The crows in my area suddenly started to come really close to me and im sure i could eventually touch or even pick one up. I just wonder if there is anything i should know about picking them up?
Do their claws hurt?
Is it unhygenic? I mean they are wild animals, they could possibly be sick or something. Is it a danger to me?
Assuming i got one to sit on my shoulder and it tried to fly away, would its wings slap against my head and hurt me? Ok tbh this is more of a joke question lol
Anything else?

Part 1
I stood up, awaken from my sleep from the knocking sound on the elevator door. My friends stood up with me as we all heard it. The sound of banging became so much louder. Giggling can be heard with it. What's behind the door is unknown and I'd rather not face it than die to this thing. In the edges of the door, thin fingers began to seep through it. Such horrible looking fingers. I watched the door getting turned into a broken mess. Something grabbed my hand and I saw it was Rishika's. I looked at her and saw fear and sadness on her face.
Questioning death can be answered by judgement, revenge, luck, curse, or just nothing. The concept fate over people sounds so simple that people think that it's ok that fate exists. Is it ok if I was in this situation? What if one of your loved ones died right in front of you by a murderer? You won't like it and you'd definitely blame god for that.
The door is beginning to make an opening. Sweat rapidly runs down on my forehead. My eyes widened with terror as I see the creature's face. It's as accurately described from the documentary. Its teeth shines like bright white marbles and its eyes are like melted butter. The creature's face slowly gets closer, while we stepped far back until there's no space for us to move anymore.
I can feel the cold shivering breath from its mouth. The breath that smells empty. From what I've heard, it's much stronger than the one we just ran away from. Ronald immediately punches the creature's face with his metallic fist. Steam pulses out from the gaps of it. He kept punching at it again and again but to no avail. It still not injured nor shown any pain. He only manages to recoil it farther back.
With a one quick slice, Ronald's hands fell to the ground. His scream was painful and terrifying to hear. I can see his face was in pain. Eyes widened with tears flowing down to his cheek. "Ronald!!" I heard Billy screamed out loud. Of course, this doesn't make any difference as the creature slowly crept closer and closer to us. I witness Ronald dying with his sockets bleeding so much blood. His eyes faded of life. If only he hadn't try to kill it out of bravery, he would've lived longer with us before our lives are taken away.
Its jaw started to open. The sounds of bone cracking can be heard within its teeth. The smile on its face grew more and more eerie. It laughs like a maniac ready to pounce on their victims. Such insanity can break people's minds with a laugh. I froze in place by the laugh. There's nowhere else me and my friends can escape from. What else can we do. Our weapons are futile here and this creature is far beyond comprehension.
Its many arms spread around the elevator room, trying to grab us with its menacing hands. We're going to die here and that's that. This would've been a goodbye to the world. I don't know the dead world in this universe. Many different universes should have a different afterlife. Here, I don't think there's a safe place after death.
Then, something happened right in front of our eyes. The creature was being pulled back by something. Something inside the darkness. I can hear it's the same women who saved me from the pale face. We couldn't see anything in the darkness but Billy's flames can surely help us along the way. I took his flamethrower and a torch. Lighting up the torch with it carefully. Not wanting to burn us. Turning off the flamethrower, I lighted the area with my torch in hand and saw them clashing each other with blade like arms.
We stepped out of the elevator with Ronald's dead body on Cody's arms. Why would Cody keep holding on to him for? He's already dead and there's no way for us to say a better goodbye. I guess maybe he wanted to bury him somewhere which I honored that idea.
She cuts the jaw of the creature that it screams the way a person should. I can see the whole body of the creature. It was humanoid and tall. About 9 feet tall and its body is dark skeletal human. It grabbed her with its large hand and threw her off into the wall. She crushes onto the wall with such heavy force. A groan can be heard from her before a blade penetrates through her abdomen. Her screams are both man and woman at the same time.
It's horrifying to hear someone scream like that if they're just human. In fact, it'll be much terrifying if she'd sounded like millions of voices.
She grabbed its face with her free arm and tears its face off. Its eyes bounces to the ground with a flesh grinding mush sound. The screams that came from within its voice box made a deafening pain in our ears that we both covered them with our hands.
The woman digs her sharp fingers into the creature eye sockets with the sound of digging flesh. She then splits its head with the pull of her hands. Black and bloody flesh spread onto the walls and ground. One of its discarded flesh landed on my shoe. My stomach twists and turns. Watching her brutally kill it while flesh and blood spills. I gagged, watching her 3 fingered hands dig into its throat and pulled out its large heart.
Geralt vomited to the ground, spilling the acid from his stomach. That didn't bother me. Instead I watched her feast on the heart. The sound of chewing on flesh and blood made me sick to my stomach from an imaginary smell of rotten flesh. The creature's body slowly melts away to the ground. Rendering it to be dead into a puddle of flesh and bone. There's now nothing left of it. Just a puddle.
"Holy shit." With just one word came out from Billy's mouth, the woman turns her head to look at us. Her eyes seemingly looked bright and harmless. Not sure whether or not if this is a tactic to hunt or it's really her instinct. The familiar color of her right eye caught my attention.
She fell to the ground with a big gap in her abdomen. Heavy breaths came out from her voice as she slowly gets back up on her feet. The light from my torch reveals her hoodie to be grey and the gap in her abdomen slowly began to heal itself. Small tendrils from the sides of the gap stitching back together.
I stepped back, giving ourselves space in order for us to escape if she'd attack us. I held my hammer high and so does my friends with their weapons. "Darwin wait!" Did I just heard her say my name? I didn't know what to do or how to react. Either it's just a hallucination or trickery. "How did you know my name?" I asked with the fear in my voice.
"I uh. I just guessed I suppose." Her eyes were on the dead Ronald in Cody's arms. She looked saddened by it. Even grieved. She shook her head and went back to to us with a clear voice. "But that doesn't matter. You all need to get out of here before he gets here."
"Who's he?" Geralt asked with both curious and nerving tone in his voice. Her eyes are widened in fear. An expression I never thought she could do and feel about. "Cain. He's coming here and you all need to get out of here."
I've heard about Cain before. You might know this story from a book. It's about 2 brothers, sons of Adam and Eve. Abel being the most favored man of god, while Cain being the least favorite and jealous. Cain killed his brother out of jealousy. God is not happy about this and he casted him away with a curse. He's just a man. Maybe who she was saying was someone who is also named Cain.
"How are we supposed to get out?" Said Cody.
"I can help you get out. We just need to go outside and find the pool of clean water. But, it'll be far away, so we need to hurry up." She walked passed us quickly in a hurry. Billy was going to ask but I lay his shoulders, giving him a metaphor of saying no. Of course, he grunted from that. Rishika gave a face wash to Geralt. He gladly takes it and wipes his mouth and stained jacket.
We followed her through the hallways of the darkness. Our torches lighted brightly around the darkness. I was behind the woman whose guiding us to the exit. I haven't thought of asking her name. For someone like her, she should have. The voids blood doesn't seem to affect her mind but I don't think that's really the case.
The image of her blue eyes makes me recollect the memories of my long distant past. I still don't understand. How could she be so familiar to me, even know my name. We never met each other and we're from different worlds. Either it could be she had mind reading powers or just a simple guess. "Thanks for saving us back there. What's your name."
"My name's..." She looked unsure as to what to say or even know her name. I think she was hiding her true identity which I can understand that. Hiding your own identity from other people is a good way to keep yourself safe. But you needed to plan and design your own disguise. You need to come up with a story that doesn't give confusion or any cracks for people to get suspicious. Famous people like movie stars or scientist or anybody related to that stuff mostly do this to avoid getting attention.
With a warm and calm voice, she answered. "My name is Enid."
"Sounds good. Why did you save us? How are you still in control of yourself?"
"I saved you because I wanted to save you all. I was never the kind of hero or something but I still have the heart to save you all. And I'm losing a bit of my strength holding myself together. Everyday, I have to eat the creatures here. You've encountered them before. If I don't eat them, I'm going to turn into them. Turn into the void. But the more I eat, the closer I'm going to turn myself in. I'm glad you guys are safe, but I feel bad to see your friend die. Sorry that I'm too late to save all of you in one piece."
"Yeah. Wished he had enough time for you to arrive. He was a brave and cool friend to have a part of the team. He's always telling stories about greek gods and mythologies. He's a boxer too. I think he would consider you to be one of us."
"Really?"
"Yeah, of course. He kinda sometimes look scary to me in the night but he's a really good man." Geralt joins with us with a nervous look on his face. His eyes are tired as ours but they're wide enough for us to see his shining eyes. Enid returned smile on her face, but it faded away quickly in a short amount of time.
We finally left the building safely with her guidance. The bright shining sky brightens around us. Giving us the comfort of our safety. But still, we grieved the death of Ronald. Billy grieved the most out of everyone else. He kept muttering all over and over while we were following Enid. His mutterings, from what I can hear are apologize. "Billy. It's not your fault. I think he knew as well."
"No it is. I kept saying mean and horrible things to many of you but mostly it's on him. I just wanted him to think I'm strong and all. I'm lost Darwin. And I shouldn't have said those awful things. All I want was to show you all that I'm strong. But look at me. I'm bloody weak and I can't do anything to protect you all. All I can do is to just stand still and spout bullshit."
He began sobbing so terribly that it shocks me to my core. His face turning red and he fell to his knees, unable to stand back up. We all stopped to try to at least give him the comfort we wanted give him. We've never seen him in such a state like this. Throughout our times together, he always acts like a jerk but now he's crying right in front of us. I didn't know what else to do except to sit down next to him. Ronald's body is now pale in Cody's arms. His eyes were shut.
"I know how it feels, Billy." Rishika, already knelt down in front of Billy, said with a warm tone in her voice. This has got to be the 3rd or 4th time I've heard her say a full sentence. Either way, it was encouraging. Billy doesn't seem to be able to reply. None of us does. "I used to be harsh and cruel to others because I wanted them to accept me. But I was wrong because that's not how it works. We can both change together. It's ok to be on your good side. It won't be too bad. I think Ronald would like that too."
"Look at me. Do I look like I can?"
"We all can. It's just how we grow in life."
"I don't know. Ronald's dead and I'm left to be the one who carries his death on my back. I don't think he'll ever forgive me."
"No. We don't know that. But what matters is that you move on instead of staying behind. I know it's hard but you have to if you want to change. It's ok to be scared. We're all scared."
"Yeah. Even me too. I get scared a few times but that doesn't mean that others will look down on me." Geralt stutters a bit in his voice but kept the strength to say those words.
"Same here. Even that I'm this, I'm still scared too." Enid joins in with a sad look on her face. For someone like her, I thought she never felt fear. I guess there are others like her can feel that way.
I wanted to tell him something too. Something that feels connecting to each other that I don't want him to be left alone. "You don't have to do this alone. I'm scared too and that's alright because that's human. We can help you Billy. You're our friend. And I think Ronald would consider you as a friend too."
Billy wipes his tears away with his sleeve. We all sat there for a few seconds before Cody lays his hand on his shoulder, which makes Billy hug him back. "It's ok. We're here." Ronald's body lay on the boulder 5 feet away from us. Cody reaches his arms as a gesture for us to join in. We all did. So is Enid. I didn't think anything else but to be on Billy's side.
Suddenly, our moment was interrupted by a thunderous noise came out of nowhere. Enid's eyes are widened in terror. The world around us shook from the thunder. In the sky, the small clouds started to turn from grey to the color of blood. Enid jumps right up, catching a look above as we all stare into the sky. What I saw gave me enough imagination to fear whatever the unknown has.
Large gigantic shining eyes watch over the world below us from the sky. Its pupils are too big that they nearly reached the edge of their sockets. The grin of that thing gave me enough horror to freeze in my tracks. How nightmarish it is to see a gigantic abomination such as this in the morning and night. People would definitely scream and run all over the place while the cloud's face watches over them like a eldritch god.
By the time I stepped back, it turned its menacing eyes towards me. I felt like it was staring into my soul. My very soul in my body. Its own saliva dripping from its mouth. Hungry for our souls. It didn't move nor spoke a word. Thunderous noises kept coming from the abomination. They were red lightning and menacing. If people get hit by them, I'm pretty sure they'll turn into whatever nightmarish flesh creature they'll turn into.
"Guys! We have to go! There's not much time!" Edin ran and so we followed. Cody picked up Ronald's body with us. Billy gained back his strength to run. And I slowly started to run as I kept staring at its menacing eyes. It doesn't leave me alone. I don't see it following me or do anything than to smile with evil intentions. This is different than the ones we encountered. Not because of their looks. It's because I knew its intentions and the void creatures, I don't.
A great thunderous red beam shot out from the abomination's mouth and a loud boom can be heard far away from us. The sound snapped me out and I began to run as fast as I can, trying to keep up the pace of my friends and Enid.
Nothing else happened as we run to our exit. The thunderous noises kept booming around us as the clouds above slowly turned into blood red. A drop of rain hit my forehead. I touched it with my finger tip and saw blood. The rain is full of blood. I nearly slipped to the ground but my jacket was caught by Geralt. "Don't worry Darwin! I got you!" He pulled me up and ran.
The feeling of getting closer to something crept inside my chest that I began to feel the sensation of hope. Hope is said to be for the weak but I say otherwise. Hope may be a blind way to believe in something but sometimes it can be true to which we reach to something we can achieve.
Enid stopped in her tracks. There, right in front of us, was a pool of clean water. It doesn't make sense. It's raining blood and there, at the pool, it's clean. Droplets of blood dripped into the pool, then faded away into the clean water. We were shocked to see the pool to be clean in the middle of a shower of blood. The atmosphere suddenly turned red. Dark red flames started emerging around the world. It's everywhere and I can hear the distant screams behind me. The screams are hard for me to explain. They're like mixed with many variety of species all together into a rhyme of symphony.
I turned around to see something dark falling from the sky above into the ground like a falling star. The world shakes beneath us. I knelt down to get balance as I kept watching the falling darkness land onto the world. Far away, a dark silhouette rises from the ground. It looked to be tall. I could guess it's 4 feet taller than us. My eyes can't see clearly due to the silhouette being too far away. More of them began to rise as more fell from the abomination.
I turned myself around, nearly losing my balance. Cody held Rishika by the arm and Billy knelt beside Geralt. Enid reached her hands out into the pool. Sparks of bright light emitted from her arms, spreading light around her. The pool began to slowly swirl into a vortex as the sparks of light began to increase. The harsh blow of the wind hits us, making me fall to the ground.
Then, a bolt of light sparked into life in Enid's grip. The bolt was so bright that I shielded my eyes from it. It's so that I won't get blinded by the light. I looked back to see that something is walking towards us from far away of our tracks. I don't know if it's just me hallucinating or if it's really real. I think I can hear laughter. A humane laughter. It's like it came from a demon king. The dark silhouettes at the sky fly around with their wings.
Their wings are of a bat and their body was humanoid and blood red. Their mouths are menacingly enough to make me push myself away from it as far as I can. It shrieks so loudly that I can hear it from that distance. It began to fly towards us and its claws like a hawks are ready to grab one of us to feast on. I stood back up as the world turned still. I pulled out my hammer, ready to defend myself from it.
The demon nearly scratched my face before a bullet teared through the side of its brain. I turned my head to see Rishika, already wielding her sniper rifle. "I got you." She turned around and shot another bullet at another demon.
I heard a crushing noise coming from Cody. He slams his club right at a demons head, exploding it on impact. The demon wore an armor set of dark stones that could come from hell itself. It was carrying a blade that shines pure diamond. Geralt penetrating his spear at the demons chest, electrocuting it from a high voltage. "Holy shit! This is crazy!" A shout came from his voice. A voice of panic.
I turned around when I felt something was approaching me. There was a demon with 4 arms and held a large hammer, bigger than the one I wielded. Its face full of hatred that Its eyes glared into my soul. I quickly swung my hammer by the time it swings its own at me. Our hammers clashes together, making a loud slam around us. It swung again but I jumped away from its heavy blow. It's the good thing we had those boots. They're able to give us enough push to jump twice higher than the original person can.
I then swung my hammer directly at its face. I made impact as its face tears apart from the slam of my hammer. A crunching sound can be heard from its skull. Its head exploded into a pool of blood with scattered flesh and bones.
I landed on my feet and watched the world turned into the new hell as dark flames emitted everywhere around the buildings and the ground. More demons are rushing towards us in a pack. So many of them with many horrifying different forms. My body is shaking from the fear I had in me. I nearly dropped my hammer as sweat begins to appear on my hands. I bumped my back as I stepped behind. Geralt, Rishika, Cody, and myself are close together with our weapons in hand. They're all sweating with fear on their faces. There's too many of them for us to take them down. "Come on! Let's show those freaks what we're made of!" Shouted Geralt. By the times we raised our weapons and the demons now 10 feet away from us, a bright blue flame blazes the demons. They scream in pain and hatred as they slowly melted into a sludge of fried flesh.
"I'm not going to let those bloody fuckers take you all away from me!" Billy's face is mixed with fear and anger. Feeling very glad that he joined us. If not for him, we would be brutally killed by the horrifying demons. Then, a loud burst of water and electricity emerged from behind us. Enid faces us with wide eyes. "Get in now!"
"Will it take us home!?" Geralt asks with a panic in his voice. I can see the sweat pouring down on Enid's face as she stares back at us in a hurry. "No but it'll take you somewhere safe! Somewhere you can start a new life!"
Cody, with Ronald's body in his arms, is the first to get in the portal. By the time he jumps into the portal in the pool, a flash of blue energy can be seen emerging out of it. Then goes for Geralt. He was scared at first as he cowers back. "Will I be hurt if I fall?"
"Don't worry. You'll be fine." And so, he jumps in and flashes of light emerges out.
Then goes for Billy. He looked back at Enid for a moment before he jumps into the portal.
Lastly, Rishika stops near the edges of the pool. She turned around to see Enid with a hurried look on her face but also with relief. "Thank you Eddie." Then she jumps into the portal.
Did I just heard her right? Did she just said my lost friend's name. "What did she just say?"
She looked at me with a sad look in her blue eye. I felt a connection between us, as if we've known each other. I don't understand. Why would Rishika say his name. Enid is a woman to say the least or she's really something else. A sudden memory flashed before my eyes.
I remembered the time Eddie shape shifted into the Ice cream man. It was a time when we were young. We both got the ice cream we wanted just for free without anyone noticing. It was funny but also worrying because we could get caught. But that never happened and still felt funny every time I remember that day.
"Eddie? You're Eddie." She nodded in reply. A gesture of yes. Then, right in front of my eyes, she formed into a grown up version of Eddie. The Eddie I remembered. My heart felt shocked as to what I've just learned. I ran to her and hugged her deeply than I could've ever done. We both hugged for a moment until she gently pushes me off. Tears started to appear beneath my eyes. I don't know what I was feeling but what I can say was joy. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I knew you would drag me with you If I tell you. You have to understand that I have to stay here. This is where I belong and I'm too dangerous to be with you."
"But we can figure things out together! We can go back to hanging out with each other! Play video games! Explore the world! Everything!"
"No Darwin. We can't. I'm a part of the void and I'm slowly losing myself. My left part of my face is nearly turning into the void."
"But we can fix that! We just need to find the answers to how we can get you better! I can't! I don't want to lose you again! I-"
"Darwin!" A shout came from his voice. I stopped with chills freezing behind my back. He looked at me in the eye with sadness. "I can't go back. I'm sorry I was never there for you when you graduated. I'm sorry for never waiting for you outside of school. I'm sorry for everything we could've done but we haven't! I have to save you. Even if it costs me my life. I don't want to lose you either. You have to go Darwin. There's nothing that can change my mind."
I thought I could finally bring him back. To do the things we've never have yet done. Here and now, this is our last time together. This is our last time to see each other again. He protected me wherever I go here. He saved me in order for me to live. I can't let him die here. I don't want him to be gone from me.
I hugged him tightly, not wanting to let go. Tears dripped down from his eyes and onto my head. I can feel the pain in my chest starting to rise but I didn't let go. "I'm sorry Darwin. You have to let me go. You can choose. I won't stop you."
He's right. I can't keep him with me. Throughout my life I wanted to see him again. Every night, I look out the window to see if he's there but there's no one but cars and houses. I can't keep doing this. I really have to let go. Tears pours rapidly beneath my eyes. I let go and wiped the tears from my face. "I guess this is a goodbye then."
A sad smile plastered on his face. The world around us slowly turned into darkness. The kind of darkness in hell. "It is Darwin. I'm so happy to see you again."
"Well oh well!! Look at what we have here!" A very modern European accent voice of a man emerged from the world before us. We turned to see a man with a worn off brown coat. His hat looked to be as old as the ancient times. And his face. His face made my stomach turn. Bandages wrapped around his face, except for his terrifying grin. His teeth rotten to the very core of his rotten body. I stepped behind Eddie with the hammer in my hands. The man grins much wider than I anticipated.
"You must be wondering. Who am I? Well. I'm the one and only, Cain. You might've heard me from a very recognizable book. Also, I'm afraid you two are coming with me. We have a lot to discuss and a ton of things to do together." With that, he started laughing like a total maniac. His herds of demons followed with a laugh.
"Goodbye Darwin." Eddie suddenly pushes me off into the bright blue vortex that'll be my exit. I took one last glimpse of Eddie standing before Cain. As I fell into the portal, I can hear the echoing laughter of Cain and his demons. I screamed out for Eddie but my voice was out of reach.
Then, I landed on my back on the ground. The portal disappeared before me. I quickly stood back up and reached to where the portal had opened. It was gone. I looked around to see that I'm on a hill. The dark blue night sky displayed above me with the stars shining above. My mind racing with thoughts and fear. Witnessing Eddie being alone to fight against the evil we are meant to escape from. I screamed into the sky as tears rapidly starts to appear. I fell to my knees onto the grass floor and slam my hands at the ground as I wept. I kept screaming and sobbing until I was too exhausted that I fell to the ground. I heard footsteps before me. There were many.
My body being picked up by Billy in the arm as he carries me with him. "Darwin. What happened?"
The only words I can say now were."He's gone."
​
It's been 2 years since we left that world. The world we now stand upon was nearly the same as ours. What I mean by nearly was that there are strange phenomenons happening nearly every month. A girl who can turn into a form of a robot and killed a cancerous beast in Queensland. A military war criminal who considers killing the supernatural as a job. Even the real life wendigo sightings are on the news papers. Still though, the place is still good in the morning. Except in the night, there are sometimes threats we don't know in the dark.
We built a team together, even gather some new friends along the way. Rishika grew to be more expressive and a lot more kinder to us. The time we killed a literal Bigfoot, she gave me a fist bump. Gave me a chuckle and a smile on my face.
Billy was getting better everyday. He responds to us with kind words than insults like before. After Cody had buried Ronald's body in a proper, he said his words of goodbye to him and gave him the picture he secretly held with him. It was a picture of us hanging out in a movie place. It's heart warming and depressing to witness what he did there.
Cody went off to work as a psychologist. He's still with us. It's just that he wanted to help people's mental health issues. He did really well on that one and he even gave us some advice for a change. I wouldn't consider mostly on his advice but some I can really try. That's also where he met the girl who can turn into a robot. We've met after the news broke out about an incident of a wild destruction at Queensland. Forgot to mention, we're at Australia. Just to let you all know where we are.
Finally, Geralt took pictures everywhere we go and writes down in his diary. The reason he does this is that we're in another world and thought he could take pictures of them and reflect on them. Sometimes we even got to have a photograph of us in the middle of the good times. He said it was to keep memories of our times together. A frame with a picture of literally us huddled together in a bright sunny day in Canberra.
Me? I was building a portal device, for me to teleport to different worlds. It's going to take a long time for me yes. Been building other things lately with Rishika too. Weaponry, gadgets, devices, and fixing stuff. I stuck around with my friends and we've made a great team. Made new friends along the way and learnt many things too.
2 years ago, after my moment of grief, I woke up from my exhausted moment to see my friends standing before me with a relief on their faces. I nearly cried by the picture of that moment. After that, we both watched tv together in my new bedroom inside of a hotel room. After Rishika finds a new home for us, we moved out to Melbourne Victoria as a new place of our home. We moved in to a farm house where there is a larger basement for us to do our stuff. We knew we had to get a job at this point, so we did what we can to find one. It's a good thing there's a city nearby.
Rishika, Geralt, Billy, and I took the job as being a part of an investigation of the paranormal. That's how we managed to meet up with a bunch of new friends.
I missed Eddie. I wished he could come with me and didn't have to die. But, I learnt that I can't drag him with me. He wanted to stay there. I can understand that. I know he's gone already. It's hard to let go. But sometimes we have to. To live out our lives well. I have to look forward. To better myself through experience.
This is my message to you. My readers.
You better to stay where you are now. Don't go to other universes. Because maybe, you'll end up in the most horrifying places you never want to go.

The black domes, they were pocket dimensions, which were completely detached from the material world. Bound to the stream of souls, flowing inside the ephemeral branches of the world tree, they presented a personal hell for each person cast into them. They are a limbo of regrets, the hell of one’s own making, places where the living meets the dead.
There’s only so many ways to elope them. One must either reconcile with the restless souls, or join them, succumbing to their rage and regret that they carried into their afterlife. After all, to even get there, one must possess unparalleled strength and resilience; and only those who had caused deaths and destruction on their path to greatness can even hope to get to this trial.
Freia, Flare, the First princess of Jioral. For some – a good friend, lover, and companion. For others – a nightmare embodied, a vessel of divine powers, a force to be reckoned with. She had many enemies: princes and princesses felled by her authority, treacherous servants and greedy nobles, the knights, who opposed her corruption, slavers and bandits, destroyed on her quest for redemption and restoration of herself… But there were more. Children she had burned, serving her kingdom, women who perished by the tides she conjured, men that had been torn apart by raging tornados of her making, elderly that were buried under the rubble she created…
And how did she oppose them?
“Flagella terram et vescere inimicis meis, o magnum tempestas ignis!” The sorceress chanted, spinning her staff above her head. Then, right before the raging mob reached her, she hid from them behind a vortex of fire. One move and this wave of heat would incinerate everything and everyone in this accursed realm. But…
“TRAITOR!”
“DON’T HIDE FROM US, FLA-A-A-ARE!”
“COME TO US, SISTER!”
“YOU WERE NEVER ONE OF US!”
“USURPER!”
“GIVE ME BACK MY MOM!””
“THE FALSE PRINCESS!”
“SUNNARI (die)!”
“THE DAUGHER OF A WHORE!”
“YOU SHOULD’VE ROT IN THE SLUMS!”
Curses and jealousy, bitterness and hatred. The chorus of tortured souls surrounding the fiery boundary couldn’t be silenced even by the roaring flame. There couldn’t be any redemption.
“I’m sorry for all of you, who unjustly died by my hand!..” And even though there were people deserving their apologies, those who had to perish in favor of Flare’s political ambitions, those she sacrificed to appease her tyrannical father…
“THEN JOIN US, FLARE!”
“PAPA! WHERE ARE YOU?! GIVE HIM BACK!”
“REPENT, BITCH! DISPELL YOUR WITCHCRAFT!!!”
“But I won’t give in to you!” The pink-haired woman exclaimed, absorbing mana into her staff. “Furthermore, there’re those of you I will never regret killing! And there are those, for whom I must live! I MUST GET OUT OF THIS PLACE!!!” Then, she slammed the lower tip of her weapon into the floor made of the absolute darkness. Instead of wailing, being consumed by fear, guilt, self-loathing, and, ultimately, perishing, Freia sundered this entire “world”. One magical strike from her, and cracks of white and gold covered the entire dome. The wall of fire faded, but when the vengeful spirits rushed forward to maul their prey, they crumbled into piles of black salt. “I’m so… so sorry!” The girl lamented, kneeling near the remains of children, whose future she stole. “But I… I must move forward. I must save…”
…
Sparks and crackling, whistle and dazzling – time and time again the surge of lightning breached through the veil of darkness.
“UO-O-O-O-O-O!!!” A guttural scream filled the oppressive silence under the dome. Eve Reese, so childish and bashful, so eager to prove herself, now wore a stone mask of indifference. “Nira-a-a (no-o-o)!!! Yuarmta (I won’t forgive you)!!!” Cornar yelled, held still by at least seven shadows, he had been tortured, killed, bruised, smitten by the raging element of lightning. No longer did the girl see him as a threat; no longer did she cower at the feet of her former husband. Maybe, Eve was condemned to getting back her memories as a means of punishment, something that would make her sympathize with this petty little tyrant…
“Yuarm yau (I don’t need your forgiveness).” The Me-ua kahul spoke, looking at her crackling right arm, trembling with power and guilt combined. Not for forsaking her would-be-spouse, not for becoming Panakea’s pawn…
These souls, these loyal shadows – turned out, she never called upon them… until the very end. Her subjects, her brethren… Eve feared that if she let them out, they would tear her tyrannical husband into little pieces.
“Haa… Haa…” And now, she had to choose. To turn around and let someone else fix her problem, or… “Haa… HAA!!! HAA!!! HAA!!! SUNI (I’ll kill you)!!!”
A Punch to the maw, to the chest, through the ribs, to the heart! He didn’t die! He couldn’t die here! This scumbag of a man, this monster just wouldn’t go away! No matter how much pain she caused him, no matter how many times she slit his throat, broke through his torso, shocked him with spells, cut him with magical light…
And what of Cornar?
“A-A-A-A-A!!! A-A-AGH!!! HA-HA-HA-A!!! NA SHENBATA, SETOAN (you can’t get rid of me, woman)!!!” The son of Hakuo never relented. He relished in his immortality, laughed through the hellish torments Eve inflicted upon him. The skinned lion spotted a weakness in Eve’s heart, and he pressed at it, as if breaking the girl would get him back to the world of the living…
No, he wanted to take Eve to the world of dead.
“Gha-a-a-a… Agh-h-h…” The queen-to-be grabbed her forehead, her rugged breath not only siphoned all the focus out of her, threatening to cast the girl into a pit of despair, it also deteriorated her control over the mana she wielded. Unlike the city of salt, there was enough ambient magic to harvest here, but doing so would require skills, precision, and, most importantly, personal discipline and control over one’s own mind.
“Praibi, orna Iblis (Drain yourself, my Iblis)!” The prince of Batnara shashu tribe provoked, feeling the grip of the shadows losing its strength. A little more, and he’d be free… A little more…
“Hm…” But Eve wouldn’t relent. She once again covered her arm in a coat of magical lightning. She would never surrender; the queen would never let anyone treat her like a slave ever again. Not after Keyaruga’s perseverance taught her a lesson of resilience. Not after his gentleness, however tainted by his wounds, showed her what true love should look like.
She took a swing, prepared to strike…
“…” But then, two winged shadows stopped her hand. Amda and Sana, they were barely recognizable in their spiritual forms… but Eve would never mistake her parents for anyone else. They couldn’t speak, yet they still communicated with their daughter through other means. Emotions, wishes, urges – they never wished such evil to befall their daughter, but what they hated even more – was to see their child descend into the same pit.
“I… I don’t… have to?..” They asked her to stop, to let them relieve her of that burden. “B-but!.. No! You will die!” The girl snarled, grabbing her parents in a hug. She knew what was to come – her mother, father – they wished to sacrifice themselves to drag Cornar back to the afterlife. But that… wouldn’t that mean she’d lose them all over again? Wouldn’t…
“…”
“Yes! You’re dead! So what?! What do I?..” The feeling of pain and powerlessness engulfed the verdant woman. Barely had she found the strength to stand before her fallen tribe, before those who she desired to see the most now left her.
“YOTJAR (finally)!!!” With Eve’s will getting weaker, so did the shadows of her ethereal court. Her tyrannical husband finally broke free, slamming and stomping her shadows, as they fruitlessly tried stopping him. Amda and Sana Reese hugged their child for the last time… and now they stood up to defend their precious daughter. That is… the least they could do.
…
Freia broke inside another dome. From the outside, they looked like bright constellations of stars, formed on the points of a massive, galactic-scaled pentagram. The personal chamber for each of the contenders. One was broken from the inside, collapsing inwards, into a black hole with an orange halo – this was Freia’s dome. There were four more. Two were dimmed, two still shone brightly. The Hero of Magic travelled through this empty space, lit by numerous distant stars. In her current form, things like speed, form, and time – none of them mattered, aside from her destination. And now, she had to choose one of the two luminous chambers.
…
What is true power? Does one determine this abstract concept by the weight one can lift with their muscles? Maybe it was the charisma necessary to lead the masses? Enough money to influence others? Authority earned or inherited?
“Well-well-well…” Whatever the answer truly was, Ellen had none of it right now. No strength to fight, no troops to hide behind, and certainly – those who opposed her now had little if any need of whatever amount of gold she now carried.
“WENCH!”
“TANOUTUR (murderer)!”
“NEZAH (why)?!”
“MERA RIVARO (my life)!..”
“YAU MA (how dare you)!”
“YOU’LL PAY FOR WHAT YOU’VE DONE, BITCH!!!”
Oh, they came for Norn. There were hundreds, if not thousands of them, some she could recall from her Murian and Teuteccain campaigns – the series of expansions past the great wall; others were the court warlords she and John unseated in her ascension; rebellious villagers too came to exact their revenge on the younger princess, after her demons decimated them; and there were the victims of Buranikka’s carnage. This was the mountain of corpses Norn Clatalissa Jioral used to climb onto the very peak of political power…
“Now then, what do you want from me? An apology? Maybe my penance?” Even now, surrounded by countless dead souls, whose entire being now revolved around their grudge, the girl wouldn’t let herself be crushed by their rage. Not mentally, at least.
“DIE!”
“MAN WOR YAKSI (give me your eyes)!”
“SUFFER, YOU MONSTER!”
“I JUST WANTED TO LIVE!!!”
And so, hundreds of voices began howling in unison. So passionate, so eager to share their hardships and aspirations, that Ellen actually started pitying them a little. So many words, so much pain in them.
“Haa… I guess, that something like this was bound to happen someday. Well…” Instead of listening to the rest of the traumatizing nonsense and wailing, the crimson-headed cutie just began… to simply undress. “I don’t have the power to struggle, I can’t break out of here, and all of you came here for me. So go on. Rape me, maul me, kill me, do whatever you want. I’ve already done everything I wanted.” Ellen, now naked and completely defenseless, stretched out on the ethereal black floor, looking into the endless black void above her. The raging souls now came closer and closer, dozens of faces now loomed above her, as their hands reached out to grab the fallen warlady and tear her apart. This… was the end.
Keyaruga, Setsuna, sister… I hope you won’t miss me too much.
And so, she closed her eyes. Time to finally die.
…
…
…
There was no pain, nobody dragged the girl around, not even a single blow fell upon her. Ellen was… safe?
“A-A-A-A!!!”
“UGH-H-H!!!”
“YOLA-A-A-A-A (it hu-u-u-urts)!!!”
Slice and dicing, the ripping of flesh and clattered bones, “death” of a sort, dealt to the undying, torment for the tormented who themselves wished to inflict suffering upon her – someone kept the restless souls away from the princess. Someone precise, fast, and masterful with his tools of mayhem.
“Haa, is that you, Organ?” Ellen asked sullenly. Denied her excruciating retribution once more, she could only cover her tightly shut eyes with her palms.
“How did you know, Your Highness?” Indeed, it was him. As brutal as he was gallant, the deceased demigod was the only one out of these dead souls, who spoke to her, and not wailed at her like some sort of a beast.
“I know only two men, who’d come for me here, and the other isn’t so discreet, you moron.” The young general replied, opening her eyelids. The first thing she saw was the Champion of Jioral, covered in black blood. His prized amber eyes were no more, only black gaping holes were there instead. “Why’re you here? Do you want a piece of me for yourself?” The girl asked, still unwilling to stand up. Honestly, she felt robbed at this moment. This would be such a fitting end for her, but no! “Don’t tell me you’ve just barged in here to… Pff! PROTECT… me.” The second princess spat these words through her painfully clenched teeth.
“First things first, Lady Norn, I suggest you cover your shame and cease this indecency.” The warrior spoke, piercing and slashing the mob with his sword, impaling them with his hidden blade, tossing them back with his kicks. He was far from his prime form, and so, wounds and sores, cuts and lesions were left on him, as he, alone, overpowered dozens of raging men and women, keeping them away from the girl he swore to protect. Indeed… “Forgive me, princess, but I made a vow to your mother, and death is hardly a valid reason to…”
“YAKS… (giv…) A-A-A-A!!!”
“…to renounce my…”
“DOKI-I-I (step away)!!!”
“…loyalty to her!”
Despite everything, no matter the odds, Hawkeye continued to push back the angry spirits. He couldn’t dodge, as every missed blow could land on the lady, he couldn’t step back, as she needed protection more than any time in her life, and, certainly, sustained by this oppressive dimension, he couldn’t die. He couldn’t kill anyone, as they just rose anew from their own black blood, but the man couldn’t retreat.
“He-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh…” The princess chuckled, curling her torso in order to sit up. It hurt her stomach, but the girl persevered nonetheless. “Why am I always surrounded by stupid stubborn men, who just can’t help but dingle their balls before me? Seriously, a dead man, upholding a promise to a dead woman, how much more ridiculous can this get?” The girl scoffed, pulling back her panties, bra, and whatever she left lying around, back on. After all, why even bother now? “Be honest, idiot! What do you want from me?”
“I came here…”
Slash, backflip, tackle, toss – Organ Trist twirled around his commander, pushing back everyone, who came too close to his prized princess.
“…to ask you, Lady Norn!..”
Shoulder slam, side-kick, a flurry of bloodshed embodied in the son of Artemis!
“…to save my…”
Stabbing enemies with that hidden blade, crushing their skulls with the handle of his blade, ripping their eyes out and tossing them away – however useless this double-sided brutality may seem, Hawkeye had purpose, skill, and, most of all, conviction, that allowed him to push the mob away.
“…daughter! Save Marianna!”
After all, what can be stronger, than a father, eager to protect his dear child?
“And you think keeping me alive will help you with that? You, moron, this bloated pigeon trapped me here! I have only one way out – fucking death!” The second princess, now properly clothed again, yelled however loud she could. Unable to comprehend the reasoning behind this idiocy, the girl just stood there, pulling her crimson hair. “Also, you’re severely mistaken! I’m not Norn! Norn’s dead! My name is…”
“…Elly! Elly-y-y!!!” Barely had the princess opened her mouth; before the dome had been breached from the outside. The Hero of Magic emerged above the ground. She levitated, using magical blue flames; she secured her sister by forming a wall around her, a barricade made from powerful ice spears. The sorceress even went so far as to send one into the undead Champion, it was one he easily avoided, though. “Step away from my sister, Organ!!!” The raging magician demanded, pulling her sibling towards her with a gust of mystical wind.
“Ghh! Oh, hey there, Friea!” The fallen warlady spoke, bracing herself against the dizziness her brief flight had caused. Still, this didn’t look good. The last time those two met, Hawkeye severely injured the pink-haired girl, and she just wouldn’t live through it again, unless two gods appeared to help her. This time, though, it was her turn to be a deity-savior.
“Get away! You’ve bested me once, but this time, I can crash this entire realm down onto your head!” The Hero of Magic promised, putting her staff between her sister and her enemy.
“Aw shit, this just gets better and better…” The little genius lamented, nervously shaking her head. Not only was her glorified suicide rudely interrupted, but now this situation threatened to kill her sister as well. Still…
“Elly, Elly… Ellen? Ellen the Adopted?” Despite Freia’s expectations, Organ Trist was more interested in the new name she called Norn, rather than anything else, really. He already had his fair share of battles, after all. “Ho-ho-o! I guess, in the end, you really did become the better version of yourself! And the ‘brother’ in question – is that sir Keyaru?” The blinded man asked with the same smugness he once boasted with in his grandiose life.
“What’s the point of answering you now? Aren’t we just traitors to you?” The heroine replied with every bit of animosity she had in her. “Hold on, Elly, I’ll get you out of here.” Freia stated, charging her staff with the magic that shaped this entire “world”.
“Heh, aren’t you afraid of what that damn poisoned pigeon might do to you for breaking her rules?” The crimson-haired cutie scoffed, witnessing the entire black dome covering with cracks.
“I don’t care about her rules! All I want is to see you safe!” The sorceress spoke with even more defiance toward Caladrius than Norn ever had in her. If needed, she would challenge this feathered nightmare to a duel, anything, just to save her family.
“I see…” Hawkeye uttered, kneeling before the two girls. All that time, rather than monitoring Freia’s moves, his supernatural senses were aimed outside, to make sure no restless souls cross the fence of magic ice. But now… “I see your eyes, Princess Flare, they’re just like hers. I’m sure; you’ll make Lady Reeharoze proud of you yet.” Now, before he once again departs to the other side, there was one last thing to tell them. First praise, then a claim… “Lady Ellen, I beg of you. The life of Marianna now lies in your hands.” …and finally a plea. With all that said, Organ Trist crumbled, his body turned into black salt. And with it, the entire realm began to collapse in itself…
“Hold tight, Elly…”
…
And now, there was only one dark dome left. Arguably, the worst of them all, this particular world was to be the prison for Keyaruga… or his cemetery. No doorways to run into, no windows to jump from. He was alone, trapped with hundreds of those who were slain by his hand. Those poor bastards – the restless souls, their minds were so obsessed with hatred, and their grudge – powered by the sheer immortality of their ethereal blackened bodies. This was hell in its purest form. The question is – a hell for who, exactly?
“YE-E-E-E-E-EAH!!! IT’S HEALING TIME!!!” Keyaruga snarled and began splattering blood all over the place. Everyone who was touched by that substance became horribly mutated – their heads bloated, their muscles strained so much, they crushed their very bones! “WHAT’S WRONG?! KILL ME!!! KILL ME NOW!!!” The man demanded, dancing around his would-be tormentors with his blade, blessing his foes with the exquisite gift of perpetual agony! Saber in his right hand, Georgius on his left, one complementing another.
Despite what the lad asked, nobody could bring him down. His immortal flesh defied any blade, his bones healed in an instant, his mad frenzy alleviated any pain.
He thought he could kill his enemies for the second and final time, give them proper death in the most excruciating manner. He was wrong…
“DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! AGAIN! AND AGAIN! AND ALL OVER AGA-A-A-A-AIN!!!” The hero yelled chopping off heads and severing limbs! He killed so many, he couldn’t even count the slayings! He murdered the same people over and over, each time their agony being more exquisite then the last!
Kill a man once, he won’t even notice, his rage will only rise! Kill him thrice – he’d waver! Five – and the seeds of fear are sown. Ten – and he’s broken completely!
Keyaruga just couldn’t help himself, he hated these scum so much, he just couldn’t contain all his passionate hatred. It was so strong, that the feeling of pure, raw, primordial wrath transcended every possible modification he had put into himself.
“A-A-A-A-A!!! UGH-H-H-H-H!!!” A soldier was weeping, hugging his boot. “S-S-S-S-SPA-A-A-ARE ME-E-E!!!”
“YO-O-OU!!! I remember you!” The healer spoke, raising the cretin by his neck. “My first kill! You watched me being raped, drugged… BEATEN!!!” The man yawped, slicing off his upper face with one nimble slice. “AND YOU NEVER!!! EVER!!! EVER FUCKING HELPED ME!!!” The lad, tainted by black and red blood, slammed the sentry into the ‘floor’…
“A-A-A-A-A!!! PLE-E-E-EASE!!!” …and gleefully sliced off his arms, ignited sparked his left armored hand into a gauntlet of blazing heat!..
“GU-GHH-GUU!!! UA-A-A-A-A-A-A!!!” And finally, cauterized the wounds, just so that the retard wouldn’t die too soon.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT?!!!” The crazed avenger yelled, grabbing Leonard, so conveniently nearby, weeping. “YOU SAID, I’VE DONE NOTHING FOR THIS FUCKING KINGDOM?! I’LL SHOW YOU, WHAT I CAN DO NO-O-OW!!!”
And so he did, the madman rested his two fingers on the sadist’s forehead. A second passed, and a purple spark had announced the richest form of suffering.
“Oh… U-u… Uo-o-o-o-o-o… Khh…” Indeed, although it wasn’t as vocal as previous ones, Keyaruga was more than pleased with the result. He knew of a human having specific nerves, specifically for reacting to pain. And he just overloaded them. Toxic spiders, dangerous medusas, venomous snakes and scorpions – all of them could do that with their poisons. Hell, even Keyaruga could brew neurotoxins. But damn, this thing had one ultimate merit compared to all of those – the instant effect, so potent, in fact, that the victim can’t even cry out from the excruciating pain!
“He-e! That’s a neat trick.” The lad mumbled, approaching a maid, lying on the “floor” like an embryo. Flare’s bodyguard shivered and sucked her thumb, completely lost to this twisted world. Just one little touch… “Pam! You’re already dead!” Keyaruga sneered tapping his armored fingers by her temple.
“Uh… Uh… Ugh… W… Wha-?.. A-A-A-A-A-A-AGH-H-H!!!” The woman grabbed her skull, but it was too late. All the blood, bile, and even marrow now came into her brain, bloating it, up until it burst in a fountain of black blood and shining entrails.
“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!!! I FUCKING LOVE IT!!!” The deranged healer laughed so loud, and his presence was so overwhelming now, that nobody even dared to come close to him, let alone attack, unless they wished to become a victim of a new twisted experiment. Oh, their fear, this agonizing panic! They’re giving me a fucking boner! I wanna fuck! I want a woman! Oh, this! This will do nicely!
And so, Keyaruga dropped his saber, unfastened his belt, ripped the dress, slapped that ass which he had found, grabbed it, pushed it in! The woman with a blackened tail was slowly dying of blood loss, but that barely concerned the lad. He grabbed her pelvis and began to move, so fast, so frantic, and so mindless, that no one could see a human in him. No-o, this was a wild beast, slamming his bulging cock into the defenseless female, too tired to react, let alone resist somehow. She wasn’t even tight, just barely warm, but even that was enough. A few minutes of such suffering inflicted on her, and he came, this was a brilliant orgasm, deeply perverted, and twisted to the very core…
Oh, that’s the fucking best! I love it so much!
Keyaruga grabbed her hand, wiped his penis with it, pull back his pants, and…
I don’t remember her. I wonder, who that is.
He pushed the body, rolling it to the back.
“Ha-a-a… Hello again, Kailia…” The mad lad recognized her instantly. An agent, sent to find and assist Eve Reese in her quest, hired by someone named Carol. But that alone wouldn’t be enough to get Keyaruga to brutally rape her. “You’ve killed my Norn, but I spared you. Heh, after Kali left, I tasked you to ward off whoever they sent after my Eve, but… It seems like you’ve failed. Really, really sad.” The healer spoke, resting his left hand on her dying flesh, recovering it in an instant. And just like that… “Oh, fuck!” She nearly stabbed him with a knife. Gods only knew where she got it from… “Sit still.” But then, Keyaruga just pressed his finger on her forehead, and completely shut down her limbs functions. He pitied her… but could do nothing for this miserable leopard woman.
“Haa… Damn, it’s getting boring here.” The hero lamented, picking up his weapon of choice. At this point, he just put it back in its sheath. Only then did he spot a couple of new faces in the crowd of weeping bastards. “You there! You don’t look like you should be here. What’s… wait…”
“STAY AWAY FROM ME, MONSTER!!!” The woman cried, she was weeping into her man’s now tainted shirt.
“Heh! He-heh! No-no-no-o! Oh no-o-o!” Keyaruga frantically shook his head, unable to believe what he just saw. This was the worst. This… “Anna! Kurt! What… What’re you even doing here?! I… I avenged you! You shouldn’t have…” His parents were there, they stood among the thugs, slavers, robbers, bandits, zealots, murderers… But they… they weren’t one of them…
“You killed us, traitor. You raped my wife, after everything she’s done for you. You’re disgusting little shit!” The mighty harvester told him, pointing his war-scythe at the hero. The only thing that held him at bay, though, was his spouse, loudly crying with black tears pouring from her eyes.
“Heh… You… really think I’d…”
“No. But you’ve proven it.” Kurt spoke with the coldest possible rage in his voice. Keyaru’s cruelty couldn’t be doubted, after all. Not after everyone he maimed this day. “I don’t give a fuck, what the hell is wrong with you, but I’ll slice your guilty ass as many times as I need.” The older man spoke, pushing Anna aside. And then, he lunged.
Kurt struck as a true warrior – he was swift, accurate, precise – his war scythe – basically a reforged farming tool, grazed Keyaruga’s torso, cut his leg, he even stabbed his foster son through his chest. But… there was no blood.
“Calm down, you two.” The hero demanded, stoically taking hit after hit, like the heavy glaive-like blade was nothing. While Anna crumbled to her knees, lost in her weeping, Kurt wouldn’t stop attacking. “You can’t kill me, I’m immor-…” Barely did the lad say so; before his foster father grabbed the handle in a wide grip, and just swept his head off with one precise strike.
“NO-O-O-O-O-O-O!!!” Strangely enough, despite all of the delusions his parents had about him, Anna just couldn’t stand seeing her child being killed so brutally. “A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A!!! WHY-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y?!!!” As Keyaru’s head rolled on the ground, the thugs, at least those who weren’t affected by any of hero’s inventive afflictions, started to get rallied again.
“You had it coming, you ungrateful dipshit!” Kurt spat through tightly closed teeth. He couldn’t watch, couldn’t face what he had to do with his adopted prodigy. Even if he was a criminal. Even if…
“I really did…” But the bastards weren’t enjoying the show for too long. Right when the healer seemed to fall, a new body started to grow from his neck-stump, the clothes, the pouches, the weapons – everything turned into ash just to materialize again on the proudly standing conqueror of death itself.
“What devilry is this?” Kurt’s reaction was understandable. A mix of fear, anger, and disgust, was all over his tainted face. In turn…
“KEYARU-U-U-U!!!” Anna just dashed forward to hug her child. No matter, how disgustingly atrocious his resurrection was, without even looking at the beheaded body that now lied nearby, the woman just went ahead and embraced the lad. She… didn’t seem to be in her right mind, even for a dead soul.
“Anna, I… I…” The shivers began taking a hold of him. His hands, his knees – they trembled so much, this simple touch he though he lost forever, this… This was enough to make him cry. “I’m sorry… I’m so, so, so, so-o-o sorry!..”
“DIE, FUCKER!!!”
“THAT YOU HAVE TO SEE ME DOING THIS!!!” Keyaruga yelled, grabbing Leonard by his wrist. Just a little pressure – and he dropped his sword, the weapon faded into nothingness. Then, the man pushed Anna back, punched his foe in the gut, and proudly showed his captive to his family. “Haa… He-heh! He-e-e… This… This is Leonard, Flare’s… right hand…” The hero spoke, this time trying to maintain his sanity, as his parents now cautiously looked at him. “I… I came from the future! I had to rewind time’s flow itself… Because Flare was evil, and he…” Then, the man put his hand onto the barely struggling imbecile, thus transforming him into Keyaru, the motionless child, whose entire mobility, except for breathing, was shut down for the ease of what he was about to do. “I killed Flare! And he took my guilt. Then…” Afterwards, the healer went ahead and summoned raging flames upon his free hand. Kurt and Anna watched motionlessly, as he placed the magic-shrouded palm onto his ‘own’ face, burned it, scourged the blackened flesh with the sorcery he ‘learned’ from Flare… “My trick was revealed, and he headed out to our village, looking just like me. The rest… you know the rest.”
And finally, Keyaruga dropped the motionless doll, unable even to cry out from the excruciating pain the Hero of Healing inflicted upon it. He then faced his parents, still shocked by such a display of merciless brutality, they couldn’t even properly reply, this entire spectacle of bloodshed, mayhem, rape, torture, demonstration of immortality, and now – proofs of metamorphosis – all of that left them utterly silent.
“Kurt, Anna… I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you… But I can’t let you, or any one of these fuckers keep me here! I… I have a family! Freia, Setsuna, Ellen, Eve – I so wanted you to meet them… But you can’t now. You… might not believe me, and I understand that.” The red-eyed lad uttered, as his posture slouched more and more, along with his fading bravery. “This is what it’s like to be a man! I must be strong! I have to be ruthless now, so that nobody would challenge me in the future!” The man added, now turning his back to his foster parents. He stood straight, he stretched his shoulders, took a deep breath, and… “LISTEN HERE, YOU FUCKING MONSTERS!!! WHAT YOU’VE FELT NOW IS BUT A TINY BIT OF WHAT I’LL DO TO YOU, ONCE I’M FUCKING DEAD!!! NOW YOU WILL GO INTO THE DEEPEST PITS OF HELL, AND WHEN YOU’RE THERE, PRAY I DON’T FUCKING DIE ANYTIME SOON!!! BECAUSE WHEN I FINALLY KICK THIS SHITTY BUCKET, I’LL FIND EACH OF YOU, AND WE’LL BE PLAYING FOR THE WHOLE OF ETERNITY!!! BUT WHY WAIT, WHEN WE CAN HAVE SOME FUN NOW, HU-U-U-UH?!!!”
The speech was told, the impact made. His words were so zealous, so passionately intimidating, that the weeping fools now reached a whole new depth of despair.
“GET US OUT OF HERE!!!”
“SAVE ME-E-E-E!!!”
“HE’S THE DEVIL!!! DE-E-EVIL!!!”
“UA-A-A-A-A-A-A!!!”
“KUUNDA (I’m so scared)!!!”
“HE-E-E-E-E-ELP!!!”
And so, this entire crowd, this mob of immortal corpses, just ran away. Everyone, who could still stand on their feet, began fleeing in panic, trampling each other in the process. What they failed to notice, though, is that the dome is endless only for its main victim. Everyone else just came up against the invisible wall.
The Trial of Heart – its goal is twisted, to be certain. To pass it would mean releasing the dead souls from their grudge toward you. A saint would shift it to forgiveness, but the deranged avenger pumped so much fear in those criminals, that their hatred was replaced by the purest and most animalistic terror. Still, with the task done, the souls began to dissipate in a white light. They would finally be free…
“REMEMBER!!! YOU’VE NOT SEEN THE LAST OF ME!!! WE’LL MEET AGAIN, YOU FUCKING SHITBAGS!!!” Unfortunately for them, though, Keyaruga’s long shadow still loomed above them all. And such, even in relief, the crowd continued to cry, to sob, to wail, to…
“Keya… ru…” But not all left because of dread. When the avenger turned around, his foster mother, crumbling into white flakes, stood on her tiptoes to give him a last kiss on the cheek. “You’ve grown… so much…”
And so, she faded. Kurt quickly followed, although it wasn’t forgiveness or benevolence that filled his raging soul. No, it was an impotent acceptance. He saw Keyaruga as a mirror, in which he saw himself, before he deserted the royal guard and found himself in Alban.
“Someday… you’ll follow my path…” And this was what the man spoke at last, dropping his war-scythe to the ethereal ground. With no souls to redeem in the most twisted of ways, the dome of blackness quickly turned insufferably bright.
The Trial of Heart had been passed.

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Today's Reading, via Project Gutenberg:
Borde could not enlighten him on that point, and I suggested that he should make application to the publisher of his Prayer-Book and get his money back. There is nobody. I said, like him. He is more wonderful than anything in literature. I prefer him to Sancho who was untroubled with a conscience and never thought of running to the Bishop of Toledo. All the same he is not without the shrewdness of his ancestors, and got the better of Archbishop Walsh, and for the last five years Vincent O'Brien has been beating time, and will beat it till the end of his life; and he will be succeeded by others, for Edward has, by deed, saved the Italian contrapuntalists till time everlasting from competition with modern composers. He certainly has gotten the better of Walsh. And I thought of a picture-gallery in Dublin with nothing in it but Botticelli and his school, and myself declaring that all painting that had been done since had no interest for me.... A smile began to spread over my face, for the story that was coming into my mind seemed oh! so humorous, so like Ireland, so like Edward, that I began to tell myself again the delightful story of the unrefined ears that, weary of erudite music, had left the cathedral and sought instinctively modern tunes and women's voices, and as these were to be found in Westland Row the church was soon overflowing with a happy congregation. But in a little while the collections grew scantier. This time it couldn't be Palestrina, and all kinds of reasons were adduced. At last the truth could no longer be denied—the professional Catholics of Merrion Square had been driven out of Westland Row by the searching smells of dirty clothes, and had gone away to the University Church in Stephen's Green. So if it weren't Palestrina directly it was Palestrina indirectly, and the brows of the priests began to knit when Edward Martyn's name was mentioned. Them fal-de-dals is well enough on the Continent, in Paris, where there is no faith, was the opinion of an important ecclesiastic. But we don't want them here, murmured a second ecclesiastic. All this counterpoint may make a very pretty background for Mr Martyn's prayers, but what about the poor people's? Good composer or bad composer, there is no congregation in him, said a third. There's too much congregation, put in the first, but not the kind we want! The second ecclesiastic took snuff, and the group were of opinion that steps should be taken to persuade dear Edward to make good their losses. The priests in Marlborough Street sympathised with the priests of Westland Row, and told them that they were so heavily out of pocket that Mr Martyn had agreed to do something for them. It seemed to the Westland Row priests that if Mr Martyn were making good the losses of the priests of the pro-Cathedral, he should make good their losses. It was natural that they should think so, and to acquit himself of all responsibility Edward no doubt consulted the best theologians on the subject, and I think that they assured him that he is not responsible for indirect losses. If he were, his whole fortune would not suffice. He was, of course, very sorry if a sudden influx of poor people had caused a falling-off in the collections of Westland Row, for he knew that the priests needed the money very much to pay for the new decorations, and to help them he wrote an article in the Independent praising the new blue ceiling, which seemed, so he wrote, a worthy canopy for the soaring strains of Palestrina.
Unfortunately rubbing salt into the wound, I said. A story that will amuse Dujardin and it will be great fun telling him in the shady garden at Fontainebleau how Edward, anxious to do something for his church, had succeeded in emptying two. All the way down the alleys he will wonder how Edward could have ever looked upon Palestrina's masses as religious music. The only music he will say, in which religious emotion transpires is plain-chant. Huysmans says that the Tantum Ergo or the Dies Irae, one or the other, reminds him of a soul being dragged out of purgatory, and it is possible that it does; but a plain-chant tune arranged in eight-part counterpoint cannot remind one of anything very terrible. Dujardin knows that Palestrina was a priest, and he will say: That fact deceived your friend, just as the fact of finding the Adeste Fideles among the plain-chant tunes deceived him. For of course I shall tell Dujardin that story too. It is too good to be missed. He is wonderful, Dujardin! I shall cry out in one of the sinuous alleys. There never was anybody like him! And I will tell him more soul-revealing anecdotes. I will say: Dujardin, listen. One evening he contended that the great duet at the end of Siegfried reminded him of mass by Palestrina. Dujardin will laugh, and, excited by his laughter, I will try to explain to him that what Edward sees is that Palestrina took a plain chant tune and gave fragments of it to the different voices, and in his mind these become confused with the motives of The Ring. You see, Dujardin, the essential always escapes him—the intention of the writer is hidden from him. I am beginning to understand your friend. He has, let us suppose, a musical ear that allows him to take pleasure in the music; but a musical ear will not help him to follow Wagner's idea—how, in a transport of sexual emotion, a young man and a young woman on a mountain-side awaken to the beauty of the life of the world. Dujardin's appreciations will provoke me, and I will say: Dujardin, you shouldn't be so appreciative. If I were telling you of a play I had written, it would be delightful to watch my idea dawning upon your consciousness; but I am telling you of a real man, and one that I shall never to able to get into literature. He will answer: We invent nothing; we can but perceive. And then, exhilarated, carried beyond myself, I will say: Dujardin, I will tell you something still more wonderful than the last gaffe. II gaffe dans les Quat'z Arts. He admires Ibsen, but you'd never guess the reason why—because he is very like Racine; both of them, he says, are classical writers. And do you know how he arrived at that point? Because nobody is killed on the stage in Racine or in Ibsen. He does not see that the intention of Racine is to represent men and women out of time and out of space, unconditioned by environment, and that the very first principle of Ibsen's art is the relation of his characters to their environment. In many passages he merely dramatises Darwin. There never was anybody so interesting as dear Edward, and there never will be anybody like him in literature ... I will explain why presently, but I must first tell you another anecdote. I went to see him one night, and he told me that the theme of the play he was writing was a man who had married a woman because he had lost faith in himself; the man did not know, however, that the woman had married him for the same reason, and the two of them were thinking—I have forgotten what they were thinking, but I remember Edward saying: I should like to suggest hopelessness. I urged many phrases, but he said: It isn't a phrase I want, but an actual thing. I was thinking of a broken anchor—that surely is a symbol of hopelessness. Yes, I said, no doubt, but how are you going to get a broken anchor into a drawing-room? I don't write about drawing-rooms. Well, living-rooms. It isn't likely that they would buy a broken anchor and put it up by the coal-scuttle.
There's that against it, he answered. If you could suggest anything better—What do you think of a library in which there is nothing but unacted plays? The characters could say, when there was nothing for them to do on the stage, that they were going to the library to read, and the library would have the advantage of reminding everybody of the garret in the Wild Duck. A very cruel answer, my friend, Dujardin will say, and I will tell him that I can't help seeing in Edward something beyond Shakespeare or Balzac. Now, tell me, which of these anecdotes I have told you is the most humorous? He will not answer my question, but a certain thoughtfulness will begin to settle in his face, and he will say: Everything with him is accidental, and when his memory fails him he falls into another mistake, and he amuses you because it is impossible for you to anticipate his next mistake. You know there is going to be one; there must be one, for he sees things separately rather than relatively. I am beginning to understand your friend.
You are, you are; you are doing splendidly. But you haven't told me, Dujardin, which anecdote you prefer. Stay, there is another one. Perhaps this one will help you to a still better understanding. When he brought The Heather Field and Yeats's play The Countess Cathleen to Dublin for performance, a great trouble of conscience awakened suddenly in him, and a few days before the performance he went to a theologian to ask him if The Countess Cathleen were a heretical work, and, if it were would Almighty God hold him responsible for the performance? But he couldn't withdraw Yeats's play without withdrawing his own, and it appears that he breathed a sigh of relief when a common friend referred the whole matter to two other theologians, and as these gave their consent Edward allowed the plays to go on; but Cardinal Logue intervened, and wrote a letter to the papers to say that the play seemed to him unfit for Catholic ears, and Edward would have withdrawn the plays if the Cardinal hadn't admitted in his letter that he had judged the play by certain extracts only.
He wishes to act rightly, but has little faith in himself; and what makes him so amusing is that he needs advice in aesthetics as well as in morals. We are, I said, Dujardin, at the roots of conscience. And I began to ponder the question what would happen to Edward if we lived in a world in which aesthetics ruled: I should be where Bishop Healy is, and he would be a thin, small voice crying in the wilderness—an amusing subject of meditation, from which I awoke suddenly.
I wonder how Dujardin is getting on with his Biblical studies? Last year he was calling into question the authorship of the Romans—a most eccentric view; and, remembering how weakly I had answered him, I took the Bible from the table and began to read the Epistle with a view to furnishing myself with arguments wherewith to confute him. My Bible opened at the ninth chapter, and I said: Why, here is the authority for the Countess Cathleen's sacrifice which Edward's theologian deemed untheological. It will be great fun to poke Edward up with St Paul, and on my way to Lincoln Place I thought how I might lead the conversation to The Countess Cathleen.
📷
A few minutes afterwards a light appeared on the staircase and the door slowly opened.
Come in, Siegfried, though you were off the key.
Well, my dear friend, it is a difficult matter to whistle above two trams passing simultaneously and six people jabbering round a public-house, to say nothing of a jarvey or two, and you perhaps dozing in your armchair, as your habit often is. You won't open to anything else except a motive from The Ring; and I stumbled up the stairs in front of Edward, who followed with a candle.
Wait a moment; let me go first and I'll turn up the gas.
You aren't sitting in the dark, are you?
No, but I read better by candle-light, and he blew out the candles in the tin candelabrum that he had made for himself. He is original even in his candelabrum; no one before him had ever thought of a caridelabrum in tin, and I fell to admiring his appearance more carefully than perhaps I had ever done before, so monumental did he seem lying on the little sofa sheltered from daughts by a screen, a shawl about his shoulders. His churchwarden was drawing famously, and I noticed his great square hands with strong fingers and square nails pared closely away, and as heretofore I admired the curve of the great belly, the thickness of the thighs, the length and breadth and the width of his foot hanging over the edge of the sofa, the apoplectic neck falling into great rolls of flesh, the humid eyes, the skull covered with short stubbly hair. I looked round the rooms and they seemed part of himself: the old green wallpaper on which he pins reproductions of the Italian masters. And I longed to peep once more into the bare bedroom into which he goes to fetch bottles of Apollinaris. Always original! Is there another man in this world whose income is two thousand a year, and who sleeps in a bare bedroom, without dressing-room, or bathroom, or servant in the house to brush his clothes, and who has to go to the baker's for his breakfast?
We had been talking for some time of the Gaelic League, and from Hyde it was easy to pass to Yeats and his plays.
His best play is The Countess Cathleen.
The Countess Cathleen is only a sketch.
But what I never could understand, Edward, was why you and the Cardinal could have had any doubts as to the orthodoxy of The Countess Cathleen.
What, a woman that sells her own soul in order to save the souls of others!
I suppose your theologian objected—
Of course he objected.
He cannot have read St Paul.
What do you mean?
He can't have read St Paul, or else he is prepared to throw over St Paul.
Mon ami Moore, mon ami Moore.
The supernatural idealism of a man who would sell his soul to save the souls of others fills me with awe.
But it wasn't a man; it was the Countess Cathleen, and women are never idealists.
Not the saints?
His face grew solemn at once.
If you give me the Epistles I will read the passage to you. And it was great fun to go to the bookshelves and read: I say the truth in Christ, I lie not, my conscience also bearing me witness in the Holy Ghost, that I have great heaviness and continual sorrow in my heart. For I could wish that myself were accursed from Christ for my brethren, my kinsmen according to the flesh.
Edward's face grew more and more solemn, and I wondered of what he was thinking.
Paul is a very difficult and a very obscure writer, and I think the Church is quite right not to encourage the reading of the Epistles, especially without comments.
Then you do think there is something in the passage I have read?
After looking down his dignified nose for a long time, he said:
Of course, the Church has an explanation. All the same, it's very odd that St Paul should have said such a thing—very odd.
There is no doubt that I owe a great deal of my happiness to Edward; all my life long he has been exquisite entertainment. And I fell to thinking that Nature was very cruel to have led me, like Moses, within sight of the Promised Land. A story would be necessary to bring Edward into literature, and it would be impossible to devise an action of which he should be a part. The sex of a woman is odious to him, and a man with two thousand a year does not rob nor steal, and he is so uninterested in his fellow-men that he has never an ill word to say about anybody. John Eglinton is a little thing; AE is a soul that few will understand; but Edward is universal—more universal than Yeats, than myself, than any of us, but for lack of a story I shall not be able to give him the immortality in literature which he seeks in sacraments. Shakespeare always took his stories from some other people. Turgenev's portrait of him would be thin, poor, and evasive, and Balzac would give us the portrait of a mere fool. And Edward is not a fool. As I understand him he is a temperament without a rudder; all he has to rely upon is his memory, which isn't a very good one, and so he tumbles from one mistake into another. My God! it is a terrible thing to happen to one, to understand a man better than he understands himself, and to be powerless to help him. If I had been able to undo his faith I should have raised him to the level of Sir Horace Plunkett, but he resisted me; and perhaps he did well, for he came into the world seeing things separately rather than relatively, and had to be a Catholic. He is a born Catholic, and I remembered one of his confessions—a partial confession, but a confession: If you had been brought up as strictly as I have been—I don't think he ever finished the sentence; he often leaves sentences unfinished, as if he fears to think things out. The end of the sentence should run: You would not dare to think independently. He thinks that his severe bringing-up has robbed him of something. But the prisoner ends by liking his prison-house, and on another occasion he said: If it hadn't been for the Church, I don't know what would have happened to me.
My thoughts stopped, and when I awoke I was thinking of Hughes. Perhaps the link between Hughes and Edward was Loughrea Cathedral. He had shown me a photograph of some saints modelled by Hughes. Hughes is away in Paris, I said, modelling saints for Loughrea Cathedral. The last time I saw him was at Walter Osborne's funeral, and Walter's death set me thinking of the woman I had lost, and little by little all she had told me about herself floated up in my mind like something that I had read. I had never seen her father nor the Putney villa in which she had been brought up, but she had made me familiar with both through her pleasant mode of conversation, which was never to describe anything, but just to talk about things, dropping phrases here and there, and the phrases she dropped were so well chosen that the comfort of the villa, its pompous meals and numerous servants, its gardens and greenhouses, with stables and coach-house just behind, are as well known to me as the house that I am living in, better known in a way, for I see it through the eyes of the imagination ... clearer eyes than the physical eyes.
It does not seem to me that any one was ever more conscious of whence she had come and of what she had been; she seemed to be able to see herself as a child again, and to describe her childhood with her brother (they were nearly the same age) in the villa and in the villa's garden. I seemed to see them always as two rather staid children who were being constantly dressed by diligent nurses and taken out for long drives in the family carriage. They did not like these drives and used to hide in the garden; but their governess was sent to fetch them, and they were brought back. Her father did not like to have the horses kept waiting, and one day as Stella stood with him in the passage, she saw her mother come out of her bedroom beautifully dressed. Her father whispered something in his wife's ear, and he followed her into her bedroom. Stella remembered how the door closed behind them. In my telling, the incident seems to lose some of its point, but in Stella's relation it seemed to put her father and his wife before me and so clearly that I could not help asking her what answer her father would make were she to tell him that she had a lover. A smile hovered in her grave face. He would look embarrassed, she said, and wonder why I should have told him such a thing, and then I think he would go to the greenhouse, and when he returned he would talk to me about something quite different. I don't think that Stella ever told me about the people that came to their house, but people must have come to it, and as an example of how a few words can convey an environment I will quote her: I always wanted to talk about Rossetti, she said, and these seven words seem to me to tell better than any description the life of a girl living with a formal father in a Putney villa, longing for something, not knowing exactly what, and anxious to get away from home.... I think she told me she was eighteen or nineteen and had started painting before she met Florence at the house of one of her father's friends; a somewhat sore point this meeting was, for Florence was looked upon by Stella's father as something of a Bohemian. She was a painter, and knew all the Art classes and the fees that had to be paid, and led Stella into the world of studios and models and girl friends. She knew how to find studios and could plan out a journey abroad. Stella's imagination was captured, and even if her father had tried to offer opposition to her leaving home he could not have prevented her, for she was an heiress (her mother was dead and had left her a considerable income); but he did not try, and the two girls set up house together in Chelsea; they travelled in Italy and Spain; they had a cottage in the country; they painted pictures and exhibited their pictures in the same exhibitions; they gave dances in their studios and were attracted by this young man and the other; but Stella did not give herself to any one, because, as she admitted to me, she was afraid that a lover would interrupt the devotion which she intended to give to Art. But life is forever casting itself into new shapes and forms, and no sooner had she begun to express herself in Art than she met me. I was about to go to Ireland to preach a new gospel, and must have seemed a very impulsive and fantastic person to her, but were not impulsiveness and fantasy just the qualities that would appeal to her? And were not gravity and good sense the qualities that would appeal to me, determined as I was then to indulge myself in a little madness?
I could not have chosen a saner companion than Stella; my instinct had led me to her; but because one man's instinct is a little more clear than another's, it does not follow that he has called reason to his aid. It must be remembered always that the art of painting is as inveterate in me as the art of writing, and that I am never altogether myself when far away from the smell of oil paint. Stella could talk to one about painting, and all through that wonderful summer described in Salve our talk flowed on as delightfully as a breeze in Maytime, and as irresponsible, flashing thoughts going by and avowals perfumed with memories. Only in her garden did conversation fail us, for in her garden Stella could think only of her flowers, and it seemed an indiscretion to follow her as she went through the twilight gathering dead blooms or freeing plants from noxious insects. But she would have had me follow her, and I think was always a little grieved that I wasn't as interested in her garden as I was in her painting; and my absent-mindedness when I followed her often vexed her and my mistakes distressed her.
You are interested, she said, only in what I say about flowers and not in the flowers themselves. You like to hear me tell about Miss —— whose business in life is to grow carnations, because you already see her, dimly, perhaps, but still you see her in a story. Forget her and look at this Miss Shifner!
Yes, it is beautiful, but we can only admire the flowers that we notice when we are children, I answered. Dahlias, china roses, red and yellow tulips, tawny wallflowers, purple pansies, are never long out of my thoughts, and all the wonderful varieties of the iris, the beautiful blue satin and the cream, some shining like porcelain, even the common iris that grows about the moat.
But there were carnations in your mother's garden?
Yes, and I remember seeing them being tied with bass. But what did you say yesterday about carnations? That they were the—
She laughed and would not tell me, and when the twilight stooped over the high trees and the bats flitted and the garden was silent except when a fish leaped, I begged her to come away to the wild growths that I loved better than the flowers.
But the mallow and willow-weed are the only two that you recognise. How many times have I told you the difference between self-heal and tufted vetch?
I like cow parsley and wild hyacinths and—
You have forgotten the name. As well speak of a woman that you loved but whose name you had forgotten.
Well, if I have, I love trees better than you do, Stella. You pass under a fir unstirred by the mystery of its branches, and I wonder at you, for I am a tree worshipper, even as my ancestors, and am moved as they were by the dizzy height of a great silver fir. You like to paint trees, and I should like to paint flowers if I could paint; there we are set forth, you and I.
I have told in Salve that in Rathfarnham she found many motives for painting; the shape of the land and the spire above the straggling village appealed to me, but she was not altogether herself in these pictures. She would have liked the village away, for man and his dwellings did not form part of her conception of a landscape; large trees and a flight of clouds above the trees were her selection, and the almost unconscious life of kine wandering or sheep seeking the shelter of a tree.
Stella was a good walker, and we followed the long road leading from Rathfarnham up the hills, stopping to admire the long plain which we could see through the comely trees shooting out of the shelving hillside.
If I have beguiled you into a country where there are no artists and few men of letters, you can't say that I have not shown you comely trees. And now if you can walk two miles farther up this steep road I will show you a lovely prospect.
And I enjoyed her grave admiration of the old Queen Anne dwelling-house, its rough masonry, the yew hedges, the path along the hillside leading to the Druid altar and the coast-line sweeping in beautiful curves, but she did not like to hear me say that the drawing of the shore reminded her of Corot.
It is a sad affectation, she said, to speak of Nature reminding one of pictures.
Well, the outlines of Howth are beautiful, I answered, and the haze is incomparable. I should like to have spoken about a piece of sculpture, but for your sake, Stella, I refrain.
She was interested in things rather than ideas, and I remember her saying to me that things interest us only because we know that they are always slipping from us. A strange thing for a woman to say to her lover. She noticed all the changes of the seasons and loved them, and taught me to love them. She brought a lamb back from Rathfarnham, a poor forlorn thing that had run bleating so pitifully across the windy field that she had asked the shepherd where the ewe was, and he had answered that she had been killed overnight by a golf-ball. The lamb will be dead before morning, he added. And it was that March that the donkey produced a foal, a poor ragged thing that did not look as if it ever could be larger than a goat, but the donkey loved her foal.
Do you know the names of those two birds flying up and down the river?
They look to me like two large wrens with white waistcoats.
They are water-ouzels, she said.
The birds flew with rapid strokes of the wings, like kingfishers, alighting constantly on the river, on large mossy stones, and though we saw them plunge into the water, it was not to swim, but to run along the bottom in search of worms.
But do worms live under water?
The rooks were building, and a little while after a great scuffling was heard in one of the chimneys and a young jackdaw came down and soon became tamer than any bird I had ever seen, tamer than a parrot, and at the end of May the corncrake called from the meadow that summer had come again, and the kine wandered in deeper and deeper and deeper herbage. The days seemed never to end, and looking through the branches of the chestnut in which the fruit had not begun to show, we caught sight of a strange spectacle. Stella said, A lunar rainbow, and I wondered, never having heard of or seen such a thing before.
I shall never forget that rainbow, Stella, and am glad that we saw it together.
In every love story lovers reprove each other for lack of affection, and Stella had often sent me angry letters which caused me many heart-burnings and brought me out to her; in the garden there were reconciliations, we picked up the thread again, and the summer had passed before the reason of these quarrels became clear to me. One September evening Stella said she would accompany me to the gate, and we had not gone very far before I began to notice that she was quarrelling with me. She spoke of the loneliness of the Moat House, and I had answered that she had not been alone two evenings that week. She admitted my devotion. And if you admit that there has been no neglect—
She would not tell me, but there was something she was not satisfied with, and before we reached the end of the avenue she said, I don't think I can tell you. But on being pressed she said:
Well, you don't make love to me often enough.
And full of apologies I answered, Let me go back.
No, I can't have you back now, not after having spoken like that.
But she yielded to my invitation, and we returned to the house, and next morning I went back to Dublin a little dazed, a little shaken.
A few days after she went away to Italy to spend the winter and wrote me long letters, interesting me in herself, in the villagers, in the walks and the things that she saw in her walks, setting me sighing that she was away from me, or that I was not with her. And going to the window I would stand for a long time watching the hawthorns in their bleak wintry discontent, thinking how the sunlight fell into the Italian gardens, and caught the corner of the ruin she was sketching; and I let my fancy stray for a time unchecked. It would be wonderful to be in Italy with her, but—
I turned from the window suspicious, for there was a feeling at the back of my mind that with her return an anxiety would come into my life that I would willingly be without. She had told me she had refrained from a lover because she wished to keep all herself for her painting, and now she had taken to herself a lover. She was twenty years younger than I was, and at forty-six or thereabouts one begins to feel that one's time for love is over; one is consultant rather than practitioner. But it was impossible to dismiss the subject with a jest, and I found myself face to face with the question—If these twenty years were removed, would things be different? It seemed to me that the difficulty that had arisen would have been the same earlier in my life as it was now, and returning to the window I watched the hawthorns blowing under the cold grey Dublin sky.
The problem is set, I said, for the married, and every couple has to solve it in one way or another, but they have to solve it; they have to come to terms with love, especially the man, for whom it is a question of life and death. But how do they come to terms? And I thought of the different married people I knew. Which would be most likely to advise me—the man or the woman? It would be no use to seek advice; every case is different, I said. If anybody were to advise me it would be the man, for the problem is not so difficult for a woman. She can escape from love more easily than her lover or her husband; she can plead, and her many pleadings were considered, one by one, and how in married life the solution that seems to lovers so difficult is solved by marriage itself, by propinquity. But not always, not always. The question is one of extraordinary interest and importance; more marriages come to shipwreck, I am convinced, on this very question than upon any other. In the divorce cases published we read of incompatibility of temper and lack of mutual tastes, mere euphemisms that deceive nobody. The image of a shipwreck rose up in me naturally. She will return, and like a ship our love for each other will be beaten on these rocks and broken. We shall not be able to get out to sea. She will return, and when she returns her temperament will have to be adjusted to mine, else she will lose me altogether, for men have died of love, though Shakespeare says they haven't. Manet and Daudet—both died of love; and the somewhat absurd spectacle of a lover waiting for his mistress to return, and yet dreading her returning, was constantly before me.
It often seemed to me that it was my own weakness that created our embarrassment. A stronger man would have been able to find a way out, but I am not one that can shape and mould another according to my desire; and when she returned from Italy I found myself more helpless than ever, and I remember, and with shame, how, to avoid being alone with her, I would run down the entire length of a train, avoiding the empty carriages, crying Not here, not here! at last opening the door of one occupied by three or four people, who all looked as if they were bound for a long journey. I remember, too, how about this time I came with friends to see Stella, whether by accident or design, frankly I know not; I only know that I brought many friends to see her, thinking they would interest her.
If you don't care to come to see me without a chaperon, I would rather you didn't come at all, she said, humiliating me very deeply.
It seemed to me, I answered, blushing, that you would like to see ——, and I mentioned the name of the man who had accompanied me.
If I am cross sometimes it is because I don't see enough of you.
It seems to me that it was then that the resolve hardened in my heart to become her friend ... if she would allow me to become her friend. But in what words should I frame my request and my apology? All the time our life was becoming less amiable, until one evening I nipped the quarrel that was beginning, stopping suddenly at the end of the avenue.
It is better that we should understand each other. The plain truth is that I must cease to be your lover unless my life is to be sacrificed.
Cease to be my lover!
That is impossible, but a change comes into every love story.
The explanation stuttered on. I remember her saying: I don't wish you to sacrifice your life. I have forgotten the end of her sentence. She drew her hand suddenly across her eyes. I will conquer this obsession.
A man would have whined and cried and besought and worried his mistress out of her wits. Women behave better than we; only once did her feelings overcome her. She spoke to me of the deception that life is. Again we were standing by the gate at the end of the chestnut avenue, and I remembered her telling me how a few years ago life had seemed to hold out its hands to her; her painting and her youth created her enjoyment.
But now life seems to have shrivelled up, she said; only a little dust is left.
Nothing is changed, so far as you and I are concerned. We see each other just the same.
I am no more to you than any other woman.
She went away again to Italy to paint and returned to Ireland, and one day she came to see me, and remained talking for an hour. I have no memory of what we said to each other, but a very clear memory of our walk through Dublin over Carlisle Bridge and along the quays. I had accompanied her as far as the Phoenix Park gates, and at the corner of the Conyngham Road, just as I was bidding her goodbye, she said:
I want to ask your advice on a matter of importance to me.
And to me, for what is important to you is equally important to me.
I am thinking, she said, of being married.
At the news it seems to me that I was unduly elated and tried to assume the interest that a friend should.

TELEGRAM (JOIN): t.me/megaspublic
(EVERY MODEL IS 18+ AND HAS GIVEN CONSENT)
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Everything in my inventory is up for trade. The most valuable items are listed here, the rest you can find in My Inventory

Feel free to Add Me or even better send a Trade Offer. Open for any suggestions: upgrades, downgrades / knives, gloves, skins / stickers, patterns, floats.

All Buyouts are listed in cash value.

KNIVES

★ Butterfly Knife Freehand FN #1, B/O: $2500

★ Butterfly Knife Ultraviolet FT, B/O: $822

★ Butterfly Knife Scorched FT, B/O: $616

⎯

★ Bayonet Tiger Tooth MW #1, B/O: $1300

★ Bayonet Autotronic FN, B/O: $1050

★ Bayonet Tiger Tooth MW, B/O: $629

★ Bayonet Bright Water FT, B/O: $326

★ Bayonet Safari Mesh BS, B/O: $233

⎯

★ Karambit Lore FT, B/O: $1110

★ Karambit Damascus Steel FT, B/O: $840

★ Karambit Freehand MW, B/O: $784

★ Karambit Bright Water MW, B/O: $759

⎯

★ M9 Bayonet Fade FN, B/O: $1801

★ M9 Bayonet Fade FN, B/O: $1801

★ M9 Bayonet Damascus Steel FN, B/O: $751

⎯

★ Nomad Knife Fade FN, B/O: $1156

★ Nomad Knife Slaughter MW, B/O: $544

★ Nomad Knife Blue Steel WW, B/O: $318

⎯

★ Flip Knife Marble Fade FN, B/O: $646

★ Flip Knife Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $574

★ Flip Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 1) MW, B/O: $552

★ Flip Knife Case Hardened FT, B/O: $257

★ Flip Knife Freehand FT, B/O: $255

★ StatTrak™ Flip Knife Bright Water FN, B/O: $287

⎯

★ Huntsman Knife Lore FN, B/O: $461

★ Huntsman Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $436

★ Huntsman Knife Doppler (Phase 3) FN, B/O: $353

★ Huntsman Knife Autotronic FT, B/O: $212

★ Huntsman Knife Bright Water FT, B/O: $129

★ Huntsman Knife Forest DDPAT MW, B/O: $129

★ Huntsman Knife Forest DDPAT BS, B/O: $123

★ StatTrak™ Huntsman Knife Rust Coat BS, B/O: $127

⎯

★ Bowie Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 2) FN, B/O: $375

★ Bowie Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 1) FN, B/O: $363

★ Bowie Knife Tiger Tooth FN, B/O: $269

★ Bowie Knife Crimson Web WW, B/O: $192

★ Bowie Knife Bright Water FN, B/O: $159

★ Bowie Knife Ultraviolet FT, B/O: $126

⎯

★ Stiletto Knife Slaughter FN, B/O: $616

★ Stiletto Knife Crimson Web FT, B/O: $412

★ StatTrak™ Stiletto Knife Night Stripe FT, B/O: $227

⎯

★ Falchion Knife Lore FT, B/O: $214

★ Falchion Knife Autotronic FT, B/O: $192

★ Falchion Knife Scorched WW, B/O: $105

⎯

★ Survival Knife Crimson Web BS, B/O: $216

★ Survival Knife Case Hardened FT, B/O: $198

★ Survival Knife Scorched FT, B/O: $111

⎯

★ Shadow Daggers Fade FN, B/O: $368

★ Shadow Daggers Doppler (Phase 3) FN, B/O: $228

★ Shadow Daggers, B/O: $201

★ Shadow Daggers Damascus Steel FT, B/O: $108

★ Shadow Daggers Ultraviolet FT, B/O: $105

★ Shadow Daggers Black Laminate FT, B/O: $99

★ Shadow Daggers Forest DDPAT FT, B/O: $85

⎯

★ Gut Knife Doppler (Sapphire) MW #1, B/O: $1700

★ Gut Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 1) FN, B/O: $223

★ Gut Knife Marble Fade FN, B/O: $203

★ Gut Knife Doppler (Phase 2) FN, B/O: $191

★ Gut Knife Case Hardened BS, B/O: $127

⎯

★ Navaja Knife Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $199

★ Navaja Knife Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $199

★ Navaja Knife, B/O: $138

★ Navaja Knife Damascus Steel FN, B/O: $111

⎯

★ Classic Knife Urban Masked FT, B/O: $146

★ StatTrak™ Classic Knife Stained BS, B/O: $168

⎯

★ Ursus Knife Doppler (Phase 3) FN, B/O: $476

★ Ursus Knife, B/O: $375

⎯

★ Skeleton Knife, B/O: $1137

★ Talon Knife, B/O: $608

★ Paracord Knife, B/O: $305

★ Survival Knife Forest DDPAT FT, B/O: $97

GLOVES

★ Moto Gloves Transport MW, B/O: $204

★ Moto Gloves Polygon BS, B/O: $142

★ Moto Gloves Blood Pressure BS, B/O: $84

★ Moto Gloves Blood Pressure BS, B/O: $84

★ Moto Gloves 3rd Commando Company BS, B/O: $63

★ Moto Gloves 3rd Commando Company BS, B/O: $63

⎯

★ Specialist Gloves Crimson Kimono WW, B/O: $1215

★ Specialist Gloves Tiger Strike FT, B/O: $672

★ Specialist Gloves Lt. Commander FT, B/O: $305

★ Specialist Gloves Lt. Commander BS, B/O: $140

★ Specialist Gloves Crimson Web BS, B/O: $137

★ Specialist Gloves Buckshot FT, B/O: $75

⎯

★ Driver Gloves Crimson Weave FT, B/O: $359

★ Driver Gloves Imperial Plaid BS, B/O: $229

★ Driver Gloves Overtake BS, B/O: $77

★ Driver Gloves Racing Green FT, B/O: $48

⎯

★ Sport Gloves Omega FT, B/O: $739

★ Sport Gloves Amphibious BS #2, B/O: $733

★ Sport Gloves Arid BS, B/O: $292

⎯

★ Hand Wraps Giraffe MW, B/O: $212

★ Hand Wraps Leather FT, B/O: $160

★ Hand Wraps Desert Shamagh MW, B/O: $101

⎯

★ Broken Fang Gloves Yellow-banded MW, B/O: $185

★ Broken Fang Gloves Needle Point FT, B/O: $67

★ Broken Fang Gloves Needle Point WW, B/O: $59

⎯

★ Hydra Gloves Case Hardened BS, B/O: $65

★ Hydra Gloves Emerald FT, B/O: $65

★ Hydra Gloves Emerald BS, B/O: $62

WEAPONS

AK-47 Case Hardened BS, B/O: $130

AK-47 Bloodsport MW, B/O: $79

AK-47 Fuel Injector BS, B/O: $76

AK-47 Fuel Injector BS, B/O: $76

AK-47 Bloodsport FT, B/O: $70

AK-47 Neon Rider MW, B/O: $60

StatTrak™ AK-47 Aquamarine Revenge FT, B/O: $72

⎯

AWP Fade FN, B/O: $1039

AWP Asiimov FT, B/O: $139

AWP Asiimov FT, B/O: $139

AWP Wildfire MW, B/O: $95

AWP BOOM MW, B/O: $93

AWP BOOM MW, B/O: $93

AWP Duality FN, B/O: $81

AWP Asiimov BS, B/O: $79

AWP Asiimov BS, B/O: $79

AWP Chromatic Aberration FN, B/O: $60

StatTrak™ AWP Hyper Beast FT, B/O: $68

StatTrak™ AWP Hyper Beast FT, B/O: $68

StatTrak™ AWP Electric Hive FT, B/O: $55

⎯

Desert Eagle Blaze FN, B/O: $623

Desert Eagle Emerald Jörmungandr FN, B/O: $241

Desert Eagle Cobalt Disruption FN, B/O: $81

Desert Eagle Cobalt Disruption FN, B/O: $81

Desert Eagle Cobalt Disruption FN, B/O: $81

Desert Eagle Printstream FT, B/O: $54

⎯

M4A1-S Blue Phosphor FN, B/O: $434

StatTrak™ M4A1-S Bright Water MW, B/O: $55

⎯

M4A4 Poseidon FN, B/O: $1465

M4A4 Asiimov BS, B/O: $55

M4A4 Hellfire MW, B/O: $50

⎯

USP-S Kill Confirmed MW, B/O: $72

USP-S Printstream FT, B/O: $69

StatTrak™ USP-S Kill Confirmed FT, B/O: $139

⎯

AUG Flame Jörmungandr FN, B/O: $234

P90 Run and Hide FT, B/O: $147

Five-SeveN Candy Apple FN, B/O: $61

Trade Offer Link - Steam Profile Link - My Inventory

Knives - Bowie Knife, Butterfly Knife, Falchion Knife, Flip Knife, Gut Knife, Huntsman Knife, M9 Bayonet, Bayonet, Karambit, Shadow Daggers, Stiletto Knife, Ursus Knife, Navaja Knife, Talon Knife, Classic Knife, Paracord Knife, Survival Knife, Nomad Knife, Skeleton Knife, Patterns - Gamma Doppler, Doppler (Phase 1, Phase 2, Phase 3, Phase 4, Black Pearl, Sapphire, Ruby, Emerald), Crimson Web, Lore, Fade, Ultraviolet, Night, Marble Fade (Fire & Ice, Fake FI), Case Hardened (Blue Gem), Autotronic, Slaughter, Black Laminate, Tiger Tooth, Boreal Forest, Scorched, Blue Steel, Vanilla, Damascus Steel, Forest DDPAT, Urban Masked, Freehand, Stained, Bright Water, Safari Mesh, Rust Coat, Gloves - Bloodhound Gloves (Charred, Snakebite, Guerrilla, Bronzed), Driver Gloves (Snow Leopard, King Snake, Crimson Weave, Imperial Plaid, Black Tie, Lunar Weave, Diamondback, Rezan the Red, Overtake, Queen Jaguar, Convoy, Racing Green), Hand Wraps (Cobalt Skulls, CAUTION!, Overprint, Slaughter, Leather, Giraffe, Badlands, Spruce DDPAT, Arboreal, Constrictor, Desert Shamagh, Duct Tape), Moto Gloves (Spearmint, POW!, Cool Mint, Smoke Out, Finish Line, Polygon, Blood Pressure, Turtle, Boom!, Eclipse, 3rd Commando Company, Transport), Specialist Gloves (Crimson Kimono, Tiger Strike, Emerald Web, Field Agent, Marble Fade, Fade, Foundation, Lt. Commander, Crimson Web, Mogul, Forest DDPAT, Buckshot), Sport Gloves (Pandora's Box, Superconductor, Hedge Maze, Vice, Amphibious, Slingshot, Omega, Arid, Big Game, Nocts, Scarlet Shamagh, Bronze Morph), Hydra Gloves (Case Hardened, Emerald, Rattler, Mangrove), Broken Fang Gloves (Jade, Yellow-banded, Unhinged, Needle Point), Pistols - P2000 (Wicked Sick, Ocean Foam, Fire Element, Amber Fade, Corticera, Chainmail, Imperial Dragon, Obsidian, Scorpion, Handgun, Acid Etched), USP-S (Printstream, Kill Confirmed, Whiteout, Road Rash, Owergrowth, The Traitor, Neo-Noir, Dark Water, Orion, Blueprint, Stainless, Caiman, Serum, Monster Mashup, Royal Blue, Ancient Visions, Cortex, Orange Anolis, Ticket To Hell, Black Lotus, Cyrex, Check Engine, Guardian, Purple DDPAT, Torque, Blood Tiger, Flashback, Business Class, Pathfinder, Para Green), Lead Conduit, Glock-18 (Umbral Rabbit, Fade, Candy Apple, Bullet Queen, Synth Leaf, Neo-Noir, Nuclear Garden, Dragon Tatto, Reactor, Pink DDPAT, Twilight Galaxy, Sand Dune, Groundwater, Blue Fissure, Snack Attack, Water Elemental, Brass, Wasteland Rebel, Vogue, Franklin, Royal Legion, Gamma Doppler, Weasel, Steel Disruption, Ironwork, Grinder, High Beam, Moonrise, Oxide Blaze, Bunsen Burner, Clear Polymer, Bunsen Burner, Night), P250 (Re.built, Nuclear Threat, Modern Hunter, Splash, Whiteout, Vino Primo, Mehndi, Asiimov, Visions, Undertow, Cartel, See Ya Later, Gunsmoke, Splash, Digital Architect, Muertos, Red Rock, Bengal Tiger, Crimson Kimono, Wingshot, Metallic DDPAT, Hive, Dark Filigree, Mint Kimono), Five-Seven (Neon Kimono, Berries And Cherries, Fall Hazard, Crimson Blossom, Hyper Beast, Nitro, Fairy Tale, Case Hardened, Copper Galaxy, Angry Mob, Monkey Business, Fowl Play, Anodized Gunmetal, Hot Shot, Retrobution, Boost Protocol), CZ75-Auto (Chalice, Crimson Web, Emerald Quartz, The Fuschia is Now, Nitro, Xiangliu, Yellow Jacket, Victoria, Poison Dart, Syndicate, Eco, Hexane, Pole, Tigris), Tec-9 (Rebel, Terrace, Nuclear Threat, Hades, Rust Leaf, Decimator, Blast From, Orange Murano, Toxic, Fuel Injector, Remote Control, Bamboo Forest, Isaac, Avalanche, Brother, Re-Entry, Blue Titanium, Bamboozle), R8 Revolver (Banana Cannon, Fade, Blaze, Crimson Web, Liama Cannon, Crazy 8, Reboot, Canal Spray, Night, Amber Fade), Desert Eagle (Blaze, Hand Cannon, Fennec Fox, Sunset Storm, Emerald Jörmungandr, Pilot, Hypnotic, Golden Koi, Printstream, Cobalt Disruption, Code Red, Ocean Drive, Midnight Storm, Kumicho Dragon, Crimson Web, Heirloom, Night Heist, Mecha Industries, Night, Conspiracy, Trigger Discipline, Naga, Directive, Light Rail), Dual Berettas (Flora Carnivora, Duelist, Cobra Strike, Black Limba, Emerald, Hemoglobin, Twin Turbo, Marina, Melondrama, Pyre, Retribution, Briar, Dezastre, Royal Consorts, Urban Shock, Dualing Dragons, Panther, Balance), Rifles - Galil (Aqua Terrace, Winter Forest, Chatterbox, Sugar Rush, Pheonix Blacklight, CAUTION!, Orange DDPAT, Cerberus, Dusk Ruins, Eco, Chromatic Aberration, Stone Cold, Tuxedo, Sandstorm, Shattered, Urban Rubble, Rocket Pop, Kami, Crimson Tsunami, Connexion), SCAR-20 (Fragments, Brass, Cyrex, Palm, Splash Jam, Cardiac, Emerald, Crimson Web, Magna Carta, Stone Mosaico, Bloodsport, Enforcer), AWP (Duality, Gungnir, Dragon Lore, Prince, Medusa, Desert Hydra, Fade, Lightning Strike, Oni Taiji, Silk Tiger, Graphite, Chromatic Aberration, Asiimov, Snake Camo, Boom, Containment Breach, Wildfire, Redline, Electric Hive, Hyper Beast, Neo-Noir, Man-o'-war, Pink DDPAT, Corticera, Sun in Leo, Elite Build, Fever Dream, Atheris, Mortis, PAW, Exoskeleton, Worm God, POP AWP, Phobos, Acheron, Pit Viper, Capillary, Safari Mesh), AK-47 (Head Shot, Wild Lotus, Gold Arabesque, X-Ray, Fire Serpent, Hydroponic, Panthera Onca, Case Hardened, Vulcan, Jet Set, Fuel Injector, Bloodsport, Nightwish, First Class, Neon Rider, Asiimov, Red Laminate, Aquamarine Revenge, The Empress, Wasteland Rebel, Jaguar, Black Laminate, Leet Museo, Neon Revolution, Redline, Frontside Misty, Predator, Legion of Anubis, Point Disarray, Orbit Mk01, Blue Laminate, Green Laminate, Emerald Pinstripe, Cartel, Phantom Disruptor, Jungle Spray, Safety Net, Rat Rod, Baroque Purple, Slate, Elite Build, Uncharted, Safari Mesh), FAMAS (Sundown, Prime Conspiracy, Afterimage, Commemoration, Dark Water, Spitfire, Pulse, Eye of Athena, Meltdown, Rapid Eye Move, Roll Cage, Styx, Mecha Industrie, Djinn, ZX Spectron, Valence, Neural Net, Night Borre, Hexne), M4A4 (Temukau, Howl, Poseidon, Asiimov, Daybreak, Hellfire, Zirka, Red DDPAT, Radiation Hazard, Modern Hunter, The Emperor, The Coalition, Bullet Rain, Cyber Security, X-Ray, Dark Blossom, Buzz Kill, In Living Color, Neo-Noir, Desolate Space, 龍王 (Dragon King), Royal Paladin, The Battlestar, Global Offensive, Tooth Fairy, Desert-Strike, Griffin, Evil Daimyo, Spider Lily, Converter), M4A1-S (Emphorosaur-S, Welcome to the Jungle, Imminent Danger, Knight, Hot Rod, Icarus Fell, Blue Phosphor, Printstream, Master Piece, Dark Water, Golden Coil, Bright Water, Player Two, Atomic Alloy, Guardian, Chantico's Fire, Hyper Beast, Mecha Industries, Cyrex, Control Panel, Moss Quartz, Nightmare, Decimator, Leaded Glass, Basilisk, Blood Tiger, Briefing, Night Terror, Nitro, VariCamo, Flashback), SG 553 (Cyberforce, Hazard Pay, Bulldozer, Integrale, Dragon Tech, Ultraviolet, Colony IV, Hypnotic, Cyrex, Candy Apple, Barricade, Pulse), SSG 08 (Death Strike, Sea Calico, Blood in the Water, Orange Filigree, Dragonfire, Big Iron, Bloodshot, Detour, Turbo Peek, Red Stone), AUG (Akihabara Accept, Flame Jörmungandr, Hot Rod, Midnight Lily, Sand Storm, Carved Jade, Wings, Anodized Navy, Death by Puppy, Torque, Bengal Tiger, Chameleon, Fleet Flock, Random Access, Momentum, Syd Mead, Stymphalian, Arctic Wolf, Aristocrat, Navy Murano), G3SG1 (Chronos, Violet Murano, Flux, Demeter, Orange Kimono, The Executioner, Green Apple, Arctic Polar Camo, Contractor), SMGs - P90 (Neoqueen, Astral Jörmungandr, Run and Hide, Emerald Dragon, Cold Blooded, Death by Kitty, Baroque Red, Vent Rush, Blind Spot, Asiimov, Trigon, Sunset Lily, Death Grip, Leather, Nostalgia, Fallout Warning, Tiger Pit, Schermatic, Virus, Shapewood, Glacier Mesh, Shallow Grave, Chopper, Desert Warfare), MAC-10 (Sakkaku, Hot Snakes, Copper Borre, Red Filigree, Gold Brick, Graven, Case Hardened, Stalker, Amber Fade, Neon Rider, Tatter, Curse, Propaganda, Nuclear Garden, Disco Tech, Toybox, Heat, Indigo), UMP-45 (Wild Child, Fade, Blaze, Day Lily, Minotaur's Labyrinth, Crime Scene, Caramel, Bone Pile, Momentum, Primal Saber), MP7 (Teal Blossom, Fade, Nemesis, Whiteout, Asterion, Bloosport, Abyssal Apparition, Full Stop, Special Delivery, Neon Ply, Asterion, Ocean Foam, Powercore, Scorched, Impire), PP-Bizon (Modern Hunter, Rust Coat, Forest Leaves, Antique, High Roller, Blue Streak, Seabird, Judgement of Anubis, Bamboo Print, Embargo, Chemical Green, Coblat Halftone, Fuel Rod, Photic Zone, Irradiated Alert, Carbon Fiber), MP9 (Featherweight, Wild Lily, Pandora's Box, Stained Glass, Bulldozer, Dark Age, Hot Rod, Hypnotic, Hydra, Rose Iron, Music Box, Setting Sun, Food Chain, Airlock, Mount Fuji, Starlight Protector, Ruby Poison Dart, Deadly Poison), MP5-SD (Liquidation, Oxide Oasis, Phosphor, Nitro, Agent, Autumn Twilly), Shotguns, Machineguns - Sawed-Off (Kiss♥Love, First Class, Orange DDPAT, Rust Coat, The Kraken, Devourer, Mosaico, Wasteland Princess, Bamboo Shadow, Copper, Serenity, Limelight, Apocalypto), XM1014 (Frost Borre, Ancient Lore, Red Leather, Elegant Vines, Banana Leaf, Jungle, Urban Perforated, Grassland, Blaze Orange, Heaven Guard, VariCamo Blue, Entombed, XOXO, Seasons, Tranquility, Bone Machine, Incinegator, Teclu Burner, Black Tie, Zombie Offensive, Watchdog), Nova (Baroque Orange, Hyper Beast, Green Apple, Antique, Modern Hunter, Walnut, Forest Leaves, Graphite, Blaze Orange, Rising Skull, Tempest, Bloomstick, Interlock, Quick Sand, Moon in Libra, Clean Polymer, Red Quartz, Toy Soldier), MAG-7 (Insomnia, Cinqueda, Counter Terrace, Prism Terrace, Memento, Chainmail, Hazard, Justice, Bulldozer, Silver, Core Breach, Firestarter, Praetorian, Heat, Hard Water, Monster Call, BI83 Spectrum, SWAG-7), M249 (Humidor, Shipping Forecast, Blizzard Marbleized, Downtown, Jungle DDPAT, Nebula Crusader, Impact Drill, Emerald Poison Dart), Negev (Mjölnir, Anodized Navy, Palm, Power Loader, Bratatat, CaliCamo, Phoenix Stencil, Infrastructure, Boroque Sand), Wear - Factory New (FN), Minimal Wear (MW), Field-Tested (FT), Well-Worn (WW), Battle-Scarred (BS), Stickers Holo/Foil/Gold - Katowice 2014, Krakow 2017, Howling Dawn, Katowice 2015, Crown, London 2018, Cologne 2014, Boston 2018, Atlanta 2017, Cluj-Napoca 2015, DreamHack 2014, King on the Field, Harp of War, Winged Difuser, Cologne 2016, Cologne 2015, MLG Columbus 2016, Katowice 2019, Berlin 2019, RMR 2020, Stockholm 2021, Antwerp 2022, Swag Foil, Flammable foil, Others - Souvenirs, Agents, Pins, Passes, Gifts, Music Kits, Cases, Keys, Capsules, Packages, Patches

Some items on the list may no longer be available or are still locked, visit My Inventory for more details.

Send a Trade Offer for fastest response. I consider all offers.

Add me for discuss if there is a serious offer that needs to be discussed.

———✧《ConcordiaCraft.aternos.me》✧———
Welcome to ConcordiaCraft! A Survival server with lots of new features that will upgrade and give you the best survival experience to have with many other players on the server.
———★《Features》★——— 【:rock:】1.17.1! Version 1.17.1 running on the server!
【 :books: 】40+ Custom Enchants! New enchants to spice up your survival!
【 :pig: 】Huge community! Many players plays on this server! come and join them!
【:moneybag:】Free Money! Claim Your Rewards Everyday Which Includes Server’s Balance!
【:dollar:】Kill players for money!
【:house:】Set Homes! Set Your Home To Teleport There Anytime! (3)
【:sauropod:】Cracked! (No Premium) Everyone can join!
【:raised_hand:】Claims! Protect Your Base From Others!
【:money_with_wings:】Server Economy! Everything Runs With /Bal!
【:coin:】Auction House! Trade with others players for special items!
【:handshake:】Shop! Buy/Sell Things For Money!
【:door:】Warps! Lot Of Places To Visit!
【:woman_police_officer:】Login Security! No One Can Access To Your Account!
【:twisted_rightwards_arrows:】Random Teleportation! Teleport To A Random Location Using /Rtp or /wild
【:infinity:】Basic Commands ➜ Tpa To Players! ➜ Pay Other Players!
———★《Discord Features》★———
【:newspaper:】Announcements/News Get Alerted If The Server Has Any New Updates! 【:rotating_light:】Events Get Ping If The Server Has Any Upcoming Events! 【:speech_balloon:】Discord SRV Connect With Ingame players via Discord!
———✧《Info 》✧——— ➜ Ip ConcordiaCraft.aternos.me:42287 ➜ Cracked On ➜ Whitelist Off (Connect via discord)
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Ik heb altijd uhm, een bepaalde gereserveerdheid gekend niet wetende wat de sociale norm is of wellicht beter geformuleerd, ik, in persoonlijke omstandigheden vind het vaak moeilijk in een groep aangezien ik uhm, in één op één situatieschetsen me beter kan toeleggen of de aandacht vestigen richting één persoon, een totaal genuanceerd beeld probeer te bewerkstelligen vooraleer eens ik een besluit zou nemen er een wereldreis mee te kunnen maken. Want iemand waar je zo'n reis mee maakt daar wil je je leven voor wagen en wil je op kunnen bouwen. Daar kunnen inspringen waar diegene iets nodig heeft ongeacht of je het er mee eens bent of niet. Andersom is het ook prettig als je iemand kent waar je ongeacht, een mening, 24/24 bij aan mag kloppen. Waar je ongevraagd op de bank kunt gaan liggen en in slaap mag vallen al ben je net binnengekomen. Fred is wat dat betreft een briljant, een gentleman bovendien. Én, zoals ik met hem besprak, ook een Autist. Vandaar waarschijnlijk ook, het momentum dat ik hem voor het eerst zag. Ergens in 2005. Ik ging naar mijn werk en nog voordat ik kantoor binnenstapte zag ik door het raam een meneer staan met grijze haren, een beetje verfromfraaid, een niet al te duur zwart kostuum zoals dat in de taxiwereld wel gewoontjes is, een rood brilletje. Ik moest direct denken aan het fenomeen van een verstrooide professor zoals je ze in de films wel eens tegen bent gekomen of zoals ze op televisie of op YouTube te vinden zijn bij een programma als De universiteit van Nederland. Een programma die hij een ik altijd interessant vinden omdat, niet alleen om de kennis die gebracht wordt maar waarschijnlijk ook een beetje van de bevlogenheid die ermee gepaard gaat. De andere gedachte die destijds volgde op die eerste waarneming toen ik Fred zag staan was: dat word mijn vriend en zo werd hij een eerste vriendschap die ik over heb gehouden aan mijn lange schoolcarrière en versnipperde werk c.v. We hebben het er regelmatig over gehad en ook hij herkend wel iets in de argumentatie van er ook één zijn.
De andere reden dat ik niet zo gedei in te drukke groepen. Ik ben niet zo heel snel en soms moet ik me ook erg inspannen om te horen wat iemand zegt, begrijp ik het nu goed? In call center achtige omgeving in het diepe staren me af te sluiten van het geroezemoes de klant willen schatten op waarde liefst dan ook drie hoog bij een raam te staan naast de rustgevende bomen ernaast vredig en ongedurig erin te kunnen turen. In eerste instantie de duurbetaalde ergonomische tafels in hoogte te kunnen verstrekken de rug te ontlasten mij werd het verboden kwam van hogerhand, mijn argumenten de tafels te bekrachtigen waarvoor ze waren ontworpen ingetogen omvergeworpen. In gods naam wat was de achterliggende gedachte? Een assessment of verkeerde zuinigheid? Zoals ik eerder al had geschreven ben ik gaandeweg wel te bespeuren ervoor geboren in het kistje van kristal de ogen dichtgeplakt met dientengevolge mijn hele leven een volgorde te begrijpen in achterstand.
Ik liep dankzij de vroeggeboorte altijd broos achter het spel aan, letterlijk niet van voren. Zoveel indrukken met een dynamiek die er altijd aanwezig is. Vaak speelt op de achtergrond ook nog het één en ander gegeven mee waarvan ik zo mijn vermoedens tezamen met mijn zijn heel erg kenmerkend een teruggetrokken observerende ergonomische midwinter overleven beweging in gang zet. Vertrouwen winnen bij jezelf de juiste determinatie te kunnen maken door het uitsluiten van de verkeerde beheerder waar je die wereldreis in een houten bootje niet mee zou kunnen wagen.
Op de LOM school hadden we een voetbalwedstrijd als afscheidsfeest activiteit tegen de leraren. Ik kan me nog herinneren dat, zoals dat bij ongetrainde omstandigheden plaatsvindt, chaos om bal. Ik stond rechtshalf en terwijl echt alles en iedereen zich in een agglomeratie om de val heen bevond stond ik letterlijk aan de rechterkant van het veld rond de middenlijn. Volgens mij was het Bert Bovens die buiten het veld stond en tegen mij zei: ga mee doen wijzend op de schootsvelden in de loopgraven droge grachten kazematten met zienderogen een slagveld rond het doelgebied in schenen schop termen gesproken . Mijn reactie was dat ik rechtshalf stond. Dit specifieke voorbeeld is eigenlijk wel kenmerkend voor degeen die ik ben.
Alleen in een kistje liggen, zijn, wachten op een volgende voedingskanaal moment. Liggen zonder de ogen de kost te kunnen geven richting horende deur klapperende stijlen, op betere tijden in het ongewisse berusten op wat onaangeroerd wellicht nooit komen gaat, maar wist ik toen veel beter? Mals als een gewond dier dat rust, angstig is, doch ook de hoop heeft die elk leven kenmerkt je zuurstof niet de adem een mogelijkheid kan geven tot ingehouden dood veinzen.
Doodgaan is een uniek fenomeen, onnatuurlijk genomen, zoals ik er tegenaan kijk, het overkomt je maar één keer. Je wordt maar éénmaal geboren echter met dien verstande dat elke seconde die voor je ligt mogelijkerwijs kan betekenen, een mooie nieuwe toekomst in het verschiet, een nieuwe kans het beter te willen doen of de traumatische ervaringen overzichtelijk bovengehaald, de copingstrategieën uitgevlakt en omgebogen naar gezindte toepassingen. Of je daarmee het stukje autisme aangemerkt weg kunt sturen betwijfel ik ten zeerste. Ik kan de overlevingsstrategie nuanceren een diskwalificatie meegeven als niet werkend in de meeste gevallen waarbij de maatschappij van jou verwacht dat huisje boompje, boh, beestje, een eenzame onaangename plechtigheid.
Een zijstraat ingelopen komt men bij een doodlopende weg die zegt: Dood ga je eigenlijk nooit althans de meesten van ons. Tenzij je met de defibrillator terug wordt gehaald. Die zijn ergens wel dood geweest. Hen die weten dat ze doodgaan ongeveer 99,99 procent van de bevolking, weten wel dat ze doodgaan maar zijn in de meeste gevallen nog nooit dood geweest. De 0,01 procent overigen hebben waarschijnlijk geen zicht op een eigen zijn besef dus of voor hen doodgaan bestaat? Dan de rest, het gros, het merendeel gaat maar één keer dood. Maar voordat ze doodgaan leven ze nog dus is de dood er nooit ingetreden op bezoek geweest. Eenmaal die laatste adem uitgeblazen weet men niet meer dat men niet meer leeft en is doodgaan aan hen voorbij gegaan want dat kunnen ze niet meer navertellen. Dus zou daar doodgaan niet bestaan. Zie daar een beetje onbeholpen misschien maar doodgaan is absoluut een absurdistisch en onnatuurlijk fenomeen. Terwijl leven ligt in elke seconde ademloos uitgeblazen gestrekt de warme adem hees kunnen voelen het leven in elke seconde meegegeven. Blaas maar tegen de palm van je hand! Voel je dat je leeft?
De specifieke kenmerken waardoor ik gedij in bepaalde rollen en daarbij horende taken en verwachtingspatronen of andere modules van onafgewerkte dictaten bevragen overzicht geven voor de klas te staan een prettig gegeven. Want aldaar wist ik het zo te regelen omdat ik precies wist wat ik nodig had, gaandeweg het eerste half jaar overleefd de review bekeken en toegegeven het volgende docenten jaar in kaart gebracht het consequent kon beargumenteren naar de leerlingen, zo en zo wil ik het hebben samen met jullie te werken ervoor te zorgen dat jullie voldoende kunnen schitteren in de overgang naar het volgende jaar. Het grote verschil met zelf in de klas zitten was dat ik mijn klasgenoten op het mbo en HBO niet kon beïnvloeden stil te zijn mijn aandacht nodig had naar de directe lijn die ik nodig heb, zonder interferentie, met degene die iets vertelt. Op de LTS en LOM school was er in de regel geen stoorzender aangezien daar de docenten ook heel consequent waren in hun benadering, ervoor zorgden dat het stil was een chaos voorkomende. Iets waar mbo en HBO docenten de studenten wat meer laten vieren de discussies een levendiger kleurenpalet mee voerende. Voor de klas geen last van die ene collega waardoor ik erg kon zakken in stress en dientengevolge slapeloze nachten ervaarde. Kinderen, pubers in het bijzonder, zijn mijn specialisme. Door de eigenheid van mijn zijn aldaar de breedste opname kon bewerkstelligen als het een rustige omgeving betrof. Kenmerkend is de anekdote op de mbo waarbij ik een volledige module subliem had gekozen om niet naar de twee uur durende les te gaan, de rest van de dag vrij. Efficiënter was dat semester ervoor te kiezen die dag te slippen te onderstrepen met werken mijn schooljaar een beetje op te kunnen fleuren wat geld binnen te harken. Meestal door bij de Ridder brouwerij de flessen te dirigeren voorlangs de lichtbak te laten passeren de bekende knaller te behoeden voor scheve ogen als die uit elkaar knalde tijdens het afvuren van de Wieckse Witte. Op het einde van de dag gebeurde dat dan wel een paar keer niet onverwachts 's nachts drinkende in mijn dromen van één van de weinige lekkere biersoorten die ik ken ipv ze voor mijn ogen te zien kansrekenen een gemist papiertje in het flesje op de transportband verloren ze 2 meter verder te horen springen mij wakker te laten schrikken. Het was dat semester dat ik het beste resultaat haalde. Tot ongenoegen van de docente die dacht dat ik daar niet meer op school zat. En zo ken ik er nog wel een paar opnemen waarbij het overeenkomstige is de rust die ik nodig heb zonder afleiding me ook weer kan beoordelen er graag innig mee verbonden zijn. De klok rondom een onderwerp belopen er in te zitten vast te willen houden. De dag en nachtopvang kan openen met twee woorden starten om drie uur 's nachts de klok rond geschreven het mij geen moment kan schelen dat het dan dat ambacht is die ik de aandacht schenk erbij kan denken wat een pracht de pijn verzacht niet mee te kunnen doen in een energie slurpende onderkende oorzakelijk verbanddoos waarbij onderweg het nietige argumentatieve gerief van een Indiase feestavond de federale politie al defragmenteren de derdegraads kasten mens per definitie als schuldige ziet. Iets wat in onder andere de westerse wereld ook gebeurt. De onduidelijke informele structuren stichten geld verdienende modellen ten koste van de belasting betalende putjesscheppers. Iets wat makkelijk te zien is op een callcenter vloer. Maar ook in het ambtelijke apparaat met doorgeschoven gelden of tunnelvisie rand wegen zorg gelden wel erg makkelijk overgeheveld. Werkprotocollen die onaangeroerd een blogger neer laten vallen. Dood is de influencer die de verantwoordelijkheid niet kende hoe zijn brein zou reageren uitgeschakeld te worden door opgenomen stoffen die voor het eerst in zijn lichaam zorgden voor monologen op straat hem met de juiste methodiek geschapen op onderzoek gebaseerde voorschriften die jongen onder controle was gekregen met een powernet of rubberen kogels afgevuurd het gevaar te laten passeren de onjuiste informatie niet te verpachten aan de slagvaardig te boven gekomen gunning. Kort gezegd het zijn vaak niet de juiste besluiten die worden genomen. Geboren in een sociale stratificatie laag zul je geen kans maken met de koningin te trouwen. Of je moet dan toevallig weer in Thailand verkeren.
Als iets maar één keer in je leven voorkomt waar je in de regel niet eens voor kiest dan kan men niet spreken over "natuurlijk" gedrag vandaar dat ik zeg: doodgaan daar kunnen we ons vooralsnog niet van distantiëren,nog nooit meegemaakt en of het dan bestaat is maar zeer de vraag reist richting eeuwig leven.
Zo overdacht zou ik het liefst willen leven tot in oneindigheid met elke dag iets van leren, iets willen geven aan hen die het weten te appreciëren. Lezen, luisteren, kijken, kennis vergaren, vergaderen in eigendom daar boven in die kamer de stofjes haar werk laten dienen. Soms een beetje opgevoerd, mijn op science gebaseerde blikken kunnen bedenken. Met de dromen van Star Wars achtige fratsen, far beyond imagination, leven kunnen we maken en dus ook een eeuwigheid meegeven. Als o.a. Google zegt dat de verwachting is dat we met de quantum computer techniek die aan de deur staat te kloppen er ergens in de jaren veertig die voor ons ligt in deze eeuw een volledig brein kunnen downloaden inclusief, alles! Dan kunnen we wachten op het moment dat we dit ook weer kunnen uploaden in een nieuw hoofdstuk toegevoegde waarde leveren aan de mens 2.0 wellicht in een bionische opstelling. De mens is voortdurend in ontwikkeling wanneer de tijd ons de kans verschaft die babystapjes te maken, al blijvende kunnen laten beklijven. Honderd, duizend, of om het even zovele jaar geleden waren wij niet die mens die we tegenwoordig zijn. De filosofische benaderingswijze meegegeven het E.V.R.M. niet weggelegd zij wellicht geen rekening hielden met een mens 2.0 in bionische vorm die wel eens van ondergeschikt belang op een rode lijst geplaatst zou kunnen worden omdat artificiële intelligentie gefokt ervoor kiest dat het gekissebis van die soort oorspronkelijk ervoor geboren te hoppen naar andere planeten het leven te brengen maar de spuigaten niet kan beheersen zichzelf de kans ontneemt elders een aarde 2.0 te bevolken en dus een oplossing bedenkt de mens te decimeren tot hanteerbare begrippen door ze bijvoorbeeld stiekem te steriliseren is niet dood gemaakt en voldoen daarmee aan laten leven zoals beschreven in het EVRM. Appeltje eitje toch? De mens verzaakt zijn eigen gesofisticeerde gedrag te omzeilen te hoogdravende als een zichzelf op de borst spellende goddelijke macht. Artificiële intelligentie dat hadden we niet verdacht verwacht verdraaid nog aan toe. Damn foutje bedankt. Dood aan de mens! Lang leve de biodiversiteit! Van harte gefeliciteerd Moeder Aarde! Een waar jongensverhaal waar Darwins evolutie ging aan de haal de toppredator verslagen! De arrogantie een exclusief homo sapiens vocabulair prachtig woord om zeep geholpen. Over je eigen graf gelegd…
Ik moest me met opvallende observaties door hen, de ander, al op vroege leeftijd zelf bedruipen. Dat zou de vraag op kunnen roepen of het een copingstrategie is geweest omdat moeder stress had maar als het haar en anderen opviel dat ik me al op jonge leeftijd, 2-3 jaar, uren zelf bezig kon houden op een kamertje alleen zonder aandachtspunten bijgevallen listig te bevragen hoe andere kinderen van die leeftijd dat wel huilerig al doen leren en krijgen. Moeder viel het ook op dat ze mij niet de fles/borstvoeding kon geven als ze naar me keek, één van de kenmerken in het autisme spectrum. De charmeur wonderen zijn niet aan mij besteed. Ze heeft me hoe moeders dat doen wel vaker dan eens die verhalen vertelt van observaties die anders waren, opvielen door vergelijking met de anderen. In het boek van "ikke" staat beschreven dat ik werd geboren op 06 december 1974 er geel tevoorschijn kwam en derhalve tot 14 februari verbleef beleefd zonder gaten of fratsen de ogen dicht onder een eveneens gele ((((Lannoo groep uitgeverij Tielt Zoekt)))) lamp. 14 februari was toen nog geen Valentijnsdag. En of ik een liefdesbaby was geef ik om mij moverende redenen geen antwoord op, als het mag.
Ik ben in de eerste klas van de LTS 14 jaar geworden. Op dat traject liep ik ook achter de klasgenoten aan. Zo was dat ook met de voetbal, in een rondo zie je de kwieke jongens naar de bal toe bewegingen maken terwijl ik zeker die eerste 4 jaar dat ik in teamverband speelde een van de bal weg beweging makende. Me distantiëren van het spel haar kern omdat dat "pas op de plaats maken" een oorzaak kende die zich over verschillende lijnen in mijn leven lieten zien. Op velerlei gebieden. Dat ik niet zo heel snel ben komt ook in de grapjes terug die ik vaak niet begrijp of er de humor niet van inzie. Als iemand een grapje vertelt in een groep dan weet ik me meer dan eens even geen houding te geven het te rationaliseren proberen te begrijpen. De modussen waarover ik vaker heb gesproken is een veilige toestand waarbij het woord veilig wellicht een betere omstandigheid meekrijgt het te omschrijven als een situatie in te schatten overziene chaos. Duidelijkheid is ook niet helemaal tot de kern gerekend omdat duidelijkheid niet ligt in klein of groot doch in te verwisselen omstandigheden die in een te overziene situatie alle ruimte geeft om door te kunnen vragen zonder de groep op te houden in een gesprek bijvoorbeeld met meerdere mensen gaat er zoveel heen en weer dat ik het niet gehandelt krijg. Discussies op school waren mij altijd te dynamisch en daar stond ik dan tussen mensen met een havo vwo atheneum achtergrond langzaam te wezen de zeurpieten kaart geobserveerd bemachtigd. Het bijzondere is dat de kinderen/mensen die ik gedurende mijn leven tegenkwam met een A.S.S. ik me daarbij ingegeven meer dan eens kon vereenzelvigen met hen toen nog niet wist dat ik er ook een zou zijn. Althans in mijn voorzichtige veronderstelling uiteengezette these. En ik ben niet de enige die nog van een era stamt waarbij autisme eerder werd weggeschreven als de stille kinderen die langzaam waren of enigszins houterig in fysieke bewegingen aandeden kijken. Maar eenmaal vertrouwd in lichaam en mentaal gesterkt door de opgedane kennis in kleine bij elkaar gesprokkelde succeservarinkjes vlogen de tienen me om de oren zowel figuurlijk in het schrift als letterlijk door de lucht gevlogen.
Op de lTS was ik geen zonderling maar ik had ook niet echt één groepje waar ik bij stond of bij hoorde. Ik liep overal tussendoor had met niemand problemen en doordat ik me ook niet profileerde als een stoere jongen iets te prediken dat ik niet was of wilde zijn zag men mij ook niet als een gevaar denk ik. Vorige week zei ik nog tegen een arts dat zolang je stapjes maakt, ook in mijn stuk van van bogaert begeleiding heb ik dat babystapjes genoemd, zolang je die kunt maken is er voortgang en kun je niet spreken van een klassieke verslaving. Het uitlaatsysteem met haar raffinaderij is ook niet op een ingenieur bedachte wetenschappelijke manier tot stand gekomen. Daar zat zeker een idee achter de motor haar uitstoot. Het is pas in de laatste vier decennia dat er een katalysator bij is gekomen terwijl de doorontwikkeling van de motor en de kijk, de filosofie aangereikt door andere wetenschappelijke inzichten en dus een "cultuuromslag plaats heeft gevonden en men dus richting een Dyson Ball achtige structuur wil gaan ontwikkelen en beseft dat men de warmte van een uitlaatsysteem kan hergebruiken om de hybride motor te voorzien van efficiënte systemen.
De autist zit vol met vragen of denkbeelden die samen voort zijn gekomen uit angst of ongerief, niet weten hoe de signalen te interpreteren moeten zijn of soms omdat men juist een letterlijk andere plek inneemt daardoor juist een andere kijk heeft kunnen ontwikkelen. Als ik naar hen kijk dan zie ik dat ook bij mezelf terug. Externaliserend en internaliserend zijn daarbij treffende kenmerken in het uitsluiten van. Het uit kunnen sluiten dat men naar binnen keert zichzelf af te vragen wat de andere weg een onfaire benadering teweegbrengt aangezien, heel simpel, je kunt niet voor iemand anders denken en of iemand anders verantwoordelijk houden voor iemands verkeerde denkwijze. Echter als je bewust gaat traineren om iemand te frustreren dan ben je gewoon een beetje omslachtig. Je kunt zoals de geschiedenis leert een hele generatie de dood en verdoemenis mee in trekken met verkeerd geïnterpreteerde visies oftewel een Dunning-Kruger houding denken slim te zijn niet beseffen dat als de ander zo zou denken ze jouw de kop zouden kunnen oogsten.
Daar ben ik niet van gediend. Iemand de afgrond heen wijzen omdat het Juulke betrof of de vrouw die in de Grote Staat met haar vinger bekkens dag in dag uit stond of zat de mensen aan te kijken met een gerinkel dat geluid voortbracht de toehoorders het kaft van de koren deed doen scheiden. Want je hebt mensen die erover praten zich geen houding weten te geven of mensen die er gewoon een gesprek mee aangingen. Juulke Sprak met zijn ogen en zijn gehele gelaat en zo kon je met iemand die voor anderen afwezig lijkt te zijn zich geen houding weten te geven of zelfs een driewieler afpakken en vernielen zich een held denken te vinden. Joris Linssen had Juulke overigens in de Taxi en op Maasveld was Juulke ook een warme persoonlijkheid op zichzelf staande. Een ware Held in mijn boekdelen sprekende gelaat hem een knipoog naar boven gericht heengezonden nog altijd een levende herinnering! Juulke een echte Maat!
Mensen op voorhand in het voorbijgaan, of zoals de "buurman" in waar was het, Heythuysen (?) die zijn buren tot waanzin draaide door constant iets te bedenken. Dat je als mannelijke pubers op een andere manier met elkaar omgaat dan dat de meiden dat tussen hen doen mag in het licht van de leeftijdsfase de evolutie technische verhalen bekrachtigende wel. Maar als volwassen mensen dit gedrag gaan vertonen… Seksespecifieke hulpverlening is wel degelijk een factor die men niet kan uitvlakken in sociale structuren. Op de basisschool met een 80 procent aan vrouwelijke docenten die in de regel de jongens de jongens niet laten zijn is wel degelijk van invloed op de remming en of het frustreren van een ontwikkelingsfase. Wil niet zeggen dat je dan maar alles dient te accepteren maar bewustwording en context is vaak breder dan het monetaire dagelijks wezen. Je kunt eenzaam zijn in een groep terwijl je je de hemel te rijk kan voelen in een isolement. Mijn modus operandi receptuur uit de laatjes getrokken worden verfijnder naarmate het uur U naderende is. Inzichtelijk en klaring geven aan mijn eigen zijn op 46 jarige leeftijd een ongelooflijk bizar etablissement, nu nog zien te weten te komen hoe ik aan tafel kan nuttigen.
Ik weet nog steeds niet welk scenario er duiding durft te geven aan interferentie ruimtelijke inzichten en waar die gestart zijn en of door wie doch de ogenschijnlijke bedrieglijk heden ten dagen ingegeven signalen met een massaliteit in de diversheid bedacht. Als zelfs de memorie kaarten haar foto's zijn aangepast. Waar is het ooit begonnen heen te gaan.
Ik weet het niet scenario's die een altijd nieuwe vraag oproepende in de klassieke uitleg momenten. Ik was altijd degene die die die laatste vraag had soms tot ergernissen toe van de anderen hun gelach. Echter als de hele groep naar links wil, wil dat nog niet zeggen dat rechts efficiënter is bedacht, de erkenning te krijgen zich te conformeren aan het groter gehaald massaslachtingen vertaald gelach. Ik ben blij dat ik in mijn traject wat structuur ga krijgen mijn grote valkuil kan samenwerken doen gaan samenwerken weer wat rust te krijgen me veilig durf te voelen mezelf te exposerende durf te laten zien. Ook weer wat verbindingen durf te bevaren. Maui hoe het nu zit… Die kinderen altijd onschuldig nooit kwalijk te nemen een gezamenlijke grote zielen prachtige HELDEN zijn het in de regel altijd een lach weten te vereenzelvigen juist omdat ze vaak al een overleverings strijdmakkers gein wisten te bedenken.
Kinderen aan de macht is dat niet een liedje van Herbert ook zo'n ziener aan de kant wist bij te bezingen woord en verhaal een visuele universele taal. Daarom vind ik zo'n Jort Kelder, Henk Westbroek, Midas Dekkers de Boudewijn Büchs, Benoit Wesly of Prem Radhakishun zo'n prettige mensen om te horen. Niet in de massa grootgebracht hun eigen levensweg engelen vluchtig zonder verfijnde massaliteit gedachten een andere mening ongezouten gepeperd kunnen presenteren de een met geraffineerde suiker zoetigheden humor de ander met de botte bijl de verkeerde argumentatie van de ander omver gehakt beide zijden ballen doen mij wel laten glunderen of schaterlachen.
Geboren worden in verschillende werelden eens daar gearriveerd een plaatsje moeten willen geven is een popie jopie Chriet Titulaer wondere wereld je aldaar staande te kunnen houden als het niet al eerder is gecapituleerd mag je in Jr's handjes wrijven.
We zullen zien ... Martin Keerssemeeckers exposedFaggotCumBucket