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I think the anticipation that you will have a anxiety/panic attack is worse than the attack itself. Mine is driving alone. I’ll get in the car and be perfectly fine and I’ll get out to the busy street I live on, still not panicking, and instead of continuing on my drive I make a right turn at the light and another right back to my street and back home. Afraid that if I continue on my drive at some point I’ll have an attack. It really sucks. Anyone else relate?

Hi I’m 23(f) and my sister and I 25 (f) are looking to get guardianship for our cousins 17 (m) 15 (f) 14 (f). BACK STORY Long story short my aunt had the girls in Louisiana and their dad had the boy in Texas relatively close to us. In 2019 my grandpa passed away and my family and I went to Louisiana for his funeral. My grandpa was disabled due to a stroke and apparently he was in really awful living conditions with my aunt (let’s call her Mindy) For reference my other uncle said it make him cry to see the state of the home he was living in, keep in mind my aunt Mindy has a drinking problem and health problems. During that time we came down for the funeral we planned to take the girls away from that awful place. We took them back home with us to Texas and never looked back. My aunt was upset but she eventually understood and came down to Texas to transfer the girls school guardianship from her to my mom. Keep in mind the kids mom passed away and they are supposed to be receiving SSI, but it’s still in my aunts name and she does not send us anything up until recently. (We have received 600) I believe the amount is 372 for each child. Recently November 2022, the boys (let’s call him Paul 17 male) dad kicked him out and he went to stay with my mom. He was not going to school during that time. We finally got him enrolled last month because we are not his guardian this was super difficult. We ended up enrolling him as an unaccompanied minor March 2023.
UP TO DATE Today we went to the school to get proof of enrollment forms, as we are also trying to become the payees for the SSI for the kids, and that is a requirement. However when we spoke to the principal she said it would be best we list all the kids as unaccompanied minors and seek legal guardianship, she led us to a number for help with the guardianship. When I got home and called the number they said they did not help with guardianship and only… homelessness for children (they supply school supplies, backpacks,ect). It really upset me because we have no help, no direction. It just seems everyone around us is money hungry, my aunt Mindy refuses to send the SSI cards with THE KIDS money on it, and insist on sending us 300 bucks a month and she skipped last month.. We have all three of my uncles kids that he doesn’t want. When their mom past away she told my mom and dad she wanted all three of her children to be together because she knew she would pass away soon and she wanted my parents to raise her kids. Even as children when they would visit we always told them that we would take care of them. And my sister and I are tired of playing games with people who do not have the children’s interest at heart. I’m really trying my best to give them things but it’s super expensive and we don’t even have the basic money the state sends them.. please comment. I’ve emailed [email protected] to see if they would be able to help but I’m really lost.

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Sophie shifted in her seat, her heart pounding as she waited for the verdict to be delivered. She glanced over at her sister Emily, who sat beside her, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.
The courtroom was packed with people, all waiting to hear the fate of the man who had killed Sophie's beloved husband. Sophie could feel their eyes on her, judging her, and she felt a surge of anger rise within her.
Finally, the judge spoke.
"The court finds the defendant guilty of murder in the second degree," he said, his voice echoing through the room. "I hereby sentence him to 10 years in prison."
Sophie gasped, feeling as though the air had been knocked out of her. "Only 10 years?" she whispered, her voice shaking with anger.
Emily placed a comforting hand on Sophie's shoulder. "I know, it's not enough," she said, her voice low. "But at least he'll be off the streets for a little while."
Sophie nodded, but she couldn't shake the feeling of injustice that filled her. "He took my husband from me," she said, her voice rising. "He deserves to rot in jail for the rest of his life!"
The man who had killed her husband sat in the defendant's chair, his eyes cast downward. Sophie glared at him, hatred burning in her chest.
"You'll never know the pain you've caused," she spat, her voice cold.
The man looked up at her, his eyes empty of emotions.
Sophie's voice was rising again. "You took away the love of my life, and for what? A stupid argument?"
The man hung his head, unable to meet Sophie's gaze.
Sophie shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "You'll pay for what you've done. One way or another."
Sophia and Emily walked out of the courtroom, both feeling exhausted and emotionally drained. The weight of the verdict was heavy on Sophie's heart, and she couldn't shake off the feeling that justice hadn't been served.
At Sophie’s house, Emily wrapped her arm around Sophie's shoulder, trying to offer some comfort.
"It's okay, Sophie. We'll find a way to make it right," Emily said softly.
Sophie let out a deep sigh and leaned her head on Emily's shoulder. "I don't know, Em. Ten years is not enough for taking someone's life."
Sophie was lost in her thoughts for a moment, replaying the memories of her husband and how much she missed him.
Then Emily left and Sophia went straight to the couch and collapsed on it, feeling emotionally exhausted. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, but her mind kept replaying the events of the day.
As Sophia lay in bed, she couldn't shake off the feeling that something was not right. She felt uneasy and restless, her thoughts still lingering on the verdict and the killer of her beloved husband.
Suddenly, she noticed a faint glow from the corner of her eyes. It was coming from the large mirror on the wall.
Sophia got up and made her way towards the mirror, her curiosity piqued. As she drew closer to it, she saw that the glow was getting stronger and stronger. The mirror was emitting its own light.
To her surprise, the mirror now looked like a TV screen. It showed the same living room at night, and she could see her husband walking in with his briefcase. Sophie was dumbfounded. She couldn't believe what she was seeing.
Suddenly, she saw the image of her husband freeze, and then the mirror went dark. Sophie was so startled that she stumbled back and ran out of the living room. She ran to the garden, trying to catch her breath and make sense of what had just happened.
As she stood there, taking deep breaths, Sophie couldn't help but wonder if the mirror was showing her the last moments of her husband's life. The thought made her shiver, and she couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that lingered in the back of her mind.
The next day, Sophie told Emily that she saw her dead husband in the mirror Emily did not believe her. Emily tried to examine the mirror but there was nothing wrong with it. Then Emily left and Sophie started cleaning the house, including the newspaper clippings about the murder of her husband.
Sophie was in the living room when Emily arrived. "Sophie, how are you feeling today?" Emily asked.
Sophie replied, "I am feeling a little better, but I saw something strange yesterday."
"What did you see?" Emily asked curiously.
Sophie explained, "I saw my husband in the mirror last night. It was like a TV, showing the living room at night, and he walked in with his briefcase."
Emily looked at Sophie skeptically, "That's impossible, Sophie. Maybe you were just dreaming."
Sophie was starting to feel frustrated, "No, Emily, I saw it. You have to believe me."
Emily tried to reassure Sophie, "Okay, okay, let's take a look at the mirror and see if there's anything wrong with it."
Sophie led Emily to the mirror, and they examined it carefully, but there didn't seem to be anything wrong with it.
Emily turned to Sophie, "See, there's nothing wrong with the mirror. Maybe it was just your imagination."
Sophie was starting to feel alone and misunderstood, "I know what I saw, Emily. You don't believe me."
Emily tried to console Sophie, "I believe that you saw something, Sophie, but we just don't know what it is yet. Let's keep an open mind and see if anything else happens."
Sophie nodded, "Okay, that sounds fair."
After Emily left, Sophie decided to clean the house, including the newspaper clippings about the murder of her husband. She couldn't bear to see them anymore, as they reminded her of her loss. She put them all in a box and tucked them away in the closet, hoping to move on with her life.
As Sophie was tidying up, she happened to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. To her surprise, the mirror seemed to be displaying a series of moving images. The images showed her husband Rick returning home and shortly after, the doorbell rang.
Sophie could see the anger in Dave's eyes as he confronted Rick.
"You have no idea how much money I lost because of you!" Dave spat, his face twisted in fury.
Rick, his own voice growing louder, shot back, "I know exactly what I did! You're not thinking clearly, Dave."
Dave stepped closer to Rick, his fists clenched at his sides. "Don't you dare tell me what I'm thinking! You don't know anything about me!"
Rick stood his ground, his own fists balled up in preparation for a fight. "I know enough to know that you're acting like a madman right now."
Suddenly, without warning, Dave lunged at Rick, his fist connecting with Rick's jaw. The force of the blow sent Rick staggering backwards, and he stumbled into a nearby table, knocking over a vase in the process.
Sophie watched in horror as the two men continued to fight, their movements growing more and more frenzied by the second. The sounds of grunts and shouts echoed through the house, and Sophie could feel her own heart racing as she realized that things were quickly spiraling out of control.
"Stop it! Stop it, please!" Sophie cried out, but her words went unheard as the fight between Rick and Dave raged on.
She was frozen in place, unable to move or intervene in the fight. The sounds of their shouts and grunts echoed throughout the house, adding to the chaos of the scene. The scene in the mirror continued to play out, showing Rick collapsing to the ground as Dave walked out of the house, looking triumphant.
“He didn’t kill him! He didn’t kill him! It wasn’t him”, she said and the thought that an innocent man was going to be sentenced for years was terrifying.
Sophie's heart raced as she made her way to the DEA's office. She knew that what she was about to tell him would be hard to believe, but she had to try. When she arrived, she explained to the agent that she had seen in the mirror a different version of events than what had been presented in court.
"You see," she began nervously, "my husband wasn't murdered by the man who was sentenced. I saw in the mirror that it was someone else entirely."
The DEA agent raised an eyebrow skeptically. "What are you talking about? That's impossible."
Sophie took a deep breath and explained everything that she had witnessed in the mirror, from the argument to the violent altercation and the aftermath. She pleaded with the agent to reopen the case and investigate further.
But the agent remained skeptical. "I understand that you believe what you saw, but the sentence cannot be changed based on what you think you saw in a mirror."
Sophie felt her heart sink as she realized that her efforts might be in vain. She had hoped that by coming forward, she could right the wrongs that had been done and bring justice to her husband. But now it seemed like that might not be possible.
Deflated, Sophie left the DEA's office and began to consider other options. She knew that she couldn't give up on finding the truth, even if it meant going against the system.
Sophie's mind was still reeling from her encounter with the DEA agent as she returned home. She needed to distract herself from the disappointment of not being able to get justice for her husband, so she decided to focus on something else. Cleaning was always a good way to keep busy, she thought.
However, she couldn't help but wonder if there was more to the story that she didn't know about so she went back to the mirror.
As she stared into the glass, she was surprised to see a new image materialize. It was the dark living room at night, and she could barely make out any details. But as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see her husband Rick rummaging around under the couch.
Her heart racing, Sophie watched as Rick retrieved a mobile phone from under the couch. She recognized it immediately as the same phone she had found earlier. Rick checked something on the phone, and then put it back under the couch.
That was the moment when she spotted a dark figure standing at the door. Sophie's heart was pounding in her chest as she watched the scene unfold in the mirror. Sophie strained to hear what they were saying, but the sound was muffled and she couldn't make out the words. The tension in the room was palpable, and Sophie felt like she was holding her breath as she watched the two figures interact.
Suddenly, the woman stepped forward, and Sophie could see that she was holding something in her hand. As she got closer, the object came into focus, and Sophie felt her blood run cold. It was a knife.
Sophie watched in horror as her sister approached her husband, who seemed to have no idea what was about to happen. The woman raised the knife, and with a swift motion, plunged it into Rick's chest. Sophie felt sick to her stomach as she watched the gruesome scene play out in front of her.
Now she could make out more of the dark figure. She could immediately recognize her blonde hair: it was her sister.
She couldn't believe that her own sister was capable of such a horrific act. Tears streamed down her face as she realized that the truth had finally been revealed - her sister was responsible for her husband's murder.
But why?
Then she remembered the phone. She bent down to see if it was still there and it was. It was a sleek black model that she had never seen before.
Curious, she picked up the phone and pressed the power button. To her surprise, the phone came to life. She entered a random PIN number and it worked, to her astonishment
“How is that possible?”, she told herself and registered it as a lucky guess.
She scrolled through the contacts and messages, hoping to find some clue as to who it belonged to.
And then she saw it - a message from her sister, Emily. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should invade her husband's privacy. But her curiosity got the best of her, and she checked the message.
The phone revealed a slew of messages and photos that left Sophie feeling sick to her stomach. It seemed that her husband had been cheating with her own sister. Some photos were taken in their own bedroom during intimate moments.
Sophie felt tears stinging her eyes as she realized the depth of her husband's and sister’s betrayal. She had thought that she knew them so well, but it seemed that he had been living a lie all along.
Was it possible that Rick wanted to break up the affair? Was Emily too afraid of Rick telling the truth?
Sophie heard a knock on the door, which made her jump with fright. She hesitated for a moment before approaching the door, her heart racing with anxiety. When she opened it, she found Emily standing there, holding a bag of food from a fast food restaurant.
"Hey, I brought some food," Emily announced, her voice sounding cheerful and friendly.
Sophie's nervousness was evident, her hands shaking as she took the food from Emily. She tried to act normal, but her mind was racing with fear. Her sister looked at Sophie, trying to read her expression, but she couldn't tell if Sophie's sister was hiding something.
"Are you all right?" Emily asked, trying to sound calm.
Sophie nodded, but she knew that she was not entirely convincing.
As they sat down on the couch, Sophie's eyes filled with tears and she started to sob uncontrollably. Emily's concerned gaze bore down on her. She knew what she had to ask, but the words caught in her throat like a fishhook.
“Emily...the mirror showed me something I wish wasn’t true. Did you and Rick have an affair?" she finally managed to choke out.
Emily's face fell, and Sophie could see the guilt etched into her features. But the admission she was about to make could change their friendship forever.
"Sophie, I...I did have an affair with Rick," Emily confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sophie felt her heart drop into her stomach. She had suspected it for weeks, but hearing the truth was like a blow to the chest.
Tears streamed down her face as she struggled to process the betrayal. "How could you do this to me, Emily? How could you do this to us?"
Emily's face twisted in anger as she shot back, "Maybe if you weren't so possessive and controlling, Rick wouldn't have strayed. You don't show him enough love and attention. It was me who truly loved him."
Sophie recoiled as if she had been slapped. She had always thought of herself as a good wife, but Emily's accusations cut her to the core.
"You're just trying to justify what you did," Sophie said, her voice rising. "You knew how much Rick meant to me, and you still went behind my back and slept with him. How could you be so selfish?"
"I'm not the selfish one here," Emily shot back and got up from the couch, her own voice rising to match Sophie's. "You've always been so possessive of him like he's some kind of possession rather than a person. Maybe if you had shown him more love and attention, he wouldn't have looked elsewhere."
Sophie's anger grew as Emily continued to twist the knife. "You have no right to blame this on me. Rick's infidelity is his own fault and yours. You knew what you were doing was wrong, but you did it anyway. When he realized what sort of person you are, he wanted to leave you and you killed him, I saw it!” she said and got up too.
Emily’s face was contorted with rage now. "I can't listen to this anymore and I am fed up with your stupid mirror," she spat. Without warning, she grabbed a nearby vase and hurled it at the mirror on the wall. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces, scattering across the floor.
Sophie gasped in shock as the full weight of the situation hit her. She then snapped out of her trance and rushed over to the broken mirror, her hands shaking as she started collecting the shattered pieces. Tears streamed down her face as she desperately tried to piece the mirror back together, hoping to undo the damage that had been done.
But no matter how hard she tried, the mirror remained broken and fragmented, just like their relationship.
As Sophie frantically tried to collect the shattered pieces of the mirror from the floor, Emily slowly approached her with a menacing look in her eyes, her hands balled into fists. Sophie could feel her heart racing as she realized the danger that was looming over her.
"Calm down, Sophie," Emily said, her voice low and dangerous. "We need to talk about this."
Sophie's eyes widened in fear and she stumbled backwards, her hand reaching out for a piece of the mirror to hold onto. She grabbed it from the floor and her mind was racing how to get away from Emily, but her legs felt like jelly beneath her.
Without another word, Emily started charging towards Sophie, her arms outstretched as if to grab her. Sophie's instincts kicked in and she turned around, dashing up the stairs to the bedroom.
As she ran, she could hear Emily's footsteps pounding on the hardwood floor behind her, growing closer and closer. The fear that had been building inside her suddenly exploded into a desperate panic as she realized Emily was almost upon her.
Sophie's legs felt like lead, but she pushed herself harder, the adrenaline surging through her veins. Finally, she reached the bedroom door and slammed it, and locked it behind her, her back pressed against it as she gasped for breath.
Outside, Emily was still pounding on the door, her voice raised in anger. Sophie knew she had to find a way out of this situation, and fast.
Sophie's hand trembled as she held up the jagged piece of mirror. It caught the light from the moon and the reflection of the street lamps outside, casting an eerie glow across the room. As she stared at it, she noticed that one section of the mirror was still intact, like a small television screen.
With a sudden curiosity, Sophie held the mirror up to her face and peered into the reflective glass. The image of the living room materialized in front of her eyes, like a ghostly apparition. She saw the same scene as before, the living room at night with her sister standing over the lifeless body of her husband.
Blood stained the carpet beneath them, spreading out like a dark, ominous cloud. And then, as if in a trance, her sister reached down and retrieved the mobile phone from under the couch.
The screen of the phone illuminated her sister's face, casting a sickly green light over her features. Sophie's heart pounded in her chest as she realized the significance of what she was seeing.
Realizing that it was not her sister but herself with the same blond hair, she was overcome with terror. Tears and screams erupted from her as she remembered everything. She had always known about the affair, but the shock and remorse of it had caused her subconscious to try and repress the memory.
In the psychiatric hospital, where she belonged now, the guilt of the murder clung to her like a heavy shroud, refusing to fade away like haunting echoes.
^More

Hi all!
My 5mo golden has a weird bit of separation anxiety, which I’ve suspected, but really confirmed today. She is great in her crate, sometimes some cries and barks if she wasn’t happy about her enforced nap, but she doesn’t hate it, isn’t scared of it, but has yet to go in willingly for a nap. Today at the park, another owner with a 15 mo golden suggested blocking off an area of the house for her to have free reign over, that way I can leave her to do chores and such. I had a baby gate already, and set it up in a room adjacent to the living room so she could still see around. However, when I put her in with all her toys, and walked away to start doing chores, she started crying endlessly. I figured it would happen, so I walked back in to make it known I was still there, and tried again. Instantly started crying again. I’m not sure how to fix this, I work from home, and I don’t leave her out of the crate when I leave for the store. How can I get her used to being alone in her area without people around?

So, the nurse was otherwise very sweet and not from this country (the US). She was asking about my kids at home and I told her I have three boys. That’s when she hit me with the statement, “You have competition now.”
Gross. Gross, gross, gross. Competition for what? Male attention? I am an only child and grew up being a girl’s girl. I adore my girl friends. I can not stand girls with a “socially competitive” attitude towards each other and I’ve never had friends like that. And she wants to pit me against my newborn daughter? What??
She went on to talk about how girls have special relationships with their dads the way that boys have a special relationship with their moms. Yikes. My husband quickly interjected, “I don’t know, all of my kids are pretty attached to their mom and I think this one will be too.” My husband is super involved and fun and my kids love him, but I’m the one with the safe, comforting, nurturing vibe that they’re definitely more attached to. He is not the type to be weird about treating a daughter any differently because of her sex.
Anyway, the comment is still bothering me and felt that you guys would get it.

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I'm an ME with over a decade of experience. Most of my day-to-day work is with pumps, valves, sheet metal, and control panels. I'm good at Excel but I hate VBA. I also do some programming (Python, JavaScript), and I've been playing with home automation on the side for fun (Alexa, Ring, & Home Assistant). I've built fences and decks, repaired electrical and plumbing around the house, and worked on cars/trucks for family and friends. Starting to get into carpentry but still very much a novice.
Can't offer legitimate engineering services due to the liability issues, but I can provide some consultation and guidance. Hit me up if you need a sanity check or help developing a concept.
First 30mins are free, we can figure out pricing after that point if you're convinced I can add value to your project.

A slave-driving murderer had just publicly declared war on us. The cheering and applause of the people standing around us was an eerie and ominous accompaniment to the feeling of dread swelling in my chest and radiating down to my stomach. He'd captured all of them thus far. I swallowed and dropped my gaze down to the pavement as it dawned on me that all of those people had tasted freedom, and were then immediately and mercilessly hunted down and dragged back to hell.
But there was an interesting caveat there. He called us by the names O'Malley had erroneously wrote down in his ledger. The men that were chasing us that day had picked up our actual fake aliases, but then we'd killed them at the inn. It seemed that knowledge died with them– a drop of good luck in a raging downpour it seemed.
"William," I said just loud enough to catch his attention.
He turned and eyed me. "Huh? Were you talking to me?"
I lifted an eyebrow. "Yeah. Who else would I be calling William?"
He narrowed his eyes, "It's Tovin, you spaz."
I glanced around nervously. Nobody appeared to have been listening to us. I took him by the shoulder and led him away from the crowd gathered around the picture boxes. "What are you doing?" I hissed.
"What am I doing?" he scoffed. "What are you doing? You know my name. What, are you playing a game right now?"
"Our aliases," I said through my teeth. "We're using fake names, remember?"
His expression changed from annoyed and confused to forlorn and somber. He swallowed and looked away. "... I'm losing it again, aren't I?" he asked.
I remained silent. I didn't know what to say. I didn't want him to feel worse about it, but that would have been a dangerous slip-up in front of the wrong person. Before now, I was starting to think that Tovin back home had overblown how quickly the mental decline would be.
"Don't worry about it," I said finally, passing him on the sidewalk further into the city. "Come on. We need to find a way to make some money."
"And fast," he added, trailing behind me. "We need food, clothes, and a couple of beds. And more cigarettes, too. I've only got a few left and I'm trying to make them last."
We walked the mazelike streets of Bronzegirder looking for work. I wasn't used to Diesel society yet and often found myself hung up on storefront windows that marketed all kinds of gadgets and technology. I would do my best not to stare when people walked by wearing metallic pieces on their persons.
Some wore gadgets on their forearms, some on their wrists, and others in various other areas. I wondered what purpose they served, where they were sold, and how expensive they could be. And it wasn't just the gadgets. There were far more dark-skinned people here than we had in Galgia. It was something I had read about but never experienced. They ranged from light tan all the way to almost black, and it just added to the culture shock.
There appeared to be people living in the buildings above the storefronts. The tall towers we had seen in the far distance earlier served as housing as well as business space. Diesillians stood on their balconies, some hanging wet laundry, others leaning over their railing while they enjoyed a drink or a smoke. We passed so many things I would have wanted to stop and look at were we not being hunted. DuPonte seemed awfully sure of himself when he said he'd find us, but for the life of me, I couldn't imagine how one would find antything they were looking for in this city.
"I'm totally lost," I admitted. "We need a map or something."
He remained quiet. I turned to speak to him more directly only to find that he wasn't behind me anymore. My stomach dropped as I looked around at the sea of people.
"William?" I called out. "William!"
It was no good. I'd have to literally scream if I wanted to breach the drone of the crowd, and I couldn't afford to draw too much attention to myself. There was also the possibility that he'd forgotten his name again anyway. I adjusted the straps of my backpack and sighed deeply before doubling back. He couldn't have wandered too far away, and he'd be easy to spot against the horde of people in more modern clothing.
I kept close to the storefronts as I picked up my pace. I began to peer into each store as I passed them. The longer I searched, the more I worried. He wasn't in his right mind. He'd get himself noticed and captured if he let too much slip, or pulled down his hood. I came to the turn we had taken after we'd left the picture boxes. He was with me at this point, I was sure of it. I turned around and swallowed as I scanned the crowd.
This was really, really, bad.
"William?" I tried again. I decided to cross the street and nearly got run over by one of their vehicles. It screeched to a stop and when I lowered my arms, I found the front of the metallic machine inches from my face.
"Git the fuck oudda da road!" shouted the pilot, shaking his fist in the air. I quickly scurried onto the opposite sidewalk and made my way down the street with the flow of the crowd. I kept my eyes peeled as I walked. It was difficult to see over everyone's shoulders. Diesillians were a good deal taller than Galgians as a rule, and it made it a nightmare for an average-sized guy like myself. Just when I was about to start asking around, something caught my ear.
Something I never expected to hear– music.
I stopped in my tracks and the public parted around me like a river around a boulder. I turned toward the sound and followed my ears to a large silver pavilion nestled between two tall buildings. It looked like an empty lot that had been designed for another tall building but instead served as some sort of inner-city courtyard where live entertainment performed.
I slowly approached as a woman stood in front of a mic stand singing while a band performed with shining metallic instruments behind her. She had black hair styled in a way I'd never seen hair styled. It was pulled up and around under a hat and shined the same as her red lipstick did. But what awed me the most was that she was singing.
No danger; no combat; no sign of beasts being summoned forth. She sang beautifully, adding something to music that I had never in my life once considered because in Galgia, to sing was to slaughter. Music was a tool of war and forbidden entirely outside of such circumstances, for if one of us were even to hum, anything could come crawling out of the resulting portal.
But here she was, singing what I presumed were the words to a poem in perfect rhythm and harmony with the band that played behind her.
"You're my machine, my heart's ignition. The gears that keep my love in motion. You're the engine that never tires– the pistons set my soul on fire."
I was completely taken in. It was therefore no surprise to me that here in the crowd, I spotted Tovin watching her with equal admiration from the edge of the stage. I weaved through the crowd as politely as I was able and then stopped next to him. He glanced at me before quickly returning his eyes back to the stage. I didn't say anything to him; no words needed said so long as she was singing.
"You, my dear, a love machine, the one that keeps my bearings clean– I'm addicted to your engine's roar, your power's what I'm living for."
I wasn't a hundred percent sure what she was talking about, but it was clearly a love song written for one lucky guy. When the song was finished, she ever so slightly lifted her ruby-red dress from the sides and took a bow. The crowd clapped, a few whistles coming from somewhere behind us.
"Thank you," she said softly into the mic. "It's important to remember that love conquers all," she said, passing her deep black eyes over us. "Hatred fades over time, but love lasts; it endures. This next song is about a long lost love and reconnection."
We stayed and listened to a couple more songs before she left the stage, and the band with her. She disappeared on promises of returning tomorrow for a second show. Of all the things thus far I had seen in the land of our enemy, something so sweet as non-weaponized music ranked among the most surprising and awe-inspiring.
As the crowd began to disperse back onto the main street, I turned to Tovin. "Hey, do me a favor and don't disappear like that. I didn't know where you were and we've got to stick together."
"Can we come back here tomorrow?" he asked, completely ignoring what I'd said. He stared at me with hopeful eyes, a small smile on his face. It still felt strange of him to ask me permission for anything, but I couldn't deny that it was a pretty magical performance.
"Only if we live that long," I answered with a heaping helping of snark. "We need money so we can get off these streets tonight. Come on, we're losing daylight."
He looked past my shoulder and suddenly pointed. "What about that?"
I turned to see a bulletin board posted on the side of a building not far from us. On it were several posts, but one of them specifically read, "200 Octim Sign-On Bonus." The two of us walked up the board and looked over the job.
"There's a sign-on bonus," Tovin said as his eyes moved down the paper. "The Empress needs you. Galgian dogs sent monsters to run amok in our fair empire. Officials are spread thin amidst heightened tensions with Galgia's military. Find and kill monsters for bounties. Seek employment at the Hunters' Barracks at 443 Alloy Avenue on the north side of town. Look for the men in uniform."
"Monsters?" I asked. "There aren't any monsters in Galgia. None in all of Aurii if our textbooks are accurate."
"You want to at least check it out?" he asked.
"I think we'd be wasting our time," I said dismissively. "We hiked through a bunch of wilderness closer to the Galgian border and we didn't see anything all night."
He folded his arms. "Then let's get our sign-on bonus and leave."
That was such a fantastic point that I pushed my palm against my forehead and visibly cringed. "Oof. Why am I so dumb?" I whined.
"I don't think you're dumb," Tovin said as he moved down the bulletin board to look at other flyers. "I think you're just honest to a fault. It never would have occurred to you to do something so underhanded."
I would never get used to compliments from Tovin. It was like watching a different person wear his body and speak with his voice. Had life at ENU really been such a drag on him?
"None of these other jobs are offering money upfront," he added, turning to face me. "Let's head to the north side of town and see if we can find Alloy Avenue."
x - - x - - x - - ★ - - x - - x - - x
The walk was long and difficult– not because it was too far, but because we had to pass so much delicious-smelling food along the way. I hadn't been sure before if Tovin was as hungry as I was, but the north side of Bronzegirder was quiet enough to hear both of our stomachs growling in concert with one another. The buildings were made of brick in the district we wandered through, and the walkways were closer to cobblestone like the kind we had back home. The roads were three times as wide, there were benches along the walkways, and they had planted trees caged in black iron gates at the trunks. The few people that strolled the sidewalks on Alloy Avenue were well-to-do, dressed in expensive-looking suits and wearing high hats with wide brims.
"I like this side of town better," Tovin said as we looked for building addresses. "Though I have to say, I'm surprised to see trees in the collossity."
"Goes a little against what we were taught doesn't it?" I asked.
"I don't recall being taught anything," he grumbled. "It's just another thing I somehow know."
I cast him a sympathetic glance and he didn't seem to like it. He scowled at me, "Don't you pity me."
"I'm not," I rolled my eyes. "I'd never feel bad for you Tovin, not in a thousand years."
"Just shut up," he snapped. "We're here."
He stopped in front of a brick building with an impressive stone staircase that had bronze handrails running up the length of them. At the top were two men in uniform just as the flyer had indicated. He was the first to start up the steps and I quickly followed behind him. As we passed them I took a good look at their uniforms. I could have sworn that I'd seen them somewhere before. We walked up to the glass doors and pulled them open.
A blast of warm air blew over us as we entered the building and it was a welcome reprieve from the cold. Inside was smaller than I had anticipated. I was expecting high ceilings, murals, metal artwork, and all kinds of stuff from how nice the outside looked. Instead, we found ourselves standing in a dirty lobby about the size of a headmaster's office. There were several rows of chairs dotted with people filling out forms on clipboards. At the back of the lobby was a little window with a man sitting on the other side. He was dark-skinned, had a shaved head, and bore a grisly pink scar across his cheek. He waved us forward when he noticed us.
"Let me do the talking," I whispered to Tovin, taking the lead in front of him as we made our way over; he didn't protest.
"Afternoon, gentlemen," he spoke into a microphone that relayed his voice to us through a little black device on the window. "Thinking about joining up?"
Before I could even speak, Tovin leaned onto the counter. "So when you say monsters," he adopted a skeptical look. "You mean like the ones that don't exist?"
The man behind the counter rolled his eyes. "Oh, great, another conspiracy theorist."
"What did you call me?" Tovin shot back.
"Ahhh, ha ha," I called out loudly, pulling Tovin back by his shoulder. "My brother is better at fighting than talking," I covered quickly. "Just talk to me from here on in."
He cast me a disinterested glance before handing us both clipboards with forms attached. "Whatever. Just read the whole thing and sign the liability waiver at the bottom. He's free to deny their existence while they're chewing his face off, but the empire won't be responsible for it."
I took both of the clipboards and passed one to Tovin. The two of us sat down and began going through them– and immediately, we faced a problem. They wanted first and last names, home addresses, medical history, and something called landline numbers. Tovin and I exchanged glances; this wasn't going to work.
I stood up and slowly walked back up to the counter as I looked over the document. Every time I looked, it seemed more and more ridiculous. Blood type? Social security number? Insurance provider? I didn't know what any of this meant. It might as well have been in an entirely different language.
"Did you have a question?" asked the man behind the counter.
"Yeah, I don't have most of this information," I said, setting the clipboard down on the counter. "Sorry, but we're gonna have to just go."
"Well, hang on now," he said, reaching under the little pass-through window and retrieving the clipboard. "I take it you boys are homeless then?" he asked.
"Uhh... Yeah," I answered tentatively. Did they really have such a homeless problem that he was able to jump to that conclusion so quickly? "We don't know how to answer these questions, so thanks anyways."
"I said hang on, dammit," he called through the mic before swiveling around in his chair and pulling some kind of lever underneath it that caused it to sink lower to the floor. He opened a cabinet and began rifling through it. I peered through the window at his chair– it was on some kind of ball axis that allowed him to spin in it freely. I felt like every couple of minutes I was seeing something I'd never seen before. He swiveled back around and lifted his chair back up before he handing me a new form. It was more like a strip of paper with three questions on it.
Shirt size, shoe size, and pant size.
There was a second slip of paper underneath it. I looked back up at the window attendant as Tovin appeared next to me. I handed him the slip of paper and we exchanged glances.
"The empire isn't being picky right now," spoke the man through the speaker. "You'll be assigned a number, a gun, and a uniform. You won't be eligible for emergency care, and you can't be assigned to a party. It'll be just the two of you. If you're still interested, we need all the help we can get."
I shrugged at Tovin, and he got to work filling out the information. I leaned on the counter and jotted down my uniform size before signing the waiver and handing everything back. He took both of the documents and then nodded toward the door on his right. "Come on back."
He reached under the table and did something that caused the door to make a whirring sound. It popped open on its own, and he thumbed us over to it. "Close it on your way in. Walk straight down the hall and through the third door on your left. Your hunter number is 27B and his is 28B."
We walked down the hallway and found the designated door already opened and with a sign on the inside that read, "Uniforms HERE" with an arrow pointing into the room. We were met by a portly woman with bouncy curls that hung down to her shoulders. She sat behind a desk absolutely surrounded by hanging uniforms, all kept in clear covering. She sized us up with a retractable ruler– the coolest ruler I had ever seen. After she took our measurements, she began sifting through uniforms.
"Why did they ask us for our sizes if they were going to measure us?" Tovin grumbled.
"I don't know," I whispered. "Just be quiet."
"Don't tell me to be quiet," he shot back, elbowing me in the ribs.
She turned around holding two suits by the hangers, one in each hand. "Your uniforms will come out of your first bounty collected," she announced. "No money needed upfront. Change into them and make sure they fit." We took them from her and she breezed past us. "Holler out here when you're changed." She closed the door behind her.
We turned away from one another and began getting dressed. I pulled back the crinkly clear material and looked down at the uniform. Now that I was seeing it closer, it was actually an extremely dark shade of blue, rather than black as I had thought prior. I looked down at the hat and held it in my hands. I had seen it before. Then, all at once, it came rushing back to me.
These were the uniforms of the men that had come to the mine. They had come carrying guns to inspect the worksite after what had happened to Hammer. Skully must have thought a monster had gotten to him based on the state of his body. I stared down at the uniform in disbelief. Could monsters really be running around in Diesel territory?
"You better not be looking over here," Tovin warned.
They had mistaken what Tovin had done for a monster attack. Skully's "fonekall" wasn't a pilgrimage. It was some form of long-distance communication. She reached out to the capital to request aid from someone, and they sent these guys. I began to wonder if I was making a mistake. If we could be dispatched like that, then we could feasibly be sent back to the camp.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. We were only in it for the sign-on bonus. Once we had that in our hands, we'd be outta here. We could even jump to the next town. They knew nothing about us other than our clothing size. We could be dust in the wind by tomorrow morning.
I shoved those thoughts to the back of my mind and quickly got dressed. The uniform fit perfectly, it was comfortable, and best of all had been designed with a high collar. It covered our neck markings perfectly. I turned to see Tovin with the hat on already. He looked like a classic Diesel villain from a comic book I had read as a kid.
"It fits nice," he said, testing the range of motion he had in his arms. "I think this will work."
"Yeah," I nodded. "Let's get our money and get the hell out."
"Speaking my language," he smirked.
He moved for the door and leaned out, calling for the attendant. I looked at myself in the full-body mirror and did a quick turnaround. I had to admit, I looked pretty darn stylish. The white gloves, belt, and hat looked pretty good against the dark blue and gold buttons.
The woman returned and smiled at both of us, her curls bouncing as she tossed her gaze cartoonishly left and right between us. "You two look good!"
"Thanks," I smiled back. "When do we get our sign-on bonus?"
"Oh, don't worry about that just yet," she said, moving back to her desk. "Do you boys know how to shoot?" she asked as she sat down.
"Shoot?" Tovin asked.
"A gun," she clarified, her smile fading. "Have either of you shot a gun?"
"No, ma'am," I answered. "Our parents didn't let us near them growing up."
"That's no problem," she said, lifting her hands. "We're happy to teach you the basics. You'll just exit the room and go left down to the very end of the hallway. I'll buzz you through the double doors at the end, and Old Mitchell will take you from there."
Tovin audibly groaned, and I took him by the arm, leading him out of the room. We walked down the hallway as he bellyached about what a waste of time it was. It was unlike him to turn his nose up at the opportunity to learn the ins and outs of a new weapon. In fact, he'd been acting weirdly childish lately. I didn't like it. It beat dealing with Tovin-Classic, but it was still a hassle. As we neared the end of the hallway, we began hearing the sound of guns being fired one by one.
The doors buckled and hummed the same as the first door had, and we pushed them open. We passed into a large room with Diesillians shooting at targets a good distance away. This was why the building was so large and the lobby was so small. The brick walls were covered in informational and safety posters, as well as what appeared to be schematics for the weapons themselves.
I looked across the large room to see a man striding toward us. He was wearing shiny black boots that were laced tightly to his calves. His pants and jacket were hunter green, and he bore perhaps the silliest mustache I'd ever seen; It was long and curled at the tips. I had to be careful not to snicker– his eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, and I couldn't tell if he was watching me.
"New recruits?" he called out to us from entirely too far away.
"Yes sir," I called back. "My brother and I just signed up."
"Brothers!" he exclaimed. "I love it, dammit!" He stopped in front of us. He was chewing on something and was being as obnoxious as he possibly could about it. He was wearing perhaps the stupidest hat I had seen of the Diesel yet. It had no visible brim and was high on one side while sloping down toward the other. For the life of me, I couldn't discern the purpose of it.
"You boys know how to shoot?" he asked.
"No sir," I shook my head. "We're new at this."
"Good," he smiled widely. "That means you haven't formed any bad habits yet. I love newbies," he said before waving for us to follow him. "Come on, let's get you your rifles. I'm Mitch, but folks around here call me Old Mitchell."
"James," I said as I followed after him. "This is my brother William." It was difficult to talk over the noise of the weapons. I occasionally jumped when someone shot their gun nearby– a reflex I couldn't wait to be rid of. He led us to a small room; so small that it might as well have been a glorified safe. He disappeared inside and came back out holding two guns. The same long metal tubes Tovin and I had been attacked with at O'Malley's inn.
We each took one and promptly inspected it. Suddenly, Old Mitchell stepped forward and grabbed both of our guns by the barrel, lifting them so they were pointed at the ceiling.
"You boys ever even held one of these?" he barked. "Careful where you aim. Never point one of these at anything or anyone that you're not prepared to destroy."
"They sweep you, Mitch?" asked a man as he passed behind us.
"Pointed 'em right at me," he called back with a laugh. "We'll get 'em straightened out, don't you worry about that." He looked at us both, chewing aggressively. "Now I'm gonna let these rifles go. You keep 'em pointed up, you understand?"
"Yes, sir," I answered.
"Sure," Tovin said in a disinterested tone.
He let go of our rifles and we kept them pointed at the ceiling as we were told. I looked up and down the length of the tube before turning it over and inspecting the area under the barrel. It was split underneath with what looked like some kind of spring running along the length of the tube.
"They're not loaded," Mitch said, waving for us to follow him to the other side of the room. "But you will always treat them like they are. I'm going to show you how to load them over here. Set them down on the desk, I'm gonna stand between the two of you so I can watch you both."
I set my gun down in front of me and looked to my right. There was a box of what I presumed to be bullets. I expected them to be round pellet-like projectiles, but they were tubular with roughly textured heads on them.
"Turn your weapon over. You'll notice you can see a spring inside the bottom of the barrel. Close to the other end of your gun, you'll find a little round tab there. Take that tab and push it with your thumb all the way up toward the tip of the barrel. You'll then pop it out to the side there."
I did as he asked, and sure enough, the barrel popped out to the left at the tip of the weapon. I glanced over at Tovin who was struggling with the spring. Old Mitchell moved over and helped him with it. "Sometimes they get stuck," he muttered as he got Tovin to the same step I was at.
"Now," he shouted. "Take your ammunition right there in the box next to you, and begin placing the rounds into the underside of the barrel, flat side first. Then, you'll load more bullets into the gun overlapping one another. Be careful not to let the rounds collide with one another too heavily, or you could have a little accident."
I loaded the bullets carefully one after another until the barrel was about full. He checked on Tovin's rifle, and then inspected mine.
"Good. Now realign the barrel, there and come with me to the bay," he said, starting toward the practice range. I carefully lifted the weapon and rested it against my shoulder, turning with Tovin to follow him. When we stopped at the range, he motioned for Tovin first. "Come on, Will, we're gonna start with you."
"Pass," he said nonchalantly.
Old Mitchell blinked twice. "What?"
"I want to see Gill do it first," he said, stepping out of my way.
"It's a nickname," I said quickly, stepping up to the range. "Anyways, I'll go first, I don't mind, what do I do here?"
Mitch remained silent for a couple of seconds before clapping his hands once. "Okay! Well, go ahead and pull the hammer back."
I looked down at the weapon and then back up at him. Sensing my confusion, he carefully reached forward and pulled back a little tiny lever on the top of the rifle until it clicked. "That's called pulling the hammer back," he said. "Will, you watching this?"
He didn't wait for a response. "Next thing you're gonna do is pull that lever out underneath the gun. That's going to load the weapon with a fresh cartridge. You're gonna do that between every shot, now. Lift it up against your shoulder like this; get it snug in there." He pulled it against my shoulder. "Look down the iron sight there at the tip of the rifle and line it up against your target. Your weapon is primed and ready to fire. You're good for fifteen shots before you've got to reload. You can always flip it over to see how many bullets are left. Go ahead and aim carefully, and try and hit that target paper down there."
At the end of the range, there was a piece of paper with a silhouette of a human head, shoulders, and torso. I closed one eye for better aim and held the gun tightly as I lined up my shot.
"Don't pull the trigger," Mitch advised in my left ear. "Squeeze it. Squeeze the trigger until it doesn't move easily anymore. Then when you're sure about your aim, squeeze with just that little bit of extra strength you need."
I did as he said, and felt what he was referring to. With my target in sight, my hand steady, and my aim as true as I could hope for, I fired the weapon. The shot rang out right in my ear, but interestingly enough, it wasn't so bad when I was the one firing. I was ready for it, and expecting it.
"Holy smokes!" exclaimed Mitch. "You put one right between the eyes!"
"Beginners's luck," said a man from behind me. "I did the same thing first time I shot, and never did it again."
"Let's prove him wrong, James," Old Mitchell laughed. "Now use that lever under the gun to eject the casing and load a fresh bullet."
I pulled the lever and the shiny little bullet casing popped out the top and flew over my shoulder. It was a really satisfying feeling.
"Do I pull the hammer again? I asked.
"Nope, it'll pop back down. You'll only pull that hammer back the first time. Go ahead and fire again, only this time, aim for the neck."
"Alright," I said, closing my eye and tightening my focus. I squeezed the trigger just as I had the first time and shot a hole straight through the center of the target's neck. I lifted my head and smiled. "I hit it!"
"No way," said the man behind me. "Ain't never shot before, my ass. He's taking you for a ride, Mitch."
"You're sure you're new at this, son?" Old Mitchell asked, one eye half shut. "That's really impressive, kid. Seriously, if this is your first time holding a rifle, you might be cut out for the military. Had a staff sergeant with worse aim than you."
"Alright, alright," Tovin pushed me aside. "My turn. Let me show you something you'll never forget."
The two of us took turns shooting for hours. We hadn't even noticed the time going by. For once, it seemed Tovin had found something he wasn't naturally amazing at, and it was infuriating him to no end.
Conversely, I found something I was really, really good at. I hit my target almost every time, and to be honest, I couldn't figure out what was so difficult about it. A crowd had gathered to watch me shoot. I got really swift with the lever, and could shoot out both of a target's eyes, and put one in its forehead in a matter of seconds.
Tovin wasn't a bad shot, but I knew how he felt. If he wasn't first, he was last as far as he was concerned, and at one point he about threw his rifle. Old Mitchell had to talk to him about how some things come naturally to others, and how he shouldn't be discouraged from coming to the range and practicing.
It was rich hearing Tovin get that talk of all people. The natural genius that outshined everyone, struggling with something for the very first time. I almost couldn't believe I was better than him at something, and of course, it just had to be the thing that we'd never do again once we found our friends and went back home.
Our friends.
We were wasting time here. "Hey, Mitchel," I turned toward him. "When do we get our sign-on bonus? It was supposed to be something like 200 octims."
"You get your sign-on bonus when you bring back your first bounty," he responded quickly.
"What?" Tovin shouted. "That's not fair! We signed on, now where's our money?"
I was equally upset. We were lied to. But it made sense that they couldn't just hand us uniforms, cash, and a gun, and let us go. They wanted to make sure we at least killed a monster.
"It's fine," I said with a sigh. "Where can we find bounties?"
"It's not fine," Tovin protested.
I yanked him by the collar of his shirt and looked him in the eyes. "It's fine," I said slowly and firmly. "We'll run out, bag a monster, and be back before dark."
He held eye contact with me for several seconds before shrugging me off of him and walking away. He stormed across the bay and left through the double doors at the other end of the room.
"My brother was the same way," said Mitch. "Hard-headed. Stubborn as a mule. Loyal as anyone you'd ever meet though."
He had no idea. Tovin wasn't just difficult, but he was turning into a walking liability. I didn't know how much longer I could take him acting like this. Suddenly, Mitch extended his arm, pointing to a door adjacent to where he'd gotten our guns from.
"Bounty board is in there. Come on, I'll show you."
It was a medium-sized room with several corkboards wall to wall filled with bounties. Every monster was named and almost all of them were sketched to a professional degree. You could find how much money the monster was going for, which hunters it had killed, where it was last seen, as well as whether or not there were hunters currently after it.
They had a system where you would notate which monster you were going after, and if you didn't return, they'd add your name under the list of hunters that died searching for it. There were so many monsters I couldn't believe it, and according to Old Mitchell, these were only the monsters within a five-mile radius of Bronzegirder.
I learned the process of choosing a bounty and chose a smaller monster with no names under its fatality list. Mitch agreed it was a good monster for beginners, and offered a few pointers for tracking it. I submitted the bounty request and got it approved before leaving the bay and heading down the hall in search of Tovin. I entered the lobby and didn't see him. I left the building and found him at the top of the steps staring out into the street where a couple of vehicles were hauling something massive together under a tarp.
Several uniformed hunters were walking slowly next to the vehicles. Their uniforms were tattered and bloodstained, and a few of them walked with a limp. We watched as the exhausted men passed the building on their way down the road. Two of them were sobbing silently, but we could tell by their exposed teeth and wrinkled expressions that they'd lost someone.
From beneath the tarp, a scaly limb fell off the side of the vehicle and dangled lifelessly. It was a reptilian-looking arm with an open wound, and the shredded remnants of a uniform hanging from its claws.
"Gill," Tovin said quietly. "Is that..."
"Yeah," I answered.
"That's definitely a monster."
Writing Prompt Submitted by u/My-Last-Hope

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After years of hard work, dedication, and unwavering determination, my lifelong dream had finally come true and it collapsed from one day to the other. I had the perfect family and the perfect life. As an English teacher in the quaint town of Black Rain, located in the serene landscape of British Columbia, I felt a sense of fulfillment and purpose in my daily life.
My family was the epitome of happiness and contentment. We shared a bond that was unbreakable, and every moment spent together was a cherished memory. My two teenage children, Samuel and Emma, were the joy of my life. They were both outstanding students and were thrilled about the prospect of attending university in the near future.
My wife Amelia was breathtakingly beautiful. Her long auburn hair cascaded down her back in loose waves, framing her delicate features and sparkling hazel eyes. She was a guide and lecturer at the local art museum, and her passion for the arts shone through in every aspect of her life. When she talked about a particular painting or sculpture, her eyes would light up with excitement, and her enthusiasm was infectious.
Despite her busy career, Amelia always made time for me. We were the perfect match, and our love for each other only grew stronger with each passing day. I loved watching her teach and inspire others, and it made me proud to see how respected and adored she was by her colleagues and students alike.
Together, we created a life filled with happiness and adventure. Whether it was exploring new art exhibits, hiking through the nearby mountains, or simply enjoying a cozy night in, we cherished every moment spent together. Amelia was my soulmate, my partner in every sense of the word, and I felt incredibly lucky to have her by my side.
In addition to our academic pursuits, we often embarked on exciting adventures and memorable holidays together. Whether we were exploring the natural beauty of the nearby national parks or indulging in our shared love of literature, every experience was enriched by the warmth and love that we shared as a family.
That day started as a typical morning. I woke up early and headed to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. The kitchen was filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of sizzling bacon. I walked towards the counter and started making myself a sandwich. Samuel was sitting at the table, munching on his toast, while Amelia was getting her cereal ready. Suddenly, Emma walked into the kitchen with a perplexed expression on her face.
"Good morning, sweetheart," I greeted her with a smile.
"Good morning," she replied, still looking puzzled. "Who are you?"
I froze for a moment, not sure how to react. "What kind of joke is this?" I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.
But Emma shook her head, looking more confused than ever. "I'm sorry, I don't remember you," she said.
Samuel and Amelia exchanged worried glances, clearly as perplexed as I was. "Emma, that's your dad," Samuel said firmly as if trying to convince her.
But Emma just shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't know who you are. I have never seen you!" she said softly before grabbing her backpack and heading off to school.
I was left standing there, feeling completely bewildered and hurt. How could my own daughter not recognize me? It was like a nightmare come true.
As soon as Emma walked out of the door, panic set in and I knew I had to act fast. I ran out of the house and down the driveway, chasing after her. When I finally caught up to her in the front yard, I tried to touch her gently on the shoulder, but she recoiled from my touch as if I was a complete stranger.
"Emma, it's me, your dad," I said, my voice trembling with fear and confusion.
But Emma only backed away from me, looking more scared than ever. "You're not my dad! My dad doesn't look like you," she cried.
I was taken aback by her words. "What do you mean? Of course, I look like your dad. I am your dad," I said, trying to remain calm.
But Emma's eyes were wide with fear, and she continued to back away from me. "You're lying! You're not my dad! Leave me alone!" she screamed.
Her fear was palpable, and I felt a sense of helplessness wash over me. As our neighbors began to peer out their windows with curious looks on their faces, I realized I needed to back off before things got even more out of hand. I slowly retreated, watching Emma until she was safely out of sight. The weight of the situation bore down on me heavily as I stood alone in the yard, wondering what had caused my daughter to suddenly forget who I was.
Back inside, I looked at Amelia, who was equally shocked by what had just happened. "What's happening to her, James?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"I don't know, but we need to figure it out," I replied, my mind racing with possibilities.
That day Amelia and I visited a psychologist. He had a relaxing office. He told us that teenagers sometimes go through a difficult time and she mentioned some reasons. She said it could be a way of fighting stress but it is only temporary and she told us to be patient, it would go away.
Amelia and I sat anxiously in the waiting room, both of us unsure of what to expect from our visit to the psychologist. I had to skip all my classes that day. As we were called into the office, I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief from the calming atmosphere. The walls were painted in soft shades of blue and green, and a small fountain bubbled quietly in the corner.
The psychologist was a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a soothing voice. She listened patiently as we explained Emma's sudden confusion and fear, nodding thoughtfully as we spoke.
"Teenagers can often go through a period of difficulty, especially during times of stress," she explained. "It's possible that this is just a temporary phase for Emma."
"But why would she forget who I am?" I asked, my voice wavering slightly.
"It could be a defense mechanism," the psychologist suggested. "Sometimes our brains try to protect us from painful memories or experiences, and forgetting certain things can be a way of coping with those feelings."
“Painful memories? Like a boyfriend? She had a boyfriend and they broke up a few weeks ago. She has been very depressed since then. Can it be the cause?” I asked.
“Possibly,” the psychologist said but I still felt a sense of unease. "What can we do to help her?" I asked.
"Be patient," she replied with a small smile. "And try not to push too hard. Let Emma come to you when she's ready."
As we left the office, I couldn't help but feel a sense of uncertainty. How long would this phase last? And how could we help Emma when she was pushing us away?
Later that day Emma came home from school and said she did not want to have dinner with that man. She meant me. So she ate in her own room. Samuel went to play video games and Amelia and I went to bed, we both hoped Emma would be all right soon.
Later that day, as Emma walked through the door, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease wash over me. She had been so distant lately, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong.
"Hey, Em," I said, trying to sound casual. "How was school?"
But she just shrugged and headed straight for the stairs without a word. It was like she was a completely different person, and it was breaking my heart to see her like this.
Later on, as we sat down for dinner, Emma made her feelings clear. "I don't want to eat with that man," she said, looking straight at me. "Can I just have dinner in my room?"
She then walked away, leaving me feeling more lost and helpless than ever before.
After dinner, Samuel disappeared into his room to play video games, and I could hear the sounds of gunfire and explosions coming from his computer. It was a stark reminder of how different things were now, how far we had strayed from the happy, carefree family we used to be.
As Amelia and I got ready for bed, I couldn't help but feel a sense of hopelessness wash over me.
"Do you think she'll be okay?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Amelia sighed, her expression sad. "I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "But we have to be patient, and hope that things will get better soon."
I nodded, knowing that she was right. But as I lay in bed that night, I couldn't shake the feeling that things were only going to get worse before they got better.
As I woke up the next morning, my thoughts immediately went to Emma. I hoped that she was feeling better and that her fever had gone down. I quickly got dressed and made my way to the kitchen, hoping to find her there.
To my surprise, as soon as she saw me, she asked, "How come you're still here? I thought you were leaving today."
I was about to say something when Samuel looked at me.
“I am sorry, who are you?”
My heart sank. I looked at him with a mix of confusion and anger.
"What do you mean, who am I? I'm your father!" I said, my voice rising in frustration.
But Samuel only looked at me with a blank expression, as if he had never seen me before in his life.
"I don't know who you are," he said, his voice tinged with fear.
My mind raced with possibilities. Was this some kind of prank, a cruel joke being played on me by my own children? But as I looked into their eyes, I could see that this was no joke. They genuinely didn't recognize me.
"Listen to me, both of you," I said, my voice stern. "I am your father, and you have to respect me as such. This is not a game, and I won't tolerate this kind of behavior from either of you."
But as I spoke, I could feel the weight of uncertainty bearing down on me. What if they were telling the truth? What if they really didn't recognize me?
“I don’t know what you are talking about! If this is a prank from my dad, tell him it is kinda creepy!” he said, grabbed and left for school. Emma followed her and slammed the door. I still heard the word “weirdo fuck” from Emma from the outside.
When Amelia walked into the kitchen, I shared with her the disturbing news about Samuel's strange behavior and how he had failed to recognize me. I was so upset that I found it difficult to focus on my work, so I took a sick day and Amelia came with me to see the psychologist again, hoping to resolve the situation.
As soon as we arrived at the psychologist's office, we were ushered into her consultation room. The psychologist greeted us with a warm smile and gestured for us to take a seat.
"So, tell me what's been happening," the psychologist said, looking at us expectantly.
I took a deep breath and began recounting the events of the past few days, describing how both Samuel and Amelia had failed to recognize me, their own father.
The psychologist listened attentively, nodding her head occasionally as I spoke. When I finished, she took a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking.
"It's not uncommon for siblings to have similar symptoms," she explained. "It's possible that they're experiencing some kind of dissociative disorder, which could explain why they both can't recognize you."
I was skeptical of her explanation, but the psychologist seemed confident in her diagnosis.
"I would like to see your children for a few sessions to assess their condition and provide appropriate treatment," she said.
My wife and I exchanged a glance, unsure of how to proceed. We were both feeling angry and frustrated with the psychologist's diagnosis.
"You're saying that my children, who were perfectly normal just a few days ago, are suddenly suffering from some kind of disorder?" I said, my voice rising with indignation.
The psychologist remained calm and professional, trying to reassure us.
"It's not uncommon for teenagers to experience these kinds of issues," she said. "With the right treatment, they can make a full recovery."
But my wife and I were not convinced. We stood up and left the room, feeling like the psychologist was incompetent and unable to help us.
That evening, dinner was the last thing on our minds. My wife and I retreated to our bedroom, where I collapsed onto the bed, tears streaming down my face. My wife held me tightly, whispering words of comfort and reassurance. "We'll get through this together," she said softly.
I hugged her tightly, not wanting to let go. "I don't want to lose you," I said, my voice choked with emotion.
"You won't," she replied, her voice soft and gentle. "Everything will be alright, I promise."
Despite her words, I couldn't shake the feeling of fear and sadness that had settled over me like a heavy blanket. My mind was consumed with thoughts of what might happen if I couldn't help my children.
Unable to sleep, I left the bedroom and wandered into the living room. I turned on the TV, but my mind was too distracted to focus on anything. Instead, I found myself lost in a sea of worries and doubts. How could I help my children if even the experts seemed unsure of what was happening to them? How could I keep my family together when everything felt like it was falling apart?
The night stretched on, each passing moment filled with a sense of desperation and despair. All I could do was wait and hope that somehow, someway, things would get better. As my mind raced with worries and fears, exhaustion eventually overtook me and I drifted off to sleep.
I woke up in the middle of the night. I had a strange feeling but I did not know what it was. The couch was uncomfortable now and I wanted to go back to Amelia to the bedroom. I walked up the stairs. It was dark. I opened the bedroom door and approached our bed but I got extremely shocked when I saw another man sleeping in our own bed, next to my wife!
I jolted awake in the middle of the night, a sense of unease creeping up my spine. Something didn't feel right. The couch beneath me had become too uncomfortable, so I decided to make my way upstairs to our bedroom. It was dark, the only sound was the creaking of the wooden stairs beneath my feet.
I slowly pushed open the bedroom door, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. My heart dropped into my stomach as I saw another man sleeping in our bed, his arm draped possessively over my wife's waist. I froze, my mind struggling to comprehend what I was seeing.
"Who are you? What the hell are you doing in my bed?" I demanded, my voice shaking with anger and disbelief.
The man turned on the lamp on the bedside table and picked up a vase gripping it as a weapon. He told Amelia to call the police and she did so. The man was threatening me to leave their house because he will beat me up. I asked Amelia how come she did not recognize me but she did not speak to me. I was backing off and left the house before the police arrived.
As the man turned on the lamp, its dim light illuminated his face, revealing his angry expression. He clenched a vase in his hand, ready to use it as a weapon.
"Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house?" the man asked in a harsh tone.
I was taken aback by his hostility and confused as to what was happening. "I-I live here. This is my house," I stuttered, trying to comprehend the situation.
The man didn't believe me and continued to threaten me. "Get out of here before I beat you to a pulp!" he yelled, raising the vase threateningly.
Amelia, still in shock, reached for the phone and dialed the police. I tried to reason with her. "Amelia, it's me, your husband. Don't you recognize me?"
But she remained silent, her eyes filled with fear and confusion.
I slowly backed away, trying not to provoke the man any further. As soon as I was out of the room, I ran down the stairs and out of the house, still in disbelief and shock.
As I waited outside for the police to arrive, I couldn't help but wonder what was going on. Why didn't Amelia recognize me? Who was that man in our bed? The whole situation seemed surreal and terrifying.
I had spent a sleepless night, sitting behind the bushes and watching our house like a fucking stalker, trying to make sense of what had happened. As the sun started to rise, I saw movement at the front door. My heart racing, I watched as my children, looking disheveled and tired, stumbled out of the house.
I was relieved to see them, but my mind was still reeling from the events of the previous night. I watched as they walked down the street, probably heading to school.
As they disappeared from sight, I saw the stranger again, leaving the house. This time, however, he was alone. My heart sank as I realized that he must have left with Amelia.
I continued to watch from my hiding spot as they said goodbye to each other, kissing passionately. I could feel my anger and sadness rising again, but I didn't know what to do.
Finally, the man left and Amelia stood alone at the door, then she went inside. I knew I had to confront her, but I didn't know how to start. I approached the door and knocked.
She opened the door and seeing my face, she wanted to shut it but I stopped it with my foot.
"Amelia, what is going on? Who was that man?" I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.
I tried to reason with her, but she just kept screaming at me to leave her alone.
"Amelia, please, I just want to talk to you. We need to figure out what's going on," I pleaded, but she wouldn't listen.
As we stood there arguing, a woman walking her dog stopped not far from us. She was one of our neighbors.
I could feel her eyes on me, judging me, and it made me feel even more helpless.
Amelia turned to the group of strangers and yelled, “Mrs. Parker, this man is harassing me! Call the police!"
I looked at the woman and asked if she recognize me. She told me she had never seen me. I tried to convince her that I was James, her neighbor but she did not believe me and she was despising me.
I approached the woman standing on the sidewalk, hoping to start a friendly conversation.
Although she was a cold woman, we knew each other. As I got closer, her dog started barking at me wildly and I noticed a strange look in her eyes.
"Hey Mrs. Parker, you know me, don’t you? I'm James, your neighbor," I asked, a friendly smile on my face.
The woman looked me up and down, sizing me up. "I'm sorry, I don't know who you are," she said coldly, with a hint of suspicion in her voice.
I was taken aback. "What do you mean? We live on the same street. I see you all the time," I replied, my smile fading.
"I'm sorry, I don't remember you," she said again, this time more dismissively.
I felt frustrated and a little hurt. I didn't understand why she was being so unfriendly.
"Are you sure? Maybe we've met before at a community event or something," I said, trying to jog her memory.
But the woman just shook her head. "No, I'm sure I've never seen you before," she said firmly.
“Is everything all right?”
I turned to face him and was relieved to see a familiar face. "No, everything is not all right," I said, my voice filled with anger.
“Do you want me to handle this ladies?” he asked, his muscles bulging as he prepared to confront me.
“It’s all right, I’m leaving!” I said and walked away.
“Never dare to come back!” Amelia shouted after me.
The next place where I was going was my school. I hoped my colleagues would help me out of this nightmare. I approached a group of teachers who were chatting in the hallway. They looked at me strangely, like I was an intruder.
“Hey guys, you won’t believe me what’s happening to me!”
One of them, Ms. Johnson, spoke up. "I'm sorry, your name is?”
“No, no no. Please no. You really don’t know who I am?”
“Are you sure you're at the right school?"
I was getting frustrated. "Yes, I'm sure. I've been teaching here for five years. How could you not know me? I am James Hall, for fuck’s sake!"
Another teacher, Mr. Chen, spoke up. "Look, buddy, I don't know what your game is, but you need to leave before we call security."
I was shocked. "My game? What are you talking about? I'm not playing any games, I'm James! Can't you see that?"
Ms. Johnson approached me and spoke softly. "Listen, maybe you should take a break and see a doctor. This doesn't seem normal. James is teaching in room 101!"
I burst into the classroom, the door slamming against the wall as I kicked it open. My eyes were locked on the man explaining something to the students. He looked up at me and recognized me instantly, I could sense his fear. I ran towards him, pushing him onto the table and grabbing him by the neck.
"Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?" I shouted, my voice trembling with rage. "Tell me the truth, or I swear to God I'll kill you!"
The man gasped for air, struggling to speak. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered.
"Don't lie to me!" I growled, tightening my grip on his neck. "I woke up this morning and my life was gone. My wife, my kids, my job, everything. And now you're standing here in my place, pretending to be me!"
As the fight broke out in the classroom, the students were taken aback and quickly stood up from their seats, some of them even backing away towards the walls. Some students were shouting and screaming, their voices echoing in the classroom, while others were gasping in shock. A few brave students tried to intervene and break up the fight, but they changed their minds for some reason.
Others were frantically pulling out their phones to record the incident, capturing the chaos unfolding before them. A sense of fear and confusion hung in the air as we continued to grapple with each other. It was clear that they did nobody recognize me either and they had never witnessed anything like this before. The sight of our violent altercation left them feeling vulnerable and scared.
The man's eyes widened in shock, and he tried to speak again. "I swear, I don't know anything about that. I'm James Hall as I told you!"
"Prove it," I demanded, releasing my grip on his neck. "Show me some ID or something."
The man fumbled in his pockets and pulled out his wallet. He handed me his ID card, and I studied it closely. It looked genuine. It was his face and the name James Hall.
I sighed and stepped back, still trying to process everything that had happened. "I'm sorry," I said, feeling a twinge of guilt for attacking him. "I guess I just lost it for a minute there. I am not sure who I am anymore."
I sat in the interview room, my heart pounding in my chest. The walls were a drab gray and the only sound was the humming of the fluorescent lights overhead. I could still hear the echoes of the fake James Hall in my head shouting at me “I will fuckin’ kill you!” at the arrival of the police. Finally, the door creaked open and the officer walked in. He had a stern look on his face, and I braced myself for the worst.
"I know what you've been doing," he said his voice firm. "You've been stalking that family. We could charge you with stalking and physical assault, but Mr. Hall has decided not to press charges. This is your last chance. If we catch you again, you'll go straight to jail."
I felt a wave of relief wash over me, but it was quickly replaced by a sense of unease. How had I ended up in this situation? The detective's words echoed in my mind, and I knew I had to tell him the truth.
"I understand," I said, my voice shaky. "But there's something you need to know. I didn't mean to stalk that family. It's all a mistake."
The detective's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
I took a deep breath and began to explain my story. I told him about the fake Mr. James Hall, who had taken my identity and left me with nothing. I told him about my desperate search for answers and how it had led me to confront that man. But as I spoke, I could tell that the detective didn't believe me.
"That's quite a story," he said, his tone skeptical. "But it doesn't change the fact that we can't identify you. You're not in the system. So why don't you tell me the truth?"
I felt a cold sweat break out on my forehead. I knew that if I stuck to the same story, I would end up in jail. So I made a split-second decision.
"I'm homeless," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't have any ID or anything like that."
The detective looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. "All right. But I'm warning you, if we catch you stalking that family again, you'll be sorry."
With that, he opened the door and motioned for me to leave. I stumbled out of the interview room, my head spinning. I had narrowly avoided jail, but at what cost?
I spent most of my days wandering the streets, feeling like a complete outcast. The homeless shelters I stayed at provided only temporary relief from my misery.
While staying at the shelter, I was grateful to have access to the Internet. I eagerly logged onto websites such as Facebook, Reddit, and online banking, only to find that all of my accounts no longer existed. As I perused my wife's Facebook profile, I was taken aback by the appearance of a new husband in her photos. It seemed as though they had always been together, and the images portrayed a convincing picture of happiness between them. Super weird and creepy. My accounts on the other hand had been wiped out of existence, and I was forced to register new accounts from scratch. Even my government-related accounts were invalid, leaving me feeling as though I had been completely erased from this world.
Since I was nonexistent, I occasionally took up odd jobs like washing cars or doing dishes in kitchens.
But most of my time was spent watching my own house from a distance in disguise, trying to get a glimpse of my family. A few times, I was tempted to break in and try to find something like my old belongings if they existed but they installed an expensive security system.
I remember watching my children as they were walking to school with their backpacks on. I couldn't resist the urge to approach them, to see if they would recognize me. I felt like a monster, a complete stranger in my own family's life. I knew I had to keep my distance, to avoid causing any more trouble. I could also see that man as he gave me a kiss to my wife and went to my workplace by my car to my classroom to be with my students. I couldn't help but feel a surge of anger and jealousy.
Then one day, after a week of staying away, I paid another visit to the house. As I was standing at a distance from my house, something strange caught my attention. The husband was outside, standing awkwardly and appearing to be in a state of confusion. He was hiding behind a tree, peering out from time to time at the house, and wearing only a robe. I wasn't sure if he had spotted me, but I felt a knot form in my stomach. What was going on?
As I tried to make sense of the situation, the front door of the house suddenly opened, and a man I had never seen before stepped out. He gave a quick goodbye kiss to Amelia, the wife, before rushing off to work.
The husband lingered outside for a few moments longer, and that was when he finally seemed to notice me.
Our eyes met, and we were just standing there, speechless.
^More

I haven't checked this sub in a long time because my symptoms have basically dissipated entirely, but I remember scouring the internet for answers and having a hard time finding anything positive. I want my story to be out there to offer hope.
Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional, and I'm not giving medical advice. I just want to share MY experience and what worked for ME, in addition to showing that you CAN heal from this condition. If anything resonates with you, then great!
Possible trigger warning: SA (mentioned but do not go in detail about it at all)
​
A little about me: I'm a woman and my symptoms started when I was 19 years old (I am now 28). I had nonstop urgency/pressure, and after a week of suffering went to a doctor and was diagnosed with a UTI. Following the treatment, my symptoms only got worse. The urgency seemed to increase. I couldn't sleep at night, couldn't concentrate. I spent all day feeling like I'd just finished half a gallon of water, only for almost nothing to come out when I went to the restroom.
I say several different specialists. Urinalysis came back normal, ultrasounds showed no abnormalities, and I refused a cystoscopy to check my bladder out of fear of physical damage (for better or for worse, I don't know). I was offered experimental drugs, but they had less than a 50% chance of working and severe side effects, so I also refused.
At this point I was feeling very lost. Tried the elimination diet for about 4-5 months, eating nothing but "IC safe" food. Nothing changed. I was stuck with these severe symptoms for about 3 years.
What ultimately helped me was eating a CLEAN, healthy diet with NO processed foods whatsoever, and good quality water. Also STAYING HYDRATED. This meant salads every day, and any protein/grain/etc was prepared at home so there weren't any additives. Nothing changed for a while... until it did. After about a year of eating clean, my symptoms all but disappeared one day. This was when I was traveling abroad. Maybe it was the combination of clean eating and destressing in a different country-- I really can't say.
My symptoms stayed away for a long time, until a couple years later when I moved to a new city and started picking up bad dietary habits again. Low and behold, my IC flared back up. I had it for 3 weeks, and thought I'd have to start everything over again. In desperation, I ended up going to a Chinese Herbalist, and I told them my symptoms. They suggested Ba Zheng San, which is normally used to treat UTI's. It cleared up my symptoms virtually overnight! I was amazing. I still get flair ups here and there, and if they last more than a day I take these herbs and they're usually gone by morning. Whether or not it's the herbs NOW, I don't know, but there's no doubt they helped me when my symptoms returned for 3 weeks.
Before I finish this off, I want to add there is a possible psychological/trauma component that may have an effect on IC. I haven't seen any official research, but it's a pattern I've noticed with other people who've shared their IC experiences: These symptoms often show up in people who've been SA'd. If this is the case for you, your body may be holding on to a lot of tension from the trauma, resulting in urgency. I did not see a specialist for this, but I did look up stretches and exercises to help with tension associated with post-SA trauma. I do think this helped to an extent.
Regardless of whether or not you've been a victim of SA, stress and tension can exacerbate your symptoms. Seek counseling if you can, practice mindfulness, stretch, meditate. These things can help.
Also, calming herbs can ease your mind. Passion flower is a good one.
And no, believe me, I’m not saying that this is all in your head, don’t worry!! I know these symptoms are VERY real and sometimes need to have physical treatments. But I can’t help but make a point about this connection since it’s come up a lot.
I did also use herbs throughout the duration of my affliction, but I don't know if any of them actually helped me so I don't want to highlight them too much. Here's what I tried, in case anyone wants to know:
-Chaste berry tea (AKA Monk's Pepper or Vitex)
-Marshmallow root tea
-Nettle tea
-D-mannose (for a very short period of time)
That is all for now. Please feel free to reach out to me directly if you have any further questions, or if you have anything to add.
I'd also like to acknowledge that I understand that not everyone is comfortable with the "alternative" medicine I used for myself, and I understand and respect that. All I know is that it worked for me, and it's worth putting out into the world in case it helps someone else, even if it's just 1 person.
Sending love and good wishes to everyone!

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There was a thread that touched upon this, but I thought I’d specify the topic and pick the brains of the sub a bit more.
Can anyone speak to lifestyle differences and career prospects for someone deciding between pursing AD O Life and becoming an 1811/2501?
Financially and benefit wise - the military is the better choice. 4 years in an O3 is making $80k pretax, and depending on BAH, an additional $20-40k untaxed. Everything I’ve seen puts an 1811 below that. It’s hard to compete against tri care - it’s almost impossible. So in this regard - military wins.
Lifestyle - this is the biggest, as money is nice but not everything. Both have the potential to spend time away from home - that’s a draw. How about day to day? My coworker who retired after 20 years in the FBI said he never stopped doing his job, which was amazing. In the military, after 4-6 years as an O, you’re pretty much relegated to staff. From what I’ve read and heard talking to my peers, it’s mostly politics and managerial work. That isn’t to say 1811 life isn’t without that either, but my coworker was still handling cases and doing “cool stuff” towards the end of his career. In the military, depending on branch you can train for 20 years and never do your job. I imagine as an 1811 you at least have missions to complete, and you can do your job and see progress. 1811 wins here.
Flexibility - From what I know, 1811 wins here. It’s really hard to change branch as you promote in the military other than dropping packets, or maybe some USCG magic, but my coworker said you can change what you do every 2/3 years if you want, sometimes more often in agencies such as the DSS.
Just an 11B with a GI Bill, and over 90 college credits trying to decide what to do.
Appreciate the replies, and I welcome any insight possible.

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