her right about now and she knew without a single doubt they'd find her. But for now, none of that mattered. She had to find Anika Medhas before it was too late.
Of course it was raining. Maya was used to bad luck. The military had all the high-tech gear, including specialized weaponry, night vision equipment, and helicopters. All she had was a lack of coordination that had nearly gotten her killed before all of this. Now, she was caught in the middle of this mess, with nothing but her wits to keep her alive.
It was a funny thing, luck. Maya's bad luck is what got her in this situation to begin with. Her parents deciding that they didn't want her and putting her into the foster system? Bad luck. Walking into that school building at seven-thirty in the morning? Bad luck. Her subsequent departure from that school building in federal custody? Bad luck. In fact, every bad thing that happened to her seemed like it happened not because of her own faults, but because of her terrible luck.
She didn't ask to be an orphan. She didn't ask to be arrested for a crime she didn't commit. She didn't ask to be sentenced to death. And she certainly didn't ask to be a pawn in a war she barely understood. But, here she was, fleeing the highest security prison in the country to deliver a message to the rebellion. Hopefully, the madness would end, but Maya knew it was too much to ask for it to be in her lifetime.
As the helicopter blades grew louder, she crouched behind a pile of garbage bags, her stomach churning at the stench of rot that surrounded her. The city was a wasteland, a place where poverty and decay had left their mark on every building and every street. She had to move quickly, but the garbage bags were her only cover.
She held her nose and tried to breathe through her mouth, but the smell was overpowering. It was a sickly-sweet odor, like something that had been left to fester in the sun for days. She could feel the maggots crawling over her skin, and she had to fight the urge to scream. Any noise would certainly mean her death, so she kept her mouth shut and let the tears stream silently down her face.
Just as she thought she couldn't bear the stench of the garbage any longer, Maya heard a sudden silence fall over the world around her. She dared to peek out from behind the sludge and saw that the aircraft was gone. For a moment, she felt a sense of relief. But as she listened to the distant wail of sirens, she knew that danger still lurked around every corner. She took a deep breath and prepared to move on, her heart pounding in her chest.
Maya moved through the debris with surprising ease. The rubble and broken concrete around her made it difficult for anyone to follow her movements. She hoped that she’d soon be able to spot the residential districts in the distance, where she'd be able to blend in and disappear. She repeated the address over and over in her mind, committing it to memory. 151 Second Street, Residential District 3. The streets were empty, and the only sounds were the crunching of her boots on the concrete and faint sirens in the distance. She felt a sense of urgency, knowing that every second counted and any moment she could be detained.
Maya's thoughts drifted to the inner zones, the place she had always dreamed of living. The idea of having plenty of food and a cozy home was almost too good to be true. She remembered running away from her group home years ago just to catch a glimpse of them. Those RD’s were reserved for the wealthy and connected, and Maya had neither of those things. She had no money and no one to turn to except her prison buddies, who were more like people she had to sleep next to hope and that they didn’t kill her than friends. The thought of living in the inner zones was like a fantasy, something that could never be possible for someone like her.
Maya couldn't help but wonder how Anika managed to live in RD 3 and have ties to the rebellion while her mother was locked up in the Penitentiary District, facing certain death. But she pushed those thoughts aside. It wasn't her place to question the specifics of Anika's life. All she needed to do was find the girl, pass on the message, and then she could die in peace. That was the deal she had made, and she intended to keep her end of the bargain. She had to keep her thoughts clear, any distraction could get her killed. She was determined to see this through, no matter what.
Maya never thought she'd reach a point where all she wanted was a peaceful death, but that day had finally come. Instead of facing the public execution that had been scheduled for her 18th birthday, she was determined to die on her own terms. She was trying to make the world a better place, or at least that's what she told herself. She knew that what she was doing was dangerous, but it was also important. She hoped that her actions would make a difference, that they would help to bring about change. In the end, that was all that really mattered. She was going to die anyways, why not bring an empire on it’s knees in the process?
Maya couldn't help but wonder how Anika's mother had looked her in the eyes and chosen her to deliver the message to her daughter. Isis had planned this for eight months, under the heaviest scrutiny, and so far, everything was going according to plan. But she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something special about her that had caught Isis's attention. She wondered what it was that had made her stand out from their cell mates. She knew that she had to focus on the task at hand, but the question lingered in her mind. She couldn't help but feel a sense of curiosity about what made her so special.
She was the youngest person she’d ever heard of sentenced to death. Maybe that’s why Isis thought she’d be a good fit? Her stature was smaller compared to her adult cohabitants, so maybe Isis thought she’d be able to remain undetected better than anyone else?
Whatever. It didn’t matter, Maya told herself with a scowl. It was just her desperation for paternal affection reminding Maya of the hole in heart. Nothing to dwell over. Their were lives at stake, for crying out loud.
Maya walked through broken glass and heaps of garbage that littered the area. It was no wonder that this place had become home to the worst offenders - traitors, killers, and the like. The place was barely habitable for any kind of civilized being. The stench of the garbage mixed with the muggy scent of the polluted rain, making it even more unpleasant. Maya couldn't help but feel a sense of disgust at the sight and smell of the place.
She walked cautiously through the rubble of the Penitentiary District. The buildings around her were nothing more than piles of debris, and the stench of decay hung heavily in the air. She stepped carefully, her boots crunching on the broken concrete. As she moved further away from the district, the debris thinned out, and she could see the residential districts in the distance. They were like a beacon, a promise of safety and comfort.
submitted by throwawayacc241267 to fantasywriters [link] [comments]

2023.06.05 04:45 Poseidonpunk Starting to feel self conscious about choices

For context, I am a guy who’s not afraid to wear, say, or do traditionally feminine coded things… for example, BBW body care obviously! It’s helped me explore my identity and improve my overall self care routine after keeping it ignored for so long. It’s done wonders for my mental health, truly.
A post was made a little bit ago about men wearing any fragrance, especially outside the ones advertised towards us. I chimed in along as well. I found that I quite enjoy fruity (ha) notes, and I gravitate to them when they’re available. Nothing that screams, “Hey, shouldn’t only a woman use this?” I love my Golden Mango Lagoon and Coco Paradise, thank you very much!
Which brings me to this: I’ve tried scents like Gingham Gorgeous and was on the fence, as much as I like it, I’m almost… anxious to actually go out while wearing it? It’s been sitting forgotten in the cupboard for a while now.
Today, for SAS, I bounced back and forth between getting more Fruity Sherbet Scoop or give Plumeria a go. As someone who’s rather new to BBW as a whole, I’m aware that Plumeria has history as an old, retired scent. But the thing is, the ads focus on that aspect and leaves me wondering if it’s borderline creepy for a (young looking, curse the genes) 30 year old man to wear product that was once worn by teenage girls back in the day.
I hate being indecisive but I’m probably very likely to return Plumeria for something else. 😓
That’s my one vice when it comes to this store - exchanging.
submitted by Poseidonpunk to bathandbodyworks [link] [comments]

2023.06.05 04:39 hideyawives32 Golden Girl

Golden Girl submitted by hideyawives32 to u/hideyawives32 [link] [comments]