Under the Tungsten Light

SCI 投稿过程中Comments中写什么内容comments是问你对期刊或编辑有何建议。范围很广，可以表明自己投文章的立场，如本论文是作者花费了足够时间和精力完成的，从未发表过，在申请贵期刊间，不会考虑别的期刊等等。 编辑的意思是看到你的标题（包括空格）已经超过70个字符，感觉有一点长，影响文章标题的易读性，建议你取一个running title，也就是短标题，能够让读者快速的了解文章的主要内容，这只是一个建议，是否修改原标题以及是否取一个短标题看你自己的决定。 last but not least 这是惯用法，least 前不加the，但是在口语中经常会出现加the的现象，这说明严谨的用法（不加the）常用于书面体，而非严谨的用法（加the)常用于口语。 C# ,报错Index was outside the bounds of the array如何解决数组下标越界了，比如，int[] a=new int[5]，然后你写a[5]=10，因为a数组最后一个是a[4]，下标超出范围了，就报错。 Out of Memory的意思是电脑内存不足。这是一个常见的计算机错误提示，表明系统或程序在尝试使用更多内存时，发现可用的内存 ... 正在写SCI的小伙伴看到这篇回答有福了！作为一个在硕士阶段发表了4篇SCI（一区×2，二区×2）的人，本回答就好好给你唠唠究竟该如何撰写Declaration of interest利益声明部分。 本文旨在解析与case相关的四个短语：in case、in the case、in case of和in the case of，在论文写作中的准确应用。 上两条评论直接来源于字典解释，我以自己的理解来阐述一下其中的逻辑： 上两个回答，字典定义中提到的Henry Harrison Suplee 就是在他关于汽轮机的设计制造中提出的这一概念，这其中有一定的必然性： Survival Evolved跟Survival Of The Fittest有什么区别？一、载体不同1、Survival Evolved：《方舟：生存进化（Ark: Survival Evolved）》是一款开放世界的以恐龙为主题的游戏，游戏采用虚幻4引擎打造，画面出彩，题 other ，the other，others，the others，another五个的区别other ，the other，others，the others，another五个的区别是：含义不同、用法不同、侧重点不同一、含义不同1、other的含义是：另外；其他；(指两个人或

2025.01.22 06:43 LeafBoatCaptain Under the Tungsten Light

Seconds ticked away in a clock somewhere beyond the sick tungsten-yellow glow of the lone bulb overhead. Moth wing shadows engulfed us.
"Whole," he mumbled, breathing slowly. "We make each other whole."
"Mmm."
"A star without a night sky to shine and... a night unadorned by stars."
I ran my fingers through his hair to the metronome of the ticking clock, and into its deep stream of seconds, I drowned.
When my ring caught in the black strands of his hair and pulled at his scalp, he did not wince.
Later, I spat out the plain white tablets tucked under my tongue.
Outside, the night sparkled.
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2025.01.22 06:43 RockHard_Pheonix_19 How different countries view Trump 2.0

How different countries view Trump 2.0 submitted by RockHard_Pheonix_19 to IndianModerate [link] [comments]

2025.01.22 06:43 SufferAghora Why doesn't this album EVER come up in early death metal discussions?

Why doesn't this album EVER come up in early death metal discussions? It came out in FKN 86 and it's about as death metal as seven churches imo I hear more credit given to Reign in Blood and other random albums as a death metal influence which is crazy, PTK is never even mentioned, not even a huge kreator fan but it's baffling loll
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2025.01.22 06:43 lacer2k-7791 Broadcast TV Is Dying. Trump Is Threatening It Anyway

Broadcast TV Is Dying. Trump Is Threatening It Anyway submitted by lacer2k-7791 to greengroundnews [link] [comments]

2025.01.22 06:43 MichiganderForLife Central Powers gain 3 new allies

What if Italy Greece and Albania join the central powers
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2025.01.22 06:43 CalligrapherLow5669 Supermarket Etiquette: To excuse or not to excuse?

I'm an expat. In a post on expats, an Australian wrote: People will do this a lot in the supermarket because we consider it rude to ask someone who is shopping to move, they have as much right to that section as you do so we simply wait.
Would this be an Aussie cultural norm? If someone if looking at a section in the supermarket, say, the sauces, do Australians wait patiently for them to finish browsing, or do Australians say 'Excuse Me', and proceed to have a look, themselves?
Wanting to understand cultural norms!
Thank you!
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2025.01.22 06:43 Foreign_Yesterday_49 There’s Something in my Grandma’s House

I spend most of my waking hours caring for my elderly grandmother, who suffers from Alzheimer's disease, which has taken increasingly more and more from her.
I dont do anything requiring advanced medical knowledge. A nurse comes by the house twice a week to help with that sort of stuff. I have zero medical training other than a CPR course I took a few months ago in case of an emergency, but something tells me that I am already forgetting the basics with each passing day.
I dont mind taking care of her. My grandma took me in when I was 11 years old after my father and mother split. Neither of them really wanted a child.
That was evident from the beginning. I think my mother loved me, but she was never fit to raise a kid, and she knew it. My father, on the other hand, was never fit to be around children, let alone take care of one himself. He was always in and out of jail.
Before my grandmother took me in, my fondest childhood memories were when my dad was doing time. Things weren't so bad when it was just my mother and me. But whenever he returned from his imprisonment, things would always end up falling apart again. When my parents finally did divorce, I was about as dejected as a child could be. The bright beam of childhood innocence had long since faded from my eyes.
That all changed when I went to live with my grandma. Her house was clean and big and had an acre of land. I had a room to myself and more than two changes of clothes. I thought we must have been rich.
Raising me increased her financial burden, but she never let it show on her face. That woman always had a smile on. I wish that smile would come back. Ever since the disease started taking a firm hold on her, she mostly just stares.
She allows me to take care of her on the good days, and we spend quality time enjoying novels and her black-and-white TV shows. On the bad days, she won't let me help at all. I dont quite understand what sets her off, but some days she wakes up paranoid and scared.
Day 1: Sunday
My alarm went off at 5:55 AM. What the hell? I thought. I always set my alarm for 9:00 AM. Although many old people enjoy waking up earlier than the sun, my grandma will sleep all day if I let her. I usually start my day at 9:00, get myself ready, make breakfast, and then get grandma out of bed around 10:00.
So why was my alarm going off at 5:55? I turned it off and rolled over, trying to fall back asleep. But before I could, I heard a crash from upstairs. I live in the basement, and Grandma lives in the master bedroom on the main floor. I rushed out of my room and up the stairs as quickly as possible.
Was Grandma hurt? Did she fall? What was she doing out of bed? My mind was racing. When I reached the top of the stairs, I expected to see my grandmother somewhere on the floor, but instead, I saw an empty living room.
The sun hadn't come up yet, making the room barely visible. I peered into the master bedroom and found Grandma still fast asleep. I closed the door slowly, trying not to wake her. With Grandma safe in her room, I decided to check the house to see if I could locate the source of the crashing sound. The kitchen looked normal, except for a knife in the sink, which I was pretty sure I had cleaned and put away the night before.
Next, I checked the living room and found a book on the floor. I keep the house pretty tidy so that Grandma doesn't trip over anything, so it was definitely odd to find the book in the middle of the room. I picked it up and opened it. It was a scrapbook. One of the many my grandmother had put together over the years.
This one mainly consisted of photos of my mother when she was young. Closing the book, I walked a few feet to the bookshelf and returned it, where dust had revealed its usual resting place.
I still felt a little groggy, and with my tired mind, I rationalized that my grandma had been looking at it earlier and left it on the floor without me realizing it. That's the thing about the human mind. We will do anything to rationalize the unexplainable.
Remembering it was still early and I had about 3 hours before I needed to get on with my day, I snuck out of the house for a quick run. I don’t typically leave my grandmother unattended, but she wouldn't wake up for a while, and it was nice to get some time to myself. I returned to the house half an hour later.
Stepping into the bathroom, I got a text from my girlfriend, Jane. She works at a bakery and always texts me when she heads off to work, though I usually dont reply for a couple of hours because, like I said before, I'm never up this early.
The text read, “Good Morning Paul! I'm leaving for work, but maybe I can swing by later and hang out for a bit?”
I smiled and decided I'd surprise her by texting back immediately, “Have fun at work! I love you!”
“Wow! You're up early!” she replied.
“Yeah, I got woken up by a loud noise and decided to get a jump start on my day.” I left out the part about my alarm going off 3 hours early.
When it was time to wake up Grandma, I went into her bedroom softly and turned on the light, but to my surprise, Grandma was already awake. She sat at the foot of her bed staring at me, not with her usual blank stare, but a fearful one.
“Hey, Grandma, what's wrong?” I asked.
She didn't reply. She just kept staring at me. I decided to give her some privacy after making sure she was safe.
I went to the kitchen to make some breakfast. As I glanced into the sink, ready to wash the knife I had forgotten about the night before, it was gone. I figured I was tired when I noticed it earlier and was probably mistaken.
There is a window above the kitchen sink, which gives a beautiful view of the lawn. As I stared out, a bluebird flew by and rested on the back porch. The beautiful bird looked almost out of place in our little backyard. I had never seen a bird like it in our area.
When I turned around, I almost jumped out of my skin to see my Grandmother an inch from my face.
“Geez, Grandma!” My fear quickly turned to laughter as I chuckled, “Granny, you nearly scared me half to death! Are you feeling any better?” She still had that scared and angry look on her face. It was almost as if… “Hey, grandma…” I said nervously. “You know who I am, right? It's me, Paul. Your grandson.”
Quietly, she said without taking her eyes off me, “There's someone in the house.”
A feeling of awful guilt spread over me as I told her, “No, Grandma, you know me. I live here with you, remember?” Her anger turned to disappointment.
She leaned closer to my face and, in a hushed tone, whispered, “No, Paul. I know who you are. I am telling you that there is someone in our house.”
My heart sank, and the guilty pit in my stomach became a sinkhole of fear. “Where?! Grandma, where did you see this person? My God, are they still here?” I instantly believed her, as I always have, but then, for a moment, I thought, Is this the disease? Is she seeing things now? I didn’t remember the doctor saying anything about hallucinations.
I pushed the thoughts out of my head. I reached for my phone to dial 911, but grandma put her hand on mine before I could unlock it.
“He's in my room.” She said it almost as if it was an afterthought.
My heart raced, and without thinking, I picked her up and shuffled towards the front door. Once outside, I sat her on the porch bench. “Stay here,” I said. She wasn't looking me in the eyes.
I rushed back into the house and to her bedroom. The door was shut. I went to reach for the handle, but I stopped.
Adrenaline had gotten me this far, but it seemed to run dry when it came time to investigate. What would I even do if I found someone in there? I thought. But I needed to make sure that we were safe.
I slowly turned the knob and pushed my way inside. Everything looked normal, other than a bit of clutter. Hadn't I picked up her room the night before? I checked everywhere, but there was no sign of anyone.
I felt relieved and almost smiled at how worked up I'd been. That feeling soon left me as I remembered the master bathroom with its door still shut. I flung the door open, but what I saw didn't scare me. It was confusing. The walls, the mirror, the floor, all of it. It was all covered in a black sludge.
The smell reminded me of the many hot summer days I spent walking the empty road as a kid. It was the smell of tar and tobacco. After standing in shock for what must have been minutes, I checked the rest of the house but found nothing.
I walked outside to find Grandma still on the bench. Her attention had turned to a small pile of ants on the concrete. “Hey, Grandma, I checked the house. There's no one there.” She didn't reply.
“Did something happen in the bathroom? What is all that stuff?” Still no reply. I wasn't totally convinced that there had been an intruder, but I also wasn't totally convinced my Grandma had made the mess herself.
The rest of the day passed by quickly. Grandma hadn't said a word to me since the incident, but honestly, I didn't really have time for conversation anyway. Cleaning the sludge was nearly impossible.
It took me well into the afternoon to clear away the black stain. The tar was warm to the touch initially but soon completely dried, making it hard and resistant to my efforts.
I didn't even realize what time it was when I heard a knock at the door. Jane! I ran to the door and opened it to see her face beaming at me.
“Jane! I am so sorry I forgot you were coming over.”
She looked disappointed, “Oh, sorry. Do you want me to leave? I should have texted to remind you I was coming.”
“No! Please come in. I'm sorry. I just feel bad that I haven't showered or made dinner or anything. I've been so busy today.
“How's Grandma doing?” she asked.
“It's been a bad day for her today.” She knew what I meant. I had often confided in her about Grandma’s previous “bad days,” she knew from interacting with Grandma how quiet and off she could seem when her mind wasn't at its best.
“Aw, Granny,” she said, turning a sympathetic face to Grandma. She really did love my grandma.
We ordered Chinese food, and I told Jane about the day's events. “That's so weird!” she said between bites of orange chicken. “Where do you think she got the black stuff?”
“I dont know. I'm not even 100 percent sure it was her. I mean, who knows, maybe someone was in our house. I did notice a few things out of place.”
We sat silently for a few seconds. We turned our attention to the black and white film we had put on for Grandma, and soon, the night started to feel like any other. When the movie ended, I tucked Grandma into bed. Jane and I turned on a show with actual color and cuddled on the couch.
Day 2: Monday
My alarm woke me up at 5:55 AM. I looked at my phone, puzzled that it had happened twice. Before I had time to go back to bed, a loud bang from upstairs startled me. I was on my feet in an instant.
This sound was much louder than the one the day before. I barreled up the stairs and peered into Grandma’s room. She was asleep. Stepping back into the living room, I found the same scrapbook on the floor.
I started turning on all the lights. Once the room was well-lit, I opened the scrapbook. A sinister feeling crept into my bones as I flipped through page after page. Every picture that included my mother had been ruined, her face cut from each photo.
I called the police, and the operator said they would be there as soon as possible. I was convinced that there had been someone in the house. While waiting for the police, I woke up Grandma and walked her out to my car, where she sat while I looked the house over. In the 6 minutes it took for the police to arrive, I noticed a drawer open in the kitchen. I also found more black goo in the garage.
The police walked through the house, checking every place a person could hide. They didn't find anyone and there was no evidence of forced entry.
“Sounds like someone might be looking to hurt your mom, seeing as her face was cut out of all the pictures.” said the officer.
“Well, if someone had it out for her, they had the wrong house. We haven't seen her in nearly 17 years.” I replied. The officers offered to check up on us later tonight to make sure there wasn't anyone lurking around the property and said to call again if there were any further disturbances.
“Thanks, officers,” I said. I ushered Grandma back into the house as they pulled out of the driveway.
“You alright, Grandma?” I asked. No response. We stepped into the living room, and I was helping her sit on the couch when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. I turned to face the kitchen window. That same bluebird from the day before was staring right at me.
The bird was so beautiful, but looking at it, I couldn't help but feel like I was in some sort of danger. Like a bad omen. It continued to stare for a few moments and then flew away.
The day dragged on. Grandma hadn't said a word; worse, she hadn't even looked me in the eyes. I was worried.
The sun dipped over the horizon, and suddenly, it was night. Time to put Grandma to bed. As I helped her get comfortable, she looked at me. It was a welcomed surprise, and I smiled at her, but she didn't smile back.
She only whispered the words, “Someone is in the kitchen.”
Ice went down my spine. “What? Grandma, we were both just in there, and I didn't see anybody.” She looked terrified. Obviously, my words were of no comfort to her.
She just repeated, “In the kitchen…the kitchen…kitchen.” Then she rolled over, closed her eyes, and stopped speaking. She was really starting to make me worried, and I really couldn't decide whether to believe her or not.
I left the room and headed for the kitchen. Upon arrival, I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary right away. Other than the drawer with the bags and wrap. It was open again. I turned to walk out and turned the light off, but the room didn't get dark.
I flicked the switch on and off, but the room remained illuminated. In fact, it was getting brighter. Panicked, I did the first thing that came to my mind and reached for the big knife in the knife block, but I froze when I noticed the knife block was empty. Sweat washed over me, and I saw all the knives in the sink.
The room continued to illuminate brighter and brighter as I dashed for a knife and cut myself on one of the smaller blades before finally grabbing hold of the bread knife. My attention briefly turned to my bloody hand as I attempted to wrap a rag around the wound.
Just then, the room went completely quiet, and I saw it. A large figure, maybe 8 feet tall. The creature was completely naked except for a plastic film - plastic wrap, covering it from head to toe. The light emanating from the figure seemed to give me tunnel vision, blurring my surroundings. I couldn't make out the face, as it was completely masked in the plastic wrapping, but there was a protrusion where the nose was underneath.
Petrified, I felt my blood run cold. I was so scared that I was physically unable to move. The dread filled me like molasses in a glass, slowing my thoughts. I dropped the knife, which crashed to the tile floor with a metallic clang.
I wanted to run, but my legs felt like stone. I stared in horror at the bright monster, and just when I thought it might attack, it began to speak.
“Fear not, sweet boy,” its voice sounded frail and weak as if trying to convince me I was safe. It reminded me how an old person might talk to a child, almost mimicking their innocent tone. It continued to speak, “Sweet Paul. Sweet…Paul.”
“Who are you?” I managed to say in a shaky voice.
“Sweet Paul, I am your guardian angel. Your guide in the darkness. Your friend from above.” I wasn’t convinced. An angel? This thing looked demonic. It was the stuff of my nightmares.
“Okay…well, I’m good, actually. I don’t need a guardian angel.” The angel began breathing heavily, and in a much deeper voice than before, it said,
“Yes, my sweet boy. You do.” Just then, the knives in the sink flew straight up in the air and stuck into the ceiling. The noise startled me, and I turned to see the knives dangling. With my eyes briefly off the creature, I immediately heard footsteps running toward me.
I screamed and turned back to face the monster. Raising my arms to shield my face, I braced for impact, but…it never came.
I opened my eyes to a dark, empty room. It was gone, and I was all alone. I quickly flipped on the light and grabbed my phone to call Jane. It went straight to voicemail.
She must have been asleep. With no one to talk to, I paced around my room until exhaustion took its toll, and I went to bed.
Day 3: Tuesday
The next day, my alarm went off at 5:55 AM. This time, I was ready. I bolted up the stairs before any noise alerted me to action, hoping to catch the creature who had been terrorizing us. I started my investigation by checking on Grandma.
Asleep. Good, I thought as I shut the door and turned my attention to the rest of the house. The first thing I noticed was the scrapbook on the floor, with its pages torn out and strewn across the floor. I needed to clean that up before my grandmother had a chance to see the pitiful state of her treasured photo album, but that would have to wait until I scoured the rest of the house.
Next, I went to the kitchen. Nothing looked too out of the ordinary, but I noticed that one knife remained stuck to the ceiling while the rest had fallen to the ground. I was about to check the rest of the house when I heard a loud slam coming from the basement.
The noise was louder than the previous days, and I was sure it had woken Grandma, so I decided to check on her again before investigating. Just as I suspected, Grandma was sitting upright when I walked through the door. She hadn't turned to look at me when I walked in.
“You okay, Grandma?” I asked. I wasn't expecting a response since she had been nearly mute the past few days. Despite my expectations, she answered immediately.
“It's okay, Paul. They can't hurt us today. Hank will protect us.” Hank was the name of my grandfather, who had been dead for over 20 years. I didn't have the heart to remind her of his passing, so I said nothing and walked towards the stairs. As I took the first step down, the loud banging noise repeated, sending a chill down my spine.
I went to take the next step but stood frozen for several seconds. I managed to break through my terror and continue my plunge to the basement. Other than my room, there are two other rooms downstairs. A guest bedroom and a family room which had slowly morphed into my personal mancave over the years.
The sound happened a third time, and it was clearing coming from the family room. I peeked my head through the door but quickly shot back behind the wall. I had expected to see my not-so-angelic guardian angel, but crouched in the middle of the room was something far worse.
It was bigger than the angel, maybe 10 feet tall. It had to slouch just to fit in the room. Instead of light, the creature emanated a blinding darkness, which seemed to be battling for space with the soft light of the moon coming through the window. Its hands were disproportionally large for its body, with long bony fingers.
The most notable characteristic of the monster was what was covering its body. From head to toe, the creature was soaked in hot black sludge, which dripped down to the floor. The chemical smell was overwhelmingly potent, and I found myself struggling not to gag as I sat still and listened to the beast breathe.
I shifted my weight, preparing to take another look. Before I could peer around the corner, the monster screamed, which sounded like the mix of a man and a dog. I booked it to the staircase, looking behind me, only to watch as the creature tumbled toward me with impressive speed.
I reached the top of the stairs and almost ran for the front door when I remembered Grandma, who was still in her room. Thinking quickly, I leaped behind the island counter in the middle of the kitchen and hid myself, trying to make as little sound as I could. I heard the tar monster reach the top of the stairs and pause. Thankfully, it didn't know where I was, but soon began searching for me.
I caught a glimpse of it as its back was turned to me, and I noticed it was carrying something large. Is that…a rug? I thought to myself. Then I recognized it. The thing was carrying my rug from underneath my coffee table.
What on earth does it want with that? I turned my attention back to my hiding place and scanned for a weapon. As my eyes darted around the kitchen, I became transfixed on the window, or rather what was behind the window. A little blue bird.
Just then, I heard something crash against the floor, and I spun around. The creature was gone, and my rug lay rolled up in the living room. The rest of the day felt foggy. My head was aching, and no amount of acetaminophen could dull the throbbing.
Grandma stayed in her room, not letting me in other than to bring her meals and make sure she was taking her medication. By the time night rolled around, I was ready to call it a day, but Jane came over for dinner, and her contagious, unending energy started to rub off on me.
“So what did you do today? Find any more objects in weird places?” she asked innocently.
I had almost forgotten that I hadn't told her about the bizarre monsters I'd been seeing. I thought about keeping it to myself, but I could never lie to her. We had been friends since elementary school and together since high school. She was the one person on earth I expected to believe my story.
So I told her about the Tar Monster and the Plastic Angel from the night before. When I finished, she stared at me with her jaw open.
“Oh my goodness, Paul…this is just like that show Ghost Adventure or something!” she had a huge smile on her face, which was not the reaction I was expecting.
“Um…maybe not just like Ghost Adventures, but it is pretty freaky,” I said.
“We should like set up some cameras and catch them the next time they appear! We could be like famous or something.” she really did seem genuinely excited about the idea.
“I'd like to see how excited you are when they appear in your kitchen.” I shot back, now smiling myself.
“It's okay, Paul, I'll stay the night to protect you.” she offered.
“Dont you work in the morning?” I asked.
“Nope! We’re closed tomorrow, silly."
I didn't say it, but I was actually extremely relieved to not have to spend the night alone. I started to get seriously terrified of my own home. “Well, it’s settled then.” I told her, “You can deal with the big evil monsters, and I will get some much-needed beauty sleep.”
The rest of the night actually felt normal. We watched a horror movie at Jane’s request (what is it with her and this spooky shit?) and went to bed.
I had this really weird dream that night about my mom. In the dream, I was young, maybe 7 or 8, and was helping her mop the kitchen. She showed me how to fill the bucket with water and how much cleaner to pour in. She handed me the mop and said, “Give it a try!”
I was so eager to help I nearly tripped over the mop as I swished it from side to side. We were cleaning up something wet, and I figured maybe I had spilled some grape soda again. “And then you dip it into the water again,” she told me. I plunged the mop into the bucket and was about to pull it back out when I saw the water turn a light red color.
Confused, I looked at the ground I had just mopped and was horrified to see that the liquid I had been smearing around the tile was a thick, shimmering pool of blood. I screamed and looked up at my mother for her to comfort me, but I stumbled backward over the bucket when I saw her. As I lay soaked in soap, water, and blood, I watched my mom stare at me with the biggest smile. Her head was bleeding.
I shot up in bed, free from the nightmare. I must have been gasping for air because Jane sat up as well and started rubbing my back.
“Hey, hey! What's the matter?” she asked.
Catching my breath, I started to laugh a bit as I said, “I just had the weirdest, most morbid dream of my life. I was a kid, and my mom was letting me help with chores, but she was bleeding everywhere, and I think that she was going to die.”
Jane continued to comfort me, and said, “That is weird. Your mom is fine though right? I mean as far as we know?”
To be honest, I wasn't sure how my mom was doing. The last time I saw her was just before she went to rehab when I was 8. From that time forward, I only communicated with her through letters. When I was 13, the letters stopped. “I'm sure she’s okay,” I said, more to reassure myself than Jane.
We went back to sleep, and I didn't have any more dreams that night.
Day 4: Wednesday
My alarm woke Jane and me up at 5:55 AM.
“Why did you set the alarm so early?” she asked, pulling a pillow over her ears.
I turned off the alarm. “I didn't set it. It's just been doing that. There should be a loud sound, kind of like banging, in a minute or two.” We sat in complete silence, waiting for something to happen.
About 10 minutes passed, and I started to feel relieved. “Maybe nothing will happen today,” I said. Moments later, we heard a scream coming from upstairs.
“Granny!” Jane shouted as the two of us sprang into action. I stumbled on the stairs but recovered quickly as I bear-crawled the rest of my way up with tremendous speed. When I reached Grandma’s door, Jane was close behind me. I burst through the door and looked side to side for my grandmother.
She was gone. I ran to her bed and checked underneath, but there was nothing. We searched everywhere: the closet, the bathroom, the kitchen. Everywhere. She had just vanished.
“Call the police, I'm gonna drive around the neighborhood in case she left the house!” I shouted.
Jane began dialing 911, and I heard her give the operator the address as I left the house.
I spent the next 15 minutes driving up and down the roads close to home, but there was no sign of my grandma. Jane texted me that the police had arrived, and I returned to the house. The police re-checked the house and talked to someone on their radio about having all officers on the lookout for a wandering and confused elderly woman.
I explained to them that her scream sounded frightened and that I thought she might have been taken. They listened to me explain as much as I could without making me sound crazy, and when I had finished my story, they told me the most likely scenario was that she had left the house on her own. I didn't try to argue. I knew how my story must have sounded, and there was nothing I could say to get them to believe me.
On top of that, I wanted them to be correct. If Grandma were out on her own, as dangerous as that would be, it would be better than being taken. The officers left the house to search for Grandma. While they drove away, I held Jane, who was sobbing into my shirt.
The rest of the day, Jane and I drove around town looking for her. When we would get tired of driving we would go back to the house and search there again. We repeated this cycle until it started to get dark and we decided to try again the next day and allow the police to do their jobs.
We remained in contact with them throughout the day, but they turned up nothing. I was devastated, and I felt like crying, but I had held back the tears all day. I was not afraid to cry in front of Jane, but I felt like I needed all my energy to go toward finding Grandma. I couldn't waste any time crying.
While at home Jane passed out on the couch, exhausted from the emotionally taxing day. I stayed up on my computer creating a flyer to put up around town the next day. I kept my phone ringer on so I would get all updates from the police. Eventually, I started to drift off while sitting upright on my chair.
I felt the world getting fuzzy as my eyelids slowly fell, fluttering back open a few times and falling again. I was seconds away from total unconsciousness when I heard a voice whisper,
“You don’t remember, do you sweet boy?”
I jolted awake to find the Plastic Angel peering its head from behind the sofa that Jane was sleeping on. Its long fingers wrapped around the back of the couch. “J….Jane…” I managed to squeak out.
“Jane wake up!” She didn't move. I knew she was a deep sleeper but come on Jane! “You need to remember.” The Angel's voice was shrill, like nails on a chalkboard.
“Remember what?” I asked.
“You need to remember Paul. You were young. Your mind was easily molded. But it was not the truth.”
The Angel began inching toward me as it continued. “You need to see what you were forced to forget.” When the Angel had reached my chair, it slowly lifted its pointer finger which began to glow brighter than any light I had ever seen. The finger landed on my forehead, and I fell into a deep sleep.
17 Years Ago
When I was 8, my parents fought a lot. One summer, when my father finished his 3rd stint in prison, he returned home to find that my mother was not conducting their finances the way she had before he went away. She spent more money on groceries and less on pills. She bought me new shoes and even took me to the movies once.
This caused them to fight to no end. Whenever they would argue, I would sit outside our mobile home on a concrete slab and wait for it to be over. One day, I sat out in the sweltering sun and played with a group of ants that found a small splash of grape soda I had spilled. I let them crawl on my fingers and then back to the hot ground.
The air was wet, making it hard to swallow. The yelling from inside became unbearably loud, so I stood up and began walking. I didn't know where I was walking to. I just wanted to be somewhere safe.
After about a half mile of wandering aimlessly, I saw a girl sitting on a tire swing, that hung from a solitary tree. I tried not to make eye contact because I was 8 and girls were icky.
As I was walking past, she called out to me, “Hey, kid!”
Shocked, I turned to see her with a warm smile on her face from ear to ear.
“Hi,” I replied sheepishly.
“Could you push me? I'm not very good at pumping my legs.”
I felt a little weird about it, but I didn't really have anything else to do. I decided to comply since pushing a girl on a swing seemed more interesting than walking.
“What's your name?” she asked.
“Paul,” I said, warming up to her more and more by the minute. “What's your name?” I asked.
“Jane.” she said matter of factly. We played for around an hour, and I decided it was probably time to head back home. My parents didn't like when I was gone for long. After that day, every time my parents would fight, I'd walk over to Jane’s house, and we’d push each other on the old tireswing.
On one particularly rainy day, my parents began to get into another one of their heated arguments. I put on my rain boots and was about to go to my room to get my coat in hopes I could meet up with Jane. Maybe we could find some big puddles to splash in, I thought.
As I trodded over to my bedroom, I heard my mother scream. It wasn't a scream out of anger (that wouldn't have been novel enough to catch my attention). It was a scream of pain.
I ran into the kitchen, where I saw my mother holding her face, which was quickly turning a dark color. My father was standing over her with rage in his eyes. Fear held me in its grasp.
I wanted to turn, to run! But the fear held me in place, staring at the violent scene before me. Wide eyes filling with tears, I looked at my mother, then at my father, and back at my mother.
My dad looked at me and shouted, “You see, Paul! This is what happens when you step out of line!”
I was paralyzed. I wanted to help my mother. I wanted to tell her that everything would be okay. I wanted to hurt my father for hurting her.
But most of all, I wanted to scream! I wanted to scream so badly, but I couldn't. All that came out was a sob. My crying only made my father angrier.
He took a step towards me, but my mother shot up off the ground like lightning and lashed at him, screaming, “Stay away from him, you monster!”
My dad shoved her off and went to hit her again, but my lungs finally released the death grip they had held on my oxygen, and I screamed, “Stop it!” This caught him off guard, and as he turned to face me, my mother jumped to her feet once more and rushed to the knife block, pulling out the biggest one.
Before she had a chance to use it, my father grabbed her from behind and threw her down. Her head slammed the counter on her way to the floor. With a thud, she landed on the ground. She lay motionless as a pool of blood formed around her.
“Oh shit!” my dad yelled. He started grabbing at her head in a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding. “No, no, no, no…” his voice trailed off. As I watched this unfold, my vision became blurry, and my peripheral vision began fading out, locking my gaze on the crimson stream flooding from my mother’s skull. We sat in silence.
Minutes passed, then an hour. I didn't dare say a word. I couldn't. There was nothing in my 8-year-old mind that could understand what had happened. My mother never woke up.
When my father finally composed himself, he stood up off the ground and began rummaging through drawers in the kitchen. After a minute of searching, he found what he was looking for. He dropped to his knees next to my mother with a package of plastic wrap in his hands. He lifted her head a few inches and carefully wrapped the plastic around her head.
He was thorough, making sure the blood couldn't continue to drip from her wound. Once he was satisfied with his patch-up job, my mother looked like a shiny manikin. He laid her head back down and left the room, returning a moment later with the rug from under our coffee table. He wrapped her tightly.
He snapped at me to grab the mop, and soon I was cleaning the kitchen floor. I had to stand up to avoid him as he dragged my mother out of the kitchen and through the front door. He latched the deadbolt behind him, and a moment later, I heard the ignition of his truck. Peering out the window, I watched him drive away.
He didn't come back for several hours. The whole time he was gone, I stayed in my corner of the kitchen, curled into a ball. The evening turned to night. Eventually, I fell asleep on the kitchen tile.
I awoke when he returned, walking in slowly. I looked at the digital clock on the stove. 5:55 AM. He was sweaty and tired and wore a look of sadness on his face.
He took a shower, got dressed, and then called me into the living room. I did as I was told and shuffled my little feet until I found myself sitting on the couch next to the man who had raised me. He was quiet for a while and seemed to be lost in thought.
He looked at me and said, “Pauly, you know mommy had to go away for a little bit, right?” I looked at him, confused. He continued, “Mom has been fighting some tough battles these past few months. She used a lot of drugs. You know she uses drugs, dont you?” I nodded.
I had seen her on many occasions, high as she would lay in bed for what seemed like days. I said nothing as he thought for a minute before telling me, “Mom had to go somewhere to get help. A rehab center. It's kind of like a hospital.” The more he spoke, the less I understood.
“But she was bleeding! Where did you take her?” I felt more lost than I had ever felt.
“No, Paul,” he said sternly. “She wasn't bleeding.”
“But, but you-” I stammered.
“No! Paul, no!” he shouted. “Mom is fine. She just had to go away for a while.” he sounded really frustrated. “She had to go away,” he reiterated. “So when someone asks you where your mom is, what do you tell them?” He was looking me right in the eyes now.
“I..” I thought for a minute. “I..tell them she had to go away for a while.”
“Yes! Yes, Paul, that's right!” he buried my face in his chest as he forced an embrace. “That's right, son. Mom just had to go away for a little while, and that's all we know.” When he left the room, I sat there a little longer before standing shakily to my feet and walking out the front door.
I sat on the wet concrete slap, unsure if I should cry. I was so confused. I really wasn't sure what had happened, but I wanted to believe my father. If he were telling the truth, then Mom would be okay. The rain had stopped, but the clouds still loomed overhead.
Just then, I heard a quiet tap on the concrete beside me. I turned my head to see the most beautiful blue bird.
I awoke drenched in sweat. I was in the living room chair where I had been before the Angel had touched me. Jane was still curled up on the couch. I pulled out my phone and checked the time. It was 5:50 AM.
Day 5: Thursday
When my alarm went off at 5:55 AM, I silenced it and woke Jane up. “What's going on?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.
“We have to hide. This is when it always happens.” Confused but terrified, she sat up and began looking around. “Where should we hide?” she was starting to sound panicked, and I wanted to comfort her, but to be honest, I was scared shitless.
“The pantry!” I exclaimed, pointing towards the kitchen. We scrambled to the door and hid inside just before a booming sound stopped us in our tracks.
Just as we closed the door we heard a bloodcurling roar coming from the basement. We held each other tightly, neither of us daring to breathe too loudly. Pounding. Footsteps pounded up the stairs as the hate-filled roars continued.
Through the slits in the pantry door, I could see a large black personage launch itself from the top step into the living room, black sludge spilling onto all surfaces as it frantically searched around the room. It carried my rolled-up rug from the basement. This time it looked a little thicker. The creature slammed the rug onto the floor of the living room and with a scream it fled down the stairs on all fours.
After a few moments, we ventured outside the pantry. We couldn't hear the monster anymore, and we panted back the oxygen we had lost while holding our breath. Frantically I ran to the living room. I needed to see what was inside that rug.
Something in my gut told me it would be the decayed body of my mother. But when I opened it up, she wasn't inside. Instead was my sweet grandma, still and cold. I let out a sob.
Tears streamed from my face and I began performing CPR. 30 chest compressions and 2 breaths. I remembered. But it wasn't enough. My grandmother, the woman who had raised me most of my life, the only caretaker who ever gave me any sense of stability, lay dead on the floor of our living room.
At the funeral a few days later Jane held me as we cried together. I was a mess. I had never felt the sting of death quite like this before.
I had been to funerals before, and they were sad. But this was different. Death didn't just take a life from me, it took my whole heart. Could I really say that death took my grandmother?
Sure, death might have been waiting in the wings, but what took her was my past. If I had remembered what my father had done to my mother sooner, would all of this have been bypassed? Did it take the loss of my dear matriarch to deliver the truth? These are questions that I dont think will ever be graced with answers.
Everything ended the night my grandmother was taken from me.
As they readied the casket to be lowered, a small blue bird perched near the head of the grave. It seemed to bow its head in reverence.
Walking back to our car, Jane broke the silence, “I haven't smoked in years, but I think I'll need a cigarette today. You want one?” She pulled out a pack that I didn't even know she bought.
“No thanks,” I replied. “My dad used to smoke 2 packs a day.”
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2025.01.22 06:43 JessTheGoat Eevee.

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2025.01.22 06:43 Nervous-Film-7310 https://www.tiktok.com/@d2wh0/video/7461365860410625312

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2025.01.22 06:43 AssassinBoi394 The English Dub is good i swear

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2025.01.22 06:43 wewdwtnizrub Rebecca Minkoff Discount Code January 2025

Here is the Rebecca Minkoff Discount Code January 2025
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2025.01.22 06:43 altigra3 Chemical Guys Discount Code for January 2025

Go to this page for Chemical Guys Discount Code for January 2025. If you're looking for the newest coupons and promo codes, that page is the place to go. They always have the latest offers available.
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2025.01.22 06:43 KangarooMcKicker Do you think Eminem not responding to The Game was a W or an L?

Personally I thought it was disappointing. The typical excuse is "he's not giving him attention, he didn't have real beef" which I feel is kinda cheap since dude is namedropping cloutsharks like Akademik's on songs anyway
But even with that aside rap is a competitive genre and artists challenging eachother for the top spot is part of the sport competitive rappers like Em claim to be about.
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2025.01.22 06:43 Efficient-Lab-5569 W Music taste?

W Music taste? submitted by Efficient-Lab-5569 to teenagers [link] [comments]

2025.01.22 06:43 neanderball Who is at fault, if any?

Who is at fault, if any? Did gold pit themselves, or do I (gulf) need to move over / brake earlier as soon as they are past me? In all honestly, I thought I was playing fair and kept it straight so they could take the middle, and I wasn't expecting a squeeze.
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2025.01.22 06:43 ZOHOSUXBALLZ Zoho - disappointing service and non-existent customer support

Hi,
Just sharing my experience as a new potential customer to the platform. I, as many others, needed to find a business solution that was affordable and reliable that we can depend on ~ especially for something as critical as email communications.
From day one the service has only partially worked; there were some issues with the zoho platform that we needed to get a better understanding of why certain things were not working. No problem right, just shoot a ticket and hope to hear within 48hrs? Nope.
Zero responses, no updates and no update on ticket status; it's been at least 4 days at this point. I can't imagine having to wait for over 4+ days to get a response by using their platform as a paying customer? I must be missing something at this point if so many people are using it.
But this experience so far has just showed me that paying that extra money to known companies - though expensive- like workspace/m365 is probably worth it in the long run because zero response is ridiculous especially for a new customer trying your service out. I don't know how they are able to keep sales going with that type of "after sales".
If they do respond to this posting - the point was to share my experience as someone exploring a solution- me having to come to reddit to post everything isn't enticing as someone trying to find a reliable platform. Naturally, everyone's experiences are different; but some sort of response on the platform would've been appreciated.
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2025.01.22 06:43 dev_0407 Asics gel 1130

Asics gel 1130 Bought Asics gel 1130 from Flipkart at ₹3810
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2025.01.22 06:43 LyRussian No sugar coating. Call me a degenerate if you want. Why does Father have so much space between the legs?

No sugar coating. Call me a degenerate if you want. Why does Father have so much space between the legs? submitted by LyRussian to ArlecchinoMains [link] [comments]

2025.01.22 06:43 AutoNewspaperAdmin [IN] - Journalist among 2 held for 'offensive' comments on Maha Kumbh, Hindu deities in UP | Times of India

[IN] - Journalist among 2 held for 'offensive' comments on Maha Kumbh, Hindu deities in UP | Times of India submitted by AutoNewspaperAdmin to AutoNewspaper [link] [comments]

2025.01.22 06:43 Personal-Respond5413 Oi, you, yeah you, drop your Oc down or the dog gets it 🐶🔫😐 (I wanna practice drawing clothes like these with different body types)

Oi, you, yeah you, drop your Oc down or the dog gets it 🐶🔫😐 (I wanna practice drawing clothes like these with different body types) submitted by Personal-Respond5413 to HazbinHotelOCArt [link] [comments]

2025.01.22 06:43 maddylaw Happiness comes in many ways !! Also this can be 2025 Meme of the year !!

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2025.01.22 06:43 AutoNewspaperAdmin [Lifestyle] - Are standing desks making you healthy? | Times of India

[Lifestyle] - Are standing desks making you healthy? | Times of India submitted by AutoNewspaperAdmin to AutoNewspaper [link] [comments]

2025.01.22 06:43 m00nie_ Researching the link between group dynamics and creativity(current university students, 18+)

Creativity and Group Dynamics (Any student over the age of 18 is welcome)
Hi there! If you're a current university student and would like to participate in a quick online survey for my undergrad final project, it would be much appreciated!
https://napiersas.eu.qualtrics.com/jfe/form/ SV_bD9eQaVYLnOkdoi
This study looks at group dynamics & creativity. It should only take about 10 mins to complete, and it's completely anonymous. Participants are required to be 18+, fluent in English, and a current university student.
The study closes on February 1st! If you have any questions, feel free to pop a message! Thank you so very much :)
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2025.01.22 06:43 Prince-Of-Swordsmen What Did He Do in Tennessee?

What Did He Do in Tennessee? submitted by Prince-Of-Swordsmen to JoJoQuestions [link] [comments]

2025.01.22 06:43 Junimono I need to release some frustration about Ranked soloQ

I’ve recently got to top 100 with Seraphine. yei:) I’m bouncing between emerald 2 I’ve never played a game like this before, started 6 weeks ago, so feel pretty good about top 100 but…
I don’t know what it is, but if I’m not playing with someone I know as adc or at least 1 person I know or have played with before, if I don’t have that.. it seems like 5 maybe 6 auto losses before I maaaybe get a win. Or I get 6 to 11 wins in a row and then nothing but losses
Loss Loss Loss Loss
And I am playing my thumbs crooked! I genuinely feel I have played to the absolute best of my abilities! I play focused, I barely die, I do !!everything!! to keep everyone alive and get dragons, objectives, turrets, farm
I have been told by other I play very well and they enjoy playing with me.. But I dropped from 98 to 105 to 122 to 155 to 199 ….:’(
I could cry… the matches I’ve had…. I could cry
people run into oblivion Like headless chickens..
I feel punished for even trying to do well:’(
submitted by Junimono to wildrift [link] [comments]

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