#eventually ran into the Colorado Trail which we followed for a bit

[restinthewest]

We had a perfect morning

#took a chance on a forest service road #Parked and just started wandering #eventually ran into the Colorado Trail which we followed for a bit #didn’t see a soul the entire time #mild sunny calm day #there are some days where I question if continuing to live in CO is worth it #considering the high cost of living and the encroaching west coast vibe that I’m not a fan of #but then we have a day like this and I’m like ‘actually no you’ll drag me out of here kicking and screaming’

[illlumiseven]

Don’t Ever Scare me Like that Again.

Joel Miller x Reader

Pt : 1/2

Warnings: Light Angst, fluff(if you squint), swearing

Summary: You’re Tess’ slightly younger sister and you tag along with Joel and Ellie even though Joel insisted you go with Tommy to Jackson.

Word Count: 1.7k

———————————————————

Autumn

Autumn rolled around pretty fast.

We had separated with Tommy almost a month ago now and you could really feel the cold beginning to seep in.

Joel had been particularly quiet this journey barly even scolding Ellie, which to you was unbelievably confusing.

You stared at the back of Joel’s head as he lead the three of you into a new town.

Ellie had decided to give him a break and ride with you for a change.

You didn’t mind, it was comforting with Ellie so close to you she was like a personal heater.

“Hey what was Tess like ?” She asked you loud enough so you could hear her but Joel couldn’t.

You drew in a shakey breath as memories came flooding in from your childhood.

“Tess was great, she was this cheerful, kind of peppy girl, especially when we were in school,” you smiled at the thought.

“See Tess was the popular girl and in turn everyone knew who I was. I was only a year behind her in school,” you explained to the girl.

You glanced back at Ellie and noticed she had a small smile on her face.

“Did she like the attention ?”

This made you laugh slightly which had Joel’s head turning around slightly to peer at the two of you.

“Liked it! She fucking loved it,” you said, your laughter dying out.

“I have no clue why though,” a small smile still eteched on your face.

Ellie smiled proud of the fact she got you to show some emotions that weren’t sadness or anger.

Ellie had noticed from the day Tess died that you had been kind of like a shell of a person and she felt guilty.

She had a feeling that you and her would get along but she just needed to break through the walls you put up.

Ellie was about to ask you another question about life before the infection, when Joel suddenly pulled his horse to a stop.

“Stop with your chit chat and go look for supplies,” he said in a short and clipped tone.

You noticed Ellie roll her eyes and mock salute him as she hopped off the horse. You quickly followed after her, after you handed Joel the reigns of your horse.

Ellie ran into a bookstore while you went into the supermarket next to it.

You quickly picked up anything you found that could be useful.

Your head whipped round when you heard Ellie call your name from the bookshop.

“Yeah?” You replied as you finished putting some food into your rucksack.

“Look,” she said as she held out a copy of a book.

You couldn’t make out the title from where you stood but when you moved forward and saw it you drew in a small breath beofore a smile spread over your face.

“Grimms’ Fairytales!” You said as you took the book out of her hands and inspected what kind of condition it was in.

“How’d you know ?” You asked her as you looked up from what was practically your childhood.

“It looked old just like you,” she said in a joking tone.

You feigned a look of hurt before smiling and looking back down at the book.

“What is it about ?” You heard Ellie ask.

You looked up and opened your mouth to answer but changed your mind halfway.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll read you this book when we take breaks, and then you’ll find out what it’s about.”

You looked over and Ellie had the biggest smile on her face and it warmed your heart.

A sudden thought passed through your mind and it made a small smile appear.

‘ This must be what having a kid feels like’

That thought ran through your head for the next couple of days on your journey when you and Ellie would talk constantly while riding.

She would speculate what was going to happen next in the first story you started with from the collection.

Cinderella.

Joel was still very quiet but you noticed that some days he looked a bit happier than he was most.

You also noticed the amused smile that would appear briefly on his face when Ellie would make a ridiculous assumption about what would happen next.

Over the coming weeks it began to get progressively colder and you all began to search for warmer clothes when you’d stop in old QZ’s or towns.

Everything was smooth sailing until you ran into another group of hunters.

You had finally made it to Colorado and you were honestly a bit upset about the fact you’d be parting with Ellie so soon, but you hid that from her and Joel.

Walking through the science building made you feel uneasy.

That feeling only grew when you heard something on the floor above you.

“What if it’s hunters,” you said to which Joel scoffed.

“The place still looks inhabited,” you tried to argue.

He had simply brushed you off saying whoever lived there probably moved on, which in all honesty confused you because he knows hunters don’t move on from places once they settle.

So here you were shooting two guys in the face as Ellie pulled Joel up off of the rusted metal spike that had impaled his stomach.

Joel was a mess.

He could barely stand and would stumble every couple of metres before you eventually forced him to lean on you as you told Ellie to cover you both.

When you finally made it back outside you helped Joel over to his horse before he insisted he was fine.

You told Ellie to stick with Joel this time and with that the three of you took off out of Colorado and the rest was a blur to you.

You had made it a good bit away from the university and you were coming up to the outskirts of a smaller town before Joel keeled over, off of his horse.

Your mind went fuzzy and you felt yourself breathing heavily as you jumped off your horse and down beside him.

Ellie snapped you back to reality as she picked up Joel’s left arm and slung it around her own before telling you to ‘hurry the fuck up and get his right side.’

With that you snapped into action and and helped put him on the horse before walking the horse to an abandoned cabin.

You helped Ellie a good bit. While she took Joel down off the horse you went upstairs to check for infected. There were two clickers in a the kitchen that you easily took care of.

You went back down to the basement and noticed Ellie had found a mattress and pulled it down for Joel to lie on.

You stared at the man you had known since you were 34 a nauseating feeling spreading throughout you as you did. Joel was always ready to fight, but now just looked so weak and fragile and it scared you like nothing else ever had.

Winter

About a week had passed since you had arrived at the cabin and winter was now in full swing where the cabin was located anyways.

To say you hated being stationed in one place for too long, was an understatement.

You despised it.

You felt like a sitting duck waiting to be eaten by clickers or killed by hunters.

You had been going out on supply runs constantly refusing to let Ellie accompany you or go herself.

Which pissed her off to say the least.

But you knew better.

Joel would have your head if he found out you let her out alone.

You were doing everything in your power to protect the two of them.

Making sure Ellie had food in the morning and evening and making sure Joel got some form of medicine everyday.

It was incredibly difficult to come by but you found a couple of abandoned lodges that had some Penicillin in them.

While you were were on your way back you bumped into a small group of hunters.

You easily picked them off silently before you headed back.

Once you got back you went straight for the basement and injected the antibiotics into Joel’s stitched up wound.

Joel seemed to be better the next morning and that put your mind at ease. You were expecting to be back on the road soon enough.

But what you didn’t anticipate was the fact that you were tracked.

You told Ellie to stay with Joel, that you’d get rid of them and you’d be back soon.

But when you never came back Ellie got worried and followed after your tracks only to find Callus dead.

So instead she just followed after the trail of dead bodies you left behind.

You couldn’t really remember much.

You were taking out one guy and then you somehow ended up battered and bruised on the floor, in a place you didn’t recognise.

You didn’t know how long you were there or when the man with the baseball bat finally stopped hitting you and disappeared.

Voices barely registered in your mind. You thought you heard Ellie but you could’ve just been hallucinating due to the concussion.

What you did recognise though was Joel’s voice.

You swore you heard him yell your name but it was too hard to tell since you were in and out of consciousness.

You felt a pair of warm arms embrace you. You tried to focus on something, anything when you could faintly hear Joel.

“C’mon darlin stay with me,” his voice sounded far away but you knew it belonged to the person holding you.

You forced your eyes open much to the begrudgement of the rest of your body.You realised your right eye was swollen and could barely open but through your left you could see the face belonging to a worried Joel hovering above you.

“You’re okay,” you mustered up as you looked at the man above you.

Joel’s expression softened and he chuckled, “don’t you be worryin’ bout me darlin,” he said softly.

You smiled before turning your head towards his body and closing your eyes.

He let out a breath of relief before picking you up and getting Ellie before walking out of wherever you were.

Before you faded out of consciousness, the last thing you heard was Joel’s voice.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

Authors Note: Hey hoped you enjoyed this for now it’s a two shot but I don’t know how I’m leaving the second chapter so there could be a part 3. But again hoped you enjoyed ❣️

#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel the last of us #twoshot #the last of us imagine #joel miller imagine #angst #slight fluff #i mean i tried #joel miller deserves love and affection #violence #death mention

[joe-mazzello-archive]

Party For One

A Joe Mazzello x Fem!Reader fic

Word Count: 4k whoopsssss

Rating: PG

Warnings: language, drinking, angst for most of it, a teeny bit of fluff, joe is a bit of a shithead in this one, sorry gang

A/N: hey remember how i was supposed to be finishing doj part two and instead i word-vomited this out in five hours at work yesterday? anyway, enjoy.

He hasn’t changed a bit, you thought to yourself as you watched him, always the life of the party. He’d been that way all through high school, the summers you saw him between college semesters, and the few gatherings he made appearances at when he was home.

You’d always been right beside him, too. Pre-gaming at a friend’s house, sharing the mic during karaoke, rubbing his back as he leaned over the toilet, crashing on the couch or the floor or wherever you could find a spot.

But now you were out of your element. You were in his other world. You were surrounded by vaguely familiar faces, people you knew you had probably seen in a movie or a tv show but you couldn’t place them exactly. And there he was, across the room, animatedly entertaining a small group with some anecdote you’d probably heard before.

He was obviously the reason you were here. He had been begging you to come out to Los Angeles for years now. Years of you’d love it out here and you and I both know you’d take the industry by storm and I miss my best friend. Eventually, you relented. Mostly because your career in real estate was exhaustingly boring and you needed a change. Acting had always been something you enjoyed but never looked at as a career opportunity until now. But you had to admit, you missed your best friend too.

So you packed up everything, drove across the country, and settled into Joe’s guest room. You had a meeting with his agency on Monday, but of course Joe, always the party host, insisted that you needed a welcoming get-together upon arrival. Which soon turned into a complete blow-out. In fact, you were pretty sure most of the guests in attendance had no idea what the party’s true origin was, let alone who you were.

So there you were, only hours since you had arrived, left to nurse your beer off in the corner. Part of you wished you and Joe could have had a quiet night in, catching up over pizza and a comedy special. But you knew deep down that would have just exacerbated the situation you found yourself in. Seeing Joe in the flesh once again had caused some...feelings to resurface. Feelings that you had worked for years to suppress, and had been hoping were completely gone by now.

All it took was him opening his front door and pulling you into a tight hug for all of those feelings to come rushing right back.

Sometimes he did things that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, he felt the same. Like the way he used to wrap a protective arm around you when the two of you walked around Brooklyn at night. The way he could sense when you were having a rough day just through your texts, and suddenly a delivery of Insomnia Cookies would arrive at your apartment door. The way every hello and goodbye hug lasted just a moment longer than was probably appropriate for two friends. But surely you were reading into it.

You knew he wasn’t avoiding you. No, he couldn’t be. Sure, the second other guests had started to arrive, his focus turned from you to them. And sure, he hadn’t given you the time of day since. But he wasn’t avoiding you, no. He was just a popular guy, he always had been.

You pushed those negative thoughts away, not willing to accept them.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” sounded a familiar voice with a British lilt from behind you. You turned and were met with ocean blue eyes and chiseled cheekbones.

“Gwil,” you breathed out, almost in relief. Someone you knew. The tall man pulled you in for a bear hug, immediately putting you at ease. You appreciated the gesture considering you and Gwil weren’t even that close, only meeting each other a few times back when the Borhap cast was briefly in New York.

“Did that asshole leave you here alone at a party full of people you don’t know?” Gwil asked as he pulled away. You chuckled at his frankness.

“You know how he is,” you mused, offering a smile and a shrug. “He’s gotta entertain everybody.”

“Now did I hear correctly that you’re moving out here?” Gwil questioned, casually leaning a shoulder against the wall next to you.

“Got here a few hours ago, in fact,” you explained. “I’ll be occupying the guest room until I find my own place.” Gwil chuckled at that.

“You quite literally just got here and he’s off chatting with people he sees all the time?” Gwil clarified, earning an exasperated nod from you. “I’m going to go ahead and apologize on behalf of that bastard.” You let out a genuine laugh at that, clearly pleasing Gwil if his smile was any indication. “So how was the trip out here?”

And that’s how you found yourself tucked into the hallway of Joe’s apartment, just exchanging stories with Gwil. You welcomed the change in subject, not wanting to harp on the whole Joe situation. You told him about the weird truck stop in Ohio, the delicious pizza you devoured in Chicago, the loud hotel neighbors you encountered in Colorado, and your brief stint in Las Vegas. Gwil offered his own road trip tales before the conversation shifted, and eventually he was regaling stories about various sets he’d worked on, actors he’d worked with, and general knowledge of the business. He even offered some much needed advice, melting away some of your initial anxieties about your career change. All feelings of loneliness and inklings of frustration at Joe were long gone, and you mentally thanked Joe for inviting at least one person you knew.

“Can I ask you something?” Gwil inquired after a little while, the two of you finding yourselves settled out in chairs on Joe’s balcony, enjoying the night air of LA.

“Fire away.”

“Did you and Joe ever date or anything?”

You burst out laughing at the question, shaking your head.

“No, no, definitely not,” you replied before taking a sip of your beer. You chanced a look at Gwil, finding him eyeing you warily.

“That’s surprising,” he admitted before pursing his lips and gently caressing his own beard, a gesture you noticed he did often.

“Why is that surprising?” you asked, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Just the way he talks about you…” Gwil trailed off, his gaze focusing on the city lights before him. Your heart slammed against your chest at his words. You tried to keep your face neutral, not wanting to let Gwil know just how important what he was saying was to you.

“How...how does he talk about me?” you followed up, attempting to hide the quiver in your voice. Gwil immediately turned back to face you, his eyes glinting mischievously. His lips curved into a soft smile before he said your name gently.

“He...he’s in awe of you,” Gwil confessed. “I swear he talked about you constantly while we were shooting the film. ‘She’d be a great actress if she wanted to be. She’s funny, she’s charming, and she’s got the looks and talent.’ Everything reminded him of a funny story involving you. We practically knew you before we even met you.” Your heart was practically beating out of your chest as Gwil spoke. Sure, Joe had complimented you before. But something about the fact that he had practically bragged about you to people who didn’t even know you made your stomach flutter.

You realized Gwil had stopped talking and you met his gaze, finding his eyes narrowed at you.

“You should tell him,” he finally said after a few moments.

“Tell him what?” you asked, playing dumb. You knew exactly what he was referring to. The man had seen right through you. He smiled, this time seeing right through your act of denial.

“How you feel.”

You ran your hands over your face and let out a groan.

“I literally just moved in, Gwil,” you reasoned. “I don’t want to make him feel awkward about me staying here by telling him about the feelings he very clearly doesn’t reciprocate.” You gestured inside the apartment, where Joe was still talking it up with a few guys you recognized from Undrafted.

Gwil leaned forward, shuffling closer to you and placing a gentle hand on your knee.

“I know his actions tonight make it seem like he couldn’t care less. But I promise you, he’s so happy to have you here. He adores you. More than you even realize.”

You chewed on Gwil’s words, your mind swimming. You believed him; he had no reason to lie to you. But you just wished what Gwil told you lined up with how Joe had been behaving all night.

Eventually the two of you made your way back inside, to find the party had somewhat died down. Joe had shifted into clean up mode while the last small group was starting to make their exit. You instinctively began to straighten up, grabbing beer bottles and paper plates and disposing of them while Joe worked on packing up the leftover food.

You were tying up a full trash bag when Joe brushed past you, not even acknowledging your presence. Your heart sunk, knowing full well you couldn’t use the excuse that Joe was just distracted by others this time.

He was actually ignoring you.

As you opened a new trash bag, you began to wrack your brain for what you could have done already to piss him off. Gwil pulled you from your thoughts, pulling you in for a goodbye hug and a peck on the cheek. When he pulled away, his brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong?” It was amazing how quickly Gwil learned how to read you. Or maybe you were just that bad at masking your emotions.

Your lip trembled as you tried to prevent the tears from falling.

“He’s ignoring me now,” you revealed, earning a sympathetic look from Gwil.

“I’m sorry, love,” he offered quietly. “He’ll figure his shit out eventually.” Another hug, this one a bit longer as he held you against his chest. “I’ll text you next time I’m in town, we’ll all grab lunch.” You nodded with a soft smile before pulling away, turning your attention back to your cleaning.

Another minute passed, the last of the voices faded away, and the door clicked closed, leaving a silent apartment. You let out a sigh as you tossed the last of the plates you had found in the new trash bag. Pulling another beer out of the fridge, you ventured into the living room where you found Joe pushing the coffee table back to its original position. You awkwardly leaned against the arm of the loveseat as you waited for him to say something.

But he didn’t. After finishing rearranging, he passed by you once again, not even sparing you a glance, before heading back into the kitchen. You let out another sigh, following after him.

“Okay, can you please tell me what I did so I can fix it?” you pleaded, completely at a loss. Joe silently pulled a bottle of disinfectant and a rag out from under the sink and breezed past you another time, heading back into the living room. You scoffed at his actions, your sadness being replaced with anger at his immature way of handling himself.

You placed your beer down on the counter and trudged back into the living room, stopping in front of where Joe was wiping down the coffee table and crossing your arms.

“Joe? Are you going to talk to me or continue to ignore me like a fucking child?”

He froze, dropping the bottle and the rag on the table before finally, finally looking at you for the first time in hours.

“You’ve been here for what, five minutes? And you’re already trying to fuck my friends?”

Your jaw dropped.

“Excuse me?”

“You and Gwil seemed awfully cozy,” Joe replied before picking up the rag and continuing to wipe down the coffee table. You grabbed the rag from his hand, earning a sharp glare. “Hey--”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” you roared, your blood boiling. “I hang out with the one fucking person I knew at my supposed ‘welcoming party’ besides you and suddenly I’m trying to fuck them?” You were shell-shocked at the accusation. Joe simply shrugged.

“The two of you were inseparable all night, what was I supposed to think?” he reasoned as he began to walk back into the kitchen. You scoffed again, tossing the rag onto the table in frustration at his nonchalant tone.

“How about the fact that you left me alone at a party full of strangers so I spent time with Gwil since you were busy with your other friends?” you fired back as you stomped into the kitchen. Joe began to wash his hands, still ignoring your piercing stare. “Like, holy shit, Joe. I know your world does not revolve around me, but the least you could do was acknowledge my existence. It’s my first night here, for fuck’s sake.”

That made him pause. He stared at the counter and you could practically hear how hard he was thinking. Suddenly, he met your gaze once again, a brazen look on his face.

“You could have come up to talk to me. I shouldn’t have to babysit you.”

His words were like a sword through your chest. Your jaw practically hit the floor this time.

“Fuck. You.” You turned on your heels and headed for the guest bedroom, angry hot tears escaping down your cheeks. You thanked your past self for barely unpacking anything before the party as you began to scoop up your toiletries and few pieces of clothing laying out on the bed and threw them back into your suitcase. 

You felt ashamed and so so stupid for thinking that this had been a good idea. And the worst feeling of all was the embarrassment at thinking that there was ever a chance of Joe reciprocating any feelings for you. You were nothing but a burden to him. Someone he felt like he would have to “babysit.” You didn’t fit in in his world and you were foolish to think you could.

“What are you doing?”

You jumped at the sound of Joe’s voice behind you; you hadn’t even heard him approach. You swiped at a stray tear and finished zipping up your bag before lugging it onto the floor and pulling up the handle.

“I’m going to check into a hotel,” you explained as you pushed your way past him, luggage dragging behind you. “I don’t feel welcome here.” You began to make your way towards the front door, already feeling overwhelmed by anxiety. You had no idea what your next move was going to be. Stay in LA and try to figure things out? Go back home to two parents who would chant “we told you so” until they were blue in the face?

Joe’s hand caught your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Please don’t do that,” he pleaded, his tone from earlier completely gone and replaced with a much softer and more desperate one. “I’m sorry. Please stay.” You whipped around to face him.

“Which part are you sorry for?” you asked sharply. “The part where you ignored me? Or where you accused me of trying to sleep with your friend? Or maybe it’s the part where you said you shouldn’t have to ‘babysit me’?”

“All of it,” Joe replied. “I’m sorry I lashed out at you. I’m just--” he trailed off as he turned away, almost bashfully. “I can’t help but feel protective of you.”

You furrowed your brows. It didn’t make sense. He felt protective of you but didn’t want to have to ‘babysit you’? He felt protective of you but he got mad at you for talking to Gwil? You stuttered as you tried to put the pieces together, coming up empty.

“I don’t…” your voice petered out. You were completely flabbergasted. “What do you want from me, Joe?”

Joe’s eyes met yours once again, and you could see the conflict written on his face. He was struggling with something. It was almost as if he--

“I want…” he began, before taking a deep breath. “I want you to stay here tonight.”

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. For some reason, a part of you was hopeful he would say something else. The two of you stared at each other for a few more moments, giving him the chance to say more. But it never came. So with a soft nod, you reached for your suitcase again, pulling it behind you as you walked back into the guest room, closing the door behind you.

✧✧✧

You awoke to the smell of bacon wafting into your room. You sat up, throwing your legs over the side of the bed. With a deep breath, you pushed yourself up and headed toward the bathroom.

The sight of your face in the mirror made you cringe. You hadn’t taken off your makeup before crying yourself to sleep the night before, leaving black streaks of mascara across your cheeks. You washed your face before running a comb through your hair. You knew you looked awful, but you didn’t care. Joe had seen you worse, and honestly, his opinion of you was not high on your priority list after his hissy fit last night.

You sauntered into the kitchen with a bit of hesitation, unsure what you’d be walking into. You found Joe, furiously whisking some pancake batter.

“Hey.”

He practically jumped out of his own skin, clumsily dropping the bowl of batter to the counter, luckily with little to no mess.

“Hey,” he replied, running a hand over the back of his neck. “How did you sleep?”

“Alright,” you lied. You had agonized over every detail of the evening until practically three in the morning. But you didn’t want Joe to know that. If he knew, he didn’t let on, instead offering you a small smile.

“I made bacon and I’m about to make pancakes,” he stated, gesturing towards the stove behind him. You nodded simply and took a seat at his kitchen island.

Things were awkward. You didn’t even know where to begin. Part of you wanted to tell him to forget everything and start fresh. It would make things easier. But part of you wanted to stand strong, make sure you held him accountable for how he’d hurt you.

You mulled over everything, idly chewing on a piece of bacon as Joe worked at the stove, mumbling under his breath about the pancakes cooking inconsistently or something. After a few minutes, you were pulled from your thoughts by a plate of pancakes being placed in front of you. You glanced up to see Joe eyeing you, an uncertain look on his face.

“I’m a huge asshole,” he admitted. You opened your mouth to agree with him but he kept going. “You were right. I was avoiding you during the party. It was easier for me to convince myself that you were having a good time than to check up on you myself. I thought I…” he trailed off, losing momentum. He shook his head and began again. “I assured myself that I could handle being around you again. That enough time had passed and I could be your best friend again without a second thought. But then you walked through my front door and it all came rushing back and I panicked.”  You shook your head, trying to keep up with what Joe was trying to tell you.

“I don’t understand--”

“I’m in love with you.”

For the third time in less than twenty-four hours, your jaw dropped.

“I honestly think I’ve been in love with you since high school, but it took me well into my late twenties for me to actually realize it. And I got so caught up on this fantasy of you and I being this acting dream team, showing this fucking town who’s boss, together. And then you were here and you had spent the last week road-tripping across the country yet somehow you looked so fucking beautiful? And I just...couldn’t handle it. I invited practically everyone in my contacts to come over right away because I needed a buffer. I turned my focus to everyone else at the party because it was familiar and certain. With you there was so much uncertainty.”

He paused for a moment and collected his thoughts once again.

“And then I saw you with Gwil. I knew it wasn’t anything. But you were smiling and laughing with him and I just couldn’t help but wish you were spending your time with me. I know that doesn’t make sense. But I just got so caught up in my own head so when you finally confronted me, I panicked again. I threw everything back at you because I was afraid and embarrassed.”

You watched him as he plopped down on the stool next to you with a sigh.

“I wish I could do it all over again. There wouldn’t be a party. Just you and me like it used to be,” he continued. He turned to you, eyes sad with regret. “I am so so so sorry. You were right about everything. Except one thing. My world does revolve around you. The day you told me you were coming out here was the happiest day I’ve had in awhile. I’ve thought about nothing else since. But I completely understand if you want to leave. Hell, I’ll pay for your hotel and help you figure out what you want to do. But I also understand if you want me to just leave you alone.”

To say you were stunned would be an understatement. Your heart was pounding out of your chest at Joe’s confession. You didn’t even know what to say. There was so much that needed to be said, but you were frozen in place.

So you didn’t speak. You just moved.

You gripped the sides of Joe’s head and pulled him in for a bruising kiss. He let out a small noise in surprise, but quickly melted into the kiss, his own hands reaching for you and landing on your hips. You kissed him hard, pouring every emotion you felt into it. Every past pang of your heart when Joe had gone out of his way to do something for you. Every past flutter of your stomach when he had wrapped his arms around you. Every ounce of frustration and hurt that flooded your heart last night. He kissed you back just as eagerly, pulling you off the stool and closer to him, your chests pressing together.

You finally pulled away to gasp for breath, your forehead still pressed against Joe’s.

“I love you too, you asshole,” you breathed out, earning a chuckle from Joe. He pulled back to look at you, gently caressing your cheek with his thumb. “You think I’d uproot my entire life and move across the country if I wasn’t completely in love with you?”

Joe’s face lit up before he dove in for another kiss.

“Does this mean you forgive me?” he asked, running his hands up and down your sides. You pursed your lips as you thought it over.

“I’ll only forgive you if you help me finish unpacking,” you reasoned, a smirk playing at your lips. Joe beamed, pulling you closer to him so you were practically in his lap.

“So you’re gonna stay?”

“Of course I’m staying. Why stay in a hotel when I can stay with my former best friend?” Joe’s brows furrowed.

“Former?”

“I guess I just figured ‘love of my life’ was a better title for you,” you revealed with a smile, running your fingers through his auburn locks. Joe pulled you in for another searing kiss, standing up and pressing you against the island, earning a squeal from you. After a moment, he pulled away, grabbing your hand and practically running down the hall towards the guest room, pancakes long forgotten.

✧✧✧

Permanent Taglist (crossed out names won’t let me tag): @queenlover05​, @mrhoemazzello​, @madamsledge​, @sadhwstudent​, @johndeaconshands​, @puffnstuff08

#joe mazzello #joe mazzello x reader #joe mazzello x you #joe mazzello imagine #joe mazzello fic #joe mazzello fanfic #joe mazzello angst #joe mazzello fluff

[neerasrealm]

Need A Ride?

an au in which Toby goes searching for his long lost brother (Cody) and encounters Tim, Jay and Brian taking a roadtrip after shit goes down with the operator. inspired by a convo I had with @rottingmolars :) also I haven’t had a lot of practice writing characters with tourettes so sorry if some of the stuff is wrong!! feedback is appreciated greatly!

"Please be quiet…" Toby thought as slowly reached toward the black, leather wallet sticking out from the shorter man's back pocket. He gulped. If his tics could just be calm for a couple more se-

"Twizzlers!" DAMNIT- of all the tics he had did it have to be that one???

The man turned around and looked up at Toby. His dark eyes trailed from his anxious face to Toby's arm. He quickly put two and two together. Toby yanked his arm away with a whimper. Shit. He was going to get his ass kicked, wasn't he? Not that it'd hurt but still! 

The man frowned, looking him over for a long, tense moment. "...you need something kid?" He asked. He didn't sound angry- why didn't he sound angry…? Toby just tried to mug him. He tilted his head. "Kid?"

Toby gulped. Fuck fuck fuck-! Say something you idiot! "I-I- ngk-!" He was cut off by his head loudly snapping to the side. Damn tics. He scratched nervously at the back of his hand. "I-I-I uh-"

The man reached out and pulled his hands away. Toby stared in shock. "You'll scratch yourself up." He murmured gently. Toby trembled. The man's eyes were soft, like he somehow understood Toby. "You hungry, kid? You want something to eat?" 

Toby gave a feeble nod. "St-starving."

"C'mon kid," the man waved for him to follow. "I'll get ya something." Toby followed him silently. The gas station they were in had a small deli counter that Toby had admittedly cast a few yearning glances at. "What do you want, kiddo?" 

"Chicken roll- with onions and lettuce. And barbecue sauce." He replied quickly. He'd prepared his order mentally before trying to steal some cash. The man laughed in amusement. 

"Not a bad choice," he looked at the employee behind the counter. "I'll take a coffee. To go." He added. Toby looked down at him, fiddling with his hands. 

"Um- can I- can I ask you something, sir?"

"Call me Tim."

"Oh- okay Tim uh…" Toby ran his tongue over his chapped lips. "Why're you being so nice to me…?"

Tim looked at him. He sighed a bit. "You're not a bad kid," he murmured. "You just needed money, and you don't have a way to get it." 

Toby blinked. Wow- Tim had him figured out pretty good…

"You got somewhere to stay tonight?" He asked. Toby shook his head. 

"No but- I-I'll be fine."

Tim didn't look pleased with that answer. He chewed his lip in thought for a second before just giving a slight nod. Before Toby could say anything, their order was called, and Tim walked over to grab their food and coffee. He handed Toby his sandwich and nodded his head to the door. "C'mon kid. You can sit and eat with me."

Toby followed him across the gas station to an old silver car that was parked beside one of the pumps. Tim gestured to one of the doors to the backseat. "You'll have to sit back. Sorry about that."

Toby shrugged. "It's fine." He murmured, trying to ignore the feelings of anxiety that came with getting into a car. He slowly pulled open the door and moved to climb in, but instead he locked eyes with another man. He had short, light brown hair, and a small moustache. He wore a yellow hoodie and black jeans. He glanced at Tim as he climbed into the driver's seat. 

"Tim," he said. "Who's the kid?" 

Tim didn't look up. "He tried to steal my wallet so I bought him a sandwich. Now move your stuff so he can sit down."

"He what?!" A second voice called from inside the car. Toby glanced at the front seat. Sitting there, staring at him in shock was a second man. He wore a green jacket and baseball cap. 

"You're serious?"

"Brian, let the kid in the car." Tim replied tiredly. Brian sighed and reached over, pulling the bags and pair of crutches that were laying next to him on the backseat away so Toby could sit down. He gulped and climbed in, sitting down as quietly as his body would allow. "Close the door, kid."

"Sorry." Toby mumbled. He pulled the door next to him closed. Trapping him in the car with these three strangers. It was silent for a second as Tim started up the car and started pulling out of the station. Toby gulped. Last time he’d been in a car was....a long time ago. He clutched his sandwich. 

‘’So where’re we taking you, kid?’’ Tim asked. Toby shrugged. Tim glanced at him. ‘’...we’ll find a hotel for the night, then. Let you rest up. How’s that sound?’’

‘’Y-you don’t have to do that-’’ Toby replied quickly. Tim shook his head.

‘’Yeah we do.’’ he replied. Toby opened his mouth to protest, but closed it. He glanced around nervously. The guy up front, the one with the hat, cleared his throat and smiled a bit.

‘’So- what’s your name?’’ he asked. 

‘’T-To- twizzlers!! TOBY-’’ he winced at himself. God that stupid tic. Damn commercials. His cheeks reddened in embarrassment as Brian and the other man laughed. 

‘’Leave him be.’’ Tim murmured from the driver’s seat. The two of them glanced at him in surprise. Brian glanced at Toby again, watching him physically tic. His mouth formed into an ‘o’ shape as he seemed to suddenly realise. Toby had tourettes. He softened a bit.

‘’I’m Brian.’’ he said gently. 

‘’I’m Jay.’’ the man with the hat added. He tilted his head at Toby, looking a bit nervous. Toby stared back at him for a few moments before he realised what Jay was looking at. The massive gash on his left cheek. Toby reached up and put his palm over it, obscuring it from view. Brian shot Jay a harsh look and turned back to Toby.

‘’How old are you?’’ he asked. Toby blinked.

‘’Seventeen.’’ he replied. He looked away. 

‘’What happened to your face?’’ Jay asked.

‘’Jay-!’’ Brian hissed. Jay recoiled a bit. 

‘’It’s- it’s fi-stop it!-ine.’’ Toby coughed, clearing his throat. Thankfully nobody laughed this time. ‘’I uh- I was- in an accident…’’ he murmured, looking away. The two of them nodded. 

‘’Well uh- guess you’re kinda lucky, huh?’’ Brain asked after a bit of silence. Toby looked up. ‘’That you chose to steal from Tim of all people I mean.’’ Toby laughed slightly. Brian tilted his head at the boy. ‘’You got nowhere to stay I’m guessing?’’

‘’No I uh- I don’t.’’ he replied. ‘’But I’m trav-ngk!-elling.’’ he brightened up a bit.

‘’Oh yeah?’’ Jay asked. ‘’Where to?’’ 

‘’Pennsylvania.’’ 

‘’Pennsylvania?’’ the three of them looked surprised. ‘’That’s halfway across the country! How were you planning on getting there?’’ Brian asked. Toby shrugged.

‘’Walking. Couple trains.’’ he murmured. The three of them looked at Toby like he was crazy. ‘’I started in Colorado…’’ 

‘’What the hell…’’ Brian and Jay exchanged a glance. Toby shrugged. Tim glanced at Toby in the rear view mirror. 

‘’That’s pretty impressive. Hiking that far on foot.’’ he murmured. Toby blinked. ‘’You’re gonna keep walking to Pennsylvania then? Alone?’’

Toby nodded. ‘’Yeah.’’ he replied. Tim hummed and said nothing else. The car fell into silence as he continued driving. Toby quietly unwrapped his sandwich and ate as silently as he could despite his tics. Eventually, the car pulled into a parking lot and Toby looked up. They were parked outside a small, cheap motel. As Toby climbed out of the car, he saw Tim go around to the other side and help Brian out. Apparently the crutches from earlier were his. Toby followed after the three of them, clutching his uneaten sandwich. 

‘’Here you go, kid.’’ Tim pulled Toby from his thoughts and handed him a key. ‘’You get your own room.’’ he explained. Toby looked down at the key in his palm. ‘’Now c’mon. Brian doesn’t like standing for long.’’

Toby followed quickly after his three- friends? Companions? A-acquaintances? He wasn’t sure. They bought him a room for the night...that was really nice. Why they were being so nice to him he couldn’t fathom. There was something about them- especially Tim- that felt...off. Like they’d been through something, just like he had. He didn’t have much time to ponder it though, because the three of them suddenly stopped. Toby looked up and at the door beside him, then at the key in his hand.

Room twenty-three. Right next to room twenty-one, which Jay apparently had the key for. Toby shifted his sandwich under his arm and opened the door to his own room, then walked inside. He shut the door behind him and looked around. The hotel room was small, with faded ochre walls and an ugly beige carpet. The furniture was cheap, worn and simple. Toby also had a small bathroom and an empty mini fridge to work with. He padded over to the bed and quietly sat down. It was much, much bigger than his room at home...but nowhere near as cozy and comforting. He swallowed down the feeling of homesickness and unwrapped his sandwich again, taking a few small bites. It was completely silent. 

Until someone knocked on the door across the room. It connected his room to the one next door. Room twenty-one. 

‘’Kid? Can I come in?’’

Toby looked up. He swallowed his sandwich and got up, crossing the room to the other door. He unlocked it and pulled it open. He looked down at Tim. ‘’Hey,’’ he greeted. ‘’Mind if I come in?’’ Toby gave a slight nod and stepped aside. Tim walked into the room and closed the door behind him. Toby watched him. ‘’I need to ask you a couple things.’’

‘’Huh?’’

‘’...why’re you hitchhiking across the country?’’ he gave Toby a suspicious look. 

‘’I-’’ he paused. Could he tell Tim what had happened to him? Would he even believe it? ‘’I’m...running away from home.’’

Tim nodded. ‘’Why?’’ Toby didn’t answer. He just gave Tim one long look. Tim gave him a small nod, like he understood. ‘’Why Pennsylvania then?’’ 

‘’I…’’ Toby paused. ‘’I have a br-ngk-other. He lives in Pennsylvania, as far as I know. I need to find him. He’s the only family I have left…’’ 

Tim stared at him. He softened and slowly walked over to Toby. He reached up, and put his hand on Toby’s shoulder. ‘’...you need a ride kid?’’

#creepypasta #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta fanfiction #writing #ticci toby #toby rogers #tim wright #jay merrick #brian thomas #mh brian #mh tim #mh jay #jay mh #tim mh #brian mh #marble hornets

[prorevenge]

Moving company tried to screw me, so I royally screwed them back.

I hope this is the right place for this. So I was getting out of the military and there are 2 options that service members have for their move when they get out. Either you can rent a uhaul/throw everything you own into your car/truck and drive home and get reimbursed for the gas or you can get a moving company that is contracted through the military to move your stuff for you. I was moving a small duplex from California to Colorado so I opted to have the company move me. I had recently underwent major spine surgery and I was in no shape to be moving anything myself as I was still recovering.

All of our things were loaded up and I got my delivery date. The delivery date came around and no one showed up. I had taken the day off from my new civilian job and was upset that I was missing out on work for them to not even contact me about not being able to make the delivery. This was just the beginning of the downward spiral that was to occur. I called the company and they assured me that they would deliver it a week later and gave some bullshit excuse for not making it. I take off work yet again for them to not show up. I call again and learn that they aren't delivering my stuff because they have lost my paperwork and can't locate my shipment. They literally lost my stuff. Great. I spend the next 3 weeks trying to get to the bottom of where my things are. I've spent almost 2 months with an empty condo and I'm getting impatient, but I also understand that if I lose my shit it's just going to make them not want to work with me so I keep my cool.

After three weeks of basically feeding me bullshit they finally found my shipment. Finally! All of the bullshit is over and I can get my things-or so I thought. They tell me that the following week they will make the delivery. I explained the situation to my job and thankfully they were extremely understanding and let me off for a third time to be there when my things were arriving. The day before delivery, it rained all morning long (this will be pertinent later). The following day I'm sitting around all day waiting for the shipment that is supposed to come midday. They don't arrive until 9 pm. I could have worked a full day and been home which annoys me but hey, at least I'm getting my stuff finally. They start opening the 2 large wooden crates with my stuff when they find that one of the crates has severe water damage. Severe. remember the rain from the day before? Well in this companies infinite wisdom they were loading my things up the day before when it was raining and supposedly they ran out of room on the truck just as they got to my stuff. Their solution? Don't bring the crate back into the dry warehouse - just leave it out in the rain. All morning long. Thankfully most of our clothes and really important things were in the dry crate that had been left in the warehouse and they weren't destroyed. There was however, our couch that was completely destroyed by water damage. We ended up having them just take it back with them because we didn't want a nasty smelly wet couch in our condo. We make a list of the things that they destroyed with the movers and they gave us instructions to submit a claim.

Now a little bit of backstory on the couch: we bought it used off Craigslist for 150 and originally we were trying to sell it before the move and weren't able to so we just kept it. We did take pictures of the couch with the fold out bed option shown that we had kept.

They had to pay for the full value of the couch and we eventually found that brand new this couch was 2300 from crate and barrel. We were ecstatic because we felt like it was karma for the moving company screwing us over all this time. But it gets even better. The moving company gets our claims and insists that we picked the wrong model because our couch doesn't have a pull out bed. At this point they are just trying to avoid paying for the full price and try to get us to take less money. Thankfully I still had pictures with the bed pulled out to prove that it was indeed the pullout version. Finally they just accepted that I was right and we agreed on a settlement. A month later the check came in and wouldn't you know it- the check bounced. Not only was it frustrating, sending a bounced check of over 2000 dollars or something like that was technically a crime that I could have pressed charges for. At this point all I cared about was getting my money and never having to deal with this company again so I didn't want to get in a drawn out legal battle. I call to inform that the check bounced and they assure me that it will be taken care of soon. A week goes by and I hear nothing so I call and as soon as they find out it's me on the line they say that they are going to transfer me and then hang up. They do this every time I call for the next 2 weeks. I send them a written notice requesting payment within 10 days of receiving the notice and still nothing. I'm several months in from all the bullshit this company has put me through and I'm fed up at this point so I try an idea that my dad gives me. I contact my local CBS News station. They have a segment dedicated to helping out people in the community and they are thrilled to help out a disabled veteran especially after they hear about the bullshit that I have gone through.

The reporter comes to my house and does a 5 minute interview that is aired that Monday night. I cite the fact that these companies are paid for by the government using taxpayers money and they are screwing over our service members and that's about it. Nothing really exciting or anything, but it worked wonders. The next morning the vice president of the company calls me and makes sure that I get my money wired to my account before the end of the day. FINALLY I AM DONE WITH THESE ASSHOLES. But now it gets even better. The military has been notified of the story and a colonel from Marine Corps headquarters in the pentagon calls me the next day and I explain everything that happened for him. He thank me for the information and says that he will be following up with me later. A week later he calls back and informs me that the company has lost its contract with the military and and undergoing further investigation by the military. So not only did they get terrible publicity by my story being run on CBS, they also lost what I assume had to be a very lucrative contract with the military that was probably paying them well above regular price from what they would originally charge.

All in all it took months of patience and keeping my cool and making sure that I had a solid paper trail of evidence that showed I had given them every opportunity to do things right and they had fucked me over every time.

Tl;dr- moving company that had been contracted through the military to move me fucked me over multiple times and I got the story put out on the news and got them to lose their sweet sweet government contract.

(source) (story by needleszja)

#prorevenge #by needleszja #pro revenge stories #revenge stories #pro #revenge #revenge story #last10

[seenashwrite]

The Last Job

Word Count: 3.5K   Category: One-shot; Behind-the-scenes canon-compliant; Family; Life choices Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): References to familiar people/places Pairing(s): N/A Warnings: Mild coarse language Author’s Note(s):  *This is a re-post minus tags and links, in an effort to get it to show up in searches*; While this little vignette can be read as a stand-a-lone, highly recommend you check out “Hello, I’m Gone” (linked in Master Post) if you haven’t already, but if you *have* and found something to like about it, then I suspect you’ll find something to enjoy in this one, too. Overall Summary: A long-time client gives a contractor his final assignment.

The sky was different in Texas. He couldn’t speak to Arizona or Colorado or Nevada, or even Mexico, but he knew what he knew. It was something about the way the sun cut through, something about the tint of the blue.  

He traveled, albeit limited distances and for limited amounts of time. Texas was a big state, though not so big as to be gone long enough for his wife to fret. His work was no-nonsense and he was extra appreciated amongst his current clientele for his frugality, his efficiency.  

They’d initially claimed to have no care for messy versus clean, but he knew better. They’d rather keep unknown, to where few a souls on earth as possible would even suspect they existed. Everything worked better for them this way; seemed they had no desire to be summoned all over the globe.  

He could see that - he’d lived in the lone star state all his life, and had no pull to elsewhere. The constant position of the dials on public radios and televisions to the news channels that catered to the aptitudes of the lowest common denominator was vexing. He imagined the future would be the same way. Nothing ever seemed to change in Texas. Blessing or curse, depending on your perspective.

Less vexing, but still annoying, was how the vast number of gun-carrying, bravado-swinging, cowboy hat-and-boot wearers had no practical, economical, life reasons for doing so. Dropped into a middle-of-nowhere scenario, they’d perish quickly. But all that posturing comforted them, and the conclusion he’d arrived at many moons ago was that for him, this was fortunate, to be surrounded by so many who were content. Unaware. Placid. Stereotypical.

And in a similar vein, he’d already been informed his last job was exactly that - basic. In and out. He’d actually hoped for more, hoped for a challenge, hoped for perhaps the comfort of a one-last-hoorah scenario where maybe, just maybe, it’d get a little messy for once and he’d get taken out in the process.

He wasn’t having suicidal ideations; he was being pragmatic. Anonymous body in another town, filed in a line of cold cases, and his family would move on, eventually. They wouldn’t have to suffer through it, watching him fade away.

Weeks ago, on a chilly morning in a park near, but not too near, his home, the designated attaché had appeared seemingly from nowhere. This was, as they say, par for the course. He was used to it, the air of strangeness accompanying his best customer. Rather, customers - seemed to be an alignment of at least two parties, far as he could tell. 

He found it easier to just think of the one at hand as the client versus dwelling too long on how many of them were really behind the curtain. It was supposed to go that the same one would never come twice, though he was pretty sure it’d happened a couple times and they were just outfitted differently. Maybe their ranks were thinning.

It wasn’t often his sort of folk actually got contracted for jobs. Come to think, he’d never even heard of such a proposition, not in his entire life. Somebody would’ve ran their mouth about it, to be sure. He chewed on the thought that perhaps he was a bit of a pioneer in that respect, if such arrangements would keep on long after he was gone.

Rewards and acknowledgment in his line of work were few and far between, some of his ilk never seeing either at all in their lifetimes. And so in that respect, these employers of his were the best, foremost because they paid. But to be fair, he supposed it was more than that.

He was always given clear, precise locations and times, so on-the-nose he had no idea how they were doing it. And no paper trail, just how he liked it. Instruction came verbally, read from a small, rectangular device they all kept in their pockets that lit up at the touch of a finger.

He’d never gotten a good look at it, would simply commit to memory what they said. He’d never asked to look at it, and they’d never offered. Besides, it was too Star Trek. His eldest loved that old show, got his little brother into watching the reruns. He couldn’t hardly stand the thought of things like that, not for going on eight months now.  

The well-dressed man - sporting what his wife would’ve kindly described as an “interesting” haircut - had walked towards the bench, removing a pair of reflective-lens aviators, letting out a low whistle, eyeing him up and down.  

“Jesus. You’re eaten up with it.”

He’d shrugged, said that last part was true, but then informed his very last client there was no savior to be found here.

The client had laughed a little too hard. “Yeah, yeah, no God in the streets, no church in the wild, I got it.”

He’d assumed those statements referred to something but had no clue what, so he’d offered a tight-lipped trace of a smile in acknowledgment.  

A reply in the form of a sigh floated over as his visitor took a seat at the other end of the bench. “Always aaaall business with you,” the client commented, beginning to remove what he knew would be a fat envelope from the inside pocket of the pinstripe suit jacket. Then there was a pause - the arm extended in his direction, a finger raised. “You need a tune up first?  I can -–”

He’d interrupted, refused.  

The client’s eyes had grown dark and icy. “I’m not offering for your comfort. I have bosses to report to. I need to know the job’s gonna get done and you’re not gonna get all shaky, or go blind, or collapse. Get it?”

He could always tell from which faction of his clientele the dispatcher hailed, these messengers sent like clockwork every other Wednesday of every month to meet with him for around fifteen years now. The one down the bench was amongst those who dressed to the nines, walked with swagger, were more conversational and witty. The others tended to dress in a random array of seemingly whatever they could manage, had stiff gaits, impersonal to the point of being flat and rude.

So the shot across the bow was a little unexpected. Either way, he hadn’t ever been intimidated by any of them. This continued to be the case, especially now.

Call someone else then, he’d replied calmly.  And he’d held up his dominant hand. Steady as a rock.

The client nodded, handed over the envelope. It didn’t take long to relate the details. And then he watched as the client stood, re-buttoned the pristinely tailored jacket, adjusted a skinny tie, returned the shiny sunglasses to what always seemed to be a smirking face.  

Fidgety bastard, he’d thought as he watched the preening. Then he’d spoken one last time before his client zipped away. He wanted to know why the one standing before him - or another of the unique members making up the collective - weren’t handling it themselves. It seemed a little too simple. Too easy.

“It just may be. But they’d see me coming. Any of my kind. Or our partners. You? They won’t even notice.”

He supposed so, and shrugged his reply, because it was true - no one ever had.

A sly grin, a curt nod. “That’s why we like you, Buck. Might even miss you.”  

Now that was off-putting. The use of his nickname. No one outside of his wife - and his dearly departeds - should’ve known. None of his work associates, past nor present, ever knew this nickname.

His real name was something of an eye-roller, “old-timey” as his wife might’ve said. He thought it was cringe-worthy, never felt right on him. All the first-born boys in the family, back as far as they knew, had carried it. He - and everyone else up the line, at least back to his triple-great-granddaddy - had all had taken on nicknames. His own eldest was just called “Junior”.

He had been known in the family as simply “Buck” since he was born, and his father had become “Big Buck” following that day. Even after the man’s death that’s what everybody still called him, and he’d heard the story more than once. How, even as a kid, there was no tradition, no “that’s how we’ve always done things”, that Big Buck didn’t like to question. 

Bucking the system - that was the both of them, boiled down to a nutshell. His father had liked carrying that mantle, and so did he. Shame it wouldn’t be on his tombstone. 

And while he was pondering, just like that, the client was gone. Not that he’d have expected the truth, should he have made the inquiry. Not that it mattered anymore.

He made sure to switch over to his other self during the short walk to the truck and the drive back out to the house. Jovial and kind, kidding and chuckling with the bag boy at the supermarket. He was supposed to bring home a few things to complete supper later.

Most hunters didn’t bother with a ruse, but most hunters didn’t have families to consider like his always had. Like the legacy of the name, his line had all kept families. Defying the system as it were, long before the big and little Bucks came on the scene, marrying within their own community of like-minded folks and keeping up the family business. 

Which is how every last one of them had been wiped out.

He wasn’t going to make the same mistake. Married a sweet gal he’d met at a sock-hop and never looked back. Kept her and the boys in the dark for their own good.

She’d made too much for just the two of them, as usual. He’d still eat every bite served. He’d tried for awhile to reduce his girth, but his face got skinny and he thought his baseball caps didn’t sit the same way. His knees had felt better, and he’d briefly missed that barely-owned muscle car. 

All that was of no import now. Besides, his wife had been tickled pink that he’d gone back to second helpings of her comfort food. He wondered if he’d be able to recall her smile and her hugs and her kisses once he was gone. 

Junior was at a girlfriend’s house for dinner that evening, first time meeting the parents and such. He’d loaned the kid his church tie, even, so he knew his son must’ve really liked this one. The “kid” was out of his teens, and more than anxious to be out of the nest, though his mother was fighting it tooth and nail. Their youngest wouldn’t be home for awhile yet still; basketball practice always seemed to run long these days.

He looked through the mail while sitting at the table and smelling the fried chicken cooking. He’d have to feign some good-natured annoyance at the bills. He briefly thought on her reaction, if she’d be angry at the sizable chunk of money she’d have after he was gone. 

It’d be when she went to put the safety deposit boxes in just her name, likely dig through them while she was there. He’d made it seem like they had to survive on paltry Social Security and his equally dismal railroad pension. And of course, the bit of money from what she thought were under-the-table long-hauls he’d occasionally take on for the extra cash.  

Amongst the usual items, there was the annual Christmas card they’d consistently received, from that little girl they’d sold the Impala to several years back. She’d moved on from Kansas to Montana, with her new husband. The first card they’d gotten was just after the move - barely mentioned it, though, since it was filled up with apologies for selling the car. Neither he nor his wife cared. She was safe, and she was happy, and they were happy for her.

She’d gotten up to three kids now, according to the picture inside, looked to be that she’d had them back-to-back-to-back. Two boys and a girl. It actually gave him a genuine smile, before it hit him again: he’d never have grandbabies. Figured he’d give a go at pretending she was his daughter and those pretty, chubby-cheeked cherubs were his never-to-bes, maybe coax a dream when he tried to sleep.

That creepy sumbitch she’d been married to had actually come out from Dallas, tracked her all the way to Lubbock somehow. He’d already looked into who the dirtbag was, on a job that had taken him to that area. Later on, after good old-fashioned laziness caused an end to the jerk’s pursuit, he’d found the louse in a dive bar, just as he’d been promised.

It was the only favor he’d ever asked of his clients, asked it of one of the more drab contacts. The snotty ones would’ve wanted to make a deal of some sort for the information. They had, before, when his wife had gotten in a bad way. It’d been almost a decade prior. All the docs had given her six months. But he’d already let one of the messengers know, two jobs back, that his own ticket would likely be punched before his bill came due. They’d shrugged.

That business with the rescued girl was the only time he’d made an exception, taking care of something personal, something on the side. Something purely human. Not exactly his usual lot.

He’d taken care of it after the job, of course. Somehow wouldn’t have seemed appropriate not to. It never made the news, he’d checked. That pathetic excuse for a man only’d had one person to bother with him for awhile now, and she was in another life, long gone.

Marrying his wife, being a father, and looking out for that girl often seemed like the only noble things he’d done. Didn’t matter that perhaps these new sort of hunts were saving innocents on the back end. To him it was killing, and it had always been killing. 

It gave him a measure of peace, selling her the car for cheap. He’d slept like a baby for the rest of that summer. Til the next job came around, of course.

His assigned targets weren’t yet bumps in the night. His client had proven their eerily predictive skills to him. They’d given him several folks to watch over the course of a month, all those years ago, when he’d first been approached.

Down to the minute, they’d been right about when bites would occur, when the vengeance of unfinished business would begin. Reminded him how he’d been out of the game too long and was too old and out of shape to take on beasts. To prevent the transformations themselves. 

But perhaps he could still prevent the suffering of countless others by beating monsters to the punch with one long-distance shot. They’d shown him with those first few examples that his marks would be the most vicious. These were the sort who would wreak the most havoc upon their unholy conversions. 

He’d witnessed it. The first year, his employers had insisted he simply surveil, and these freshman nightcrawlers had indeed left miles of misery in their wake. Other hunters could take care of what got them that way, it was explained; the risk of these particular folks getting turned, whether today or tomorrow, was just too big a gamble any way you sliced it. 

It had somehow made for a twisted sort of logic at the time.

This last job was to happen in five days. A married couple. He’d taken care of women before, didn’t violate what sliver of a moral code he still possessed. The emotionless fellow who’d brought that first one to him had actually shown a touch of surprise when he didn’t even blink.  

He woke his wife and the boys just after dawn, kissing them all goodbye. He’d just be popping up to Kansas, he reminded them, be back in a few days. They understood - he’d made sure to do some extra complaining about the mortgage over the days prior, so it’d seem like sense, his making an exception to the no-out-of-state hauls rule. He’d pull extra cash from the box on his way back home to make the story stick.

“Bye, Pops,” the boys had mumbled with yawns and stretches.

“Love you, Buck, you be good,” his wife had sleepily said.

The tall, pretty blonde was out on the front porch putting up Christmas lights, then moving on to hanging a sparse wreath on the door. It looked homemade. The tail of one of the strings of lights fell and he could see her sigh as she pulled the little step stool back over and climbed up again. She moved slowly and carefully, that huge belly clearly impacting her balance.

His commissioners had neglected to mention this particular detail.

He kept watching as a shiny black Impala not unlike his old one pulled up right at sunset. The woman and God and everybody for a square mile had to have known about the arrival, that deep growl of an engine heralding the approach. She met her husband on the porch, gave as big a hug as her belly would allow, and she received an equally loving embrace right back, unwashed greased-stained hands be damned. She didn’t seem to care when some of it smudged off onto her cream-colored sweater when her belly got a rub.

He followed the strapping, jet-haired husband the next morning, sitting far enough away to go unnoticed but still close enough to watch through the garage’s open doors, drinking coffee from his beat up thermos, the one that, a lifetime ago, only held distilled water and a crucifix.  His targets were not far short of children in his eyes, this half just a boy - a kid not unlike Junior, he thought. But a hard worker, no doubt; whipped through four cars and had started on the fifth by the time lunch rolled around. Smiled and chatted with the other mechanics all along the way.

Then the engine whisperer sat on a nearby curb, eating a sack lunch the wife must’ve packed. Good time to leave, check on what she was up to. Wanted to give her enough time to ease into her day. He recalled the slow starts that came with being so close to giving birth. And he knew from experience how close she was; the baby would arrive before February rolled around, he’d bet money.

She left the house after lunch, looked like a friend had come to pick her up. Her eyebrows knit and her nose crinkled as she passed by her handiwork from the evening prior. That same ornery tail of tiny sparkles had come loose again, apparently not agreeing with the nail he’d watched her hammer into the front of the porch’s overhang.

The roof didn’t look all that good. He was curious as to whether she or her husband realized their desperate need for new shingles. Paint was chipping all over the exterior. He’d have a look around inside later, once he was sure she was occupied, but he suspected he’d find more of the same - they were young, they had a baby to plan for, and they hardly had anything but each other.

He remembered those days clear as a bell. His mind hadn’t gone yet. Curse or blessing, depending on your perspective.

She and the friend had gone to a little consignment shop. They browsed, he browsed. Looked like she purchased some bedding for the crib he imagined was ready to go inside their house, given her husband’s work ethic. Then they stopped by a garage sale. She bought an angel figurine. He found it both sweet and futile, all at the same time. All dicks, far as he’d been able to tell.

But resolved, both the unfeathered and the shark-eyed bastards alike. They’d send others to the modest house on Robintree; could be they already had. Maybe they’d be successful next time they tried. For now, they could go to hell.

Which is what he said aloud while he was driving back home. Just passed through Oklahoma City when the same messenger who’d delivered the assignment popped into the truck’s cab without warning. Looked more than simply irritated - seemed pretty beat down. Perhaps their little jaunts to come see him wore them out more than they’d let on.

Seeing as how he hadn’t gotten his last hurrah, the warning he expected was issued. About a month left on the clock. The payment was returned - minus the chunk that now resided in the Impala’s glove box, wrapped in a brief note that implied they should just accept they had their own secret Santa. There was a roll of darkened eyes, followed by as abrupt an exit as the arrival.

He made sure he was out of state again, staying in a dingy motel in a bad part of the random city he’d selected. And he thought hard on the couple he’d chosen to spare as he laid quietly atop the stained bedspread, eyes closed and smiling. Even when he heard the dogs begin to howl.

Want more stories? My Master Post is linked in my profile, and it tells you about getting on the Tag List, too! If for whatever reason it gives you trouble, don’t hesitate to send an Ask and I’ll link you.

Re-blogs and feedback are fuel for a writer’s soul - please do let me know if you enjoyed. 😘

#Supernatural Fanfiction #SPN Fanfic #Supernatural Fanfic #Nash Writes

[conquerthedevil]

Guardian Angel Encounters

Today is the Feast of the Guardian Angels, and I’d like to honor my angel and those of my family members by sharing a few encounters we’ve had with them over the years. These happenings weren’t obviously miraculous, but there was always a sense of mystery surrounding them. We didn’t always know the people we met were angels right away, but the circumstances surrounding the events were just too peculiar to come to any other conclusion. The following accounts show how simple and unassuming angels can be. They never said too much they just got right to the point. It is good to be reminded of how attentive angels are to our needs and how diligently they watch over and protect us in this life.

The first meeting happened years ago after I left morning Mass. I was in my car waiting to turn left on a busy street. There were shops along the road, so there were wide sidewalks for people to walk safely. As I sat at the stop sign, a woman caught my attention. She was running down the sidewalk waving her arms and yelling. I couldn’t hear what she was saying because she was so far away. I wasn’t sure if she was calling out to me or someone else, but she seemed to be looking right at me, so I waited for her. Once she reached me, she ran right up to my car window and told me she needed to get to the post office right away to send her daughter a telegram. I told her I would take her, but I didn’t know where the post office was. She told me it was only a few blocks down, which made me wonder why she needed a ride. She could have been there in a few minutes. When I got there, I parked and told her I would wait and take her home. She thanked me but told me she’d get home on her own. So I left, and that’s when I realized she didn’t have anything with her, no purse, no keys, nothing. It was very strange. I thought about this encounter throughout the day, and I believe I met my angel in human form most likely to prevent an accident.

“Do not neglect to show hospitality, for by that means some have entertained angels, without knowing it.”

The next angel encounter was similar. I got in my car to run to Walmart one day, and when I pulled onto the main road in our neighborhood there was a long line of cars waiting at the stop sign. There have never been more than two cars at that stop sign in all the years I’ve lived here. Once again, I noticed a woman walking along the sidewalk. She had yellow poofy hair, which made her stand out. When she got closer to my car, she walked up to my passenger door, poked her head in the window, and asked me if I could take her to Walmart. I thought it was strange that she passed all the other cars by and came right to mine. But I told her I was going there so I would take her. We chatted for a few minutes on the way to the store, and when we got there I mentioned I’d wait for her, but she said no. I told her it wouldn’t be a problem, and we went our separate ways. I finished shopping and started to look for her. I searched the whole store, but she was nowhere to be found. I paid for my groceries and saw that it was pouring down rain outside, so I waited by the door for her for about a half-hour. She never showed up, so I went home. It didn’t take me long to ponder whether she was an angel. The whole thing was just too odd. I think that meeting was also to prevent a car accident.  

“Are they not all ministering spirits, sent to serve those who are to inherit eternal salvation?”

Another account happened several years ago while we were on a family vacation in Yosemite National Park in California. It was a hot July day and we set out on a hike. After an hour or so, my husband and son went ahead of my daughter and me. We hiked alone for a long time and eventually ran out of water. I knew my husband wasn’t coming back until they made it to the summit, so I wondered how I was going to find water for us. A short time later, we came upon a large open area. I saw a man and woman hiking down some wooden stairs pretty far away from us. As we got closer to them, the man looked at me and pointed toward a thin stream of water running down the mountainside. He said, “That water is flowing. You can drink it.” I wondered how he knew we needed water? I thanked him, and we exchanged a few words, then they were on their way. We went over and got a drink, and I can honestly say that was the best water I ever drank. It was so cold and pure. It tasted wonderful. My daughter and I sat down to rest and have a bit to eat. Then we refilled our water bottles and were on our way. That was pretty amazing when you think about it. We hiked for seven hours that day, and without that water, we would have been in deep trouble.

“For to his angels he has given command about you, that they guard you in all your ways. Upon their hands they shall bear you up, lest you dash your foot against a stone.”

I have one more angel encounter that took place while my family and I were on vacation in Breckenridge, Colorado. We were hiking one day when some clouds rolled in. It was getting kind of dark, and it was clear a storm was coming. It is common for it to rain or storm in the afternoons in the mountains, so we knew we needed to head back, and that was going to take a while. About an hour later, we came to an area on the path that I remembered. One trail led deeper into the mountain toward the water, which I knew was the wrong way. The other trail moved away from the water. That was what we needed to do, but my family wouldn’t listen to me and insisted on going toward the water. At that point, I noticed three people. An older man was leaning against a tree holding an umbrella, which was crazy because of the potential lightning from the storm. A younger man stood next to him, and then there was a woman sitting on the ground which didn’t make sense since it was raining. They were all so still and just stared at us. Then the woman pointed to the trail leading away from the water and said, “This is the right path.” I thanked them, and everyone turned around, and we were on our way. I told my daughter they were angels and she said, “Yes, and the woman was my angel.” It doesn’t matter whether she was my daughter’s angel or not. It is just nice to know that our guardian angels are always there and will even come in the form of a human person to guide and protect us.  

The following prayers are from the book Saint Michael and the Angels.

Memorare to Our Guardian Angel

Remember O holy Angel, that Jesus, the eternal Truth, assures us you “rejoice more at the conversion of one sinner than at the perseverance of many just.” Encouraged thereby, I, the last of creatures, humbly entreat you to receive me as your child and make me unto you a cause of true joy. Do not, O blessed Spirit, reject my petition, but graciously hear and grant it. Amen

Aspiration to Our Guardian Angel

O my dear Angel Guardian, preserve me from the misfortune of offending God.

Prayer to Our Guardian Angel

O Angel! who by God’s goodness has charge over me, who assists me in my necessities, who consoles me in my troubles, who obtains for me continually new favors, I thank you most sincerely,  Gently Guardian, continue your charitable care; defend me against my enemies, put away from me all occasions of sin, make me obedient to your inspirations and faithful to follow them, especially in my present difficulty (here mention your request). In the presence of Jesus Christ and the whole court of Heaven, I choose you for my protector, my defender, my guide, and my advocate. I beg you to govern my whole life: my memory, understanding, will, inclinations, and desires. O Holy Angel, I love you and wish to love you always. A thousand times I bless the Lord for the heavenly gifts with which He has adorned you, for the graces with which He has sanctified you, and for the glory with which He has crowned you. Guard and guide me now and at the hour of my death. Never leave me unprotected until you have brought me safe to Heaven. Amen

Read Full Articles at: 

https://www.conquerthedevil.com/

#Guardian Angels

[thehikingviking]

Ducket Peak, South Fork Mountain & Little Bally from Coggins Park, Whiskeytown National Recreation Area

I wanted to climb a cluster of peaks with little fame west of Redding. Standing at 6,975 ft, Bully Choop is the tallest and most prominent peak in the general area. The interesting name comes from the Wintun people of Northern California. Bully translates to spirit, while the translation for Choop is unclear. When I first saw the mountain, the conical peak was impressively covered with snow. I felt a distant energy emanating from the peak, so perhaps there is a certain spirit within this mountain. While this peak was definitely on my to-do list, it wasn’t what incentivized me to finally visit the area. A patch of peaks on the California Coastal list which includes Buckhorn Bally, Little Bally, South Fork Mountain, Ducket Peak and Shoemaker Bally were begging to be climbed. I saw it as an opportunity to “bag” several peaks in one outing, so I devised a thorough plan over two days that would hopefully allow me to climb all of these and more. I reached out to Daryn, who I knew was also interested in these peaks, and I set off north on a Friday. On my drive-in day, I hoped to bag three peaks towards the later half of the afternoon; Buckhorn Bally, Bully Choop and Paradise Peak. All are essentially drive ups, and I hoped to exert little energy in climbing the trio. From Redding, I followed Highway 299 West, then turned left on East County Line Road. I parked near the highest point of the road no more than a tenth of a mile on the northeastern side of Buckhorn Bally.

I walked through the forest for about 5 minutes until I reached the top.

There were a few rocks laying about, so I climbed several of them just to make sure I stood on the highest one.

I found a register containing familiar names. I was surprised that such a nondescript peak contained a register at all.

I spotted Shasta Bally through a gap in the trees.

I retraced my steps through the forest, hopped back in my Jeep, then continued downhill towards my next saddle. I stopped for a picture once I got my first view of Bully Choop.

The road took longer to drive than I budgeted for. At least I was able to drive all the way to the top. A recently reported snow patch had receded, and while it was rocky for the last mile, my Jeep handled it like a champ.

I climbed the lookout. A chilly breeze blew through me. The forecast was slightly unstable, but I viewed this as a positive thing since I expected the following day’s hike to be warm. Off to the northeast were Shasta Bally, Shoemaker Bally, Little Bally, South Fork Mountain, Ducket Peak and Paradise Peak.

To the south was North Yolla Bolly Mountain.

Shasta Trinity National Forest was shrouded with clouds.

To the northwest were the Trinity Alps, obscured by the late afternoon glare.

I still wanted to climb Paradise Peak and even Shoemaker Bally while I had daylight. I hurriedly drove back down the road.

I could have driven almost all the way to the top of Paradise Peak by approaching from the north, but I didn’t research this peak at all. Instead I approached from the west. I realized my error during my walk, but whatever, I was there to hike anyways. I noted a building on my way, which spooked me out a little. I was concerned that I was unknowingly trespassing, but after some post hike research, I think this is nothing more than a storage building for the lookout. I hiked up a short but steep and sandy trail to the summit where I found a structure and several rocky pinnacles.

I climbed one that was class 3, but was discouraged to find an even higher rock that looked rather technical. I walked to the base and knew immediately that I wouldn’t be able to climb it.

It reminded me of the summit block on Thunderbolt Peak, except with less holds. I think at minimum it is 5.10a. I was a little pissed off because several people have logged successful summits of the peak, but I know for a fact that they didn’t climb it. Now I have to come back with a lasso.

Strike 1. Defeated, I sulked back towards the car. I turned on the radio and listened to the Warriors vs Grizzlies basketball game. They were playing for the 8th seed and the final spot in the NBA playoffs. This was a nice distraction as I drove down the lonely forest roads alone. I felt I could still partially salvage the day with a summit of Shoemaker Bally. I reached the turnoff which climbs up to the saddle just north of the peak, but found the gate closed. This was also the road which led to our planned starting point for the next day’s hike. I considered running up the dirt road, but doing so would add an extra three miles and a thousand feet of gain. I simply didn’t have enough time that evening for a lengthened approach of Shoemaker Bally. In addition, the following day’s effort would now be significantly harder. Strike 2. I decided to sleep in my car at a big flat area next to the gate. Daryn showed up while I was cooking dinner. and listening to the end of the game. It was back and forth, but the Warriors collapsed in the last minute, losing both the game and their chance at the playoffs. Strike 3.

I woke up the next morning ready to bounce back. The day’s itinerary was to climb Little Bally, Ducket Peak and South Fork Mountain. If I had enough “juice”, I hoped to tack on Shoemaker Bally at the end of the day to recoup from my previous day’s loss. I had originally planned on starting from the saddle north of Shoemaker Bally, but the road closure would add mileage and elevation gain to an already difficult day. My brain raced around and after studying the map for a bit, I noticed a road leading towards the general direction of Little Bally from Coggins Park. This route option was out of the question before due to extremely thick brush, but with the Carr Fire of 2018 burning most of the area, I hoped to find a way through. We found another closed gate at Coggins Park, but figured starting here would be good enough.

Even if the gate was open, we would not have been able to drive much further since a small creek washed out the road. The road was very gradual and we followed it for 1.5 miles. Staying on the road would eventually take us up Shasta Bally, so we took an unmarked spur road underneath the northern face of Peak 5493. I had expected to run into the impenetrable brush by this point, but much to my delight, the Carr Fire had cleared out most of it. The road petered out, but it was no longer needed, and we strode east towards the ridgeline above.

Daryn passed the time working on his limerick that incorporated the word Ducket. I swear he could pass for a poet. Shasta Bally was an impressive sight to our north.

Once atop the ridge, South Fork Mountain, Little Bally and Ducket Peak came into view. Climbing all three would be a challenge.

Off to the northwest stood the Trinity Alps.

We continued along the top of the ridge. There were several reference markers along the ridge marking the boundary of Whiskeytown National Recreation Area.

- Shasta Bally

The Carr fire burned a shocking 97% of the entire Whiskeytown National Recreation Area, and all the nasty bushwhacking that previous parties had reported was eliminated. Our three peaks of interest stood ahead of us; first we would climb Ducket Peak on the right, then we would climb South Fork Mountain on the left, and lastly we would climb Little Bally in the middle. With any bit of luck, we could avoid climbing over Little Bally multiple times by sidehilling along its barren flanks.

As we continued along the ridge towards Little Bally, it began to snow. I actually welcomed this, recognizing that I probably wouldn’t find any water throughout the day. The colder the better.

I looked back at Shoemaker Bally and Bully Choop.

- Colorado Four O'clock

- Rainbow Iris

What ensued was an unavoidable one thousand foot drop to the saddle just west of Little Bally. The temperature at the saddle was noticeably warmer. Here stood a small patch of pines that survived the fire. Pine needles covered the already soft sandy ground. This was likely to be the most pleasant area of the hike, but we were looking to climb peaks, not find shelter. We continued along the ridge up the western slope of Little Bally through gaps in the brush which were plentiful and easy to find.

- Shoemaker Bally

The climb went quicker than I expected. There was a false summit in front of us which I was able to sidehill beneath. I’m not sure if this saved any physical effort, but mentally it might have helped me. I looked at Ducket Peak as I approached the saddle between the false summit and the true summit. It looked incredibly clear and pretty straightforward to angle directly towards this peak, so we decided to climb Ducket Peak first.

We took a rest under some shade at the mini saddle. I stashed some water here, knowing I would need some reserves for my return.

We then began our traverse towards Ducket Peak.

Travel was again easier than I expected. I led the way here, finding a route that ran parallel to the contour lines on my topo map. I maintained my elevation across the open swaths along the mountainside, and when my progress became interrupted by new growth, I allowed myself to drop down slightly in elevation to avoid the obstacles. This effective strategy was made easier by the soft sand underneath our feet, and we progressed around the mountain quickly. Once on the southeast side of the peak, we dropped down quickly to the ridgeline leading towards Ducket Peak below.

- One-seeded Pussypaws

I believe we crossed into private property at some point, however I did not see any signage indicating as such. I assume that the area was part of a logging interest, but after the big fire, not many trees remain. We connected with an old road once on the ridge. It hadn’t been driven in years, which eased my concerns. I didn’t want to get turned back by a landowner after all the hiking we had just done. We crossed an intersection with a very nicely graded road that appeared heavily used. The peak was close, but if we were to see anyone, this would be the place.

We crossed the road unperturbed, then continued along the ridgeline. The last section was very steep and sandy. We found a forested summit area. There were two summit contenders. We had to break some branches to sit atop the first rock, but this was the least interesting of the two.

We turned our focus to the boulder problem a few meters away. I studied it quickly, but the best I could think of was to stand on a friction slab then heave my body awkwardly up on top. It wasn’t pretty, but it worked. I found Bob’s register underneath a cairn on top then I simply jumped off. It was a bit high, but there was a soft cushion of pine needles underneath my feet. Then I watched Daryn solve the boulder problem.

I would rate it at V0.

Daryn was able to get up alright, but he had troubled getting off. While I had the advantage of young knees, Daryn needed to be more cautious. I stood with my back facing the rock while Daryn placed his feet on my shoulders. I then lowered down into a squat until we both collapsed onto the ground. Success! We ate lunch and found a benchmark located on a lower rock nearby.

After all that work, we had summited only our first peak, but it was probably the hardest of them all. We backtracked along the ridge towards Little Bally, but our next objective was South Fork Mountain.

Rather than climb up and over Little Bally, we sidehilled underneath Little Bally diagonally towards the saddle between Little Bally and South Fork Mountain. This was unpleasant, but short lived.

We crossed too high in the drainage to get any water from Eagle Creek. Once atop the ridge we had easier terrain as we made our way east towards South Fork Mountain. We found a random bear box on the way. We guessed that this was placed for the fire crews since it looked somewhat new.

My other theory was that there once was a trail along this ridge, and the bear box was placed for recreational purposes. There were a few sections along the ridge that looked like an old trail. While no trail is marked here on the topo map, there is an old road on the east side of South Fork Mountain, so to me it seems plausible that one existed at some point. Below us to our north was Whiskeytown Lake.

The ridge dragged on and on and on. There were more ups and downs than I had expected, as these minor bumps were not significant enough to be represented on the topo map. I started to tire, but all things come to an end.

We were thankful to finally reach the summit. To the southwest was Ducket Peak.

To the west were Bully Choop and Little Bally.

To the northwest was Shasta Bally.

To the north was Whiskeytown Lake.

To the east was Sacramento Valley. On a clearer day Mt Lassen would be visible.

We couldn’t find the register at first. I looked around the bushes underneath the summit rock and found it wide open. The pencil was missing but the book was still in tact. Perhaps some rodents had gotten to it. The register container had rusted so we decided to replace it. We added a new pencil and signed ourselves in.

We were as far out as we would be that day, so all we needed to do was head back. I am thankful for the burn because without it, I don’t know if our trip would have been possible. The area kind of reminded me of Ventana Wilderness.

We continued west along the ridge, passing a little garter snake on the way. This time we actually climbed Little Bally, which was the highest of the three named peaks. To the east was South Fork Mountain.

To the northwest was Shasta Bally.

We didn’t spend much time on the summit of Little Bally since we still had a lot of hiking ahead of us. I picked up my water stash and replenished myself. We then dropped back into the deep saddle to our west. I found a bird nest on the ground.

The climb back out of the saddle was a slog, but we were prepared for it. Daryn and I both wanted to climb Peak 5493 as a bonus peak. We skipped this on the way in, and it would only be a short detour to reach it. We continued along the ridge to the high point of our hike, struggling through a short section of manzanita on the way. Looking back to the east were South Fork Mountain, Little Bally and Ducket Peak.

To the north was Shasta Bally.

To the southwest were Shoemaker Bally and Bully Choop. Daryn had already climbed Shoemaker Bally, but I still needed it and I really wanted to get it today, however I was pretty tired. Continuing along the ridgeline looked tough, so I decided to bail with Daryn and head back to the car.

We continued along the ridgeline towards Shoemaker Bally for another half mile, and then we dropped down back to the old road which we used on our approach. Once back on the road, it was an easy walk to the car. I figured that I need to come back for Paradise Peak anyways, so I would be able to combine that with Shoemaker Bally. In the end, it was an 18.5 mile day, and getting Ducket Peak was my main goal, so I was satisfied. I drove back home that night excited to spend the following day with my family.

[chimpanzeemusic]

We wandered along the edge of the deepening canyon. With every step, the stream’s chill, clear waters cut ever more deeply into the volcanic basalt that formed the ground beneath our feet. Gusts of wind pulled on the storm-twisted shrubs and tawny shocks of long grasses, pausing to tug at our jackets before rushing down to join the water cascading steadily into a valley hazey with distance. We stopped and squinted again at the black and white map we’d printed off at a cafe and compared it with a picture we’d taken of a map on a sign the day before.  Somewhere in Colombia’s Los Nevados National Park, we guessed we were in the Valle de los Perdidos. What we didn’t have to guess was that we were lost.

As a side note: thank you, America, for having drinking fountains. On another note: thank you, Colombia, for having syrup chicken.

Some days prior we’d arrived in Bogotá on a Sunday, and on a holiday, Dia de la Virgen. Consequently, the city of eight million souls had felt almost deserted. We’d known immediately what we wanted to do in Colombia: we sought the páramo, the high-altitude tropical grasslands so characteristic of the Andes. We managed to find the National Parks office downtown and discovered when they opened (a day later) and when we returned that their own maps and information on their parks, well, sucked. National parks in America arebasically chock-full of maps, info and trail routes you can grab from a visitors’ center with as easily as you’d find a drinking fountain. As a side note: thank you, America, for having drinking fountains.On another note: thank you, Colombia, for having syrup chicken.

DCIM101GOPROGOPR5318.

There was enough information to figure out which parks were closest to us and Bogotá, and with the help of some outdated guidebooks we’d sniffed out in a secondhand bookshop we’d ultimately selected the promising slopes of Los Nevados National Park. The bus ride to the town nearest its base was a thrilling introduction to one of South America’s most beautiful and often shunned countries possessed of all the amenities a world traveler could ever desire. “Hey, Shawn, look, they have food here! There’s bananas! Also, rice!”

They even have those beefed-up weasel things!

Indeed, the casual charm of nearby Ecuador and the ever-Instagrammable llamas of Macchu Picchu—paired with Colombia’s decades of rebel insurgencies and drug wars— seems to have dissuaded many travelers from visiting Colombia. Things have been on a slow chill-out since 2012, though, and a final peace accord was ratified on November 29, 2016, like, at least a week and a half before we bothered to show up. Correspondingly tourists are a flockin’. Flockin’ tourists. All up in Colombia’s bizness.

Passing through the larger city of Ibague, we finished our bus ride in Armenia. Armenia, Colombia, is incredibly like Cotopaxi, Colorado and Cuba, New Mexico (both of which I’d seen in the weeks prior) in that it scarcely resembles its foreign namesake. Fascinating, I know. Somewhat more interestingly, According to a Wikipedia article without any sourcing, “it is believed that the name [of the city] was changed to Armenia after the country of the same name, in memory of the Armenian people murdered by the Turkish Ottomans in the Hamidian Massacres of 1894–97 and later the Armenian Genocide of 1915–23.”

The tourist office informed us hikes into the páramo could only be done with a local guide, and so they’d gotten rid of all local maps that showed us the way to go.

  We stopped at an hospedaje in Armenia and ferreted out some basic topographic maps of the national park with Google-fu. The next morning, we took a minivan uphill to the small town of Salento, which we walked around in search of additional information. The tourist office—according to old blogs, a good source of mountain intel—now informed us hikes into the páramo could only be done with a local guide, and so they’d gotten rid of all local maps that showed us the way to go. But if we wanted, they explained, they knew a guide who could take us where we wanted to go, for a reasonable price. We said thanks, said we’d keep them in mind, and marched off to the mercado, where we bought some bread and apples. Back in the main square of Salento we hopped aboard one of the many tourist jeeps that regularly ferried tourists uphill towards the famed Cocora Valley, an Instagram-famous land replete with wax palm trees whose lofty fronds once soared above the rainforest canopy and now stood vigil picturesquely above grassy, denuded slopes of grazing cattle.

We decided the Cocora Valley would best be enjoyed as the downhill section of a loop, and so we instead set off towards up the first bit of the loop, a side canyon leading to a placed boasting to be the Casa de los Colibris—the Hummingbird House.

As we advanced beneath lumbering packs, we attempted to avoid stepping in water and mud, which Shawn was able to do for a grand total of three seconds when a stream-embedded log capsized underfoot. We eventually made it to a hummingbird sanctuary which was full of, like, day-tripping Europeans drinking tea and stuff. As we sipped the warm, sweet cinnamon tea we’d purchased we happily discovered an old topographic map affixed to the wall. The caretakers told us the páramo was still several hours uphill. Unfamiliar with the path and just a couple hours from dusk, we decided to stay the night and resume our trek early in the morning. We paid them a couple of dollars and slept on the floor of a wooden building still under construction, doors left open to the mist that crept in as the sun set.

COATI TIME!!

Out on the trail the next morning, we passed two men folding a tarp in a trailside clearing in the early light. Dressed in knee-high rubber boots, shorts and t-shirts, one wore a white beanie, the other donned a bowler hat and carried juggling pins. Just then, a group of European trekkers descended in boots slathered with mud. Their Colombian guide seemed upset when he learned we were on our own. “You need a guide,” he said sternly, “the National Park guard at the park border won’t let you pass on your own.  Also, not only could you get lost in the fog, you could die.” We shrugged at his empty warning—we’d died inside long ago. The group then continued onward, the guide apparently forgetting to ask our Colombian companions where their guide was.

Alone again with our new Colombian friends, we learned their names and talked a little bit more. Somewhat dismissively, I decided they seemed friendly, buena onda chaps but people I’d likely never see again, being the expert hiker and Fast-Walker-Up-Things I so obviously was. We bid them good-luck and good-bye, and good-walked all up the trail at a good pace.

Before long, we came across the National Park office, inhabited by a kind human being and a raucous, tethered dog. We didn’t ask this kind sir if two Americans needed a guide, and neither did he. Instead, he gestured for us to sign our names on the trail register and he told us about a time when he’d spied the elusive Andean sun bear, a shy species that eats a nutritious variety of bromeliads, grubs, and Michael Bolton fans. He told us one of the greatest difficulties in managing the park was the presence of families who had been settled on the high plain a generation or two ago, and now they had always lived there, darnit, depending on cattle to eke out an existence. The cows pooped everywhere, he complained, and their manure tainted many of the streams and rivers the cities below depended on for water, including the brook that ran nearby. Cows, I concluded, are terrible people.

We’d packed some snazzy Gatorade-brand protein bars, a strange colloid of high-tech Rice Krispies and caramel whey stuff generously lacquered in chocolate-flavored palm oil coating.

Wheezing, hungry and sun bear sighting-less, we busted out our grub for lunch, consisting of the last of our bread and apples from the Salento mercado  and some snazzy Gatorade-brand protein bars, a strange colloid of high-tech Rice Krispies and caramel stuff generously lacquered in chocolate-flavored palm oil coating. “This is delicious,” remarked Shawn, and I agreed. We’d packed enough for the duration of our journey in the páramo, some three dozen 250-calorie packages of coagulated-whey America.

Whilst we feasted upon this chocolaty bounty, we were joined by Camilo and Andres, who apparently hadn’t been trailing too far behind us. After chatting for a bit. we started up the hill again, this time together. The trail was a downright slog, ofttimes covered wholesale by deep patches long blob areas of mud. Resistance was futile, and before long our shoes and legs had been assimilated by the mountain.

Weary hours passed as we made our way beneath the drab green cloud forest canopy, each tree trunk and branch covered in a profusion of feathered, silvery lichens, ruddy mosses, and bright fungi.

The 50% Great Worm

Abruptly, the thick forest gave way to amber sedges and tufted grass. Interspersed among the lower vegetation were curious plants, solitary stalks the width of a child’s wrist growing anywhere from several inches to several times the height of a deer in platform shoes. Topping these stalks were leaves covered in fuzz, a soft, green flannel. These curious plants, these frailejónes, indicated we had reached the páramo.

Camilo, Andres, Shawn and I rejoiced as we followed the trail up tawny ridges, marveling at the views and shivering as the alpine winds–no longer slowed by trees–tore at us and our belongings.

  DCIM102GOPROGOPR5601.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5608.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5598.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5612.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5615.

At length, the trail led us to a farmhouse and hospedaje, the first of two in the area. But we had a tent we’d lugged up the mountain, darnit, so we advanced on to the second hospedaje, leaving Camilo and Andres behind.

begone, peasant…

A European sort excoriated us when we told him we’d flown to Colombia and would be flying out. We took no offense, knowing without having to ask he’d walked slowly across the entire Atlantic seafloor from Western Europe to arrive.

The hospedaje was a bit further than it’d been made out to be. Even if we’d wanted, they didn’t have any available rooms with beds—a European tour group presently infested these—but they did have a toilet, and this sneaky fancy-person house feature nabbed us right in the comfort organ, pzang!  For a couple dollars we set up our tent in a room consisting of a concrete floor walled off from the wind. Our shoes were a mess from the day’s mud slog, so after a scrub in a tiny rivulet we hung them by their shoelaces on the eaves of the house, where they dripped and swung in the stiff nighttime wind. We talked a bit with the other guests; one guy who told us the national park was under threat of huge mining developments and another sort who excoriated us when we told him we’d flown to Colombia and would be flying out. We took no offense, knowing without having to ask he’d walked slowly across the entire Atlantic seafloor from Western Europe to arrive.

View from the hospedaje, and a distant valley to be explored some other day

We woke up before dawn and set out for some hot springs a number of miles away. The hike was visually nice and not too chilly. As we walked, we breakfasted on a protein bar each. We’d now eaten them for three straight meals, and they didn’t seem to be as good as we first remembered them.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5664.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5670.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5693.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5685.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5693.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5703.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5670.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5685.

We dropped in elevation from our spot the night before, passing through frailejónes and emerging onto a flat, grassy plain. Uphill to our right, a 20 m waterfall slipped over orange-ish rocks, indicating geothermal activity. Ahead of us, the trail seemed to go through the center of the wide plain and through a herd of cows.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5715.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5717.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5719.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5719.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5715.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5717.

We walked for a while, the trail petering out. We continued gamely, figuring it would re-appear as is often the case with less-used trails. It didn’t, but we headed anyways in the general direction we thought we were supposed to be following and walked along an chill river which deepened into a gully, then a gulch, then grew into a canyon.  We kept the canyon to our left side, still keeping a lookout for the trail. Ahead, the canyon could be seen descending far, far, below. It didn’t look impassable, but it also seemed… wrong.

The canyon begins to deepen

It was almost as if OKAY LOOK WE GOT LOST AND I THINK THIS HAS BEEN ESTABLISHED I HAVE RUN OUT OF FANCY FEAST DESCRIPTION POINTS FOR THIS OTTER MEMORY AND IF I KNEW HOW WE HAD GOTTEN LOST WE WOULDN’T HAVE DONE SO so anyways we finally halted when a steep ravine cut across our path from the right, and consulted what little information we had. A future version of ourselves would have a GPS-enabled smartphone with offline locating-powers to divine our location, but present-us had a small paper map, some grainy pictures and a desire to not lose any more of our hard-gained elevation. Maybe… eating would help us think. “Hey, do you want a protein bar?” I asked my brother, waggling one temptingly in front of his face. “Ugh,” he said in revilement, and rose to leave instead. “You might be lost,” he continued, “but I was just a little disoriented. The trail is up that way.” He pointed up the ravine towards Tolima above. “Good thing it’s not foggy.”

We climbed for a while, seeing nothing besides sweet fuzz-plants and weird moss.

Then, movement, up ahead. Two figures picked their way into the ravine—one with a beanie, the other with a bowler hat and juggling pins: Camilo and Andres.

Enthused but tired, we slithered up to meet them with the sudden enthusiasm of weasels that have just encountered a roadkilled ‘possum—astounded, thrilled.

Enthused but tired, we slithered up to meet them with the sudden enthusiasm of weasels that have just encountered a roadkilled ‘possum—astounded, thrilled. They seemed pleased, but not surprised to see us. They’d also lost the path for a bit, but had stayed closer to the mountain above and hadn’t gotten lost. As we chatted, I noticed what appeared to be a twisted piece of aluminum, two feet long, torn jaggedly at the edges and bearing many small rivets. Curious.

We left the ravine together, Shawn and I trudging from exhaustion. The trail would rise and fall several times and traverse some marshy, sulfurous areas before finally cresting a ridge somewhere around 13,500) feet elevation.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5775.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5772.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5781.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5777.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5783.

We dropped and walked around a bend and beheld a green carpet of verdant grass far below us. A handful of small corrugated-roof buildings clustered alongside two small pools which steamed visibly. We had arrived at the hot springs. (12,795 ft elevation)

We sat in the warm waters of the pool and soaked as the the sun set. We’d hiked up the hill above the settlement fifty feet at a time before we’d collapse to the grass, breathing ragged with exhaustion. “Why… why are we so tired?” Shawn muttered querulously, “The elevation… maybe?” We were somewhere around 13,000 feet, so this was certainly part of it, but it didn’t seem complete. I was doing better, overall, and this gave me an idea. “Shawn, how many of those bars did you eat?” “Bars?” “The protein bars.” “Oh. Gross. Um, one in the morning, one later… two?” ‘You’ve eaten 500 calories today. I’ve eaten 750.  We should be eating maybe… 3,000 calories each up here. That’s why we can hardly move.” Indeed, though our bodies desperately needed food, our minds had concluded nauseously we they wanted nothing to do with our Gatorade-endorsed mainstay. Unfortunately, it was also all we had left. We weren’t in danger of running out,  but actually stomaching the things was becoming most unpleasant.

View above the hot springs, our green tent can be seen below. Note where grazing takes place.

The view from the top of the ridge had been tremendous, but the simmering waters of the springs were better. It was easy to forget we had been too weak to reach the very top of the hill, and more relaxing to consider the mysterious pictographs we’d seen on the rocks partway up the slope. The caretaker didn’t know how old they were, but by their faded condition it seemed people had been visiting this area for a very long time. What kind of world had it been, then? Did people live up here? How far had the cloud forests extended below? Had there been pizza? What about syrup chicken?

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5796.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5793.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5801.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5808.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5871.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5864.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5813.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5802.

The springs themselves had certainly been changed. The water was piped from slightly above the settlement to a series of two pools. The first was a sitting-depth pool the size of a large hot tub and very warm indeed, the water exited this pool and dropped about ten feet until it reached a larger, more tepid pool below, probably 20 feet/6 m across. The water here ranged from 3-6 ft deep, the floor a slick bedrock in places. The edges of the pool were made of long bands of riveted aluminum.  Investigating further, we noted these same pieces of metal could be found supporting various parts of the spring pool complex and its surroundings, including the walkway between the pool and the mud-daubed structure above it. Two shedlike areas were full of scrap metal, all made of the same riveted aluminum.

They were pieces of a wrecked airplane.

They were pieces of a wrecked airplane.

As I’ve written this overly long, boring account I’ve wondered about the identity of this plane. When did it crash? Who did it carry? Where were they headed? I tried to suss out its identity online, and followed many wrong leads before learning there had been many, many crashes in Colombia. Eventually, I found a site that explained there were had been 55 crashes in Colombia from 2000-2015, and 414 total crashes since 1920. This site helpfully mapped out the more recent crashes, and of these just one was anywhere near the hot springs, near La Venecia on the map below.

The site of the crash is less than a day’s walk from the springs.

This particular plane crash was flight FAC-1659, a Vietnam-survivor Douglas C-47 Skytrain apparently used in anti-rebel fighting.

Military plane—->leisure pool?

Further e-search into its demise begins to reveal conflicting information—supposedly crashed on an 11,200 ft tall mountain called Cerro Montezuma: actually a mostly-flat area 4,400 f/1350 m in elevation, but actually it crashed on its return to the airbase, and actually it crashed in either the Serrania de la Tatama or the Nevado del Tolima mountain areas, which are in completely opposite directions a hundred miles apart. Was this our mystery plane, carefully packed mile by mile in manageable pieces by horseback to the springs, or was it the remnants of some other hapless flying machine?

I have no idea. When I would try to find the caretaker the next morning to ask him where he’d come across the metal, I’d learn he’d gone into the hills.

We spent the evening hanging out with Camilo and Andres and discussed plans for the morning. “You guys staying tomorrow?” I asked. “Well,” Camilo said, “We thought there’d be more people here. We thought maybe we’d do a little juggling for the crowd to offset the cost of coming here. But it’s just us. And we still have to earn enough for our bus fare back home somewhere.” Indeed, it was just the four of us, besides the quiet, but enigmatic caretaker, who had told us at times there were dozens of people camping at the springs. “We’re just going to go back the way we came,” said Andres, “make it home by the evening. What about you?” “Our flight leaves in two days, so we’re taking off tomorrow as well.”

We spent the rest of the evening companionably. I choked down a Gatorade bar. Shawn demurred. “Maybe tomorrow,” he said.

The next morning dawned cold, clear and beautiful, with few clouds, illuminating a mountainside frailejónes in rosy morning light. I returned to the tent to find Shawn awake, but reluctant to leave his sleeping bag cocoon. “Is my swimsuit out there?” he asked. “Here,” I said, and handed him frozen swim trunks. Shawn glared at the fabric Frisbee and considered for a moment. Looking outside and seeing the coast was clear, he ran across frosted grass a short distance to the pool and jumped in, swimsuit in hand. “Thawed at last,” he said as he pulled it on.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5860.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5873.

After the tent had dried in the sun, we reluctantly left the spring behind for the last time. As we packed up our stuff, we came across our protein bars. They weren’t bad, per se, they just needed to be eaten in reasonable quantities. I had an idea. “Hey, guys, would you guys be interested in trading for any protein bars?” “Sure,” Camilo and Andres responded. They didn’t really need the food, but now they were headed back down to the city they had more than they wanted. Trying a bar might be alright, though. I returned with four of our eight remaining bars, trying to be generous. After a minute they emerged from their tent with a massive bag of roasted, shelled peanuts, a couple pounds, maybe, and handed them over with a smile. This bag of legume loot even had candied toffee peanuts mixed in. It was a treasure, a thing most crunchy and sweet. We’d just traded for peanuts, and it was glorious.

We’d just traded for peanuts, and it was glorious.

******

After we’d said our goodbyes to our friends—for real, this time—we’d taken off to the south, leaving the high mountain plains behind and entering the cloud forest. Energized and enthused by our peanut bounty, we walked for hours.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5886.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5879.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5904.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5896.

We reached the small town of El Salto (elevation 3376 m/11076 ft), and waited by what seemed to be some kind of hospedaje. After an hour or so, a lady returned and informed us the beds were $3 dollars each, or we both could stay in another room sans beds for $2.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5917.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5916.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5924.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR5931.

An oddity of traveling in another country is that regardless of the coin you bring, you quickly acclimate to whatever the going rate is for things. Dollars stretched reasonably far in Colombia, and so Shawn and I began to debate whether or not we had the money to pay for such a luxury as a bed. By the time we concluded that yes, in fact, the two extra dollars would not ruin us, six Colombian teenagers on a hiking trip (an energetic teen guiding them) had nabbed the beds and guaranteed our spot in a room with bags of potatoes and wet saddles and bridles hung out to dry, eau de shoe complimentary. The landlady informed us that a meal was just a few thousand Colombian pesos, a couple of dollars. It seemed expensive, but anxious for variety we decided just to go for it. As we warmed alongside the teenagers sitting on kitchen benches raised by the wood-burning stove, we marveled at just how good rice, red beans and a fried egg could be (we’d later learn we were charged more than our Colombian friends… oh well).

We awoke the next morning just in time to see the dawn’s light warmly suffusing the southern slopes of Volcan Tolima. Returning to our humid mud room, we concluded our evil plan to pitch and dry our tent by sleeping in it inside had failed. As we aired it out in the sun that soon crested the valley ridge, the teenagers arose, chattering excitedly about a waterfall they planned to visit that day. Their leader was particularly enthusiastic. The hike would be quick, he claimed, not more than an hour. Skeptical, we concluded even if the expedition went overtime we’d probably still have plenty of time to make the descent to Ibagué, our bus back to Bogotá, and our flight to Peru in the wee hours of the morning.

The descriptively named waterfall of El Salto (you guessed it, “waterfall”) lay just downstream of the town that bore its name. The ringleader/tour guide of the boys had previously visited, but as his flitting attention span, tremendous amounts of energy and scant patience took us several times through thick forest to the cliff’s edge near the head of the waterfall our confidence in his abilities began to wane. Nonetheless, the path to the falls’ base was at length discovered, and after a steep descent using mossy trees and rocks as handholds we arrived.

The damp clay soil banking the trail had the precise color and texture—tragically, not the flavor—of a rich, fudgy dark chocolate ganache.

Over two hours had passed by the time we returned to El Salto. Shouldering our packs, we passed a farmer digging a field by hand as we began to slog up the mountainside. The damp clay soil banking the trail had the precise color and texture—tragically, not the flavor—of a rich, fudgy dark chocolate ganache. The trail snaked back and forth across the slope, but for the most part carved straight up the mountainside. Foot traffic, cattle and water running along its length had slowly transformed it into a deep gash into which frustrated, motivated people had occasionally wedged timber in an effort to reduce the number of times plunging a foot into deep mud was a requisite, but cows, remember, are terrible people and had jacked up a lot of it.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR6073.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR6069.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR6086.

Muddied feet at last gained the pass at the ridgetop. Far beneath us, clouds obscured the view of distant Ibagué like dirty clothes hiding a dorm room floor—we’d see it eventually, but not without a day’s determined effort.

The hike from Ibagué had gained a reputation among online forums and blogs as an arduous, ugly descent but instead was one of the most beautiful hikes through cloud forest I’ve ever had.

Mountain descent to the famed city of Alternate Istanbul

DCIM102GOPROGOPR6104.

The other Istanbul

DCIM102GOPROGOPR6139.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR6126.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR6179.

At the base of El Secreto Preserva Natural

As we entered Combeima Canyon, cloud forest occasionally gave way to steep slopes of coffee. Waterfalls slipped into the river far below and we saw fields and houses perched precariously on the few flat areas.

As we descended the slopes from Tolima a strange copper-colored stream crossed the trail from our left, eventually disappearing into the forest. Did it harbor some fascinating microbe from geothermal activity, or were these mine tailings from the illegal gold mine we’d heard hid somewhere in the hills above Ibagué ? Shawn thought geothermal. I wasn’t so sure.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR6242.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR6264.

After some time, we reached the outskirts of a town. Seeing a child playing among the barbed-wire clotheslines of a yard, we asked if we were headed in the direction of Ibagué. He responded, but with a heavy speech impediment we found difficult to understand. We continued to speak with him until his mother called him sharply from somewhere inside the house. Not long after, we came across another two children playing. Oddly enough, one of them also seemed to have some sort of mental or communicative disability. Their mother called them inside when she spotted us. I have no experience whatsoever in identifying developmental issues in children, but it seemed odd that two of three children we’d met had various conditions. I was reminded uncomfortably of the copper stream and the gold mine somewhere far above.

We spotted a man on the slope above us, who gave us directions at last. We confirmed them with a father and son busy at work planting a field that sloped steeply into the ravine below.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR6258.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR6265.

DCIM102GOPROGOPR6248.

Several more hours yielded the end of the trail. We caught a jeep in Juntas, the small town above Ibagué, riding past outdoor restaurants that looked to be a popular weekend spot for locals. Fun fact: A city just like Juntas was destroyed almost completely in 1985 when the eruption of Nevado del Ruiz (a volcano within sight of Tolima) unleashed a lahar of mud, ash and melted glacier.

One of the lahars virtually erased Armero; three-quarters of its 28,700 inhabitants were killed. Proceeding in three major waves, this lahar was 30 meters (100 ft) deep, moved at 12 meters per second (39 ft/s), and lasted ten to twenty minutes. Traveling at about 6 meters (20 ft) per second, the second lahar lasted thirty minutes and was followed by smaller pulses.

Over 23,000 people were killed, making it the fourth-deadliest volcanic disaster in recorded history and rendering the town of Armero a ghost town. Juntas, at the base of Combeima Canyon and the active Tolima, is at high risk of destruction. from Tolima. But anyways, here’s some recycled plastic art.

On the way to Ibague, we spoke to our fellow passengers, Colombians who had been doing a small modeling shoot in some abandoned buildings in the town where we’d joined them. We chatted amicably as we approached Ibagué . When we arrived, they gave us a general outline of the town and gave us a few suggestions of places they recommended and a few better left alone. We ate delicious food—reveling again in how little it tasted like Gatorade bars—until we remembered we had to catch our flight out of Bogotá later that night.

After a few frantic minutes locating a bus and purchasing tickets, we took turns showering in the public bathing rooms (maybe about 30 cents) of the bus terminal in an attempt to smell less like the mud and sweat of three days, using the small bar of soap to scrub some of the mud out of our clothes. After boarding the half-empty bus we made a beeline for the back and cracked open the windows, trying to set up our clothes and shoes in such a way that they might ride.

Though I’d like to pretend it is better, my memory is actually pretty bad, but I do remember this about our evening journey:

As the bus returned to Bogotá, the feel of the warm, humid wind drifting through the bus window and the rhythmic sounds of spinning tires on the wet highway wove a tapestry of sensation, wrapped us gently into sleep. Right. That’s beautiful prose and whatnot, but like much of the crap you read in travel blogs (some unintentionally here, hopefully mostly elsewhere)–overly romanticized, flowery and at least partly untrue. Luckily, oddly and surprisingly for us all I have a journal entry penned on this very bus, which in distressed letters scrawled thusly:

“The bus from Ibagué to Bogotá is stupid, smelly and shaky.”

An entry several hours from the plane from Bogotá to Lima elucidated.

“Remember the stupid smelly bus from Ibagué ? I couldn’t really get to sleep. A maniacal child boarded the bus and began to entertain himself by opening and closing the window, grabbing my hat while I was wearing it, and singing. Perhaps believing himself to be the next Colombian pop star, this [nascent Shakira] kindly treated us to his own renditions of mutated songs. [Alas], this lad’s caterwauling left something to be desired. His voice was the musical equivalent of placing thirty-eight gerbils in a centrifuge: intermittent garbled shrieks and a decided disregard for social norms.”

Shakira, Shakira.

Will Trade for Peanuts: Three Days in Los Nevados NP We wandered along the edge of the deepening canyon. With every step, the stream's chill, clear waters cut ever more deeply into the volcanic basalt that formed the ground beneath our feet.

#adventure tourism #backpacking #colombia #Ibague #Los Nevados #national parks #paramo #rural tourism #Salento #trekking #Valle de Cocora #volcano #Volcano tourism

[365-of-2019]

Today is August 7, 2020. I am currently on a flight home to Atlanta after spending more than two weeks out West in Colorado and Utah. Though I am coming off a desert adventure, I am sitting on this plane feeling intensely anxious. The last time I remember feeling this way was during my sophomore and junior years of college—the years in which I couldn’t see straight and didn’t sleep properly for weeks at a time. So, I am scared. I would very much prefer not to spiral in the way that I did 3 years ago. I would prefer to prove to myself that I have grown since then, and that I have ways of dealing with my anxiety other than just pretending it doesn’t exist. If it turns out that I am unable to handle my anxiety, then I will need to follow up on my years-long intention of getting professional help. Anyway. I wanted to open up a blank page and write a little bit about the past two weeks, rather than writing about my job and my stress levels.

For context: the world is still in the middle of a pandemic. In the US, COVID-19 cases continue to rise every day as public officials make laws, take back laws, and take back their take backs. In general, flying is frowned upon. When I drove up to the Atlanta airport two weeks ago, I felt enormous tidal waves of guilt. I felt selfish, ignorant, and borderline idiotic. But I still went through with it. So I guess none of those feelings really matter.

This summer, Maddie worked for Jefferson County in Golden, Colorado. She was a trail specialist and spent three days a week performing maintenance on trails all around Jefferson County. At the same time, Nevada was driving around the West Coast, spending time in California, Nevada, Arizona, and Colorado. For the past two weeks, both Maddie and Nevada have been living in the suburbs of Denver.

With both of my sisters in a city that I have always wanted to visit, and with the opportunity to work remotely from any location I choose, I felt like I could not pass up such a special moment in time. Special feels like the wrong word to use. I may look back on this decision and think, “IDIOT!” But, for now, I feel grateful for concentrated time with Maddie, who is growing and evolving so quickly and confidently.

I arrived in Colorado on July 23. That weekend, Maddie and I, along with her roommate Emma, made a drive out to Great Sand Dunes National Park. It was wild. There was sand everywhere. The hills were steep and tough to trek, due to our feet sliding backwards four inches with every step we took. But, we eventually found our own little peak to claim. And then we claimed it by eating peanuts and dancing to Harry Styles and throwing our cowboy hats into the wind. We finished the day by ordering six burritos in the drive thru of La Casita, and eating them in the Colorado wilderness. A hard Saturday to beat.

The next day, we met up with Nev to check out UC Boulder’s campus. We grabbed coffee at a Boulder café, walked around the Quad, found Varsity Bridge, and talked smack about our family members. I am so thankful for those moments—no matter how nasty or silly or irritating we may be when we are all together, we are all together.

Unfortunately (the word “unfortunately” is comical in this context), I was not permitted to take more than two days of PTO while in Colorado. For the last week of July, I worked a four-day week before we set off on our four-day weekend in the desert.

We left Thursday night and drove to an Air BnB in Grand Junction, Colorado. We woke up the next morning and drove straight to Arches National Park—the park I have been dreaming of ever since I went to Zion with Zander last year! It was 105 degrees. The air was dry. There were no trees. It was amazing.

Because I am obnoxious and feel the need to prove points that don’t need to be proven, I suggested that we attempt the longest hike in the park—an 8-mile loop through the most northern tip of Arches. To my surprise, Maddie and Emma agreed. Maybe they shouldn’t have. But they did! So we set off! We made it about halfway through the trail—seeing some beautiful arches along the way—and then spent about 90 minutes trying to locate the correct path to take to lead up through the second half of the loop. It was a little bit fun and a little bit concerning.

I love National Parks and I love the West because they make you feel small. You can look at a canyon or a mountain or the clear night sky and feel like a speck. Which then means that all of your problems and worries are smaller than specks. And that’s nice. However, when you are lost in the middle of a canyon, feeling small is not so reassuring. As we drank the last sips of our water, we decided to turn around and cut our losses. So, we did not complete the 8-mile loop, but we did complete an 8-mile hike. I was so thankful to be with my sister in nature. Not even a powerfully persistent dry mouth could ruin the day.

That night, we camped at a private campsite in Moab. We grabbed fresh corn, broccoli, and vegan sausages from the grocery store and grilled them over charcoal. We slept in Emma’s tent, sleeping on the camping pads that I purchased last November when Kristy and I spent the night on Maddie’s dorm floor. I had not been camping since I was little, and I had not felt so disconnected from technology since my time in Uganda. It was a welcome change.

We woke up to the blazing sun burning through the side of our tent, and set off for another stint at Arches. The second time around, we waltzed around the more touristy parts of the Park, taking ~4 minute walks to reach beautiful viewpoints. It was relaxing. And beautiful. And I think we were all happy to have the car within a half mile.

Arches was everything I thought it would be. I wish I could explore the that place for weeks, rather than days.

The second night in Moab, we drove to a Utah state park called Dead Horse Point. It sits at the northern end of Canyonlands National Park. It was insane. I saw the Grand Canyon last year, so I know what big canyons look like, but this one still took my breath away and had me repeatedly saying, “Wow,” like an idiot. I hope that that feeling never goes away no matter how many feats of nature I come across.

We asked the park ranger if we could stay past closing hours, and he suggested that the answer was yes. We laid on the rocks of the canyon wall for hours, watching the sky turn from neon orange to dark blue. It was the night before a Full Moon, and the light of the moon lit up the canyon walls so brightly that we ran and danced and played music until nearly 11PM. The tiny desert mice made a couple of appearances. We said thank you.

Day three in the desert: we drove to the center of Utah. Along our drive, we saw signs that said, “No Services for 100 Miles.” We thought we were in the desert in Moab. But when we drove farther West, we started to realize that Moab is a bustling city in comparison to the center of the state.

We spent the afternoon at Little Wild Horse Canyon, a slot canyon near Goblin Valley State Park. We had a photoshoot between the canyon walls and soaked up the shade that the narrow slots created. It was a beautiful, totally unique ~4 mile hike that left us in high spirits.

That night, we stayed at a campsite in Goblin Valley. Emma got us some firewood and we roasted corn over a fire. Maddie made me tiki masala with chickpeas. There were signs at the campsite that advised boiling water before consuming. We tried. It was very bad.

After dinner, we drove to the valley of the park to soak up the stars. Goblin Valley is home to one of the darkest night skies in the US, and we could tell how special that darkness was, even in the blinding moonlight. Maddie and Emma stripped and ran around the valley naked. I curled up in the crevice of a boulder and stared up for an hour. Sometimes, I wish I would not be such a square. Sometimes, I appreciate my ability to choose the things that bring me most satisfaction, even when others are telling me that I am choosing incorrectly. But that’s for another time.

We drove home to Golden the night after our rendezvous with the goblins, and we all took showers and curled up on the couch after nearly four full days in the desert heat.

I have already written this so many times, which I hope suggests that it is authentic: I am so thankful for experiences like the one I had last weekend. Particularly in the midst of a world that is stressful for me as an individual, but also stressful for global society, I feel so lucky to have the relationships and resources at my fingertips to experience truly special pieces of life. Never have I ever wanted to buy a van and live off of rice and beans so badly. There is so much that I haven’t seen and so much that I want to see again. I often feel as though I approach life like a race—trying to squeeze in experiences even when doing so is inconvenient or difficult or exhausting. I hope this is a good thing. I am not sure yet.

I spent the last four days working from Maddie’s home in Golden. She finished up her summer job this week, and is driving back to North Carolina this weekend. I am landing in Atlanta tonight and moving into my new apartment tomorrow. Jake and Dad are driving down from Raleigh to help me with the insane one-day moving process. They are kind.

I am stressed about work, stressed about moving, stressed about money, stressed about COVID-19, stressed about the social and political atmosphere of the country. Sometimes, it is so much that I break into tears without any specific triggers. But at the same time, I am feeling such immense gratitude. I have siblings who are so smart and thoughtful and unique. I have spent more time with Mom and Dad in 2020 than I did in the four years previous. Zander is loving and kind and gives me advice when I feel helpless. I have a job that is challenging, but full of some of the brightest people I have ever met. I am moving in with one of my best friends from college tomorrow, making a beautiful apartment on 14th Street into our home. I got to see the desert and soak up the dirt. So, really, life is very very good.

[prairiesongserial]

8.9

Buying lunch for the second time that day made Friday think that maybe she should tell Val about Ueno. Not that Ueno was really a secret; they were all staying at the Grand Hotel together, and Val must have seen her. She sure felt like a secret, though.

She and Val sat outside the Town Hall, watching the street while Val devoured one of those chicken and apple pastries.

“It’s good, right?” she said. “I can understand why these folks don’t want to give up their mutant apples.”

“Hm,” Val said. His mouth was full.

Friday didn’t know what time it was, exactly, only that the sun was creeping toward late afternoon. They might find themselves camping on the steps of Town Hall for a while, yet. She watched Val eat; he ate like he couldn’t count on where his next meal was coming from, swallowing it down so fast it was a marvel he didn’t choke. Val didn’t know she’d been stealing; he probably thought she had spent the last penny in her pocket on his apple hand-pie.

“I have some spending money, now,” Friday said.

Val swallowed a big, hot bite, grimacing.

“How’d you manage that?” he said.

“Oh, a girl has her secrets,” Friday said. “We don’t have to worry about food for a few days, I mean. Or we could pay for a tank of gas. Not enough for both, though, so it’s not like we can just split.”

“And we owe the Grand Hotel for another night.”

Friday sighed. That would be a blow to their earnings, if they even managed to catch the apple-thieves. That hotel wasn’t cheap. But if you were the only town for miles around in mutie country, the folks passing through couldn’t afford not to pay.

“You think they have trouble with muties out here?” Friday asked. Val was almost finished eating, but she couldn’t wait. “I mean, we didn’t consider that. Maybe there’s no suspect at all, and it’s just muties comin’ in and raiding in the dead of night.”

“Bike,” Val reminded her.

“Those muties in the Colorado woods were smart enough to ride a bike, I would bet all the silver in my shoes,” Friday countered. “You know what? That was the scariest thing about ‘em. How smart they were.”

Val frowned at her, licking his fingers. Friday knew she was getting herself into hot water, here, and after already having that painfully awkward conversation earlier. Unfortunately, her motor-mouth had bad brakes.

“I mean, not just the fact that they were talkin’ and mimicking voices, but how they organized. Drawing you off first and then me, separately. Circling up,” she continued. “And - and doing reconnaissance first! You remember those two on either side of the path, before it got dark. They were checking us out, before they decided how they were gonna round us up. Knew we had guns, too, but they lured us into the woods in the dark, so even if I had brought an actual gun instead of a flare, half my shots would have hit the trees. I’ve been thinking that maybe, I mean, it’s stupid, but, I - ” She took a deep breath. She didn’t like the way Val was looking at her, all concern. “I just mean that there’s real street smarts involved in scarin’ people, and that, if you aren’t gonna be welcome someplace, why not pretend to be more of a monster that you are? Scare most people away from seeking you out. Kill the rest of the idiots who wander onto your land.”

Val shifted up one step so that he was sitting on the same one as her.

“That’s quite a theory,” he said.

“I don’t know that it’s a theory,” Friday said, passionately. “That was the most scared I’ve ever been in my life, and I was realizing today…”

Here came the part where she was probably going to talk herself into trouble.

“I was realizing,” she continued, swallowing. “You know, watching the town here. There was this little baby with these crazy pink eyes with like, double pupils. And, I guess, obviously there are moms here. It’s a town.”

Friday fidgeted, running her hands up and down the outside seams of her pants, just for want of something to do.

“I don’t mean to go comparing the two, obviously, but it got me thinking about the woods, and how there weren’t any moms and babies, because we weren’t supposed to see them. You know?  They saw us tryin’ to go down that trail, probably toward where they all live, they saw us kill their look-outs, and so they put on a big scary show for us in the woods, instead of waiting for us to stumble into their home. If they didn’t manage to kill us, they’d put us off going down that fuckin’ trail. You sure couldn’t pay me enough.”

“So, what are you saying?” Val asked, sounding tired. “Muties on bicycles stole Digby’s apples?”

“No! I’m not saying that at all. I’m just thinking out loud.” Friday glanced up at the sky, hoping it was close to seven. “I’m just sayin’ the mutie gig is half an act, maybe.”

Val seemed to soften a bit. He always did, eventually.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “That’s more charity than most people would give.”

“I mean, they still tried to kill us,” Friday mumbled. “But as a theatrical person myself, I recognized some common themes.”

They sat quietly, seconds slipping by. Friday was doing all she could to let the moment breathe. She hadn’t done herself any favors today, the way she’d stood Val up, and every time she tried to talk about mutants and muties she put her foot in her mouth. As she ran her fingers down the seams of her pants, she tried to count the stitches hidden underneath, just to give her mind something to do with itself.

Part of the reason Val wouldn’t just tell her he was a mutant already had to be the fact that she never let him get a word in edgewise.

People were finally starting to show up for the seven o’clock meeting; or, the people responsible for setting up, anyway. The door was propped open to let the air move through, and Friday could hear the sound of chairs being dragged into place.

“Why’d you stand me up?” Val asked. He looked at her with his purple eyes, unflinching, but not unkind. Made it hard to breathe for a second.

“Honest truth?” Friday asked.

Val nodded.

“I thought it would be too hard, so I let myself get distracted,” she said, staring down at her knees. “There was a woman I was interested in, and she helped me make a little money. Shouldn’t have stood you up like that.”

“Okay,” Val said.

“I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you. Let’s go in.”

Val started to climb the stairs, and Friday followed behind him, pulling an exasperated face when she was sure he couldn’t see. He always did this. He would forgive her for real in about a week.

Inside, the seats were starting to fill up.

“Think we should hang back?” Val asked.

“Whatever you want to do, Preacher,” Friday said.

The two of them ended up standing in the back corner of the room, and Friday at least was glad of the choice; after the seats filled, it was standing-room only, and the two of them blended in.

“Surprised so many people turned up for Miss Jef,” Friday muttered. She had seemed like she was on the outskirts, as far as her thinking went, but there were a lot of people here. Maybe Friday and Val should consider more suspects.

“Who’s Miss Jef?”

“The schoolteacher, keep up,” Friday teased.

Val grumbled at her as a man approached the podium. The room fell silent.

“As everyone knows, this meeting will be our annual discussion of the year’s harvest; we need to get the remaining summer crops out of the fields and organize the community effort according to who has the greatest need, and when. I ask that we all take a moment now to remember that this is not our winter debate on what crops should be sown in the spring.”

There were some mumblings. Friday scanned the crowd, trying to pick out Miss Jef among them. She might have to resign herself to standing around listening to the town plan the harvest.

None of it made much sense to her, and she zoned out while the mayor, or whoever he was, rambled on regarding who would be afforded the support of the town’s manpower when, and what tools would be at limited availability for what periods of time. Friday didn’t see Miss Jef, but then again, Friday was short, and there were more than a few heads she couldn’t see past. Out of curiosity, she looked for Ueno, though Friday couldn’t dream of why an out-of-towner would show up to this thing if she didn’t have to. Friday barely understood why she herself was stuck here, packed into the back of the room like a fish in a tin - and she really wasn’t looking forward to the stake-out afterward. Not when the apple trees only made her think of the Colorado woods.

“...and so, if there are further questions or concerns regarding the harvest schedule, or you would like to propose a change, I invite you now to the podium,” the man said, heaving a great sigh.

There was Miss Jef - she scrambled to the front, and was met with the spirited cheers of exactly five people. Her students? Friday couldn’t see.

“Good people of Oklahoma City,” Miss Jef began, talking fast. “I propose a change to the harvest schedule which eliminates the harvest of Harry Digby’s orchard.”

Varied jeers of “Jesus Christ, this again?” and teeth clucked in disapproval bubbled up from the crowd.

“Allow me to explain,” Miss Jef said sharply. She tucked a couple of stray hairs behind her ear. “We all know the story of Clay Digby, hero and founder of Oklahoma City. We all know that he was the wise one who realized the metal was poison and buried it a hundred feet deep, on his own land, so that it couldn’t hurt anyone anymore. We all know the rhyme, yes?”

There were murmurs of assent. Miss Jef cleared her throat.

“Old Clay Digby, wise as they come, claimed the whole town as his son; he set his shovel to the ground, and Old Clay Digby dug straight down. Old Clay Digby, how tall was he? Taller than an apple tree. He dug so deep, and dug so long, that soon a whole week had bygone.” Miss Jef paused, letting the melodious rhythm of her voice hang in the air. “We all know Clay Digby as Harry’s grandfather. We know he was a mutant, and maybe he was exceptionally tall and strong. There are some of us in this room who can say the same.”

There were scattered laughs as a couple of townsfolk flexed their muscles or stretched their spines straight - not quite making fun of Miss Jef, but close.

“Tonight, I’m here to tell you that the poison Clay Digby buried cannot, feasibly, have been buried deeply enough to protect our town from its latent effects.” Miss Jef produced a thick book, very difficult to see from the back of the room, and held it open to one page. “This diagram shows how the Old World built something called a ‘deep geological repository’ for poison. They called it radioactive waste. And according to this book, in order to prevent contamination, these repositories were built one thousand feet deep. Clay Digby had a good idea, but not even a mutant could accomplish that. Our town’s memory of Clay Digby insists that he dug a hundred feet deep - according to my research, it is not enough.”

“I always heard the rhyme as saying ‘hundreds’ of feet deep,” the woman next to Friday whispered conspiratorially.

“We may not see the full effects of the poison in our lifetimes. Some of us are content to be mutated in his honor. Eating the apples of Deeproot Orchard is a point of pride for us. But is the poison even buried as deeply as a hundred feet? Clay Digby was a real man with limitations. Can any of you flexing in the back - and yes, I saw you - dig a hundred feet down?”

“Town well is a hundred feet, easy,” one of them called up. “Couple of guys can dig a hundred feet, sure.”

Miss Jef slammed her hand down on the podium, cutting through the handful of amused titters.

“And you think burying poison right on our water table is safe?” she yelled. “One thousand feet, it says in this book. Can you dig a well one thousand feet deep? Did Clay Digby?”

“Well, Miss Fields, thank you for your contribution, but there may be other questions waiting,” the mayor said, mopping his face with a handkerchief. It seemed, in part, an attempt to hide a bemused smile.

“Clay Digby’s great-grandchildren are mutants, like him. What will our great-grandchildren be?” Miss Jef continued. “Are you okay with not knowing?”

The mayor was beginning to gently encourage Miss Jef away from the podium. Friday caught a flash of red, off to the side of the stage, nearly behind it. Ueno, still wearing her red leather jacket, had shown up after all. She appeared to be enjoying the spectacle.

The mayor succeeded in bullying Miss Jef off the stage, and returned to his role as moderator.

“Thank you, Miss Fields,” he said. “Any further questions about the harvest schedule?”

Friday looked to Val. He had a look about him, like he was thinking hard.

“You think it’s time to go?” Friday asked. “Catch Miss Jef outside? Or stake out the orchard?”

Val nodded silently. As the two of them tried to cut through the thick crowd, Friday noticed him protecting his stomach with his hands, almost like he felt sick. She knew a little better than that. Friday grabbed him by the elbow, dragging him behind her as she forced her way to the door.

8.8 || 8.10

#story

[gracerou]

Red Rocks to Evergreens

This is the tale of a brother and sister from Bolder Colorado to Washington.  It was mid-summer and I was bored of being stuck at home, so I decided to buy a one-way ticket to Bolder Colorado. Why? I was going to drive back to Washington with my brother Colt, who was moving from Colorado to Washington to start his new job after graduating from graduate school.

My flight arrived late in the evening and I was greeted by my brother and a car already packed with pretty much all his belongings. All I had was a small green backpack as informed by my brother that the car could only fit myself and it. We drove to his apartment; it was my first and last time there. It was empty apart from the bare necessities like stuff to sleep on for the night.  

The next day we left early in the morning but quickly made a sighting stop, we stopped at the Colorado National Monument and hiked around for a bit. We walked on a trail that was parallel to a cliff and we got to see lots of red rock in interesting rock formations. It was really magical, but we ended up having to leave soon after because it had started raining and we had seen lightning in the distance.

The rest of the day’s driving I spent my time watching red rock walls whiz past my vision and listening to Critical Role episodes with my brother. We drove till dark nerding out about a group of adventures going on quests and slaying dragons.

The next day woke up early to what I thought would be our last day, the day started off pretty much the same as the day before Critical Role and watching the view the outside the car slowly shifted from red rocks to open grass lands and an occasional evergreen tress began dotting the horizon, At some point I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew my brother was shaking my shoulder asking me to check the Gps. I checked the Gps and it said “Could not find location. Please make sure that you have Gps enabled on your phone.” Colt said that it was so weird that it was working all of the sudden when we entered Washington it said “Gps signal lost.”  

Colt decided to pull off at the next rest area so that he could try his phone. We got off the highway and were expecting to see the rest area, but we were quite confused when the paved road turned into gravel and then dirt. “We should turn around Colt.” He replied “I can’t it's too narrow here.”

We kept driving down the road until the road opened into a clearing with a log cabin. I said “Dude that is definitely not big enough to be a rest area. This is Narnia calling it.” Colt replied, “sure dude I am going to ask them for a map, brb.” He tried opening the door, knocking, calling out, and finally got back in the car. “Oh well at least we can turn around?” Colt “Yeah we can just try getting a map at the next rest area...Oh shi!” Colt slammed the brakes and I looked out the rear-view mirror.

There was a stereo typical creepy little old lady that and just stepped out of the woods except for the fact that she was wearing a park ranger uniform under her knit shawl. She was waving smiling at us as she came around the driver side window. “I am so glad that I didn’t miss you'll come on inside and I’ll help you get on your way. You wanted a map correct?” Colt and I parked and followed her inside the cabin which was unlocked but I swear to this day that we hadn’t mentioned to her we wanted a map or that she definitely did not unlock, but that’s the least crazy thing that happened that day.

Upon entering the cabin my brother and I looked around and exchanged a look...this was not a rest area, it looked like a home with a bed and a fireplace with a lit fire and a kettle with steam rising from it. The old lady pulped down into a chair and said, “So you all are lost, no? Do you all even know where you are?”  Colt replied, “yeah we are lost, and we should be somewhere just within the Washington border, right?” She smiled as if taunt us “No, you are in the Material plane of course.” “The fuck? Like from Dungeons and Dragons?” the words just slipped out of my mouth. “how is that even possible?”

The lady began rocking in her chair, “You know there is a legend about this 'rest area’. It’s said that long ago when ‘America’ was being settled that a woman accused of being witch and her young son settled down on the border of what would become Washington and Oregon. This witch was said to have loved her son and would do anything for him. Her son was young and often bored so she would trip travelers and make them play with her son to get set free. One day the boy was playing with some travelers by the waterfall when he mysteriously died. When the travelers came back without her son, the witch cursed this land to trap travelers here to forever wander the woods until her son was found. It is said that you can hear here calling out for him looking for any trace of him, and that you are doomed to wander these woods unless you can find where he died.”  

I followed her gaze to a painted wooden sword resting on the fireplace. “Ok thank you very much for your help but we’ll just turn our car around and get back on the highway.” my brother said as he took my hand. We quickly left the cabin but when we looked outside are car was there but where the road was a line of tall evergreen trees. “If you don’t find him you can never leave.” we turned around and she was just behind up sitting on the same rocker but on the porch in front of the cabin.

“Colt what do we do? This is crazy, right?” he replied, “Yeah but we can’t drive out of here, so I guess our current best choice is to do what she said while looking for a way out of here.” We went back to the car put on our hiking boots and packed a day pack with food, water, matches, a Swiss army knife, and rope. As soon as we entered the tree line, we heard the sound of water running. “We should follow the water, there’s supposed to be towns up stream of water, right?” Colt “yeah plus she said the boy disappeared near the river” said with a shrug.  

We hiked for hours and it was starting to get dark when I suddenly got chills running down my back. There was a shouting ahead of us, we both froze and just ahead of us was two ghastly white men standing. We crept closer and it wasn’t until we were close enough to hear that we noticed that the two men were not solid seeing as one was halfway standing in a tree. One screamed “I know you know where the boy is, tell me where he is” and the other yelled “No you hide him! Set me free!” There was another rustling sound as I looked at my feet and a bunny ran past me. They two ghosts chased after the bunny, leaving me and my brother alone. I whispered ‘Colt you must have rolled a fucking high stealth roll” with tears rolling down my eyes.

Colt made us keep walking, but I could tell he was scared too, He really is an awesome big brother. We walked for an hour more but then we started hearing more rustling and had to hide from another pair spirits. This time it was a mom with a son searching for her husband. We were exhausted and found a hollowed-out evergreen. Colt offered to stay up so that I could sleep, we were too afraid to light a fire.

Just as I was about to pass out from exhaustion, Colt covered my mouth and pointed at a wolf drinking from the creek. It didn’t seem to notice us; Colt quietly grabbed a piece of wood in the tree and I grabbed the knife from the backpack. We were still and the wolf finished drinking and turned to leave. Its head suddenly snapped back to our direction as a ghostly hand gripped the bark at the edge of our hollow. One of the angry spirits head appeared inside the entrance to the hallow. It screeched at us “It was you who was hiding it!” The ghost moved so fast and disappeared inside the wolf’s body.  

The Wolf ghost jumped across the creek and leap at my brother. My brother held up the piece of wood to block the wolf’s teeth from biting him. The wolf was trying to bite Colt as he tried to block the wolf’s bites and claw. I rushed forward and dropped the knife. I picked it cutting my hand, but I stabbed behind Colt and stabbed the wolf in its jugular. The wolf cried and whimpered as life faded from its eyes. Colt and I were frozen for what felt like ages until I realized I was bitten and passed out.  

Colt tells me that he made me a back sling with the wood and our rope so that he could carry me on his back. I came to on his back it was just breaking morning and I could see our car and the cabin. I squeezed his shoulder and saw that he had bandaged the bite the best he could. “I realized that I did not bring first aid with us and that the only place it might be would be in the car so carried you here. Also, I didn’t think the forest would be safe.” I sat in the car while he treated the wound the best, he could with the first aid. He held up the piece of wood “if it weren’t for this piece of wood as a shield, we would have been done for” I looked at the savor shield and “Oh shit it's an actual shield!” on the other side of the wood was a painted shield print. “Colt! she had a wooden sword in the cabin! I bet that’s her sons!”

We both ran to the porch and slammed our fists on the door screaming for her to open up, there was no reply. I started crying and Colt wrapped his arm around me, “It’s ok she’ll be back eventually, let’s just stay safe in the car until she gets back.” We turned around and the road was back, we were in a daze and got back in the car and speed down the road. I looked back at the cabin as we left and sitting on the rocking chair was the shield and sword. We continued driving back home without stop. I try to convince myself it was not real, but the bite marks scars on my arm serve as a constant reminder.

#cartrip #madeupstory #roadtrip #brotherandsister #washington #oreagon #dnd 5e #basedonatruestory

[sflisa]

The Hills are Alive

We celebrated my 10th birthday in a motel room on Tejon Street; Mom reminded me yesterday that both boys were sick with a virus after we arrived in Colorado Springs, so that must have been really rough on her, trapped in the room with the three of us for a few days before our moving van arrived so we could move in to our new house.  I was a mess, so sad to have left New Jersey, and eager to see the new place, which I was convinced backed up straight against the mountains.  It didn’t.  It didn’t have a lawn, there were barely any trees, and tumbleweed everywhere.  Next to us though, was a piñon-covered hill, with sandstone outcroppings that invited exploration and climbing, which we did, almost every day.  Yucca and paintbrush everywhere.  There were caves, and tower-like structures, we buried treasure, took picnics; it was where I ran away from home to when things got stormy, so, in effect, it was like the mountains were in the backyard after all.  You could see out over the entire city from the top of one of the rocks.  It was glorious.  You can also see the city from the top of Pike’s Peak...Oh Beautiful, for Spacious Skies, for sure.  Suzanne came and visited from NJ - it was great to see her, and I haven’t had contact with her since.  My grandmother came for one of the first Easters.

School was really rough at the beginning - being the new kid at 10 years old, or anytime, probably, is hard stuff.  No friends, and the girls in my neighborhood that were in my class were not buddy material for me.  They were mean, gossipy, troublemakers, and we had no common interests.  There were, over time, a few girls on our street who I hung out with, and who invited me to ride horses with them a couple of times; I didn’t have a horse, and wisely, my parents said no to that idea.  They did, however, provide me with riding lessons, and Dad and I would go out to Palmer Park and ride at the stables there from time to time.  It was a love-hate thing with me and the horses - stable horses are stubborn and I didn’t like their general unresponsiveness, and it could prove problematic if you didn’t want to run like the wind back to the stable.  You did anyway - that horse was hungry and tired.

So life in Colorado Springs got underway - I met my new class, a combined 5th and 4th grade; don’t remember much except I was not listening to the radio yet so much, and the kids couldn’t figure out why I didn’t know the Top 40.  We had swimming and tennis lessons in the summers; we joined, and Mom eventually led, Girl Scout troop 135, which led to Girl Scout Camp again in the summers, which I absolutely loved, and was the source of a few more buddies moving forward.  We drove to Disneyland when I was 14.  Best quote from that trip is from Bob:  “It won’t be smoggy in Disneyland - it’s the Happiest Place on Earth!”  

I learned to ski, went fishing in the mountains with Dad.  We went on a trip to the Tetons (we must have had a really rough day the day the photo below was taken - even though we aren’t smiling, it’s one of my favorites - makes me laugh now, because I’ve had those moments as a parent, for sure!

Grandparents came and went for visits and extended stays.  My paternal Grandpa who had lived with us for awhile in NJ came and stayed for a few months.  He taught me to play two-handed pinochle, and we played for hours which turned into days into weeks.  It was fun, and the only thing I remember him doing, except maybe reading.  I volunteered as a candy striper at the hospital Dad eventually ran; always liked to kid him about getting there first and paving the way for his eventual success!

At Washington Irving Junior High, I finally stopped crying and being sad about not being in NJ anymore.  I met Elaine, Karen, Jack, Gail and Aimee and we had a tribe.  We did things together after school, met up in the cafeteria at lunch, went to the movies, did all the things you’re supposed to do.  I got a 12 speed bike and the neighborhood opened up a bit more and I was back to getting myself places (not everywhere - streets were much busier and I was not allowed) on the bike.  And then, in 8th grade, there was a new music teacher and there was a choir.  I joined it - late - in the later fall and we started working on Carol of the Bells.  Now that I’m a music teacher, I understand I was not unique in encountering that as a first piece that served as an addiction mechanism!  I probably drove my entire family crazy singing that thing over and over and over (and that’s what it is, the same thing over and over inside of it) (and I get payback every year from my own students...) but that got me reconnected to choral singing.  I auditioned for and was accepted to the madrigal group as well.  I joined a church choir too, and I think in 9th or early high school I started voice lessons.  Jack joined the madrigals after I did, he told me later it wasn’t so much about the singing - he wanted to do things with me.  He took me to the Cherry Blossom Dance in 8th or 9th grade-his mom drove us.  My first actual date.  Mom made the dress.

After being dropped off at high school the first day and being cautioned by mom not to get knifed- she actually said, “Don’t get knifed...”, high school eventually meant more singing, an actual music theory class that I had to get to school by 7:00 to take, then madrigals, all before the school day even started.  There was Girls’ Choir, and Mixed Choir too, French Club, Model UN, hijinks in the library, cramming all of us into Jack’s Datsun to go McDonalds for lunch, running for Student Council, many dances, being a counselor at High Trails Outdoor Education Center.  In my senior year, there was a teacher’s strike and I filled in as the choir director under the supervision of a parent who lived in the neighborhood.  She taught me the basics of conducting and there’s a photo of me somewhere, maybe in the yearbook, conducting the choir in the classroom.  The strike resolved, and I didn’t get to conduct the concert, but the future would more than make up for that.  

Mom and Dad threw a surprise 16th birthday party which was so much fun; I went to junior prom with Jack; senior prom with Stan who was a real jerk.  I was trying to be cool and go with a football player.  Mistake.

I auditioned and was placed in the All-State Choir in the spring of 1976.  If I hadn’t been a choral enthusiast yet, that would have done it - it was absolutely the coolest thing I had ever done.  As a member of that choir, I was also invited to audition for “America’s Youth in Concert” - a tour group that took a 2 week-if-it’s-Tuesday-it must-be-Belgium approach to European concertizing.  I stuffed the flyer in my algebra book, and mom found it and insisted I send in a tape.  I got in, and enjoyed a wonderful trip to Pennsylvania in the summer of 1976, celebrating 200 years in Liberty Square, followed by a tour to Rome, Venice, Florence, Innsbruck, Paris, London.  We sang in the Pantheon, Notre Dame, Albert Hall.  Unbelievable. I recently got back in touch with a few of the kids on that tour through Facebook.  They are all still singing too.

Then it was time to go on to college.  I decided to major in music and English, problem was I had many interests, for a time I wanted to work for the Park Service as a Ranger (still do, and it is in my retirement plan to be a Ranger-Art Docent at the Presidio!) but music was the thing that got me into and paying for college.  At the University of Denver, I attempted to double major in a bunch of different things, but a music degree does not let you do that in 4 years, so I exited DU with a degree in Voice Performance, just so I could get out of there finally and move on.  I did not get great career planning support from either the music school or the university, and was a bit entwined in some not-terrible-but-not-exactly-focused distractions from what I was actually in school to accomplish.  That’s a subject for a book, not this post, and I may actually get to that at some point if I decide it could be helpful to someone else.  Lots of mistakes made out of raw naivety and blind trust.

Tomorrow I’ll pick up in college, as by the time I was 20, college started being more college-like.  

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

Welcome to Pollapalooza, our weekly polling roundup.

Poll(s) of the week

Hard as it may be to believe, Election Day is now less than five months away. And at this point, former Vice President Joe Biden has a clear lead over President Trump in the national polls. But recent state-level surveys also give Biden an edge over Trump in a number of key swing states. And of course, how Trump and Biden do at the state level matters the most, as that’s how the outcome in the Electoral College will be decided.

With that in mind, we thought it would be helpful to update where things stand in state-level polls of the presidential contest, like we did at the beginning of May. To do this, we gathered all the state polls in FiveThirtyEight’s polling database conducted since May 1 and then averaged them. And right now, the state polls largely agree with what the national surveys show: Biden holds the lead. In fact, he has about a 2-to-8-point lead in some of the most important states in the Electoral College. There is one notable caveat, though, which we’ll get to in a moment. (Additionally, what’s captured here might not reflect how things have changed after an unexpectedly positive job report, or how public opinion might have shifted in response to the national protests that followed George Floyd’s death.)

But first, let’s start with what the polls say in battleground states where we have at least three polls in the past six weeks. Together, they mostly present good news for Biden, and perhaps the most notable takeaway here is Biden’s sizable lead in Michigan and Wisconsin.

Biden leads in some key battleground states

Average margin in states where at least three polls were conducted since May 1

State Number of polls Biden Trump Average Margin Texas 3 46.4% 47.9% R+1.5 Georgia 4 45.3 46.3 R+1.0 Pennsylvania 3 46.5 46.4 D+0.1 North Carolina 8 45.6 45.1 D+0.5 Florida 6 47.5 45.0 D+2.5 Arizona 5 46.5 43.2 D+3.3 Wisconsin 5 47.8 41.5 D+6.2 Michigan 8 49.8 42.2 D+7.6

Includes polls conducted from May 1 to June 11. Polls that released results among multiple populations were included only once, counting the narrowest sample — registered voters over adults, and likely voters over registered voters.

Source: Polls

Trump carried Michigan and Wisconsin in 2016, albeit by less than 1 point, but Biden’s comfortable margin in these recent surveys could spell trouble for Trump. However, both states’ polls offered a range of snapshots — in Michigan, Biden led by anywhere from 2 to 15 points, and in Wisconsin, the race ranged from a tie to Biden +9.

In Michigan, the most notable result comes from long-time Michigan pollster EPIC/MRA, which found Biden up by 12 points in a poll conducted between late May and early June, 53 percent to 41 percent. For context, in 2016 the pollster never found Hillary Clinton with more than 47 percent in a single general election poll. However, in Wisconsin, Biden’s lead might not be that secure. The Marquette Law School Poll — often seen as the gold standard in the Badger State — had Biden up only 3 points in early May, 46 percent to 43 percent. Biden and Trump also ran about even in Pennsylvania, another pivotal state in 2016, which might seem at odds with the data from Michigan and Wisconsin. But unlike those states, Pennsylvania didn’t have any surveys from highly rated pollsters, and what they found was a bit noisy — two put Trump up by 4 to 5 points, while another put Biden ahead by 9 points. We wouldn’t read too much into this yet without higher quality polling, but the inconsistent results here could be evidence that Pennsylvania will remain competitive.

As for the polling picture in the Sun Belt states — Arizona, Georgia and Texas — they all seemed more or less in line with what you would expect, once you account for Biden’s lead in the national polls and how these states voted in 2016. But they do signal potential trouble for Trump. For instance, the fact that Trump carried Arizona by 3.5 points in 2016 seems to have been erased by Biden’s polling lead. On average, Biden led by 3 points, including a high-quality early June survey from Fox News that showed him up 4 points. In Georgia and Texas, on the other hand, Trump was still in the lead, by 1 and 2 points, respectively. Yet this is not as cushy of a margin as one would expect for Trump, considering he carried Georgia by 5 points and Texas by 9 points in 2016. If this trio of states are all in play — and Arizona is possibly even leaning Democratic — that would give Biden many additional paths to 270 electoral votes.

Polls in Florida, the über swing state, also tilted slightly toward Biden, though we didn’t have much in the way of high-quality polls here. These surveys all gave Biden a narrow lead ranging from 1 to 5 points. Meanwhile, North Carolina’s eight polls suggest a competitive race in the state — collectively, the results ranged from Trump by 3 points to Biden by 4 points, averaging out to about even.

There are two big takeaways here. One, Biden is in an enviable position in many of these battleground states. However, the second takeaway — which is the caveat we mentioned earlier — is that all of these battleground states save Michigan are more Republican-leaning than the national average. In other words, most of the states that will decide the presidential election are to the right of the country as a whole, and that speaks to Trump’s advantage in the Electoral College. Should Biden continue to hold a sizable lead, the chances of an Electoral College-popular vote split will probably be low. But if the polls get closer, the odds will increase because the eventual tipping point state is almost certainly among these eight states. But as it stands now, if Trump carries Arizona along with every state that’s more Republican-leaning in those recent polls, he would almost certainly win the presidency.

There are 18 other states where we have one or two polls, including surveys in potential battleground states that also suggest that Biden has an overall edge. Here are the states where we have at least one poll conducted since May 1, and as you can see, Biden is, somewhat surprisingly, neck and neck with Trump in Iowa and Ohio, and in a number of deep red states, Trump is actually underperforming his 2016 marks.

Early polls continue to give Biden an edge over Trump

Average margin in states where at least one poll was conducted since May 1

State Number of polls Biden Trump Average Margin Oklahoma 1 36.0% 55.0% R+19.0 Kentucky 2 37.5 54.0 R+16.5 Kansas 1 40.0 52.0 R+12.0 Indiana 1 39.0 49.0 R+10.0 South Carolina 1 42.0 52.0 R+10.0 Tennessee 1 42.0 51.0 R+9.0 Missouri 1 44.0 48.0 R+4.0 Utah 1 41.0 44.0 R+3.0 Texas 3 46.4 47.9 R+1.5 Georgia 4 45.3 46.3 R+1.0 Iowa 2 46.5 47.0 R+0.5 Ohio 2 46.8 47.2 R+0.4 Pennsylvania 3 46.5 46.4 D+0.1 North Carolina 8 45.6 45.1 D+0.5 Florida 6 47.5 45.0 D+2.5 Arizona 5 46.5 43.2 D+3.3 Minnesota 1 49.0 44.0 D+5.0 Wisconsin 5 47.8 41.5 D+6.2 Michigan 8 49.8 42.2 D+7.6 Virginia 1 51.0 39.0 D+12.0 Colorado 2 54.0 38.0 D+16.0 Maryland 1 59.1 35.3 D+23.8 Washington 2 58.0 34.0 D+24.0 New York 1 57.0 32.0 D+25.0 California 3 60.1 32.6 D+27.5 Massachusetts 1 66.9 33.1 D+33.8

Includes polls conducted from May 1 to June 11. Polls that released results among multiple populations were included only once, counting the narrowest sample — registered voters over adults, and likely voters over registered voters.

Source: Polls

Trump won Ohio and Iowa by 8 and 9 points, respectively, in 2016, but recent surveys from both states show a very close race, indicative of an overall environment in which Biden is outperforming Clinton. Ohio’s polls included a high-quality early June survey from Fox News that gave Biden a 2-point lead, but it’s worth noting that Iowa’s surveys were both conducted by Democratic pollsters. Limited polling from Colorado and Virginia suggests that those traditional battlegrounds may be moving out of range for Trump — he was always likely to be an underdog in them, but Biden held double-digit leads in all three surveys from those states.

A handful of surveys from very red states found Trump well ahead, but not leading by margins in line with his 2016 performance. For instance, two Kentucky polls averaged out to a Trump lead of about 17 points, but the president carried the Bluegrass State by 30 points in 2016. This might be additional evidence that Trump is struggling nearly everywhere compared to his 2016 showing.

Lastly, a Utah poll from Y2 Analytics got some attention because it found Trump up just 3 points. Could traditionally ruby red Utah be competitive in 2020? We wouldn’t bet on it — Biden was at 41 percent in this survey, but Barack Obama’s 34 percent in 2008 is still the highest share a Democrat has won there since 1972, so this poll may represent something of a ceiling for the presumptive Democratic nominee. That said, right now the overall state-level polling picture does look really promising for Biden.

Other polling bites

Republican Sen. Joni Ernst is trailing in her reelection campaign in Iowa, according to a new Daily Kos/Civiqs poll. The survey found her Democratic opponent, Theresa Greenfield, at 48 percent and Ernst at 45 percent.

About 38 percent of Americans said they approved of how the Supreme Court is doing its job, compared with 43 percent who disapproved, according to a CBS News poll released this week. Another 20 percent of Americans said they didn’t know or declined to answer. There was a big partisan split on this question, though — 61 percent of Republicans said they approved, compared with just 19 percent of Democrats.

66 percent of Americans said they approved of social media companies, like Facebook and Twitter, labeling posts that are possibly false or misleading, according to a new Monmouth University poll. Just 28 percent of Americans said they disapproved. However, there was less support for sites deleting such posts (50 percent did support this, but 45 percent did not).

60 percent of people who said they intended to vote for Biden in November said their support for Biden is more “a vote against Donald Trump” than “a vote for Joe Biden,” according to a new CNN/SSRS poll, while just 37 percent of Biden backers said that their support for Biden was more a vote for him. Conversely, 70 percent of Trump backers said that their support of Trump was more a vote for him than against Biden, while just 27 percent described it as more a vote against Biden than a vote for Trump.

Just 2 percent of Americans said that they attended protests around the country following Floyd’s death, according to a new Axios/Ipsos poll, while 11 percent of Americans said that someone they’re close with attended the protests. Respondents under the age of 30 (20 percent), Democrats (16 percent), those with at least a bachelor’s degree (16 percent) and people who live in urban areas (14 percent) were particularly likely to say that someone close to them had attended the protests.

According to a new Data for Progress poll, a majority of Americans think police officers can generally be trusted. In that poll, 70 percent said their views more closely align with the statement “police officers can generally be trusted,” compared to 30 percent who said their views more closely match the statement that “police officers can generally not be trusted.” There was, however, a fairly large age gap on this question. Among people ages 18 to 29, 59 percent said that police officers can’t be trusted, compared to 41 percent who said they generally can be trusted. At the same time, a majority of Americans 30 and older said they can be trusted, including about 4 in 5 of those 50 or older.

When asked whether their view is closer to the statement, “police in America have made the changes needed to treat blacks equally to whites,” or “police in America need to continue making changes to treat blacks equally to whites,” 81 percent of Americans said that the police need to continue making changes, according to a Washington Post/Schar School poll. Only 13 percent said that the police have made the necessary changes.

A new NBC News/Wall Street Journal poll that asked Americans what they thought of Biden and Trump on 13 different issues found that Biden got higher marks on 10 of them. For example, 51 percent of Americans thought Biden would be better than Trump at “bringing the country together,” while only 26 percent thought Trump would be better. 49 percent of Americans thought Biden would be better at “dealing with health care,” compared to 34 percent who said Trump. The three issues Trump got higher marks than Biden were: “dealing with China,” “dealing with the economy” and “cutting the unemployment rate.”

Trump approval

According to FiveThirtyEight’s presidential approval tracker, 40.9 percent of Americans approve of the job Trump is doing as president, while 54.8 percent disapprove (a net approval rating of -13.9 points). At this time last week, 41.9 percent approved and 53.1 percent disapproved (a net approval rating of -11.2 points). One month ago, Trump had an approval rating of 43.5 percent and a disapproval rating of 51.5 percent, for a net approval rating of -8.0 points.

Generic ballot

In our average of polls of the generic congressional ballot, Democrats currently lead by 7.9 percentage points (48.5 percent to 40.6 percent). A week ago, Democrats led Republicans by 7.8 points (48.7 percent to 40.9 percent). At this time last month, voters preferred Democrats by 7.9 points (48.5 percent to 40.6 percent).

#IFTTT #Politics – FiveThirtyEight #politics #538 #Geoffrey Skelley

[jwinwritingefaportfolio-blog]

A Trip to Remember: A Short Story

It was a cold, gloomy day, the perfect one for hiking trails and munching on caramel apples; and that’s exactly what Jen and her three friends, Susan, Lauren, and Alison, decided to do. They were visiting beautiful Colorado Springs, staying with Jen’s Aunt in her house that she so charitably opened to them. The girls actually lived in the Bronx, but had convinced their parents to let them go.  After much arguing and convincing they were finally allowed to go. It was complicated because Lauren had medical problems so her mother was scared for her to go on her own. They assured Lauren would be well kept and safe. Reluctantly Lauren’s mother agreed, after loosening up the mother’s told the girls they must  “Use the time to make memories before you girls go off to college”.  They were about to graduate in a few months time. Though the date loomed closer with each minute, hour, and day, they decided to put it out of their heads for their time away.

Excited and anxious, they arrived to the airport. They headed straight for the check in and security. After arriving to the airport, it was far less than stress free. It turns out that though the girls had seemingly planned their outfits to a “T”, the rest of the specifics went unplanned. On arrival, they were abruptly told they weren’t allowed onto their flight. Flabbergasted, the girls hurriedly dialed their parents.

“Mom! Something terrible has happened!” said Jen.

“Daddy! I need your help, something has gone wrong!” Susan said exasperatedly.

“Ugh you’ll never believe what we forgot to do.” Lauren said annoyedly.

Meanwhile, Alison, annoyed with her friend possé, rolled her eyes, having had planned on this in the first place. She figured the girls wouldn’t have been so naive to forget that they were minors and therefore needed permission to fly unaccompanied. Following the agony of listening to her friends whine and whimper over the phone she decided to hit a cappuccino cafe in order to dull her brain with caffeine and pastries.

A few hours later and many different phone calls as well as a flight switch; the girls were finally able to check their suitcases and were now waiting at their gate for their flight. Exasperatedly they sighed. All of a sudden Jen broke out in uncontrollable laughter. Soon the rest followed suit. They were getting many looks, some friendly and some giving off a clear sense of annoyance. After the laughter had subsided into random bits of chuckling; the flight attendant began to call group numbers for boarding the flight.

“Group 1 you may begin boarding”

The girls, unsure of what the different groups meant, stood up with their various Patagonia backpacks to begin boarding. As they handed the women their boarding ticket she reluctantly informed them it wasn’t their turn to board, that they were in group five. Embarrassed, the girls returned to their seat, causing quite the ruckus as they had to lug their back packs back. Eventually group five was called and they stood back in line, this time receiving a warm smile from the lady who had originally told them the news about their group. They boarded the plane, getting fake smiles and greetings from the crew as they entered. Sitting in Row 34, seats A,B, E, and F, they soon found out they were the last row of the plane. This meant non stop loud engine noise. Regardless, trying to keep a positive attitude the girls produced earbuds and neck pillows, settling down for a six hour flight.

After what seemed like an eternity of waiting in the runway the flight attendant finally announced to buckle their seat belts and prepare for take off. With broad grins the girls linked hands and closed their eyes.

Three hours later as each girl was sleeping soundly, a sudden announcement came on too loud to not awake to.

“Attention passengers, we’re facing some unexpected turbulence, please be sure to remain calm and keep your seat belts fastened.”

Groggy, the girls realized what was going on and became nervous and grief-stricken. What was going to happen? Were they going to die? What’s going on? Looking at each other they clasped hands yet again. As the plane continued the lights went out on the plane; sending various screams throughout the plane.

“Sorry for the malfunction ladies and gentlemen, the problem will be seen to as soon as possible”

Taking a deep breath, the girls relaxed, but not by much. A few moments later the lights came back on and it was as though the entire flight took a deep breath. Suddenly hit with more exhaustion, the girls snuggled in with each other to get their mind off of what just happened.

Another three hours later the plane safely entered the runway. Excitedly the girls looked out their windows, gaping at the mountains that stared back at them. They quickly packed up their things and hurriedly turned airplane mode off their phones in order to check what the latest Kardashian had done while they’d been away for six hours. Astonished, they learned that a rumor was going around that Kylie was pregnant. They soon began gossiping at rapid speed, interrupting each other one after the other.

“Do you think it’s true!?”

“I mean with the way she dresses..”

“Didn’t her and her boyfriend brea-”

“I bet it’s Travis Scott’s”

“But what if it’s-”

“PLEASE STOP TALKING” shouted a man approximately three rows up.

Blushing, the girls quickly apologized in unison and quieted down.

Suddenly, Lauren begins sweating profusely. She alerts her friends. Her hands have begun to tingle. Her eyesight going blurry. She realizes what’s going on, she needs her insulin shot. She hurriedly grabs her backpack and searches through to find her medicine. After going through it inside and out a million times she realizes it’s in her suitcase, not her backpack. Alison notices Lauren doesn’t seem herself and asks her what’s wrong. Lauren tells her what’s going on sending Alison into a wave of terror. Knowing she must remain calm, Alison alerts the other girls but assures them it’ll be okay as soon as they get their suitcases. Lauren sits down.

They exit the plane and briskly walk to baggage claim to grab their luggage. Upon arriving there they begin to wait for their suitcases to come around, keeping an eye out for their specially marked tags. Alison keeps an eye on Lauren while Jen and Susan look for the bags. Suddenly the rotating mechanism that brings the bags around stops and no more bags are coming around. Trying to keep their cool they quickly found someone to assist them in their plunder for their bags. After being told that their bags had been lost and misplaced onto a different flight their girls were on the brink of a breakdown.  Jen called her aunt to let her know of their arrival and told her what had happened. Alison tries to keep Lauren calm, she gets her water. Lauren begins to calm down but is very tired.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, I’m sure they’ll turn up. I’ll be there as soon as I can just hang tight, I’ll bring something for Laure” Jen’s aunt said over the phone.

Luckily Jen’s aunt was a nurse, so they knew they would be okay. As they waited for her the girls were quite parched and starved from the day's trials. They found a nearby McDonald's and decidedly bought a box of fifty chicken nuggets, extra ketchup. After stuffing themselves they started walking to the passenger pick up, to wait for her aunt. After indulging herself Lauren was feeling better but her insulin was still necessary, she could go into shock soon.

As their heads hung low and they sat on a bench outside. A pair of wheels ran over Alison’s foot, causing her to lunge up to yell at whoever had done this.  

“Hey! Watch i-”

Midway through her yelling, she finally gazed down and was astounded to see that the cart which had rolled over her foot was carrying all of their suitcases! She quickly stood up and flagged the man down, who had fled after hearing her condemning tone. He turned around, ready to apologize, only to see a look of happiness on the girls’ faces. Alison could tell he was confused and quickly explained the situation.  He happily handed over their luggage and the girls began to turn back to where they had sat down. Lauren quickly unzipped her bag and found her insulin. All was well now. As they were walking, backpacks on their backs and suitcases rolling behind them, they heard a loud honk and looked to their right. Jen’s aunt had arrived and was carrying caramel apples and hot cider. With a sigh of a relief and the biggest smiles of the day, the girls happily gave her a hug and accepted the gifts. They hopped in the car and drove on, homebound.

Thirty minutes later the girls spilled out of the car and gazed at the mountains. They protruded into the backyard and seemed to be calling their name. The wind was unusually warm for a fall day and beckoned them to explore.  Taking the first relaxed breath of the day and putting on soft smiles, the girls finally headed to the trails, caramel apples in hand.

#shortstory #friends #efa #creativewriting

[seenashwrite]

The Last Job

Status: Complete  Word Count: 3.5K    Category: One-shot; Behind-the-scenes canon-compliant; Family; Life choices Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): References to familiar people/places Pairing(s): N/A Warnings: Mild coarse language Author’s Note(s):  While this little vignette can be read as a stand-a-lone, highly recommend you check out “Hello, I’m Gone” if you haven't already - and if you *have* read that one and found something to like about it, then I suspect you’ll find something to enjoy in this one, too. Overall Summary: A long-time client gives a contractor his final assignment.

The sky was different in Texas. He couldn’t speak to Arizona or Colorado or Nevada, or even Mexico, but he knew what he knew.  It was something about the way the sun cut through, something about the tint of the blue.  

He traveled, albeit limited distances and for limited amounts of time. Texas was a big state, though not so big as to be gone long enough for his wife to fret. His work was no-nonsense and he was extra appreciated amongst his current clientele for his frugality, his efficiency.  

They’d initially claimed to have no care for messy versus clean, but he knew better. They’d rather keep unknown, to where few a souls on earth as possible would even suspect they existed. Everything worked better for them this way; seemed they had no desire to be summoned all over the globe.  

He could see that - he’d lived in the lone star state all his life, and had no pull to elsewhere. The constant position of the dials on public radios and televisions to the news channels that catered to the aptitudes of the lowest common denominator was vexing. He imagined the future would be the same way. Nothing ever seemed to change in Texas. Blessing or curse, depending on your perspective.

Less vexing, but still annoying, was how the vast number of gun-carrying, bravado-swinging, cowboy hat-and-boot wearers had no practical, economical, life reasons for doing so. Dropped into a middle-of-nowhere scenario, they’d perish quickly. But all that posturing comforted them, and the conclusion he’d arrived at many moons ago was that for him, this was fortunate, to be surrounded by so many who were content. Unaware. Placid. Stereotypical.

And in a similar vein, he’d already been informed his last job was exactly that - basic. In and out. He’d actually hoped for more, hoped for a challenge, hoped for perhaps the comfort of a one-last-hoorah scenario where maybe, just maybe, it’d get a little messy for once and he’d get taken out in the process.

He wasn’t having suicidal ideations; he was being pragmatic. Anonymous body in another town, filed in a line of cold cases, and his family would move on, eventually. They wouldn’t have to suffer through it, watching him fade away.

Weeks ago, on a chilly morning in a park near, but not too near, his home, the designated attaché had appeared seemingly from nowhere. This was, as they say, par for the course. He was used to it, the air of strangeness accompanying his best customer. Rather, customers - seemed to be an alignment of at least two parties, far as he could tell. 

He found it easier to just think of the one at hand as the client versus dwelling too long on how many of them were really behind the curtain. It was supposed to go that the same one would never come twice, though he was pretty sure it’d happened a couple times and they were just outfitted differently. Maybe their ranks were thinning.

It wasn’t often his sort of folk actually got contracted for jobs. Come to think, he’d never even heard of such a proposition, not in his entire life. Somebody would’ve ran their mouth about it, to be sure. He chewed on the thought that perhaps he was a bit of a pioneer in that respect, if such arrangements would keep on long after he was gone.

Rewards and acknowledgment in his line of work were few and far between, some of his ilk never seeing either at all in their lifetimes. And so in that respect, these employers of his were the best, foremost because they paid. But to be fair, he supposed it was more than that.

He was always given clear, precise locations and times, so on-the-nose he had no idea how they were doing it. And no paper trail, just how he liked it. Instruction came verbally, read from a small, rectangular device they all kept in their pockets that lit up at the touch of a finger.

He’d never gotten a good look at it, would simply commit to memory what they said. He’d never asked to look at it, and they’d never offered. Besides, it was too Star Trek. His eldest loved that old show, got his little brother into watching the reruns. He couldn’t hardly stand the thought of things like that, not for going on eight months now.  

The well-dressed man - sporting what his wife would’ve kindly described as an “interesting” haircut - had walked towards the bench, removing a pair of reflective-lens aviators, letting out a low whistle, eyeing him up and down.  

“Jesus. You’re eaten up with it.”

He’d shrugged, said that last part was true, but then informed his very last client there was no savior to be found here.

The client had laughed a little too hard. “Yeah, yeah, no God in the streets, no church in the wild, I got it.”

He’d assumed those statements referred to something but had no clue what, so he’d offered a tight-lipped trace of a smile in acknowledgment.  

A reply in the form of a sigh floated over as his visitor took a seat at the other end of the bench. “Always aaaall business with you,” the client commented, beginning to remove what he knew would be a fat envelope from the inside pocket of the pinstripe suit jacket. Then there was a pause - the arm extended in his direction, a finger raised. “You need a tune up first?  I can -–”

He’d interrupted, refused.  

The client’s eyes had grown dark and icy. “I’m not offering for your comfort. I have bosses to report to. I need to know the job’s gonna get done and you’re not gonna get all shaky, or go blind, or collapse. Get it?”

He could always tell from which faction of his clientele the dispatcher hailed, these messengers sent like clockwork every other Wednesday of every month to meet with him for around fifteen years now. The one down the bench was amongst those who dressed to the nines, walked with swagger, were more conversational and witty. The others tended to dress in a random array of seemingly whatever they could manage, had stiff gaits, impersonal to the point of being flat and rude.

So the shot across the bow was a little unexpected. Either way, he hadn’t ever been intimidated by any of them. This continued to be the case, especially now.

Call someone else then, he’d replied calmly.  And he’d held up his dominant hand. Steady as a rock.

The client nodded, handed over the envelope. It didn’t take long to relate the details. And then he watched as the client stood, re-buttoned the pristinely tailored jacket, adjusted a skinny tie, returned the shiny sunglasses to what always seemed to be a smirking face.  

Fidgety bastard, he’d thought as he watched the preening. Then he’d spoken one last time before his client zipped away. He wanted to know why the one standing before him - or another of the unique members making up the collective - weren’t handling it themselves. It seemed a little too simple. Too easy.

“It just may be. But they’d see me coming. Any of my kind. Or our partners. You? They won’t even notice.”

He supposed so, and shrugged his reply, because it was true - no one ever had.

A sly grin, a curt nod. “That’s why we like you, Buck. Might even miss you.”  

Now that was off-putting. The use of his nickname. No one outside of his wife - and his dearly departeds - should’ve known. None of his work associates, past nor present, ever knew this nickname.

His real name was something of an eye-roller, “old-timey” as his wife might’ve said. He thought it was cringe-worthy, never felt right on him. All the first-born boys in the family, back as far as they knew, had carried it. He - and everyone else up the line, at least back to his triple-great-granddaddy - had all had taken on nicknames. His own eldest was just called “Junior”.

He had been known in the family as simply “Buck” since he was born, and his father had become “Big Buck” following that day. Even after the man’s death that’s what everybody still called him, and he’d heard the story more than once. How, even as a kid, there was no tradition, no “that’s how we’ve always done things”, that Big Buck didn’t like to question. 

Bucking the system - that was the both of them, boiled down to a nutshell. His father had liked carrying that mantle, and so did he. Shame it wouldn’t be on his tombstone. 

And while he was pondering, just like that, the client was gone. Not that he’d have expected the truth, should he have made the inquiry. Not that it mattered anymore.

He made sure to switch over to his other self during the short walk to the truck and the drive back out to the house. Jovial and kind, kidding and chuckling with the bag boy at the supermarket. He was supposed to bring home a few things to complete supper later.

Most hunters didn’t bother with a ruse, but most hunters didn’t have families to consider like his always had. Like the legacy of the name, his line had all kept families. Defying the system as it were, long before the big and little Bucks came on the scene, marrying within their own community of like-minded folks and keeping up the family business. 

Which is how every last one of them had been wiped out.

He wasn’t going to make the same mistake. Married a sweet gal he’d met at a sock-hop and never looked back. Kept her and the boys in the dark for their own good.

She’d made too much for just the two of them, as usual. He’d still eat every bite served. He’d tried for awhile to reduce his girth, but his face got skinny and he thought his baseball caps didn’t sit the same way. His knees had felt better, and he’d briefly missed that barely-owned muscle car. 

All that was of no import now. Besides, his wife had been tickled pink that he’d gone back to second helpings of her comfort food. He wondered if he’d be able to recall her smile and her hugs and her kisses once he was gone. 

Junior was at a girlfriend’s house for dinner that evening, first time meeting the parents and such. He’d loaned the kid his church tie, even, so he knew his son must’ve really liked this one. The “kid” was out of his teens, and more than anxious to be out of the nest, though his mother was fighting it tooth and nail. Their youngest wouldn’t be home for awhile yet still; basketball practice always seemed to run long these days.

He looked through the mail while sitting at the table and smelling the fried chicken cooking. He’d have to feign some good-natured annoyance at the bills. He briefly thought on her reaction, if she’d be angry at the sizable chunk of money she’d have after he was gone. 

It’d be when she went to put the safety deposit boxes in just her name, likely dig through them while she was there. He’d made it seem like they had to survive on paltry Social Security and his equally dismal railroad pension. And of course, the bit of money from what she thought were under-the-table long-hauls he’d occasionally take on for the extra cash.  

Amongst the usual items, there was the annual Christmas card they’d consistently received, from that little girl they’d sold the Impala to several years back. She’d moved on from Kansas to Montana, with her new husband. The first card they’d gotten was just after the move - barely mentioned it, though, since it was filled up with apologies for selling the car. Neither he nor his wife cared. She was safe, and she was happy, and they were happy for her.

She’d gotten up to three kids now, according to the picture inside, looked to be that she’d had them back-to-back-to-back. Two boys and a girl. It actually gave him a genuine smile, before it hit him again: he’d never have grandbabies. Figured he’d give a go at pretending she was his daughter and those pretty, chubby-cheeked cherubs were his never-to-bes, maybe coax a dream when he tried to sleep.

That creepy sumbitch she’d been married to had actually come out from Dallas, tracked her all the way to Lubbock somehow. He’d already looked into who the dirtbag was, on a job that had taken him to that area. Later on, after good old-fashioned laziness caused an end to the jerk’s pursuit, he’d found the louse in a dive bar, just as he’d been promised.

It was the only favor he’d ever asked of his clients, asked it of one of the more drab contacts. The snotty ones would’ve wanted to make a deal of some sort for the information. They had, before, when his wife had gotten in a bad way. It’d been almost a decade prior. All the docs had given her six months. But he’d already let one of the messengers know, two jobs back, that his own ticket would likely be punched before his bill came due. They’d shrugged.

That business with the rescued girl was the only time he’d made an exception, taking care of something personal, something on the side. Something purely human. Not exactly his usual lot.

He’d taken care of it after the job, of course. Somehow wouldn’t have seemed appropriate not to. It never made the news, he’d checked. That pathetic excuse for a man only’d had one person to bother with him for awhile now, and she was in another life, long gone.

Marrying his wife, being a father, and looking out for that girl often seemed like the only noble things he’d done. Didn’t matter that perhaps these new sort of hunts were saving innocents on the back end. To him it was killing, and it had always been killing. 

It gave him a measure of peace, selling her the car for cheap. He’d slept like a baby for the rest of that summer. Til the next job came around, of course.

His assigned targets weren’t yet bumps in the night. His client had proven their eerily predictive skills to him. They’d given him several folks to watch over the course of a month, all those years ago, when he’d first been approached.

Down to the minute, they’d been right about when bites would occur, when the vengeance of unfinished business would begin. Reminded him how he’d been out of the game too long and was too old and out of shape to take on beasts. To prevent the transformations themselves. 

But perhaps he could still prevent the suffering of countless others by beating monsters to the punch with one long-distance shot. They’d shown him with those first few examples that his marks would be the most vicious. These were the sort who would wreak the most havoc upon their unholy conversions. 

He’d witnessed it. The first year, his employers had insisted he simply surveil, and these freshman nightcrawlers had indeed left miles of misery in their wake. Other hunters could take care of what got them that way, it was explained; the risk of these particular folks getting turned, whether today or tomorrow, was just too big a gamble any way you sliced it. 

It had somehow made for a twisted sort of logic at the time.

This last job was to happen in five days. A married couple. He’d taken care of women before, didn’t violate what sliver of a moral code he still possessed. The emotionless fellow who’d brought that first one to him had actually shown a touch of surprise when he didn’t even blink.  

He woke his wife and the boys just after dawn, kissing them all goodbye. He’d just be popping up to Kansas, he reminded them, be back in a few days. They understood - he’d made sure to do some extra complaining about the mortgage over the days prior, so it’d seem like sense, his making an exception to the no-out-of-state hauls rule. He’d pull extra cash from the box on his way back home to make the story stick.

“Bye, Pops,” the boys had mumbled with yawns and stretches.

“Love you, Buck, you be good,” his wife had sleepily said.

The tall, pretty blonde was out on the front porch putting up Christmas lights, then moving on to hanging a sparse wreath on the door. It looked homemade. The tail of one of the strings of lights fell and he could see her sigh as she pulled the little step stool back over and climbed up again. She moved slowly and carefully, that huge belly clearly impacting her balance.

His commissioners had neglected to mention this particular detail.

He kept watching as a shiny black Impala not unlike his old one pulled up right at sunset. The woman and God and everybody for a square mile had to have known about the arrival, that deep growl of an engine heralding the approach. She met her husband on the porch, gave as big a hug as her belly would allow, and she received an equally loving embrace right back, unwashed greased-stained hands be damned. She didn’t seem to care when some of it smudged off onto her cream-colored sweater when her belly got a rub.

He followed the strapping, jet-haired husband the next morning, sitting far enough away to go unnoticed but still close enough to watch through the garage’s open doors, drinking coffee from his beat up thermos, the one that, a lifetime ago, only held distilled water and a crucifix.  His targets were not far short of children in his eyes, this half just a boy - a kid not unlike Junior, he thought. But a hard worker, no doubt; whipped through four cars and had started on the fifth by the time lunch rolled around. Smiled and chatted with the other mechanics all along the way.

Then the engine whisperer sat on a nearby curb, eating a sack lunch the wife must’ve packed. Good time to leave, check on what she was up to. Wanted to give her enough time to ease into her day. He recalled the slow starts that came with being so close to giving birth. And he knew from experience how close she was; the baby would arrive before February rolled around, he’d bet money.

She left the house after lunch, looked like a friend had come to pick her up. Her eyebrows knit and her nose crinkled as she passed by her handiwork from the evening prior. That same ornery tail of tiny sparkles had come loose again, apparently not agreeing with the nail he’d watched her hammer into the front of the porch’s overhang.

The roof didn’t look all that good. He was curious as to whether she or her husband realized their desperate need for new shingles. Paint was chipping all over the exterior. He’d have a look around inside later, once he was sure she was occupied, but he suspected he’d find more of the same - they were young, they had a baby to plan for, and they hardly had anything but each other.

He remembered those days clear as a bell. His mind hadn’t gone yet. Curse or blessing, depending on your perspective.

She and the friend had gone to a little consignment shop. They browsed, he browsed. Looked like she purchased some bedding for the crib he imagined was ready to go inside their house, given her husband’s work ethic. Then they stopped by a garage sale. She bought an angel figurine. He found it both sweet and futile, all at the same time. All dicks, far as he’d been able to tell.

But resolved, both the unfeathered and the shark-eyed bastards alike. They’d send others to the modest house on Robintree; could be they already had. Maybe they’d be successful next time they tried. For now, they could go to hell.

Which is what he said aloud while he was driving back home. Just passed through Oklahoma City when the same messenger who’d delivered the assignment popped into the truck’s cab without warning. Looked more than simply irritated - seemed pretty beat down. Perhaps their little jaunts to come see him wore them out more than they’d let on.

Seeing as how he hadn't gotten his last hurrah, the warning he expected was issued. About a month left on the clock. The payment was returned - minus the chunk that now resided in the Impala's glove box, wrapped in a brief note that implied they should just accept they had their own secret Santa. There was a roll of darkened eyes, followed by as abrupt an exit as the arrival.

He made sure he was out of state again, staying in a dingy motel in a bad part of the random city he’d selected. And he thought hard on the couple he’d chosen to spare as he laid quietly atop the stained bedspread, eyes closed and smiling. Even when he heard the dogs begin to howl.

See Nash Write : Master  /  See Nash Write : Mobile

🏷️🏷️Wanna be tagged? Hit me up! 🏷️🏷️

#Supernatural Fanfiction #SPN Fanfic #Nash Writes