So finally NewJeans has terminated their contract, what will happen now 😭

2024.11.28 21:31 Why_So_Bored So finally NewJeans has terminated their contract, what will happen now 😭

So finally NewJeans has terminated their contract, what will happen now 😭 submitted by Why_So_Bored to NoHanniNoLife [link] [comments]

2024.11.28 21:31 reddit_savage_bot DH Speakout | Friday, November 29, 2024

DH Speakout | Friday, November 29, 2024 submitted by reddit_savage_bot to DHSavagery [link] [comments]

2024.11.28 21:31 KngZomB Yup, another bob.

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2024.11.28 21:31 alr3adytaken1337 Chce sie ktos popedalic?

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2024.11.28 21:31 Trash_Tia Every adult in our town vanished. 12 days later, we started to get sick.

Over the last week, I know you've all been scared.
If you're a teenager reading this, 13-18, I'm not writing this to scare you more.
I want to tell you the truth.
The televised press conference we all just watched terrified me, but I'm here to tell you the experts are afraid of telling you the truth. This isn't intentional—they're just as scared as we are. They're terrified:
Not knowing what this thing is—or how to stop it—terrifies them.
But this sickness affecting the teenage population is NOT new.
It infected my town this time last year and took my brother.
Those who do know what it is tried to burn us to the ground to stop it from spreading. I spent half a year in a facility in their attempt to extract whatever this is from my veins, cruel procedures drilling into me and testing my bone marrow.
But it's already around you. It's in the air, melded into your brains.
It's November 27th, so you're already feeling it. It's not like fomites, anything you can catch. It's deeper than that.
I don't think I can describe just how this thing spreads without sounding out of my mind.
This thing is going to spread. You've seen it on the news, right?
It's contagious, except not in the way you think.
But it's not going to kill you.
Kill you permanently, anyway.
If I'm honest, I wish it did kill us. I wish it killed me.
The OC, California, was what my younger self had called a "sunshine state."
Our little town, just on the edge of the coast, was paradise.
Aside from winter weather and the occasional freak storm, I had grown up in the sun.
I had known the beach my whole life—the soft sand underfoot and between my toes.
The shallows I waded into every morning without fail, trailing after my older brother and his friends, chasing the surf under shallow pinks streaked across the sky.
I knew salt and sweat, Ray-Bans perched on my head, the grossness of sunscreen gluing my hair to my neck. The memories of sandcastles, and the relentless, yet beautiful scorch of the sun on my skin.
The heat clashing with the coolness of the sea as I dipped under—waiting for that one wave that would toss me into the air, sending me spiraling with the ocean itself before tumbling me back down into the depths.
The surf that eventually carried me back to the shallows and spit me out to where Mom waited with ice cream, always ready to lather me in Factor 50.
Presently, I bit back a hiss when my school bus took yet another sharp turn, jerking my head into the window.
I was slowly starting to regret my decision to come on this stupid school retreat.
Why was it snowing?
Leaning my head against the ice-cold glass, I could only stare outside, confusion and slight panic prickling up and down my spine. In the seat in front of me, Sara Lakewood had sneezed again, a violent wet-sounding sneeze, and refused to cover up her damn mouth.
I was used to snow sometimes. Like, maybe a sprinkle, or even just a few inches if we were lucky.
"In OC California today on Wednesday, November 22nd, 2023: sunny, with a high of 75°F and a low of 61°F," that's what Alexa had said. “Sunny, with cloudier conditions as we move into the afternoon!”
Pressing my face into the glass, I squinted through spiraling snowflakes that seemed abnormally large, thicker, already obstructing my view. I wouldn't exactly call this cloudy conditions.
This was freak weather—the type I would expect to be on the national news or fear-mongering TikTok pages.
I tried my phone again; still no signal. I did get one single bar when the bus stopped, and we got stuck in a snowdrift (I still wasn’t sure how we were still alive—let alone why this driver kept going), but it was gone before I could try Mom’s phone.
There was barely any visibility outside, and I was having a hard time believing our driver when he assured us that everything was going to be fine.
That slight shudder in his tone wasn't helping. This guy had no idea what the fuck he was talking about.
The blanket of snow outside shouldn't have freaked me out as much as it did—but staring out into what would normally be golden landscapes and endless ocean, I only saw... white.
With my cheek uncomfortably pressed against the pane, I wrapped my jacket tighter around myself, surprised by my breath dancing in front of me in sharp wisps.
I shouldn't have been shocked that the school couldn't afford heating on the bus.
We were a tiny town, and most of our funding went into our sports department.
However, the least they could do was supply half a dozen kids who were not used to this type of weather—this deep-rooted cold sliding into every bone in my body—with heat packs.
I wasn't dressed for arctic conditions.
That morning, I was pretty sure my wardrobe would only be light sweaters and jeans.
California weather could be spotty at times, but it was always a guarantee that we were never going to get a literal fucking snow storm.
Still, if I really strained my ears, I could maybe trick myself into believing the blizzard outside was, in fact, ocean waves crashing against a shore—where I once felt safe.
“Summer.”
The familiar voice barely registered. I ignored it, curling into my seat and willing my body to stop shaking.
“I know you're ignoring me.”
I kept my focus on the snow piling up on the windows.
The sheer amount that had fallen in just under an hour was almost impossible.
I could already sense my classmates' chatter shift from TikTok and Twitch streamers to "what the fuck is going on outside?"
I was also unlucky enough to get seated in front of Wes Cameron. I had to bite back a hiss when he kicked my seat yet again in an attempt to balance on his seat to get a perfect shot of the storm.
He was acting like he'd never seen snow before, jabbering to his seat mate, who was currently my other least favorite person on this bus.
“Summahhhhhhhh.”
That annoying voice had turned into a sing-song.
“Go awaaaaay,” I mimicked his taunt. “I’m trying to sleep.”
“You don't look asleep.”
I shifted in my seat, trying to get comfortable. “Key word, trying.”
“Mom says you're not spending the holidays with us.”
“So?” I didn't turn around.
“That's not very festive of you, sis.”
When I didn't respond, he sighed. “So, you're going to ruin Christmas for everyone.”
“Ouch! Jeez man, you didn't have to do her like that!”
I wasn't expecting Wes to chime in, poking his head through the gap in my seat.
He shot me a grin, and I shoved him away, with a finger-poke to the forehead.
“Ow!”
I wasn't sure what made me snap. Wes Cameron trying to squeeze his head through the very small gap in my seat, or the idea that my brother still believed in the magic of fucking Christmas– when he treated the holidays like spring break.
He wasn't even conscious for the special day a year prior, passed out on the beach after his holiday party went sideways.
Since Mom was too embarrassed to acknowledge Wes’s behavior (or admit it to our neighbors), I was the one running to and from our house, with a barf bucket and fresh cans of soda when everyone else was tucking into their Christmas dinners.
Ah yes, the festive cheer of cleaning up your brother’s puke!
Dislodging myself from the window, I lifted my head to find the Golden Child himself looming over me, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, mimicking our mother.
He was wearing a reindeer sweater, which was already a flashing red flag.
The light up antlers sticking out made me feel nauseous.
The sweater was too big for him, baggy and hanging off his slim frame—definitely an attempt to get on Mom’s good side. His bobble hat was a… choice. Mom was obsessed with holiday-themed clothing.
Fallon, or "Fall"—since, apparently, our parents were comedic geniuses with names—was exactly one year older than me.
And despite his growing list of almost felonies, according to Mom, still the ”golden child”: while I was the kid she avoided talking about during family gatherings. The socially awkward one who was just going through a phase.
Mom named us after the seasons we were born under.
While I was born in July, summer months, long days, and an increasingly painful pregnancy (thanks for the tmi, Mom), Fallon was born in the fall, under cozy red skies and fallen leaves.
My brother was the literal fucking Golden Child.
But I didn't blame her for giving up on me.
Unlike my brother, who actually had a life, I had ditched surfing and the beach when I found my individuality, choosing to stay at home all day playing Stardew Valley.
I didn't abandon the outside completely, but I did stop traipsing after my brother and his friends, finding comfort in my own room.
The last time I hung out with my brother, Fallon left to get takeout pizza. I wanted to go with him, but he was crushing on a guy, and apparently, having his little sister third-wheeling was social death.
I made the mistake of heading back to my brother’s friend's, who were complaining of my presence.
They didn't want a fourteen year old kid hanging out with them, and I guess they were too polite to tell my brother.
So, I distanced myself.
That was until I was forced to acknowledge his existence—on this stupid field trip. Since his friends were joining us for the entire holiday, Mom insisting on this huge party bringing all our families together, my brother’s friends were also invited.
Hence, I was planning on spending my holidays elsewhere. My plan was to ignore Fallon’s existence, and once the field trip was over, jump on a flight.
However, the universe had other plans. It was pretty hard to ignore him when he was clinging to my seat, our janky bus rocking him side to side.
Fallon and I were like carbon copies of our mother and father.
While I had inherited Mom’s brunette curls and darker complexion, Fallon was a pale redhead.
You could see the resemblance… if you squinted.
It was mostly in our eyes and the shape of our faces. According to someone in class, we had the exact same resting-bitch face.
The same one he was pulling at that moment, eyebrow cocked, lips pricked into a slight smile. I quickly decided that I hated his stupid fucking reindeer sweater, another ploy to get on Mom’s good side.
Fallon loved family interventions– especially when he was the one holding them.
I decided to humor him, trying to ignore our growing audience.
“I’m not interested in playing happy families,” I spoke through what I hoped was a gritted smile. I could already feel my cheeks growing warm, and it wasn't even a relief. It was uncomfortable warm, like sticking your head in an oven. “Can we talk about this later?”
“Mom told me to talk to you.”
It was always “Mom says” with him. Jeez, it was like talking to a toddler.
“I have nothing to say,” I said. “It's just two weeks. You can survive without me, Fallon.”
Fallon folded his arms. “So, where are you going?”
“Florida.” I said. “I have friends I’m staying with.”
I hated the way he smirked, like what I was saying couldn't be true. “Friends?”
“I met them on a discord server.”
He curled his lip– yet another Mom-ism. “You're fifteen.”
I rolled my eyes. “They're my age, Fallon.”
When the bus jerked again, this time setting off a cacophony of cries behind us, my brother was oddly calm, tightening his grip on my seat.
“Okay, well,” his voice wobbled when he was violently thrown backwards, only just managing to keep his balance. “Can you at least let me drive you?”
“Fallon Cartwright,” our driver shouted, tackling the wheel, snow pounding down on the windshield. “Please sit down!”
Fallon shot me a look, his eyes widening. I knew exactly what he was thinking.
Since when did a random bus driver know my brother’s name?
I think I was about to question it, amused and maybe a little panicked. Maybe this guy knew our mother? She was a well known name in the town, after all.
I remember reaching out and grabbing his arm, wrapping my hand around his wrist and tugging him into the seat next to me.
But in the corner of my eye, the driver fucking exploded.
I don't mean he burst into meaty chunks, a total gore-fest.
I mean one minute he was there, frantically trying to brush snow from the windscreen with his bare hand, sticking his head out of the window– and in a single disorienting moment, pop!, and he was gone, exploding into a vivid red mist.
“Summer?”
Fallon’s voice was barely scratching the surface of my mind, when I was staring at what almost reminded me of stardust, a crimson tide of red sparkles suspended in the air, lightly coating the driver’s seat.
It took me half a second to realize that somehow, this man had just spontaneously combusted— and it slowly began to dawn on me that nobody was driving the bus. The world turned mute.
Voices were ocean waves slamming into my skull.
Outside, I could just make out the jagged edge of a cliff we were careening towards, the bus swerving again and sending my classmates into a fresh panic.
In that moment, I wanted to be the hero, jumping forward to grab the wheel myself and steer us from the cliff face we were teetering on the edge of.
But I could only sit there, paralyzed, dazed. Watching the road get narrower and narrower, it reminded me of going through the tunnel in that old Willy Wonka movie.
No light, no hope, just darkness slowly enveloping us.
I never felt the bus tip over the edge. Initially, it was a single sharp jerk that slammed my head into the window.
I should have felt the lurch, the weightlessness as I was hurled forward and propelled off my feet, and the crushing force of fifty thousand megatons of steeI obliterating my internal organs.
I remember screams erupting and something wet hitting me in the face, followed by a blinding white light that grew brighter and brighter and brighter.
When I think back, it felt like living in a movie– except the movie was ending in one, vivid, fiery explosion so powerful that I was yanked from my body.
I should have felt my death—but whatever death was, it spat me back out. I remember distantly thinking it must not have liked the taste.
I awoke to wails and sobs and my body lodged between two seats. I couldn't feel my legs. I couldn't feel anything, only a growing numbing sensation severing my nerve endings.
I didn't realize my mouth was already open in a silent scream, and I was choking up blood.
When I managed to open my eyes, and keep them open, something was looming over me, swaying back and forth, back and forth. It was like a pendulum, hypnotizing me and lulling me to sleep, my eyes focusing and blurring, black spots growing big and small, big and small.
“Summer!”
Someone was shaking me, prodding my face. I felt their fingers try to find a pulse in my neck and wrist, but I still couldn't feel my legs.
I sensed someone's breath in my face, unusually warm, dancing across my cheeks. When they coughed, I assumed fumes– but I wasn't expecting something warm and wet to coat my face.
“Fuck.” The voice suddenly had an identity, my muddled brain briefly finding clarity.
“Summer, stay with me, all right?” Wes Cameron knelt in front of me, slapping my face, trying to keep me awake, and when I did open my eyes, I ignored his frantic gaze and blood speckled lips, focusing on the weird swinging object dancing above his head.
It was too big to be a backpack. Flickering in and out of view, I could see the twisted, mangled skeleton of our bus wrapped around me, crushing my chest in a suffocating embrace.
“I've got you!” Wes’s cry was laboured with sobs. I could feel his hands on me, another disorienting wave of dizziness, and then– “I did it!” His sharp breath barely grazed my ears before I could feel.
The numbing cold underneath me, blood pooling around the wreckage. Wes didn't hesitate, wrapping me into an awkward hug and violently wrenching me from where I was wedged between what was left of the crumpled seats and window.
Lying on my back, I saw the carnage from a different angle. I followed the intense red smear. It was so cold, and there was so much pain, coming in sharp pulses rattling my body.
But I could feel my legs—they were intact, folded underneath me. Wes gently pulled me into a sitting position.
Blood ran from my nose, my mouth, my ears, choking me. But I was alive.
When my gaze found the swinging shape looming over me, it hit me that I wasn't looking at an object lit up by the bus emergency lights.
I was staring at what was left of a bright green holiday sweater, illuminated antlers illuminating a reindeer nose that was now soaked in red.
Delusional, I remembered it hadn't been Rudolph before… I only saw the torso, and that was enough.
It didn’t fully register that it was my brother’s corpse swinging back and forth until someone—Wes—grabbed my shoulders and forced me to look at him.
Fallon was dead.
I wasn't sure what grieving was yet, or even how you were supposed to react to a death.
But in that intimate moment where it was just me and my tumultuous thoughts, that poisonous and selfish part of me could only think of one single word:
Finally.
And then it well and truly fucking hit me. Fallon was dead.
Fallon wasn't coming back.
Sound came in and out, like whooshes of air.
Wes’s lips were moving, but all I could hear was my frenzied heartbeat.
Before.
Whoooosh.
“Hey!” Wes’s voice was loud and invasive. “Look at me!”
I didn't look at him. I looked at my brother. Corpse. His corpse.
Somebody was screaming. It wouldn't stop. Distantly, I realized it was me; I was screaming.
The noise was horrifying, a shrill screech exploding in my skull.
“Summer, we need to get out of here,” Wes’s heavy breaths hit my face. Warm arms were already wrapping around me, pulling me like a doll out of the wreckage and straight into swirling snowflakes.
It was still snowing. The thought felt muddled and wrong as I sat on my knees, shivering and numb, at a loss for words.
Around me was a cacophony of my screaming classmates—some missing limbs, others barely alive, pleading for death.
Fallon was still in there, my thoughts screamed. I didn't see a head.
I didn't see his full dead body. So, maybe… I was already on my knees, crawling through blanketed white, before another pair of arms held me back.
I didn't know her name. Poppy, or Holly, or something like that.
The girl dropped down in front of me, her eyes wide and unseeing.
She had been on the track team.
I vaguely remembered her from our yearbook—always at the front of every photo, always smiling, her blonde ponytail swinging and doll-like smile perpetually picture perfect.
Now, her blonde hair hung in scarlet, tangled rat tails glued to her face.
“Did you see it?”
The girl’s words caught me off guard, sending me shuffling back.
The bus driver exploding into red mist. She saw it too. When she came closer, so close her breath prickled my face, I noticed blood seeping from her lips and dribbling down her chin.
The girl coughed, and I found myself with a face full of bloody mucus. She was ill.
She wasn't just shivering from the cold, if her feverish skin and bloodshot eyes were any indication. I didn't respond.
She slowly got to her feet, swaying from side to side as she stumbled away, muttering to herself.
Holly coughed again, this time covering her mouth, and then stared down at her blood streaked palm, her lip wobbling. Holly was sick, I thought, dizzily.
In a daze, I think I batted her bloody snot from my cheeks.
But I don't think I cared.
I sat there for a long time waiting for Fallon to appear from the wreckage.
Wes finally dropped down in front of me, grasping my hands.
I hadn't fully taken in his injuries until that moment, noticing the scary looking gash slicing through his forehead, his thick brown curls hanging in half lidded eyes. He was mostly intact, but each of his words accompanied a violent cough, his chest wheezing. Oh. The thought was like a wave crashing into me.
Wes was sick too.
His lips parted and then moved, shaping into what I could only guess was sympathy: I'm so sorry, Summer.
But I couldn't hear him this time.
Instead, I was wondering why his hands were so warm, slick and sweaty, tangled with mine.
While I was ice cold.
I found my voice, when I was able to stand, breathing into my hands to stay warm.
“You don't look so good,” I told him, and to my surprise, he laughed.
Then coughed, this time into his hands, and then wiping them on his jacket.
“Neither do you!”
There were approximately nine survivors, out of twenty kids on our bus. The majority of our class were dead, but that fact had yet to sink in. I was still looking for familiar faces among the shadows of the survivors.
It quickly became apparent that we were on our own. There was no signal, and when we did manage to find a single bar, 911 was disconnected.
Kids started to panic, but I just kept telling myself it was because of the weather.
This snow was unprecedented, not what our town was used to. So, of course our emergency lines would be busy.
Elizabeth Banks, however, made sure to keep reminding me that the emergency lines were not busy. They were dead.
Wes took over as our leader, announcing that we weren't that far away from home.
He was right. Even with the snow, I could still make out where our bus had toppled down a shallow embankment.
So, gathering as many resources as possible, we started the hike back to town while doing our best to haul the injured on makeshift stretchers.
I was lucky to be able to walk, driven by pure adrenaline.
I dreaded seeing my mother, and explaining that Fallon wasn't coming back. Somehow, she would make it all my fault.
I was already rehearsing the words in my head.
“I'm sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry I couldn't save him.”
There was no right way to tell my mother her son was never coming back.
And yet again, that selfish part of me didn't want to.
Why was it my responsibility? Why was I trying to fucking apologize?
Wes’s initial idea was to hitchhike back to town. But when we got back onto the main road, we realized that was not going to happen.
Traffic had simply stopped—cars crashing into each other, jamming the road.
It's because of the snow, I told myself.
Wes and two other guys were already checking each car, their faces growing progressively paler.
We could have blamed it on the treacherous conditions; in fact, we tried to, at first.
Our town had never experienced snow like this. The type that grounds entire cities to a halt and freezes people in cars.
I was knee deep in snow drifts, wading towards a flipped over ranger, when Dom Hudson voiced my thoughts. “Where is everyone?” he spoke up, cutting through that unnerving silence and voicing what none of us wanted to acknowledge.
I poked my head into each car and found exactly the same thing: the seatbelts were still in place.
Wes was already losing his cool, his voice breaking.
“We’re okay,” he announced, his tone saying the opposite. “It's probably because of the storm! I'm sure everyone's… evacuated.”
He didn't have to voice his conclusion after checking every car in the vicinity, because we all knew it.
None of these drivers had left their seats.
It wasn't until I stuck my head in a fancy Prius, did the magnitude of the situation truly hit me. Just like with our bus driver, I found myself staring at sparkling red mist splattering the steering wheel.
Wes had an answer, or at least what he thought was one. He was trying to find logic and science, when I was pretty sure we were looking at spontaneous human combustion, on a catastrophic scale.
I had no idea just how widespread it was until we reached home in the early hours of the morning. I couldn't tell what time.
It was still snowing, and by then, we were up to our knees in it. The whole town had come to a grinding halt.
I went straight home in a panic that turned to dread at the sight of our wide open front door.
Alexa cheerfully greeted me with “Welcome home! The time is 3am on Thursday November 23rd, and the temperature is currently 15°F with a real feel of 7°F.”
Water was running upstairs. When I stumbled up to the landing, I stepped straight into suds flooding the bathroom.
I turned off the faucet, my hands shaking. Mom was running a bath.
I could see exactly what she was doing in what was left behind. The TV was still switched onto the weather channel, her laptop open on the coffee table, our school’s website on display.
Her phone was on the floor, the screen shattered.
But I saw my name between the cracks.
Summer ♥️
She tried to call me 54 fucking times.
Hesitantly, I followed the trail, backtracking into the main hallway where a glass of wine lay shattered on the floor.
Dropping to my knees, I dragged my fingers across the carpet; the same red smear clung to each fiber.
I didn’t want to admit that the scarlet smudge on our hallway carpet was my mother and not her wine—or that, before she exploded, she had been desperately trying to contact me.
Going into shock again, I did everything I could to distract myself.
I checked the refrigerator and pantry, taking note of every item.
We still had power, so I grabbed my mom’s phone and tried, once again, to reach an emergency line.
I washed my face once, twice, three times, four, scrubbing at my face until my skin was raw. I felt like I was caked in him.
When I pulled out my ponytail, I could feel him stuck in my hair and glued to my neck. Fallon was dead.. Mom was dead.
I spent hours in the shower, hours I don't even remember, sitting with my knees to my chest, trying to imagine if I had only pulled Fallon into his seat sooner.
He would be with me, trying to calm me down– the logic in this fucked up mess. The survivor's guilt was eating me alive.
I was alone. Still though, I found comfort in my usual bedtime routine, trying to ignore the excited screaming from outside. Younger kids were running in the snow way past their bedtime, happy or hysterical, and still not fully registering that their parents were dead.
Hours passed by and I was already expecting my mother to come yell at me for not being asleep, or placing warm milk with honey by my bedside.
But I was alone inside a freezing cold house that was no longer home.
I started to break apart. I tried and failed to sleep in my room.
It was supposed to be my safe place, but it felt simultaneously too big and like the walls were closing in. I tried Fallon’s, and I couldn’t even step over the threshold.
Everything was still exactly where he’d left it, like he was coming back. I hadn't been in his room for a while, and he'd revamped it. Fallon’s personality was lit up in every Marvel movie poster, in his surfboards hanging from the walls.
His bedroom didn’t make sense against the backdrop of the storm outside—heavy, blanketed white clashing with his beaded curtains and multicolored beach towels.
I could see unfinished college applications on his desk, his laptop still open, frozen on the Minecraft menu screen. Before the field trip, he'd stuck his head through my door.
“Yo, do you wanna hang out? I'm setting up Minecraft right now.”
I ignored him, corking in my headphones.
I never told him about his friends because I didn't want to fuck up our relationship.
But I had fucked it up, I pushed him away.
Closing my brother’s door, I went back to the dark red stain on the hallway carpet.
I don't even remember curling up, passing out right there.
When I woke up, it was daylight, and it was still snowing.
I was almost snowed in, stepping straight into untouched white.
I was trying to make coffee when there were three singular knocks on the door.
Wes, still in his pyjamas, and carrying a bag full of Dunkin Donuts.
“Want one? They're fresh from yesterday, so I'm handing them out.” he thrust the bag in my face, his mouth full, chocolate dribbling down his chin.
I noticed significant perspiration glistening on his forehead, soaking strands of hair glued to his skin.
His eyes were… bigger, somehow, the proportions of his face were different. I had to be hallucinating, or maybe concussed.
But no… when I blinked rapidly, the boy's face was somehow narrower.
He was either delirious from his fever, or was slowly splintering apart mentally. When I hesitantly took a rainbow sprinkle donut, his smile started to falter.
He was trembling, barely able to keep himself upright.
“There's a meeting in the school auditorium,” he smiled, handing me a caramel donut too. “It starts at twelve, so don't be late, all right?”
I swallowed down donut barf. “Meeting?”
He nodded. “Yep! There are around two hundred of us. Thirteen to eighteen year olds. Whatever this thing is, it's sparing teenagers.” He shrugged.
“Well, that's our hypothesis, anyway. Everyone over the age of eighteen, and under the age of thirteen have…” Wes mimed an explosion with his hands, his eyes growing manic. “Bye-bye!”
His words felt like knives pricking into my back.
“Everyone.” I managed to spit out.
“Yep! Everyone!”
His expression darkened, and I started to see the splinters in his mask, his lips curling. “I found my parents reduced to red sludge, and my baby sister was her own flavour of strawberry shake in her crib.”
Wes’s eyes widened, and he startled me with a choked laugh.
“Wait.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Do you think that's what it is? What if it's aliens turning us into milkshakes?!”
Wes laughed, holding out his palms– slick with red– “So, that's what this is, right? My little sis. She just turned into fucking Nesquick, man.”
I wondered if his fever was doing all of the heavy lifting. He was speaking in tongues.
“You're sick.” I said, laying my hand on his forehead.
I had to pull it back, biting down on a hiss. He was burning up.
Literally. I could barely touch him.
When I tried brushing soaking strands of hair out his eyes, he wafted my hand away.
“I'm not sick,” Wes mumbled. “It's from the crash.”
I took a slow step back, suddenly very aware of him being contagious. “You're burning up.”
“I’m fiiiiine!” he rolled his eyes, but then he coughed, which surprised even him, a startled, choked splutter sending him stumbling off balance. I pretended not to see the slew of red seeping down his chin.
He inclined his head, and I caught something in the slither of his iris.
Wes had brown eyes. I knew that because I had a silent crush on him all the way through my freshman year, before he started dating Tommy Fields.
I used to get lost in his eyes, warm coffee grounds with flecks of orange.
But right then, I couldn't ignore the unmistakable green streak bleeding into his iris. “It's just a cold, dude.” he spread out his arms, doing a clumsy twirl.
“What do you expect? It's snowing! We’re all gon’ be a lil’ sniffly.”
To demonstrate, he swiped his nose, pretending not to see the scarlet smear.
“Oh fuhhhhck, maybe I'm the one turning into strawberry Nesquick.” Wes giggled, and his laugh turned into a cough, this time into his hands. He held up the bag of donuts, offering me a two fingered salute.
“I'll be…”
Another spluttered cough choked his words, his chest heaving.
“Fine!”
I thought Wes was going to collapse when he swayed left and then right, his eyes flashing, before Wes seemed to catch a hold of himself, finding balance.
He pivoted on his heel and waded back down my driveway, struggling through growing snow drifts. “Seeya at twelve, Summer!”
I didn't end up going to the meeting after the snow officially locked me inside.
But thanks to a mass-text sent to our parents' phones (smart), I was informed we were a group of two hundred kids, aged thirteen to eighteen years old– and we were well and truly alone.
According to several senior kids, our town was cut off from the rest of the world by the freak weather. I checked the news, and somehow, there was nobody talking about it. The huge snow storm that had hit a small californian town?
There was nothing.
Instead, the rest of the world was gearing up for the holidays.
It almost felt like we had been yeeted from reality itself.
The Internet was acting weird. I could see what was happening, but I couldn't post anything. When I flicked through TV channels, they were always the same ones.
The mass text also detailed that, starting that afternoon, we had to report to the school auditorium for daily crisis meetings.
Like every other kid in town, I was numb from losing my family and life itself crumbling around me in a single afternoon—and yet the underdeveloped part of my brain still wanted to take advantage of zero adult authority.
Retail therapy it was; I went shopping.
I forced myself through towering snow-drifts, lugging a wheelbarrow with me, and stocked up on ramen, soda, all the fresh goods that were still there, and of course, candy. The rest of the store had been stripped of every branded soda and candy you could think of– an army of thirteen year olds leading the charge.
I was supposed to attend the crisis meeting, but in my head, what was the point? We were all going to die anyway, so what was the point of trying?
So, I went home, and slept away twelve days.
I didn't eat or shower, and the fresh food I’d dumped on my bedroom floor was starting to smell.
Day 1: I slept for most of it, only getting up to down a bottle of water.
Day 2: I was barely conscious, only half aware of the lights flickering out.
Day 3: Loud banging woke me up, and I dragged myself downstairs, opening the door to two boys. I vaguely knew them. Henry Mara and Dalton Atlus.
The two of them were shivering, and when I peeked past them, the snow had let up slightly.
“Freddie Fawner and his group of freshman freaks took over our house.”
Henry held up a bag of apples. I think he was offering them as a gift. “Do you mind if we stay here for a while?” his hopeful expression and frostbite did me in.
I nodded and let them in, offering them blankets and letting them have the living room.
I went back to bed, crashing onto my pillows, the world tilting.
Day 4: Henry and Dalton were arguing over cereal. I ignored them, and went back to sleep.
Day 5: My Mom’s phone woke me up at 5am. Wes Cameron is dead, the words headed my notifications.
His body was found inside a pharmacy.
Something ice cold slipped through me. Wes had a cold, right?
I sat up in bed, suddenly very conscious of the dryness in my throat.
I remembered that slither of green creeping into his iris.
His clammy forehead.
Day 6: I was woken up by another text. This time, ten fifteen year olds were found dead in their homes. All suspected of the flu.
Day 7: Henry started coughing downstairs. I jumped out of bed and taped my door shut. I opened my window, and took three tylenol. Another text vibrated my phone: three more fifteen year olds dead.
Day 8: I couldn't get out of bed, my bones felt like lead. I coughed up something onto my pillow, but I didn't look at it. There were three texts on my phone.
The first one was alerting us that they were going to stop reporting deaths, the second was that they felt sick, and the third was that they wanted their Mommy.
Day 9: I was burning, rolling around in sweat-soaked sheets with a mouth full of blood. Henry had stopped coughing.
I could hear the boys moving around.
I hallucinated my brother standing over me with abnormally pointy ears, a grin splitting his mouth wide.
I felt his ice cold fingers tip-toe across my clammy forehead, and when I looked at him, blinking rapidly, I could have sworn his eyes were bigger.
Bulgier, almost cartoon-like.
But he was beautiful. Grotesquely beautiful.
Wes climbed through my window, followed by the girl from the crash.
Holly.
Day 10, I think I died, my body no longer mine.
Day 11: I was still dead, on my bedroom floor, choking up wet, slithering red chunks. I couldn't speak or breathe, or eat, my body was scorching, my screams strangling through my lips after bypassing my cooked vocal chords.
Day 12:
I could move again. Not well, but well enough to stand. My body felt strange, too light and yet also heavy, like I was both floating, and dragging myself.
Calling out for the boys, I headed downstairs, covering my mouth with a soiled pair of pajama pants, and stepping straight into sticky red pooling across Mom’s prized rug.
Henry lay on his back, choking on bubbling scarlet dribbling down his chin.
Dalton was vomiting in the sink, his trembling body convulsing—lumps of fleshy red splattered on the floor.
Henry’s face looked sharper, paler, his eyes sunken, ears pointier.
I found myself choking down hysterical giggles that were choking me. Before the thought could graze my mind, my brain was suddenly on fire. I dropped to my knees, coughing, red filling my mouth.
My limbs contorted, my head swimming. The sickly stench of peppermint seeping into my nose. Bells rang loud and invasive in my ears.
A voice echoed through my skull:
“Don’t worry, children. The transformation is painful, but only if your body rejects it. Right now, your human tissue is converting to elf tissue. I know it hurts! But I lost quite a lot of my workforce this year! So, I have no choice! The show must go on!” he boomed.
“Human children aren't quite ideal, but they should do the job. I need at least 500 of you to compete with this year's demand.”
He laughed, and Henry collapsed, his head smacking on the edge of the sink.
“I'm sure your parents will become fine meat-scraps for my reindeer!”
I screamed, my body contorting, his words forcing me onto my side.
I choked up what I was guessing was my internal organs.
All I could think about was my brother.
Did this thing work on the dead too?
Wes.
Was he a failure, or was dying just the start?
When my body lurched onto its side, and I choked up something wet and slimy, the floorboards creaked behind me.
Henry and Dalton stood. They didn't speak.
They just walked out of the door, straight into a blizzard, stardust dripping from them.
I waited for my body to twist, just like theirs.
But I kept bleeding, all over myself, sticking my hair to my neck.
My eyes flickered, Santa's laugh bouncing in my skull.
I waited to die, or at least become an elf.
But I didn't.
I still felt light and wrong, and when I looked in the mirror, my face was twisted out of shape, my ears too pointy, too sharp.
When I was well enough, I left my house, finding a wasteland of snow and bodies, kids who rejected the transformation.
Santa had taken the others, and left me.
When the snow did start to melt, I had people in masks banging on my door. I let them throw me in an unmarked van and take me out of town.
I spent the next several months being experimented on.
The man who tested me said the experts has known about Santa's existence for a while.
But they hadn't seen what they call a conversion on this scale.
Dr Mycroft, the man who prodded and poked me every day, told me the conversion is the process of human cells and tissue being forcibly transformed.
The only way to stop it is to reject the idea of Santa Clause.
So, that's what I want all of you to do. Right now.
Before this thing spreads globally, please.
Stop believing in my friends, who forcibly became elves against their will.
Wes, Holly, Dom, Henry and Dalton, all the kids he took away.
Stop believing in this psychopath who murdered my parents.
Stop.
Believing.
In.
Him.
submitted by Trash_Tia to nosleep [link] [comments]

2024.11.28 21:31 bitszulu Gordon rookie card and autographed 1993 Kyle petty

Gordon rookie card and autographed 1993 Kyle petty Any interest? What are they worth?
submitted by bitszulu to tradingcardcommunity [link] [comments]

2024.11.28 21:31 Tiny_Boysenberry_805 Dm

Dm me to talk about Cardi
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2024.11.28 21:31 FaithlessnessNo8598 What is this?

This post contains content not supported on old Reddit. Click here to view the full post
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2024.11.28 21:31 Chemical_Seesaw_5193 martha davis any good?

submitted by Chemical_Seesaw_5193 to nvcc [link] [comments]

2024.11.28 21:31 Atlrenaissancemn Thanksgiving BEGGARS! Ready to howl a duet.

Thanksgiving BEGGARS! Ready to howl a duet. submitted by Atlrenaissancemn to pitbulls [link] [comments]

2024.11.28 21:31 post-death_wave_core who the fuck i feel like i feel like joker

harley quinn, i'm in the cut with a blower submitted by post-death_wave_core to KendrickLamar [link] [comments]

2024.11.28 21:31 peaceandlove1993 Rocking TF in NYC 🐻❤️‍🔥

Rocking TF in NYC 🐻❤️‍🔥 I basically packed mostly TF clothes because as a Scottish girl no one has ever heard of H3 or TF 😅
This lovely girl who was working in the M&m shop pointed to my bag and said she loved it 🥹
Also Happy Thanksgiving Day to all the Family celebrating today 🦃
submitted by peaceandlove1993 to TeddyFresh [link] [comments]

2024.11.28 21:31 Antinous_rose Issues w the cc lashes!!

Issues w the cc lashes!! So, all of a sudden, my cc lashes began looking like this??
https://preview.redd.it/zi9bqlkemp3e1.png?width=1093&format=png&auto=webp&s=9180f8bde3f1ee434ee114b5cd9c93cc2f07978e
I never had this problem, and now it's happening with almost all my cc lashes (these one are Kijiko ones, but I also have dream girl and plumbobjuice and it's the same!). It happens with skin overlays or base sims with no cc, and old sims that had these same lashes in such a beautiful, form-fitting way, now look like this.
I love variety in my sims, and I looove slanted, droopy, and small eyes, but this issue makes me make their eyes big and doll-like. It doesn't even look good because when I adjust it, it looks like this:
Looking like a Clockwork Orange!!
I was wondering if any one of you here had the same issue and how you solved it!! Thx a lot<3
submitted by Antinous_rose to sims4cc [link] [comments]

2024.11.28 21:31 ColinIsAGoner Should i Upgrade from a Meta Quest 2 to a Meta Quest 3s?

I've had the quest 2 for a solid 2 years now, and after seeing the Meta quest 3s drop, i've been thinking whether to upgrade or just stay on the quest 2, but i cant decide, so i'd like to know if i should upgrade, and if there is anything important i need to note about it
submitted by ColinIsAGoner to MetaQuestVR [link] [comments]

2024.11.28 21:30 Proof-Stay3098 WHAAA?

WHAAA? submitted by Proof-Stay3098 to bfdi [link] [comments]

2024.11.28 21:30 Impressive-Half-6281 Lag/delay in northern europe region.

Anyone has delay and high ping in northern europe region when playing rivals?
submitted by Impressive-Half-6281 to NHLHUT [link] [comments]

2024.11.28 21:30 LawfulnessRemote7121 Is anybody selling?

Is anybody getting anything sold on Marketplace? I used to have pretty good luck but I just unlisted some items that have been listed for a few weeks with little or no action. I’ll be taking them to the local charity store instead. These were all things in good to new condition and reasonably priced that I thought people might want. Is it the time of year or has Marketplace really fallen off? I feel like I’m wasting my time.
submitted by LawfulnessRemote7121 to FacebookMarketplace [link] [comments]

2024.11.28 21:30 cherrynmint After class shopping (kinda)✨🛍️

After class shopping (kinda)✨🛍️ submitted by cherrynmint to ShareYourSelfie [link] [comments]

2024.11.28 21:30 jacksonhAlternative What are your hot takes on Eminem ALBUMS specifically?

My big two are that SSLP is better than MMLP, and I have always felt both MTBMB albums are Em's worst albums. I just really like the goofy childish vibe of SSLP and I really just think that MTBMB is a all over the place album, with only a few songs I go back to. I'm also not a fan of the features and instrumentals he picked for it.
submitted by jacksonhAlternative to Eminem [link] [comments]

2024.11.28 21:30 Agile-Layer6213 Any easy kabab recipes for stove cooking? I would like to avoid using skewers if possible for this.

submitted by Agile-Layer6213 to Cooking [link] [comments]

2024.11.28 21:30 Tough_Sky_4383 Six Feet Under 2001

I just don't want to see the nudity that's all
submitted by Tough_Sky_4383 to TheTimestampDudes [link] [comments]

2024.11.28 21:30 No-Wishbone- This Incredibly Disturbing Comment I Found..

This Incredibly Disturbing Comment I Found.. submitted by No-Wishbone- to AnimalsBeingJerks [link] [comments]

2024.11.28 21:30 ParticleHustler2 Timing on MQDs by 12/31/24

Trying to gauge whether to shoot for converting 75% or 50% of my rollover MQDs for Platinum status by EOY, based on where my current MQDs sit. I can likely get to a point where I can rollover 50% MQD, but maybe not. Questions:
For flights, is it right to assume that as long as my flights are complete before midnight on 12/31/24, any MQDs from those flights will count for 2025 status, even if they don't post until after 12/31? I have a trip 12/28-12/30 which is going to be the bulk of what I need to get to 50% rollover.
For Delta CC charges, I believe it's based on posting date, I should assume anything charged after 12/27 or maybe 12/28 might not post and won't get counted?
Safe assumptions?
submitted by ParticleHustler2 to delta [link] [comments]

2024.11.28 21:30 flokiiiiiiiiiii Gaming Pc gebraucht kaufen, welche Programme kann ich nutzen?

Hallo,
Ich will mir einen Gaming Pc gebraucht kaufen. Welche Programme kann ich nutzen, um zu testen ob der Rechner gut ist oder eventuell kaputt ist? Ich weiß crystal desk Info für die Festplatten, aber kann ich kostenlos was herunterladen beim Verkäufer um einen Art Stress Test durchzuführen?
Danke schonmal fĂźr die Infos!
submitted by flokiiiiiiiiiii to de_EDV [link] [comments]

2024.11.28 21:30 ShnobiHashibra jammy

submitted by ShnobiHashibra to OriginalCharacter [link] [comments]

https://google.com/