My mom has been posting a lot more on social media lately, and I’ve noticed that her style has become much bolder than it used to be. She’s wearing outfits that show some skin, and it seems like she’s getting a lot more attention and engagement because of it. But in home she’s a normal mom in pj's.

I’ve noticed that many of my friends, both male and female, like her posts. One of my male friend in particular seems to interact with her posts constantly. He likes almost everything she uploads and often leaves comments. Recently, I saw him comment “hot” on one of her pictures. My mom simply replied normally, just like she does to most comments on her posts. She doesn’t seem bothered by those kinds of comments at all.

Honestly, I have a really good relationship with my mom. We’re very open with each other and don’t really hide things from one another. Even recently she sent me her outfit check pictures like always she does so, that's the bond we share and she ’s a very cool-minded person, and she doesn’t seem to care if people compliment her outfit, appearance, or body.

I think she’s genuinely enjoying this phase of her life. Maybe she’s finally comfortable experimenting with outfits she never tried before, and the positive attention probably makes her feel good too.

I don’t have any objection to it. If she feels confident and happy with her style, I’m happy for her. I honestly hope she continues enjoying herself and does even better in life.

Back in 2017, a Swedish dental hygienist named Bernt Herlitz noticed something that completely broke all laws of biology. He was doing routine checkups on young refugees on the island of Gotland. These patients were officially registered as unaccompanied minors—meaning children. But when Herlitz looked into their mouths, he saw fully developed wisdom teeth in about 80% of them. In the dental world, that means one thing: these weren't kids. They were fully grown adult men using a legal loophole to get child refugee benefits.

Herlitz did what any honest professional would do. He reported it to the Migration Agency. But instead of an investigation, the system turned on him like a pack of wolves.

He was fired on the spot. The clinic accused him of leaking medical secrets and mishandling data. Then came a brutal lawsuit that felt more like a public execution. The court sided with the employer and ordered Herlitz to pay over 445,000 Swedish kronor (around $43,000) in legal fees. For a regular working-class guy, this was instant financial suicide. Herlitz was blacklisted from his profession, and his career was completely dead.

The family was saved from total bankruptcy only because regular citizens started a massive crowdfunding campaign on social media to pay his debt.

But here comes the ultimate, marianic twist. A few years later, the fraud became so massive that the Swedish authorities couldn't ignore it anymore. The exact same X-ray and dental methods Herlitz used—the ones they called "unreliable and discriminatory" during his trial—were officially adopted by the state as the standard tool to verify the age of undocumented migrants.

The system basically admitted he was right all along. But nobody apologized to Herlitz, and nobody gave him his career back. His story is a chilling reminder of what happens when raw scientific facts crash into a wall of political ideology. When the truth is uncomfortable, the system doesn't fix the problem—it just destroys the person who pointed it out.

(Please excuse my English, it's not my native language but I wanted to share this story with you.)

I  ran up a flight of stairs, up onto the balcony where I saw her over the edge of the building, it has been the fourth time that she has done it… I ran to her and pulled her away from her imminent fate. “Don’t do this anymore, what am I going to do without you?” I said worriedly. “I just wanna die, please just let me go!”. Why has this happened? We were just a beautiful looking couple a few months ago and now it has turned into this mess, what went wrong?

It was August 31st the return to school, where I would laugh and cry with all my friends in the cafeteria. Life was awesome. I had no complaints, my studies were good, all my teachers respected me and I wasn’t involved in any school drama or anything like that. Until a new student came around the block, it was a girl, she had a petite figure and looked very soft, almost immediately she grabbed all of my classmates attention, she was just an eye candy.
Her name was Lily and she originated from Japan which explains her beauty, I can’t lie even though I wasn’t interested in any girls, she’s the only girl I can call beautiful in our school.
Being the extrovert I am, I struck up a conversation with her. “Hey, what makes you wanna come to this school?” I said. “My dad has decided to work here so I need to change schools.” Her voice was gentle, but cold at the same time, it’s almost as if she went through a lot of stuff.

We continued to talk and talk, then we exchanged information online, for some reason I can get along with her very well. She seems to understand everything I say, which is cool but terrifying at the same time. We would play games all day and even call sometimes, I was starting to develop some feelings for her… Then one day she blatantly said she likes me? It seems like she confessed first, I didn’t even have the chance to, but I guess that’s great. We're now officially couples, I mean everything feels the same, it’s just that I have a girlfriend by my side and I hope she would never leave me, not like my other loved one which was my dog Bibi that passed away in a car accident, her death was so sudden and it hit me like a truck just like how it hit her. Nevertheless, I love her, more than anything in life and I hope she’s able to be happy. Those were the words before the disaster.

Out of a sudden, she became suicidal, I didn’t know why, she refused to open up to me, I then warned her multiple times that mental health isn’t a joke and she should get some help right away. She then undervalued herself and claimed she was a burden for everyone around her, I don’t understand, she has a loving family and a boyfriend and yet she’s suicidal, maybe I wasn’t doing a good job as her boyfriend but I need to keep trying. I tried pursuing her until she finally snapped and said she hated me. When she said those words my heart sank and I almost cried, I couldn’t bear such words to my soul, it really hurts when someone you really love says they hate you, it really sucks, but I can’t give up yet. 
The situation was so bad that she even stopped coming to school for a moment, when I noticed she was absent, I immediately rushed to her home, hoping to find her, but yet she told me to go away, she kept on pushing me away. I told her parents about her situation and they are as clueless as me too.

I am just afraid she might take her own life which make me crumble apart, because all those days we spent together were not in vain and I wanted to show her that I am always there for her, no matter how low life gets I will always be there for her, at least I am trying but she kept on pushing me away, I needed to find the problem, on why she was feeling like this.
I texted her across multiple platforms but she blocked me in all of them, I was really starting to lose hope… I don’t understand why she is doing this, does she really hate me? But we were just calling the other day and talking about the moon and travelling together and now I see a completely different view.

I ponder in my bedroom, looking like I just lost half of my life. It turns out her situation was largely affecting me too. In terms of studying and everything else, I’m starting to get mixed feelings about her now. My over prioritization of her has made me lose some of my qualities of a human being; my grades were starting to drop; I don’t see my friends that often anymore; and most importantly my sleep has worsened over the thought of her ending it all.
Maybe it’s better to just dump her away, part of me wanted to, because if she’s never recovering then might as well let go. But I really don’t want her life to end like this, I promised her that I would marry her and everything, and we would start a family in Malaysia or something. My mind was spiralling into madness, as it failed to make a stable judgement about her situation. Then my mom came into the room, I half expected her to complain about why my grades were dropping and I was planning to make an excuse for it, but she asked “Are you okay?”, it suddenly struck me, should I lie and say it’s just getting harder or should I tell her about Lily, because I never told my parents about her somehow, I always kept my things private even to my close ones. 

“Mom, it’s nothing, the test papers are just getting more and more difficult. I need some time to adjust to it.” I acted out the lie.

“Are you sure? Not only that, but you also look more anxious lately and you barely sleep, I think something else is going on and you better tell me.” my mom said with a strict tone, clearly worrying about me too. Well she is one hard person to get through, but I don’t think telling my mom is going to fix anything.

“Mom, you're worrying too much, if my grades are dropping then obviously I would stay up late at night revising more, don’t you think?”  I made up the lie on the spot, but I guess it’s partially true. My mom accepted the lie and unconvincingly walked out of my room, something tells me she’s still not done with me yet.

Now back to Lily, I guess I have to try my best at helping her and studying at the same time, balancing both, but if Lily gets worse then I may need to do more for her. That night I decided to take a nice little walk outside to cool my mind off regarding Lily, the breeze was cold and hot at the same time, the sky had an aquamarine color with orange breaking through the horizon, it was beautiful indeed. Then in the same apartment Lily lives in, I see a figure of a petite shape standing there, realizing it might be her, I quickly run up the stairs, and I see her standing opposite to me, she gives me a soft grin, as if she knew that I would come.
“Oh, you finally appeared huh?” she whispered with just enough voice for it to be heard.
“Why? Why have you been avoiding me and pushing me away when I am trying to help you? I really care about you and I just want you to know I love you, more than anything on earth!” I almost shouted.
“That’s really cute, I like how you only love me when I’m about to kill myself.” 
“No that’s not true, I’m sorry for everything from the day i met you I have always loved you, your voice, your jokes, your eyes, your everything basically. If I don't love you then why would I desperately try to save you? Why would I run 10 floors up to see you!?” I bursted into tears, I couldn’t hold it in anymore, her pessimism about my love really breaks my heart.
“Fine. I get it, you love me, but It’s not going to stop me from killing myself.”
“NO! Stop right there, why do you want to end it all? Please tell me, I need to know.”
“No you don’t, you won’t understand me.”
“Then I’ll try.” 
For a few seconds, silence ruled over the air and only the howling of the wind could be heard, with the cars below moving past with us on the top floor.
“You think I hate you, don’t you?” She asked.
“I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“I don’t hate you.”
She paused.
“That’s the problem.”
“I love you.”
I felt the weight on my shoulder lift up when she said it. It was the first time we declared our love to each other.
“Then why are you doing this?”
“Because loving you only makes me feel worse.”
I stared at her.
“What do you mean? What we had was real! And you gotta destroy it like that?”
I stopped after realizing I was cutting her off.
“You remind me too much about him, it hurts. He was supposed to be the one for me, we had plans for the future, we laughed together, spent time talking under the moon, but he suddenly died of cancer. The more I spend time with you, the more I see him fade away, I mean I love you but I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do…It feels like I’m replacing him.” Her voice cracked.
“I see pieces of him in you, the way you talk, the stupid jokes you made, the way you grin is exactly how he does it.”
“I didn’t know that…Why didn’t you tell me about this? He has passed on and I’m pretty sure he wants you to find someone else to take care of you in his place. Otherwise neither of you two will ever be happy.”
“Everytime I start loving someone, I remember that I already lost someone I promised I’d never lose. I didn’t tell you because you might think I’m crazy or I love him more than you, but the truth is I love both, it's just there’s only one left.”
“Lily, you don’t have to choose between us.”
She looked at me with hope.
“He was someone you loved. Losing him doesn’t erase that. And loving me doesn’t erase him either.”
She remained silent.
“You don’t have to forget about him to move forward.”
“But I promised him.”
“Promised him what?”
“That he’d be the last person I’d ever love.”
“Before he passed away, he said that?”
“Yes…”
It was twisted love, she felt guilty for loving me, as it felt like her ex didn’t matter anymore and she thought it would mean she simply moved on from her tragic ex. I finally understood everything, voices in her head probably overtook her consciousness to make such a decision, but I came by and stopped it at least I hope so.
“So are you going to stop loving me?”
“I don’t know. I want to, but he doesn’t want it.”
“You shouldn’t let him dictate your life, you deserve to lead your life whichever way you want it to be.”
Her tears just started rolling down her cheeks, I have never seen her cry like that before. I could tell she was really heart broken. I stayed by her side comforting her as the rain started to pour down, as if mother nature emphasized Lily.
“Let’s get back in.”
Lily nodded.
I held her up and covered her with my jacket, slowly walking together past the door, where the new future awaits. 

The next day everything went back to normal, my grades recovered, Lily finally unblocked me on all social media and we are still going well. I would see her across the cafeteria, laughing and smiling with all her friends, which would voluntarily make me smile. When we are going through things, it takes big courage to take a step and try to understand the other person, I was not a good person in terms of understanding but I tried, that’s what matters, and even though I couldn’t bring her ex back to life, I could say I prevented another tragic love story.

So as usual I cycle 50 minutes back from school on my e bike, and I hate the people that use a phone while cycling. As I approached a long straight road I saw a girl with a phone. I was too shy to confront her so I looked behind me, And I saw a big truck with six of those big horns. So I waved to the truck driver and he waved back, then I kind of signaled to the driver that the girl was on her phone and he did a thumbs up. Then signaled to the driver to honk and pointed to the girl, he laughed while doing another thumbs up. He honked and the girls phone flew out of her hand and bounced on the ground. I even swerved a bit because of how loud it was my ears are still kind of ringing. The phone was in two pieces, I don't know if it was the case but it didn't look good. And we were going about 25kmh that's about 15,5 mph for my Americans here. I just laughed and she screamed something, she was probably just mad.

There once was a man who kept Tuesday in a jar. Not every Tuesday. Just one. He had found it many years ago underneath his kitchen table, trembling beside a dust bunny. Tuesday was very small then. About the size of a button. So he put it in a pickle jar. He poked three holes in the lid. He wasn't cruel. Every morning before work he checked on Tuesday. "Morning." Tuesday said nothing. Tuesday had never said anything. Still, the man left it a little coffee. Just in case.

Years passed. The man grew older. Tuesday did not. People visited his house. They noticed the jar. "What's that?" "Tuesday." "No, really." "Tuesday." Most people stopped asking. One woman did not. She stayed for dinner. Then another dinner. Then several hundred dinners. Eventually her toothbrush appeared beside his. She never asked him to throw Tuesday away. This was one reason he loved her. At night they could hear the jar humming downstairs. mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. "What does it want?" she asked once. "I don't know." "Have you ever opened it?" The man looked horrified. "You can't just open Tuesday." She nodded. Of course. There are rules. Nobody knows who wrote them. Still, there are rules.

Years passed again. The woman became sick. Not storybook sick. Not one dramatic cough into a white handkerchief. Sick in the tedious way. Appointments. Parking garages. Plastic bracelets. Numbers. Waiting rooms filled with magazines no one had chosen to read. The man would sit beside her and hold her hand. Sometimes neither of them talked. There isn't always something to say. Eventually there was one hospital room. One chair. One bed. One afternoon. She looked at him and whispered: "I think Tuesday wants out." The man laughed. Then cried. Then laughed because he was crying. Then cried because he had laughed. Human beings do ridiculous things when the walls get close.

That evening he went home alone. The house had become enormous. Every room seemed to contain another room behind it. The refrigerator buzzed. The hallway light blinked. At the end of the hallway stood someone who looked exactly like him. Except taller. And smiling. The man switched off the light. When he switched it back on, nothing was there. From the kitchen: mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. He walked toward the jar. Tuesday was glowing. Very faintly. Blue perhaps. Or green. Or that color you sometimes see when you close your eyes after looking at the sun. He sat down. "All right," he said. Tuesday hummed. "You've been here forty-three years." Tuesday hummed. "I don't even know what you are." Tuesday hummed.

The man put his hand on the lid. Suddenly he remembered being eight years old. Running through wet grass. His mother calling him home. He remembered being nineteen. He remembered his first apartment. His father's hands. A terrible haircut. A dog whose name he had almost forgotten. The woman laughing so hard milk came out of her nose. The woman asleep beside him. The woman in the hospital. The woman saying: I think Tuesday wants out. The jar began shaking. "No," the man whispered. Because now he understood. Tuesday wasn't Tuesday. Not exactly. Tuesday was every day he had decided he could keep. Every afternoon he wished would remain unfinished. Every person he had secretly believed could be protected by remembering them hard enough. Every moment he had placed beneath glass and said: Mine. Stay. Please.

The lid turned. Once. Twice. The man stopped. From somewhere upstairs came footsteps. Slow footsteps. Coming down. One. Two. Three. The kitchen light flickered. The refrigerator stopped humming. Everything became silent. The man opened the jar. Nothing happened. He waited. Still nothing. Then something very small climbed onto his hand. Tuesday. It looked nothing like Tuesday. It looked like a tiny warm light. It crawled across his palm. Paused. And disappeared. The footsteps upstairs stopped. The man sat alone at the kitchen table. The empty jar stood before him.

Morning eventually arrived. Not dramatically. No trumpets. No revelation. Just sunlight finding the curtains. The man made coffee. He poured two cups from habit. He stared at the second one. Then smiled. Then cried. Then drank them both. Outside, someone was mowing a lawn. A truck backed up somewhere. A dog barked. The world continued performing its ridiculous little duties. The man stepped outside. It was Wednesday. He had never noticed Wednesday before.

For Dad

No one in my life has met my dad. But they certainly know him. I’m talking partners, friends, neighbours, work colleagues — I’ve even used him as an example in my business, with customers. Every person would describe him exactly as I know him. The smartest person I’ve ever met. The kindest person I’ve ever met. The most gentle. The most modest. And the most brilliant — there wasn’t a Trivial Pursuit game he couldn’t win. He was able to participate anywhere and everywhere.

My father was always kind. At every turn, he was kind. A family friend would always say, everybody deserves a dad like mine. And I think that that’s absolutely true.

When you spoke to Dad, you felt like the whole world stopped. And I mean stopped in time. His focus was entirely on you. I remember being a toddler and having that level of attention, right through to being an adult.

He was also my greatest comedic fan.
At five, I would follow him around the backyard — some would say annoyingly — and tell him the greatest joke of all time.
Knock knock.
Who’s there?
Bear.
Bear who?
Bare bottom.

I told it daily until I was ten. Okay — maybe fifteen. Look, my friends now, as I’m almost thirty-eight, know that joke. It’s definitely recorded in ASIC board papers. I have told it at corporate meetings.
And every single time, he’d throw his head back and laugh like it was the first time he’d ever heard it. Like it was groundbreaking stuff. Real high-quality.

That became a lifelong project of mine — making Dad laugh. It escalated. By the time I was at university, which happened to be down the road from his work, it had turned into pranks.

He worked in magazine publishing, and on a deadline day — assembling ads, incredibly stressed — I would choose those moments to terrorise him. I would call and tell him I was four hours away, where my car had been impounded and I’d been picked up for drunk driving.
Without aggression. Without agitation. Without frustration. He would gently say, are you okay, pal?
I’d say, yeah. Can you please just come and pick me up, as they won’t take me home?
And he would say, without fail, sure. Just let me get ready. I can leave in about twenty minutes, and I’ll make my way to you.

Twenty minutes later, I’d be sitting on the bonnet of his parked car at his work building. Huge grin on my face. Holding something nice for him to eat, and a coffee.
He would throw his head back and laugh in delight. And I’d say, hey — wanna go AWOL? We can go to a party. Which would make him laugh even more.

That attention wasn’t only for me.
I remember Dad and I sitting at one of Lewis’s soccer games, always a sausage roll in hand — still, to this day, have never found one better. Lewis had no real interest in being out there. And Dad would lean over and whisper, your brother is great at being exactly where the ball isn’t. I think that that’s on purpose.

He wasn’t there to watch Lewis win. He was just there. Every week, on the sideline, delighted by a boy who didn’t want to play.

Then I watched Dad lose Lewis. No one deserves that. But seriously, not Dad.

Lewis’s note said, Dad always told me, mind over matter. And I realised in that moment that they really had their own special relationship, just like I did with him.

Home was even worse after Lewis. By the time I started high school I knew I would have to remove myself from it — and I knew that would come at the expense of Dad. Not because of anything he had done. Because you can’t step out of a home and still be in it. I dreaded the day I would have to leave him.

So what I did was, without fail, every week, I would write him a note. From the very first day of high school until the week I finished.
The weekly notes would explain to him why I loved him, filled with memories, examples, reflections. They were endless. There was so much to tell him.
Tears would be stained onto the paper, sometimes making a bit of the ink run, as I would articulate as cleanly as I could why he was not just the most brilliant dad in the world, but the greatest person I have ever met.
He would notice that those were the marks of dried tears. And he would come home to talk to me about what I’d written, and why.

I wanted him to understand that leaving would never be about him. In those conversations Dad would get very upset. He would talk about what he wanted to see me achieve, and how he wanted to be a fantastic grandfather to my children.

Which is why, years later, I would leave those pranks at his work delighted — and then sit in my car and cry. Because I already knew what was coming. There would come a point where I couldn’t sustain this relationship. Not through any falling out, and not through distance, but because I had taken myself out of the family, and this was the cost of it. I knew that this was the most important and beautiful relationship of my entire life, and I knew I was going to lose it.

Those notes were really my way of writing this eulogy, twenty years early. But unlike this one — delivered to a room, about a person — mine were delivered to him. Every week, for five years, he heard it. He heard all of it.

Dad still remains the greatest person I have ever met in my entire life. The greatest accomplishment of my life has been being his daughter.

P.S. Daddy, don’t be scared. Lewis, Nanna and Grandad are there. Tell them I love them.

Edit: sorry for strange paragraph spacing, grammar is a real weakness

It all started so simply, so innocently, so responsibly: when you are an adult, you have to be prepared for such things.

Parents don’t live forever.
Nor do spouses.
Nor siblings.
Nor children.

He had studied actuarial science in college. He was a former Boy Scout: “Be Prepared” was a mantra he had intoned since childhood. Nothing wrong with that. It simply meant he was ready for that universally dreaded phone call.

Not a text message, not an email. A phone call, perhaps late at night while brushing your teeth. Perhaps early on a Saturday morning before anyone is up doing anything.

He had gotten a phone call like that one Saturday morning.

He screamed—a howl he didn’t know he could make. He would never forget that morning, or how completely unprepared he had been.

And so, he had a plan now.

He had a plan for everyone.

His mother’s was twelve pages.

His father’s was nine.

His wife’s was thirty-seven.

There were wills, passwords, insurance policies, funeral preferences, account numbers, phone trees. He knew which relatives would need to be called first and which ones should not be left alone after receiving the news.

But those were only logistics.

He planned the grief, too.

If his mother died first, he would drive rather than fly. He imagined the call coming at night. Rain, probably. If driving, pull to the side of the road when the call came. If at home, go to the bedroom, close the door. Scream into pillow as needed.

For his father, he had prepared three possible eulogies. They all centered around regretting not reconnecting after the divorce. One version was reserved and stoic, another was lighthearted and anecdotal. He would just need to ask around beforehand which fit best, as he didn’t really know his father well enough to choose himself.

For his wife, he knew where he would stand at the funeral. He knew the music she would want. He knew the flowers: daisies. She wore a blue dress with a daisy pattern on their first date. She loved that dress.

He had decided he would allow himself three days before handling paperwork and two weeks before returning to work.

He considered this practical.

People refused to think about death, then acted surprised when it came. Ludicrous in his eyes. “Death and taxes”—wasn’t that the saying?

He would not be surprised.

One Saturday morning, his wife sat across from him eating toast while he updated the beneficiary information on her life insurance policy. Sunshine poured through the bay window behind her as she scrolled through her phone.

Suddenly she laughed.

She laughed and couldn’t stop, one hand covering her mouth.

He looked up.

“What’s so funny?”

She turned the phone toward him.

A cat meme. Something absurdly stupid.

She wiped a tear from her eye and breathlessly said, “Oh, I don’t know why I found that so funny.”

Later, after breakfast, he went to the den.

He pulled out the manila folder labeled WIFE — DEATH.

Thirty-seven pages.

He stared at it for a long time.

From the kitchen, he heard a cupboard close.

Then her voice, humming badly to herself.

There was no plan in which losing her was acceptable.

***
Thank you for reading. This story is about being an adult, which bums me out sometimes. I would love to hear your feedback.

I woke up. And the disorientation hit me before I even opened my eyes. I felt sick but beneath the fog was a sharp realisation. There is a body in my bagpack. I killed someone.

I also realised that nobody knows. But how? I asked myself. Me? I didnt had to save myself. I just wanted to know how i did it. How i thought that it was the only way out.

People in the room dont sound and look familiar. One of them said,

Some of us are staying at this hotel and the rest at another. We will have to vacate this place soon. I started wondering, who are these people?

How do i know them? Do all of them know that someone who i think is in my bagpack?

Since we were supposed to leave, i started packing. My backpack was inside this massive shoe rack. May be its not what its called. Its where a person can sit and wear their shoes and there is storage underneath. I packed all my things except the one on my mind. Closed the door and we left.

While leaving for the other place i thought am i also on drugs? I definitely am on drugs. I just didnt know which ones. It was a walking trail. Within the hills and the city i was in. The people wore colorful clothes. And soo were the advertisement hoardings. Radiant, cheerful and real. i walked and walked with my things and reached the other hotel.

Then i remember going to sleep again. But this time when i woke up i saw someone on this huge bed right next to me. He had 4 massive other screens, connected to his laptop right next to him. They were bright and chaotic. As if he was giving a lecture or something. Neither did we talk nor did we acknowledge, each others presence. I left. Left to find the reason.

I stopped at this railway crossing. It had this playful barrier wherein you can squeeze yourself and get to the other side. There were two small girls with braids playing right there. I almost had an altercation with them. Brats! Thankfully the train passed smoothly and they were unharmed.

I then started walking again and then it hit me. My backpack. Its small. Not tiny but small. It cannot hold a corpse. What is going on? Did it chop it? Or did i just break it? Iam not that strong. I cannot break bones. What the fuck is going on?

I couldn't stay here. The cheerful colors of the city started to feel like a mockery. The two girls with braids were whispering now, pointing at my empty hands. They knew. Everyone in this place seemed to know the rules, except for me.

I burst back into the second hotel room first, to get all my things. The man with the four screens didn't look up. The chaotic blue light from his monitors washed all over his face. He didnt seem or look flattering.

His voice suddenly echeoed in a flat, rhythmic, tone. Matching the sounds of his codes on the screen, he said. - you forgot.

I gasped and said, forgot what exactly?

The reason. He finally turned and looked in my eyes. His eyes were white. Just white.

The man said, you killed him because he asked you to. He wanted to see if he could fit into the next world.

The man pointed to a fifth, smaller screen I hadn't noticed before. It showed the shoe rack in the first hotel.

I stared at the fifth screen. On it, the massive shoe rack from the first hotel room sat cast in a cold, pixelated glow. The storage door underneath—the one where I had left the backpack—was slightly open.

But the bag wasn't holding a mangled corpse. The screen zoomed in, showing the texture of the fabric stretching, pixelating, and folding inward like an origami shape defying the laws of geometry. It wasn't holding a dead man; it was filtering him.

"The next world, i whispered, the word tasting like copper on my

tongue. "What did he mean by that?

The man with the white eyes didn't answer right away. He turned

back to his array of monitors, his fingers resuming their rhythmic, chaotic dance across the keyboard. The blue light washed over his featureless gaze. You think in three dimensions because you were

built there. But he wanted to pass through the eye of the needle. A backpack is just a container. A container is just a boundary.

A wave of nausea hit me, sharper than the fog I had woken up with.

I looked down at my own hands. They didn't feel strong enough to

break bones, because I hadn't broken them. I had undone them. The colorful, cheerful advertisements outside the window suddenly felt

like a poorly rendered simulation, a painted tarp stretched over a massive void.

"If he's in the next world..." I began, backing toward the door, then what is left in the bag?

"Go back and look, the man’s voice echoed, flat and rhythmic, perfectly timed to the clicking of his keys. "The train has already passed. The brats have stopped playing. The shoe rack is waiting.I bolted out of the room, leaving the hotel behind. The city outside had changed. The vibrant colors had bled out, leaving everything in a high-contrast monochrome, except for the railway crossing ahead. The two little girls with braids were gone, but their

whispers still hung in the heavy, humid air.

I reached the first hotel, the doors unlocking before i could even touch them.The massive shoe rack sat in the corner of the empty room. I knelt down, my heart hammering against my ribs, and pulled open the lower storage door.

The backpack was there. It felt entirely weightless as i pulled it out. Trembling, I unzipped the main compartment.

There was no blood. There were no bones.

Inside the small bag, sitting perfectly flat against the bottom, was a pristine, vintage, bright postcard of the very room i was standing in. And printed perfectly in the center of the postcard, looking directly up at me with a terrified, trapped expression, was the face of the man who had asked me to kill him.

Beneath his face,

a single line of elegant text read: Wish you were here.

Ayn

Ok what?

When my kid (call them K) was 2 years old, K needed a blood test for lead. We expected it to be upsetting so my wife told me I was doing it, not her. I took K to the clinic and we waited in the waiting room. K was all smiles, not knowing what was to come. Then our turn came and they brought us to a back room. K was on my lap and a nurse came over, smiling. K smiled back. The nurse took K’s arm, rubbed it with alcohol, then held a piece of gauze to block the view while she went in with the needle. K didn’t know there was a needle going in. The nurse got one vial of blood, then popped that one off and attached another. K was still smiling. The nurse finished the second vial, then pulled out the needle, taped on a cotton ball with a band-aid, and stepped back, holding her breath. K looked at the bandaged arm, then at the other arm, then held that one up and said, “Another?” K thought the bandage looked cool and wanted another 😂😂