Live stream voyeur

Dawn Somewhere is creating Music, cartoons, comics, parodies, and fiction. Select a membership level. $1.00 Tier. $1. per post. Join. All patrons will are welcome to join our Discord server (send us a PM if you need a link) along with any random thing we think to throw at you! $2.00 Tier. $2. The Wrath & the Dawn. Renée Ahdieh / SilvesterVitale. Khalid, the Caliph, takes a new bride each night only to have her executed at sunrise. So it is a suspicious surprise when Shahrzad volunteers to marry Khalid. ... But things turn complicated when his friend falls in love with her! The God of High School. like 17M. Action. The God of High ... We would like to show you a description here but the site won’t allow us. A summary of DawnSomewhere. DawnSomewhere (flimflamphilosphy) is a youtube channel known most famously for its animation on the subject of the popular kids television show My Little Pony, his animations are (normally) satirical in nature and exude wit and more importantly, unending passion. If you were around when he started making mlp fan videos you'd know he originally didn't know how to draw digital art nor did he know how to animate. Enjoy the videos and music you love, upload original content, and share it all with friends, family, and the world on YouTube. 1. Dawn was propelled by a solar-powered ion propulsion system. Though ion propulsion was conceived of in the early 1900s and has long been a staple of science fiction, the technology had not been employed for science exploration until the latter half of the century. Home

2013.12.21 20:22 XelNaga Live stream voyeur

A place for fans of the youtuber FimFlamFilosophy and his website Dawnsomewhere.com
[link]


2020.07.20 16:12 savanna20Jul Live stream voyeur

Real Home-made Gra-nny Por-n Girls in Bathing Suits Porn Black Porn Girl Ms Luv Michael Lucas Dick Gay Porn Panda Free Porn Movies Polar Tube Porn Black Mom Fucks Son Friend at Porn Mature Lingerie Porn Movies Sienna West Porn Tube We Are Hairy White Porn Naomi West Porn Tube Students Were Forced to Masturbate Porn Man on Shemale on Woman Porn Reddit Porn Videw Str8 Men Gay Porn Dee Bbc Porn Sexy Cartoon Porn Videos Real British Escort Porn Hard Young Gay Porn Disarten Porn Comic Snow Sex Porn Unbreakable Sonic Porn Comic Free Rough Lesbian Strap on Porn Videos Amateur Chubby Doggy Porn Hot Teen Girl Forces Her Sister to Fuck Porn Big Ass Anarexic Porn Gay Icelandic Porn Gay Dad Catches Siblings Fucking and Joins the Party Porn People Having Sex With Animals Porn Pinky Lesbian Porn Porn Mom and Friend Boy Freckles Milf Porn Aunt and Sister Porn Best Real Aunt Porn Videos Download Best Porn Cinema Movies Blackincest Porn Tube Girl Hanged Porn Curvy Women Big Thick Blonde Porn Star Porn Sierra Lewis White Hd Big Black Ass Creampie Porn Videos Free Big Porn Hd Jap Porn Www Free Watch Porn Video Lesbian Step Daughter Porn Negress Creampie Porn Us Hardcore Porn Homemade Girl Sock Porn Hardcore Porn Curvy Black Paradise Porn Gay Porn School Guys Rome Dp Bbc Porn Blacks on White Guy Porn Sex Porn Video Arab Free Watch Porn Movie Online Guys Solo on Porn Hub Free Star Vs the Forces of Evil Porn Gay Cartoon Porn Big Ass 18 Yo White Boy With Monster Cock Porn Female Porn Star Fucking Fans Female Bodybuilder Takes Her Clothes Off Porn Free Porn Video of Father and Daughter Anal Forced Sex Xxx Porn Sex Jap Movies Star Vs the Forces of Evil Porn Ass Avril Lavigne Porn Movie Cumshot Penis Young Pic Gallery Porn Real Amatuer Senior Threesome Porn Twitch Cartoon Porn Hot Big Butt Asain Girl Anal Porn Free Porn Videos in Ghana Barbarian and Young Caster Comic Porn Reddit Girls Do Porn Tattoo Big Dick Ghetto Basement Porn Nia Nacci Teen Dad Porn Devin King Porn Tube Annie Lee Sister Porn White Guy Asian Guy Porn Bbc in Tight Pink Boy Pussy Porn Captions Real Sis Bro Porn Best Lesbian Porn for Lesbians Alpha Male Porn Comics Blue Angel Hd Porn Free Daughter Blowjob Porn Eva Notty Free Porn Movies Pionoy Porn Bbc Lisa Ann Lesbian Mom Porn Full Video Cartoon Halloween Porn Amature Homemade Porn Movies Any Porn Video Free Free Slave Porn Pics Judy Nrutron Porn Pics Bbc Crossdresser Porn Tubes Black Big Ass Amateur Porn Interracial College Porn Family Porn Hd Full Vary Deep Dildo Stomach Buldging Hardcore Porn Ideal Porn Pics Sorotiy Porn Reddit Bbw Homewrecker Porn Caption Lesbian Mom Daughter Porn Dillion Raping of Mentally Ill Women Porn Skinny Hairy Redheads Mature Porn Free Porn Pics Big Ass Sexy Chunky Girl Porn Free Blonde Cougar Porn 201i8 Bbw Porn Best Interracial Porn Pic 2017 Softcore Porn Movie How to Train Ypur Dragon Porn Comic Porn Dp Monsters Dicks Movies With Real Porn Scenes Porn Tranny Rape Emily Porn Game Series Palmer Asian Porn Pics Gallery Wifes First Dp Porn Breastfeeding Lactating Lesbian Porn Prostate Orgasm Guy Porn Homemade Daughter Mother Lesbian Strap-on Porn Porn Young and Mature Free Porn Bbw Shemale Shaking Sex Porn Alex Black Porn Hd Cartoon Porn Pics Com Black Gurl Tenacles Porn Mario Flash Game Porn Free Black Double Penetration Porn Gay Kid Porn South Park Game Teen Girls With Dicks Porn Roman White Thorn Porn Pics Dont You Dare Fuck Me Teen Girl Porn Free Porn Ugly Tits The Best Free Porn Tube Sites Hot Blonde Does All Porn Video Mitch's Anal Initiation 2 Gay Porn Comics Porn Tito April Tmnt Cartoon Porn Redtub Teen Porn Romantic Pic Porn Mom Teaches Daughter Porn Lesbianism Wedding Sex Porn 18years Sex Porn Best Daddy Daughter Porn Tube Forbiden Gay Teen Porn Free Black Girl Use Sex Machine Porn Videos Love Home Porn Tubes Xxx Amateur Allure Raylin Ann Porn You Porn Biggest Dicks Xxx Porn Hot Pussy Videos Black Porn Free Streaming Teacher Force Fucked Porn Hot Female Asian Teacher Porn Daughter Fuck Porn New Slim Shemale Porn Avenida Interracial Porn Hd Porn Mama Porn Game Private Cherry Blossom 14 Year Old Girl Watching Porn Small Teen Big Milf Porn Dominican Busty Lesbian Porn Retarded Girl Porn Videos Katie Cummings Sick Dad Porn Vintage Big Tit Italian Porn Italian Free Sex Porn Erotic Girls Porn Videos Black Big Ass Porn Sites Interactive Porn Free Full Videos Torrents Older Brother Groping Sister Porn Mother Daughter Nursing and Fingering Porn 90's Blonde Porn Star Tiny Homemade Rimjob Porn Cream Ebony Porn Star Cartoon Suck Porn Sex Black Female Porn Stars Big Tits Hailey Downblouse Hd Porn Hot Porn Oral Sex My Wife Porn Pics Lexi Belle Monster Cock Porn Tubes Lesbian Porn Lily Cade Raquel Roper Friendlist Gay Porn Stars Reddit Big Office Porn Daughter Porn Free Full Son Fucks Dads Young Wife Teen Porn Old Brazilian Porn Deep Inside Ariana Porn Movie Frat House Free Porn Video Big Ass Porn Vk Blonde Boy Friend Sex Porn Teens Go Porn Real Homemade Granny Porn Bree Mills Lesbian Porn Hd Black and Asina Porn Catalina Rene Sex Clips Porn Stfu College Porn Tube Mobile Ebony Tranny Porn Talking Nasty to a Sissy Cuckold Swallowing Bbc Cum Porn Best Screaming Video Porn Boundgangbangs 1080p Hd Porn Small Tits Curly Hair Porn Alissa White Porn Leilani Lesbian 2018 Porn Lesbian Landlord Takes Rent Out in Trade Porn Porn Stars Girls Nude Teen Porn Mobile Site Anal Eape of Paralyzed Teen Porn Videos Female Coming Porn Cum Ass Porn Teen Pornhub Uporn Milfs Do Porn 720p Gay Porn Pics Porn Amateur 3d Anime Porn Reddit Mom I Boy Porn 1960 Porn Pics Ebony Porn Star Sensious Dp Porn Abducted Rape Best Porn 2003 Free Nurse Porn Pics 4k Anal Amateur Porn Free Hot Asian Porn Pics Hd Teen Gangbang Creampie Porn Videos Bbw Blonde Latina Porn Are There Guys Who Don't Watch Porn Riding Xxx Porn Anımal Gay Porn Tube Hardcore Porn Teen Bondage Miniskirt Shemale Hd Porn Beby Porn Sex Teen Seduces Dad in Front of Mom Porn Twin Gay Sex Porn My Daughters Fucking a Blackzilla Porn Mirage Porn Movie Southern Blonde Porn Aimee Lynn Porn Tube Amateur Lesbian Porn Hd Sex in an Alley Porn Kayla G4een Anal Porn Videos Reddit High School Porn Free Gay Porn Magazines Korean Teen Porn Tube Mlp Porn Videos Comics Best Tattoo Porn Stars Prison Punishment Porn Game Patron Best Dp Porn Music Video Girl Plays With Guys Anal Porn Gemma Jolie Hardcore Porn Erotica 3d Manador Monsrer Porn Arab Anal Porn Atk Porn Big Pussy Porn Freak Mature Tamil Sex Free Porn Porn Real Slut Party 3 Siste Brother Anal Porn Free Porn Poland Big Woman and Young Guy Boy Pussy Porn Videos Guys Fucking Mother's in Law Porn Teen Dd Porn Big Tits Dropping Out of Shirt Porn Gifs Don't Tell Your Sister Gay Porn Real Black Lil Sister Sucking Dick Hood Porn Moving Anime Porn Pics Mature Milf Porn Big Tits Stockings How Old Was Madison Ivy When She Did Porn Hardcore Simpson and Porn Free Online Deacon Gay Porn Old Guys Gang Girl Porn Gay Money Boy Porn Hip Hop Teen Porn Fishnet Porn Tube Lesbian Breast Sucking Porn Leslie and Mom and Son Shower Porn Black Cuckold Cock Sucking Sissy Blowjob Porn Best Porn Virtual Reality App Gay Porn Blonde Snow Cabin Yash Thakur Porn Movies Free Homemade Video Loud Amateur Hairy Mature Bbc Porn Mom Best Friend Deepthroat Porn Best 3d Cartoon Porn Sites Black Female Sucking Dick Porn Black Hair Blue Eyed Women Porn Hardcore Asia Porn Forced Bruitley Porn Two British Blondes Bathtub Porn Free Gay Male Incest Porn Blonde in Shower You Porn 1 Boy 1 Girl Animated Porn Gif Free Porn Tall Red Head Loves Anal Rough Forced Sex Foreign Porn Films Ariel Rose Porn Real Name Danielle Dynamite Forced Porn Hot French Gay Porn Big Boobs Porn Sleeping Female Cuck Porn Gif Free Porn Face Sitting Step Mom Gay Porn 4k Femdom Anal Orgasm Porn Jeremy Long Asian Male Porn Star Hd Very Nice Porn Wallper Porn Dig Hd Mumbai Porn Movies Angelica Heart Porn Hd Big Balls Porn Grop Brasil Teen Porn Rapes Women Gets Raped by Stranger Porn My Mature Wife Treated Like a Slut Humiliated Porn Cum Swallow Porn Tube Kendra Fucks Nina Lawless Creampied Porn Porn Star Teen Pic Anime Porn Comics One Peice Chubby Mature Homemade Porn Tube Black Live Cam Porn Free Stream Porn Videos Porn Md Thi Ck Mature Porn Movie Porn Sex With My Cousin Boy Video Best Way to Find Porn Free Porn Movies Compilation Interracial Huge Cum in Mouth Bi Free Porn Down Syndrome Sex Hardcore Porn Con Free Gay Porn Gold Nancy Ho Porn Hardcore Porn Star Lesbian Tube Wife Interracial Porn Movies 3d Alien Monster Animation Porn 90s Full Porn Movie Anime Emo Girl Pantys Porn Nude Voyeur Grandmother Swinging Tits Porn Pics Porn Black Shemale Lisa Stayshard Sister Catchs Brother Fucking Mom Free Porn Best Porn Pajama Girl Girl Discovery Jynx Maze First Porn Video Soft Core Male Porn Stars In 1080p Pure Mature Tube Blond Porn Stars Bbw 3gp Porn How to Get Into Porn as a Male Milwaukee Furry Bunny Love Xx Porn Bunion Porn Pics Bhot Lesbian Porn Black Amazon Porn Skaiden11 Big Dick Porn Venus Lux Porn Star Real Name Gay Thugbait Porn What Are Some of the Best Porn Sites Dick to Wide Porn Pushes Friends Head on Dick Porn Dick Kisses Penis Porn Oily Anal Masturbation Porn Russian Dad Porn Son Bbc Abuse Porn Best Porn Material Pokemon Porn Forced Free Hd Teen Gay Porn Lesbian Tribbing Porn Big Tits Hayleelove Porn Interracial Clarissa Coast Best Teacher Porn Sites Persia Monir.mom Forced Porn Brittny Spears Fakes Porn Anal Mature Tits and Ass Porn Hello Kitty Cartoon Porn Tentacle Demon Impregnantion Porn Comics Malula Porn Pics Asian Little Schoolgirl Cartoon Movies Free Porn Karen Bbw Brunette Mom Porn Berkeley Antia Girl Porn Girl Hd Porn Big Fat Homemade Brunette Teen Missionary Porn Fbb Ebony Porn Gay Porn After School Free Teen Model Porn Busty Blonde Office Sex Porn Free Horror Porn Movies Body Swap Male to Female Porn Gif Mom Home Schools Daughter on Sex Porn Kik White Girl Porn Anita Dark Forced Porn Watch Young Teen Porn Vintage Interracial Porn Tumblr Dailymotion Free Porn Videos Big Tits Mature Women Porn Rough Anal Fuck Tiny Teen Porn Large Breast Homemade Cuckold Bareback Porn Wife Rape Porn Hd Anal Thick Mature Women Porn Vids Am I Gay Porn Challenge Free Hd Porn Most Viewed Best Ever Where Can I Find Teen Porn Wicked Games Porn Black Porn Sex Gallery Free Porn Xxx Films Asain Babe Porn Pics Smooth Fat Boy Ass Gay Porn Fitness Girl Takes Big Dick Porn Come Gangbang My Ebony Girl Porn Jennifer Nixon Anal Bikini Porn Images Porn Young Latina Bbc Nicole Peters Porn Tube Porn Best Mindfuck Military Gay Rape Porn Male Porn Documentary Arianna Knight Free Hd Porn Stream Raping a Sleeping Girl Porn Porn Karly Baker Step Dad Stretched Shemale With Big Ass Porn Fuck-team-five Porn Hd Babyfaced Teen Bondage Porn


https://preview.redd.it/aow3qw55e1c51.jpg?width=197&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=d9c1410cd5d87623645760269febea9e6fcff8ef
submitted by savanna20Jul to Dino_Blue [link] [comments]


2020.07.18 15:31 Bago18JulOly Live stream voyeur

Na-ked Fat Girl Por-n Monster Dick Porn Does Porn Star Angela White Live in California Free Black Dominatrix Porn Porn Granny Interracial Naked Fat Girl Porn Russian Mature Dp Porn Sexy 18 Teen Year Old Porn Hd Tan Asain Porn Big Pussy Porn Black Small Black Girl Forced Porn Mature Marissol Porn Videos White Skinny Girl Porn Porn Multi Reddit Porn Japan Comic The Dick of My Dreams Gay Porn Hot Gay Rough Porn Guy Fucks Horse Porn Ca Nikki Sexx's First Porn Teen Wrestling Rape Porn Daughter Fucked While Mom Sleeps Porn Big Ass Twerk on Dick Porn Videos Finding Old Porn Pics Best Hd Porn Video Free Download Best Xxx Porn Movies Shemale Fat Ass Big Dick Porn Videos Nody Shoplifting Teens Porn Mom Son in Law Spa Porn Leilani Banks Lt Porn Ebony Girl Gets Caught Watching Porn Blue Ember Mom Porn Video of Porn Girls British Rape Porn Steven Universe Pearl Lesbian Porn Comic Black Gay Porn Star Couples Asian Mature Uncensored Porn Big Tits Underwater Porn Free Hd Chubby Porn 65 Year Old First Porn Video A Movie About Porn Ebony Cheeleader Porn Farrah Flower Real Name Porn Straight Female Porn Young Girl Forced Into Sex by a Lesbian Free Porn Brother Sister Porn Sister Blackmails Brother to Get Her Pregnant Guy Edging Porn Best Porn Addcition App Very Fat Girl Porn Student and Teacher Have Sex Porn Im Game 2 Porn Mom Blows Son in Bathroom Pov Porn Free Hd Porn Moist Free Hentai Porn Movies Sleeping Lesbian Porn Movies Straight Gay Male Massage Porn Videos Www Black Women Porn 2ft Cock Gay Porn Big Dick Porn Sex Video Reddit Casting Porn Ebony Hennessey Porn Merlinusa 3d Incest Porn High Quality Bbw Porn Best Friends First Kiss Porn Furry Porn Cub Tmblr Lesbian Granny Spreading Porn Hot Ebony Mature Porn Amateur Fisting Standing Porn Video Best Hd Vr Porn China Porn Full Movie Zombie Chearleader Porn Comics Bitch Fighter Porn Comic Free Porn Creampie Hd Mario Salieri Porn Tube Animals Anal Porn Lesbian Orgasm Porn Gifs Free Dvd Bang Bros Porn Movies Black Animal Porn Nenetl Avril Porn Hardcore Gangbang 42366 Streaming Teen Hottest Porn Hardcore Sex in the Cinema Porn Fat Guy Gets a Blowjob Porn Gay Lizard Muscle Furry Porn Short Hair Cumming Porn Xxx Sharon Lee Porn Game Raped in Front of Husband Porn Black Teen Porn Cream Pie Voyeur Boys Porn Movie Nova Studios Blonde White Girls Porn Hd Jap Mom Son Temptation Porn Tattooed Goth Dsughter Ass Fucked by Dad Porn Bug Tits Bbw Porn Mom Says No to Prom Porn Cat Sucking Dick Porn Play Gay Porn Games Online Free Mature Porn Outside Casting First Anal Porn Brutal Rape Porn Xvideos Nerd Milf Porn Gif Porn Stars Sex Tube Male Strip Show Porn Black Girl From Family Matters Porn 4 Cabi Porn Reddit Hd Mılf Porn Videos Gay He Man Porn Thor Shemale Porn Mature Big Tits Young Boy Porn Raping Divorced Neighbor Porn Dani Porn Movie Nigerian School Girls Porn Xoxo Porn Tube Thugz Gay Porn Porn Video Condom Bust Xxx Furry Horse and Human Porn Black Girl Gets Jelses of White Girl Porn Anime Bondage Old Young Porn Female Genital Surgery Cause Porn Hot Hard Big Tits Fucking Porn Movie Sabrina Banks Porn Anal Fake Porn Pics of Jorga Fox Female Anthro Bear Porn Tf Iran Hd Porn Scalore Male Porn Shemail Sex Porn Free Cock Masterbation Porn Videos Step Sister So Horny Teen Sex Porn Kaidan Alenko Male Shepard Porn Free Tiny Teen Pussy Tiny Penis Porn Videos Teen Titans Cartoon Porn Videos Porn Kleio Valentine Anal Snow White Porn Hentai Smalllest Girl Ever Porn Bbc Hot Girls Farting Porn Hairy Pussy Big Tits Hd Porn Cory Chase Interracial Porn Videos Free Fat Porn Girls Fucking Sex Video Hands Tied Hd Porn Videos 1970 Ebony Porn Black Frame Glasses Porn 5 Best Free 2017 Porn Sites on Youtube.com Lesbian Porn Teen Rape Strapon Homemade Gay 69 Porn Hd Anal Porn Com Russian Father Records Son Rape Porn Overwatch Brigette Rape Porn Nerds With Big Dicks Gay Porn Xxx Porn Full Length Movies Porn Hub Milf Who Seduce Younger Women Free Busty Milf Porn Lesbian Pussy Lickin Porn English Men Gay Porn Dare Dorm Porn Movies Helen Hanson Porn Pics Black Men Beastiality Porn Close Up Teen Porn Pics Maira Pinto Hardcore Porn Beardaddy Porn Tube Gay Mursuit Porn Bruno Gay Porn Free Hardcore European Porn Pics Barbie Guzman Videos Porn Free Step Dad Step Daughter Porn Dick Toilet Porn Porn Hub Amateur Most Viewed Teaching Daughter Sex Porn Japanese Father and Daughter Watch Porn Experiment Together Guy Licks Sleeping Girls Ass Porn Gay Wizard Porn Bfflove Game Porn Porn Casting Girls Creampied Cartoon Porn Simpsons Pics Moana Moan Island Porn Comic Jane Doux Mom Porn Petite Hd Porn Com Is There Bbc Addiction Porn Movies Huge Like Horse Creampie Small Pussy Porn Julia Butt Porn Pics Mom Toys Her Pussy in Front of Son Porn Craigslist Amateur Porn Arab Slut and Bbc Porn Mature Women and Dogs Porn Sites Fitness Female Porn Stars Real Porn in Movies Viper Girls Free Shemale Fucking Woman Porn Fucking Dads Friend in Garage Porn Daughter Afraid of Thunder Porn Clip Horney Milf Who Wants Shy Young Guy Porn Suzy Game Grumps Porn Cartoon Taboo Porn Galleries Sonic Strip Porn Game Mary Jane Best Orgasm Porn Moms Teaching Boys Porn Porn White Girl Black Guys Black Girls Face Sitting on White Boys Porn Videos Japanese Guess Which One is Mom Porn Stop Let Me Finish My Game Porn Ebony Tribbing Porn Gifs Mature Caseras Porn Tube Porn Online Porn Big Boobs Pic Live Video Porn Sex Charlize Theron Porn Movies Free Porn Interracial Gang Bang Porn Submissive Sister in Law Socks Porn Movies 90s Interracial Porn Tubes Furry Porn Compilation November 2017 Princesa Bbw Milf Porn Free Mobile Porn Ebony Lesbian Strapon Www Free Download Porn Video Com Best Free Jav Porn Real African Homemade Porn Anakaliyah Porn Hd Video Bg Dick in Ass Face Porn Camp Verde Casino Porn Sex Homemade Pear Shaped Porn Pics Dane Jones Blue and Martin Hd Hardcore Porn Videos Force Awakens Porn Parody Kylo Ren in Background Gif Reddit Small Anime Boy Porn Cute Jenna Ivory Teensloveblackcocks Full Movie Hd Porn Porn Japan Mom Tube Omegle Boy Porn Mature Asks Permission Porn Mature 50 Plus Porn Anal Cartoon Free Mobile Porn Sushi Girl Porn Porn Misty Law Anal Big Boty Shorts Porn Dad and Daughter Blog Porn Middle Eastern Daughter and Father Free Porn Black and Blondes Porn Tube Porn Big Breast Mature Women Gay Twink Anal Porn German Teen Porn Creampie Snow White and the 7 Dwarfs Comic Porn African Girl White Guy Porn Ebony Fat Ass Free Porn Free Chubby Sister Creampie Porn Videos Sisters First Time Lesbian Porn Black in White Anal Porn Milf Young Boy Creampie Porn Furry Porn Toys Student Forced to Fuck Teacher Porn Hollywood Movies Porn Parody Susana Chloe Mature Porn Porn 3d Multeplaer Game Old Time Sex War and Women Av Porn Thug Life Gay Porn Scat Boy Porn Lesly Kiss Hardcore Porn Atlanta Ocean Porn Movies Mature Outdoor Porn Tube Female Watches Porn and Gets Fucked and Creampied From Behind The Witcher Porn Game Video Free Porn Mom Really White Girl Porn Cartoon Network Shemale Porn Brother Sister Mother Anal Porn Best Blowjob Vr Porn Chinese Family Porn Tubes Nuttless Bitch Boy Porn Porn Girls World Free Download Big Tits Porn Video Girlfriend's Mom Porn Caption Reddit Women Watch Porn Amateur Granny Porn Pics Male Porn Gay Cartoons Thick Mature Panties Porn Medieval Torture Xxx Porn Video Full Movie Bbw Taco Porn Money Talks Best of Black Ggg Porn Ava Lauren Porn Pics Cornporn Pic Porn Hub Black Massage Porn Fur Masterbation Females Porn Skinny Big Tits Porn Pics Witch and Imp Porn Comic The Hangover Xxx Porn Parody Hd Babe Fit Petite Porn Roblox Porn Xxx Chinese Porn Movies Com Teen Bigblack Dick Porn Daddy Daughter Anal Dildo Porn Sexy Big Boobs Porn Pics Porn Forced Trainer Shemale Big Cock Fucks Pussy Porn Tube Rubbing Tits on Pussy Porn Hd Danish Porn Big Ass Vampire Porn Ebony Sgb Porn Oriental Gay Porn Thai Hooker Anal Porn Veronica Rodriguez Hardcore Rough Porn Top Ratedadult Cartoon Porn Top Heavy Amateurs Porn Free Daughter Wants Dads Big Hard Cock Porn Pleasing Mom Porn Couger Eaten on First Date Porn Mom Masturbates for You Porn Trailer Trash Porn Creampie's Porn Creampie's Birthday Gay Porn Spring Break Black Lion Hazing Porn Payday 2 Female Characters Porn Porn Videos of Public Sex Best Vibrator Porn Hardcore Babysitting Threesome With Gagging Porn Videos Keira Knightley Porn Pics Remy Einar Hd Hardcore Porn Videos Real Dad and Dughter Porn Tall Girl Puts a Guy in Her Shirt Porn Overwatch Porn Pic Comic Text Base Porn Games Best Threesome Anal Porn Videos of Shawna Lenee Leanna Decker Hardcore Porn How to Play School Girl Porn Game Flash Movies Porn Braces Girl Porn Invaders Rape Porn Cameron Lily Moon Saggy Tits Amateur Porn Porn Sex Page 1 Free Furry Hentai Porn Punch Tube Porn Porn Forced Facial Porn Guy Walks by Window Every Day Masturbate Fuck Sex Porn Video Hd Download Big Milk Breasted Asians Squirting Porn Videos Hayden St Clair Forced Porn Best Gay Porn Parodies Big Asses Porn Xhamster Incest With Sister Jav Porn Spongebob Squarepants Cartoon Porn Jennifer White Porn Bbc Porn Star Wars Ahsoka Clone Wars Game Farm Girl Sex Porn Ameture Dirty Talk Whore Slut Lesbian Strapon Face Riding Porn Milf Eats Tiny Teens Pussy Porn Goth Park Porn Games Lesbian Seudtive Porn Hardcore D.p 2 Porn Leeza Jones Interracial Porn Ebony Mom in Bikini Porn Wedding Pics Porn Homemade Straight Gay Porn Mom Sex You Porn 18 Abused Teen Porn Skinny Guy Proud of Huge Cock Gay Porn Swallow Son Cum Big Tit Porn Teen Gay Webcam Porn Mom Screamed Taking My Giant Cock Porn Huge White Cock Porn Tumblr Sexy Xxx Indian Porn Gif Comic Book Guy Gay Porn Amazon Tribesman Fucks White Woman Porn Scat Porn Teen Cumming on White Womans Back Porn Why Do So Many Men Watch Porn Reddit Pink Porn Girl Breed Street Meat Creampie Porn Dbz Porn Comics Rule 34 Athena Faris Porn Tube Body Builder Female Porn Star Lesbians Trib Free Bus Porn Movies Xvideos Classic Porn Milf Handjob Harmony White Bbw Porn Porn Bbw Game Xxx Porn Mature Neighbors Party Wives Orgy Hd Vids Free Interracial Bbc Porn Japan Porn Milf and Kids Porn Tube Desi Vegas Hunters Porn Game 70's Stocking Porn Tube 25 Most Beautiful Big Tity Milf Porn Stars Free Full Milf Porn Cheeky Porn Movie Actual High School Girl Porn Lesbian Porn Shower Gif Porn Star Wars Clone Wars Game Sofia the First the Porn Foster Mother Porn Comic Free Online Free Gay Porn Videos at Ice Gay Tube Porn Hindi Full Movie Anal Beer Bottle Teen Porn Gif Indian Teen Boobs Porn Mexican Daddy Gay Porn Free Online Teen Porn Extreme Big Boob Fetish Porn Free 16 Years Porn Videos Reddit Famous Porn Interracial Housewife Cheating Captions Porn Toons Jake Cruise Porn Gay Thicc Cartoon Goth Girl Porn Beautiful Masked Girl Porn Girl Loves Big Shemale Cock Porn Tube Senior Bbw Porn Actresses Porn Reddit Reddit Beastialty Porn Interracial Fetish Lesbian Porn Aug 2018 Anabelle Teen Porn Lesbianfight Xxx Porn Gay Porn Shoe Fetish Best Brazilian Teen Porn Big Ass Booties Porn Pics


https://preview.redd.it/8s8hc7izwmb51.jpg?width=128&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=dbdb1a3c3c5744e4656f79be7d247883d4aa90b4
submitted by Bago18JulOly to Home_Made_Fun [link] [comments]


2020.07.04 00:09 AuthorJoJo Live stream voyeur

It's no secret that the internet is fit to burst with the amount of strange and “Unexplained” videos that surface every day. We've become so numb to the norm created by these videos that nothing crawls under our skin like it used to. We search for the ever-diminishing high of being afraid. Of being so dumbfounded by what's on-screen that we question the limits of reality.
Maybe I'm being too dramatic. But for me, these videos have become so mundane that I no longer get anything from them. I just sit in front of my computer resting my chin in the palm of my hand just looking for a rush. Deep into the night, I watch the same formulaic scene playing out over and over.
Grainy and poor quality videos capturing something slipping off into the woods or a spectral figure crossing between two doors. It's 2020 how are there no high-quality pictures or footage of the things that used to scare us. It's almost like bigfoot became privy to the advances of technology and got better at hiding. What's worse than not being scared, was losing my wonder.
I started realizing how fake so many of these videos were and even the ones that were done well seemed easy enough to question their validity. So I began to doubt the existence of anything that used to keep me up those nights. Aliens. Ghost. Monsters. If the videos were all fake in an age where everyone is streaming or has eight-hundred dollar phones. Then maybe they just weren't real.
Moving away from videos I started traversing forums. To see if anyone was feeling the way I was feeling. To see if anyone had something that could spark that light of creativity again. What was sparked, was curiosity. Now and then on different sites, I would see mention of a website that contained unsettling content. Not the gory kind you would find on something like liveleak. But videos that we're extraordinary and unusual.
Needless to say, I became hooked on the idea of finding this website. I would message anyone who made even a passing mention of it for details. No one ever offered me information. Only replying that if I kept looking for it, I'll find it eventually. I asked specifically if it was a “Dark web” type thing knowing that's a hub for a bunch of strange content. All the people I asked confirmed that it wasn't, it was on the surface.
Somewhere a website hosting a treasure trove of odd videos was waiting for me. I couldn't understand why no one would just link me to the site or describe the video. The best information I got was “It's just a matter of chance.” And that my chance was increased by actively seeking it out and that's about all I could do. To find it I had to look for it, which sounds easy enough but by god did it take forever.
My google search history must look absolutely manic. I would search for some strange keywords and then immediately dive into the later pages of the search. I figured a site like that wouldn't be sitting within the first few pages of results. I just remember being told that I would know I was in the right place when I got there.
Days went by and while I did stumble across several intriguing things I always felt the sites weren't “It.” And then with sleep-deprived eyes and weary fingers, I found what I believe to be the website others were speaking about. It became clear pretty quickly why no one was able to directly link me to the site as the URL remained blank. Even searching for the same term in google failed to get me back to the site, like it had shifted its place after I found it.
The page itself was blank as well. Nothing but a large black screen. Not knowing what to do I moved my mouse to the empty URL and highlighted it to see if the text was hidden somehow. After highlighting the area some text popped up in the URL space. It read “Video:”
Doing the only logical thing I could think of I simply put the number '1' after the new URL text and then a video began to occupy the once dark webpage. It was a video of someone streaming, they didn't have any viewers but they sat in their room talking to the camera. Nothing really seemed off about it. The room was well lit and the streamer didn't look like anything out of the average. I watched him talk about his day for a minute or two, again he didn't mention anything odd. Then there was a large bang off-camera that caught his attention.
He looked towards what I could only assume was his bedroom door. I could hear the click of the door opening, realizing he mentioned earlier that he lived alone. He looked visibly concerned, the hair on his head ruffled from the pressure of the door swinging open. His chest started to heave looking at something offscreen. His voice was quivering through chattering teeth. He repeated “What the fuck.” over and over like his brain was skipping.
Starting to rise out of his chair he started asking what the thing off-camera was. Screaming at the top of his lungs as he started backing up. Turning his head to the camera I could see tears running down his cheek. His eyes were, distant. Like they were broken or he couldn't come to terms with what he was seeing. And just there, at the climax, the stream ended and the webpage returned to darkness.
I sat there for a moment looking at the dark screen. I played the video once again. Trying to find something recognizable. Surely a clip like this would have spread around it was just so weird. It seemed so genuine too. I'm not sure how I would react to certain situations but the streamer looked like had seen something no one ever expects to see. After collecting myself I realized that I had found that high I was looking for.
The video was just so bizarre and off-putting that my skin was starting to crawl thing of what the streamer might have seen just off-camera. I found myself angry that the stream didn't continue long enough to get a look. But with my newfound source of horror, I started going through one video after another. I was afraid if I clicked off the site I wouldn't be able to find it again or that it would take days of searching again. I sure as hell couldn't bookmark it.
Not all the videos were all that scary to me. A lot of times they were just what looked like home videos. People doing average things, although, in a way that unsettled me too, I felt like an outside observer and was uncomfortable with the voyeurism. Sometime I would notice little things in the background of these videos though. So all of them may have something going on and I just failed to notice.
Like with video: 26. It was just a guy in his late teens sitting on his bed practicing guitar. He was a beginner and the odd twangs of miss played notes filled my room. With the guy sitting on the bed I could see the window behind him. For a brief moment, no more than a few frames it seems like the bright blue sky shifts deep green and then back to blue.
I barely picked up on it and maybe it's nothing but it was an oddity in the video nonetheless so it made me a little more observant of the backgrounds. Some videos, however, it was all too clear what I was supposed to be looking at. Subtly went out of the window on videos like video: 14.
It was a dark room with one source of buzzing light casting down on a man laying on a concrete floor. He was shirtless and panting heavily. I could see dark spots under him where sweat or tears had stained the gray floor. Hunched over on his knees and forearms he kept telling someone off-camera that he told them everything he knew. This went on for a moment and then the man said “Please don't do it again.”
Just as his sentence dissipated into the air I saw his right arm start to lift up and then violently jerk backward. The sound of bones cracking and the man's shrill cry of pain caused me to nearly fall out of my chair. The joint of his shoulder and elbow completely failed him and the back of his hand slapped his spine. I know some people can do that but judging by the anguish on his face I don't think he was one of them.
He collapsed to the floor, no longer screaming. I could see his joints bulging underneath his skin as his body was dragged off-screen. The whole time I watched him nothing made contact with his person. The ease of which his arm bent the wrong way, it was so swift with no hesitation like someone just willed it to be. The video ended but I could still hear his screaming in my ear. Luckily some of the more mundane videos played after that one like the site was giving me a break.
Some of the videos were just bizarre. Obviously, all the videos were bizarre but there were some stands out that cause me to stop and think. For example Video: 79. Yes I watched a lot of them, they were so interesting and I just couldn't help myself- Anyways Video: 79 starts with a man walking into the water from the beach. The sky is gray and cloudy and I don't hear anything other than the crashing waves and his mumbling.
The waves get louder as he walks further out, the water ever-rising around him but I start to pick up what he's saying. Over and over again he's repeating “It's 1879”. He just keeps mumbling that into the camera he's holding as the water rises around him. It's 1879. It's 1879. It's 1879. His voice starts to bubble when the water reaches his lips.
A few brief times the water dips under the murky green water. I had to watch the video over and over as there was no way to pause it but I could swear when the camera dipped under the water. I could see the silhouettes of buildings. Tall skyscrapers hiding under the ocean's surface. It looked like new york but just as the camera dips a final time the video ends with one last “It's 1879.”
I began to wonder if some of the videos were connected somehow when I played Video: 80. It saw a naval officer being filmed on a large boat. I'm terrible with military stuff, it was some kind of air-craft carrier though. There was a ton of chatter around the boat as the camera followed the officer who was maintaining a brisk pace.
As he reached the edge of the ship a few of his crew members motioned for him to hurry up to which he replied by asking what was going on. As he reached the edge of the ship the camera looked out at the sea. Panning further down there was a shadow under the water, it was long and prominent against the crystal blue. The mumbling around the Officer began to increase as the shadow began to grow in size.
The Officer began shouting for everyone to get to a safe station. To brace themselves. It wasn't had to tell that what was causing the dark spot was rising to the surface. That once it reached the surface It was going to be massive, likely thicker than the Carrier. As the operator of the camera panned up to start running away from the edge, I saw very briefly, a man standing on the water facing the boat. Then the video ends.
It's a common theme that the videos end right before the climax, but not all of them follow this rule. Like Video: 44. This video is possibly the most graphic one I saw out of the bunch and it's also one of the shorter ones. There are two people on camera and whoever is controlling the camera. The two on-screen are girls that look fairly young, early teens maybe and judging by the voice of the cameraman he was around their age.
The one girl mentioned that her mother told her “Not to stay past sundown.” As the cameraman filled the trees around them. He was telling the girl to relax and all the rumors were full of shit. The other girl laughed but it was a nervous laugh. They walked briefly before their progress was interrupted by a large snap. It sounded like a tree had fallen. Then one of the girls asked, “What are those?”
The camera panned in the direction and in the distance where soft glowing amber lights. Like aggressive fireflies. The camera pans back to the girl just as her legs are swept out from under her and she falls to the floor. Before she can muster a whimper her body is lifted by a thick dark shadow and tossed aside. She was thrown with such force that when she hit a nearby tree it looked like she was, I think she was torn in half at the torso.
It was hard to see as the motion was so quick and it was so dark but her shadow that was once whole split into two and tumbled through the trees. The other girl watched in horror as her friend experienced cell division mere feet from here. Without any time to process what had happened or start running that same tendril bore through the girl's chest. The weak light of the camera showed her injury in harsh detail.
The end of the tendril seemed to be sprouting branches from the small pockets of blood that rested on the dark and slimy surface. The girl turned her head slowly and I recognized a familiar amber glow starting to ignite in her eyes. The boy dropped the camera when they locked eyes. I could hear him attempting to flee but his footsteps suddenly stopped and the video went black. The video after that. Video: 45 was just people dancing in a club.
It was such a strange shift in tone. They just kept dancing. And while this one didn't have anything too bizarre in it. I thought I could see the people moving around would occasionally have something protruding from their skin as they were dancing, at least, I thought they were dancing. The video goes to black before anything happens though.
There are a lot of videos on this site, way too many to go over them all at once and I don't even know if I reached the end. I fell asleep after watching Video: 121 and when I woke up my computer had gone into sleep and the page was gone. Video: 120 was a woman holding her phone up to a mirror while she reached into her mouth.
She started to pull her hand back and as she did a thin strand started to be revealed. She was making retching noises and she continued pulling. She had her arm almost stretched out in front of her still pulling the thing out. Then it seemed to wriggle and in an instant seemed to retreat into her mouth causing her to vomit in the sink.
I heard the woman angrily exclaim “Fuck this.” Before reaching for a knife resting on the white sink. Then, of course, the video cuts. These are just some of the videos that stuck out to me, if I could direct you to the place I would, even I'm having trouble finding it again. I'm not sure if any of these are real but I can confidently say I've never seen them anywhere but this site. The reactions and looks of everything feel so real. Even now a lot of what I saw I'm struggling to shake.
If I find it again and see more, maybe I'll be back, and if I can find a way to get a path to the site I'll be back. But for now, I leave you with one more video that stuck with me. “Video 57.”

The video starts with a man walking through an empty house. No furniture or anything. Only a bleak green carpet lining the floors of each room. He would look out the windows he passed by but wouldn't point the camera out there. I watched him get increasingly frantic as he started running room to room. Each look out the window seemed to break him a little more.
Eventually, he ran to the front door and with a trembling hand unlocked it. Swinging the door open the source of his concern became alarmingly clear. A crowd of plain gray mannequins lifted their heads to meet his gaze. There were so many that I could barely see any of the front yard, just shoulder to shoulder mannequins.
His breath was rapid and harsh right against the camera. He started screaming at the scene before him, almost in defiance. He kept egging them on, telling them to “Get it over with.” And when he'd had enough of the motionless figures he slammed the door shut. Turning around to face the rest of the house something caused him to drop his phone.
It landed face down on the carpet showcases the dark green. I heard a struggle and the shuffling of feet filling the house. Then the camera was picked up, plain gray fingers laced around it bending at visible plastic joints. The thing manipulating the camera pointed it at the man that was being pinned down by the figures.
I was waiting for it to cut to black like I had seen so many times before but instead I watched as a horde of mannequins hovered over the man and started to peel away at him. He was screaming and trying to fight against it, telling them he didn't want to go back.
As they ripped at his flesh I was surprised at the lack of gore, no blood or bone. As they ripped his face apart all I saw, was a plain gray shell underneath and then the video cuts to black. It's something I have no idea what to make of. The amount of production that would have been necessary to do whatever the hell that was. I couldn't find anything like it, that goes for most of the videos.
I'm not sure why these videos only make it to this site, why we aren't seeing them on youtube or any other platform. Hell, I don't know anything about this. All I know is it offered me a high I hadn't ever felt before and filled me with a dread I don't think I'll ever shake. The feeling of something out there beyond me always gnawing at the back of my neck.
As conflicted as I am, I'll search for that high until I find it again. I have to know what else is out there. How many videos are there, what is video: 121? For my money, I can only conclude that the things I saw on that site were real. Maybe I wasn't supposed to see them.
All I know is I have to find that place again.
submitted by AuthorJoJo to nosleep [link] [comments]


2020.05.27 09:22 MilkbottleF Live voyeur stream

Collected in Extremidies: Stories (Four Walls Eight Windows, 1998). See also "By the Mirror of my Youth", published in Karen Haber and Robert Silverberg's Universe 2 (Bantam, 1992), and "DMZ", in Amazing Stories: The Anthology, edited by Kim Mohan (Tor, 1995):
Illusions in Relief

Little boy at the basement window, his gray tongue slack on the glass, small ugly face one big shiver of delight as Joseph, seeing him, rose, shivering himself, to readjust the makeshift paper curtain. Firm ripping noise of the duct tape no cover for the boy's sad grunt, his mother's snarl, curse and beseechment all in a word. Joseph's hand ached as he picked up the X-acto knife, silently slit one black-cheeked harlequin from the old magazine page on the table before him, added the harlequin to the larger distortion behind him: his latest work. It had brought the boy and his mother; a fat white man with no hair and many boils; an old couple, ailment not casually apparent, who with the grim humor of wolves had stationed themselves just at the end of his driveway: we'll get you, sooner or later. They probably would, too.
Joseph dissected another harlequin, carefully poised its torso, doppelganger, beside the first--no. No, not there, steady fingers tremored just a little by someone's voice, not the boy's or his mother but definitely one of the new ones, very close to the window.
"Please," just above his head, intimate and sick, "I want to talk to you, I only want to talk to you," as he placed the harlequin, studied it or tried to, "please talk to me, talk to me, talk to me" a groan, near-orgasmic entreaty, he imagined a mouth rubbing wide against the glass, drier than the boy's lips, scaly with a kind of saucy poison, the words it made unimportant beside the tone, the timbre and reek of that voice and his hand was on the knife, he had cut and placed another piece without realizing: the first harlequin's head was now that of a lion, bald and nearly earless, eyes old with the limitless deceits of those promised to show it mercy; the second harlequin's torso issued, limp and smug, from the lion's bony mouth. The voice had stopped. Joseph set the knife down; he was very tired.
Upstairs, closed blinds, the unfresh smell of a house shut tight too long; if only he could open a window, one fucking window, was that too much to ask. Reaching for a beer he noticed with dull dismay that the refrigerator was almost empty, he would be forced to go shopping again. He hated shopping: they followed him around the grocery store, blocked his desperate cart with their empty ones. Hey, aren't you? I just want. Please, for my boy, my sister, my dad.
Can't shop, can't get gas, people following him home, inexplicably convinced of the help he could not give. Letters and notes and pictures, the pictures were the worst, jammed in the mailbox before they stole it. People rolling on the grass, digging it up--if he looked out there right now he was sure to see them, somebody was always digging up the grass. There was even a guy who was counting it; he wrote the day's tally on the sidewalk and threw a fit if anyone walked on it. Chipping pieces off the front porch, creeping around the back yard with lighted candles, leaving love offerings: food, porno magazines, obscure religious tracts. Once he had kicked open the back door, scattering them a moment, and "I'm not Jesus," he had screamed, "I can't help you, why don't you mother-fuckers go home?" and that of course had only made it worse. No wonder the neighbors hated him.
Empty beer already. He opened another one, stood drinking in the cool air of the open refrigerator, wishing he could get drunk and go to bed. Simple pleasures. No rest for the fucking wicked, though, or even the merely cursed. God they were fierce out there tonight, if he didn't get right back to work he was going to start seeing things and oh boy how he hated that. Oh boy oh boy. Snakes' heads in the shower, a face flying large around the kitchen, the severed limbs of bloodless fetuses lying scattered in the basement steps--keep your fucking brain tumors, your cancers and crotch rot and lost kids and lost minds, I'm losing mine too but there was no stopping, no, and he knew it, welcomed it too; he would not have stopped for the world, would not in fact have healed them if he could; ugly, selfish, true. He had never in his life done work like this and it was worth everything, all the waste and sorrow they shit on him, every holy dollop, every crusty squirt. Everything. And the pair of too-large eyes blinking solemn semaphore, just inches from his own, assured him with matchless conviction that this in fact was simply so.
He woke in his chair with a headache and wet pants: spilled beer, almost a canful, and he reached in angry terror for the collage, had he spilled on it, fucked it up?
No. "God," he said, a soft statement of fact. It was even titled: "Working by the Light of Burning Human Bodies." He turned on the gooseneck lamp to examine it more closely. "Jesus God," he said.
Nothing was waiting for him in the shower. He watched the Today show while he ate, the dregs of a box of Rice Krispies, all powder and grit. Somebody from a local talk show called. He didn't even bother to sneer at the message; his machine was full of them. Back downstairs to look, again, at the collage. Shivering, he turned it on the stack so it faced away from him.
It was always like this when a piece was finished: a kind of listlessness, a feeling of waiting for the next thing. Of course for sheer drastic grotesquerie he could always try a trip to the grocery store, in fact would have to and to hell with the cover of darkness, it never did him any good anyway.
It was always nerve-wracking, that first crack of the front door. Keys out and ready, face composed into a mask less indifference than sheer brick wall: go.
Heads, turning, and hands already out--more of them today, maybe thirty. Ignore them all. Somebody was rubbing at his calf, someone else grabbing for the sleeve of his jacket. He wrenched his arm away, kicked out his leg, small polka of revulsion, get off me and maybe he even said it out loud because somebody sighed, somebody else said please and oh Jesus it was the magic word, pleasepleaseplease like a swarm of insects. He slammed the car door without even wondering if hands were there. Screw them. Something else he couldn't cure.
He spent the ride home worrying about the money he had spent. Very soon he would have to choose between food and the gas bill, and after that, what? The house? Stop it, he told himself, maybe it won't come to that, maybe it'll stop and they'll go away. Yeah, and maybe one day they'll break in and eat you, oh boy, and he had to laugh at that.
He knew with a dry certainty that he could have sold the collages. Anybody crazy enough to camp out in his back yard for weeks on end would surely be crazy enough to pay large sums of money for what they thought was a cure. He would sooner bum them, every one. Bad enough that this inexorable craziness had rushed into his home, his very life, worse yet that his reactions to the visions their sickness sent had gone beyond merely shaping to dominate his work; he would not commit the final act. A voyeur, yes; without trying but it was still the truth. But he was not a whore. They sent things to him, he made art from them, a closed loop and that was that, final.
Halfway down the street, almost home when he saw with despairing clarity that the crowd had doubled at least; word was out, then, that the hermit had emerged. Now he would have to fight his way in, with groceries yet. Rage made his head pound, he felt like running them over, all of them, human bowling pins, whee! Stop it, he said, you're crazier than they are, but the image would not leave him and he had to laugh. Welcome to nirvana.
As it was he could only manage two bags. Investigating the contents he was depressed to find S.O.S. pads, tomato sauce, pepper and paper towels, a hearty ragout, you bet. "Son of a bitch" and back he went, get the rest or die trying.
He was halfway up the porch again, grim elbows-out death march, when a woman in a red jogging suit fastened on him and would not, would not, let go. He was actually dragging her along and she was too lightweight, he was losing breath, slowing down when out of the bubble of faces sharp muddy-brown eyes, no rapture there, meeting his and all at once the woman let out a mighty howl and dropped from him, yelling, "He punched me in the tit!" and in the sudden grateful lightness Joseph gained the door and slammed inside, sagged to the floor with the bags and laughing in breathless bursts.
The cold of the basement, why was it always so damp, what the hell was he doing down here anyway. Half-asleep, and in the corner of his midnight bedroom some dog, graceful bas-relief ballet, paws hanging broken and the bones of its throat hideously warped, warping still under an incredible inner pressure until the head blew free like geysering water, hounding him, ha ha, all the way down the stairs, whispering half-heard prophecy until he threw an empty bottle at it just to shut it up.
The bottle shattered on the wall, glass sparkling across the sheaf of collages; he sat down, sighing, to work. Was working. Had been, how long, who knew. Assembled before him a picture of a scalpel, of a little girl, of a fat woman masturbating, of a bottle of 1890's patent medicine. Never Fails to Bring Relief. I've heard that about a lot of things, he thought, and started to cry, a dull monotonous sound, huhhuh-huh like air squeezed in bursts from his chest, heard above the noise his name. Someone saying his name.
[Joseph]
Who was out there tonight, looking brown-eyed at the house, at him, standing bareheaded and serene in the dark, a warm peculiar itching on a forearm, just above the ancient mottled wrist.
[Joseph let me in]
"Fuck you," he whispered, "fuck you to death," warm snot on his lips, too sick to wipe it away, too tired. Nothing is worth this, nothing. [Joseph]
The back door curtains, pinned shut for your protection, the porch light hadn't worked since he bought the house. Opening the door, no tears but still that endless chuffing sound, he stared out at the diehards, a part of him remarking Shit you look even crazier than they do, and an old man, brittle and fine as an antique weapon, scratching at his arm as he stepped up to the door like a step in a dance, raising one forearm and the sleeve of one forearm to display with silent assurance--surely this will interest you--an irregular coin-shaped patch, the skin a rich and deadly green.
"Joseph," the same voice in and out of his head, and he grabbed the old man by the other arm and dragged him in.
"Cures anything," the old man said, lifting his beer.
"Cheers," Joseph said. He was possessed of a marvelous lightness, a full and expansive drunkenness that was less a state than a symptom; he felt better than he had for months. "Who're you,"drinking, "Santa Claus?" and he laughed again; it seemed he had done nothing but laugh since the old man came in.
"Who gives a shit what my name is." The old man drank again, let out a thin scentless belch. "Watch this," and up with the sleeve again, poured a few drops of beer on the green spot. Joseph leaned forward to see the beer foam up like raw acid, sink back into the skin. The spot. The old man looked at his face and laughed.
"I knew you'd like it."
"I can't," leaning back, far back, "I can't do anything about that."
"Oh yes you can."
"I said I can't fix that."
"Who wants it fixed?"
Morning, Joseph waking to a half-stale cooking smell and bounding up, in terror that he had somehow left something on the stove, was the house burning, or--Ah. Memory. The old man sat at the kitchen table, eating the last of a piece of wheat toast.
"You sure got a shitload of food," he said.
"I buy in bulk." There was coffee. Joseph sat across from the old man, who promptly hauled up his sleeve: the green spot had easily doubled. "Just being in the house helps," he said to Joseph.
Joseph rubbed at his face. "Things are getting too weird even for me."
"Don't start," said the old man impatiently. He took a beer from the refrigerator. "We went through all this last night."
"I don't remember that. I don't even know why I let you in." He didn't either.
The old man stared at him over the rim of the can, slow slide of Adam's apple in the veiny tube of throat: not unhappy, or hysterical, or worshipful or greedy, not wanting.
"Everybody gets what they don't want," he said. "The trick is to find a way to want it. But that's not your problem, is it?" Joseph said nothing.
"Your problem is, and stop me if I'm wrong (but I'm not): you don't want to go where it wants to take you. Like me. But I got over that. All I want now," tapping his arm, "is for this to go on."
"And you want me to help you."
"I want you to work. You get where you're going the way you're meant to get there. If you don't jerk yourself off with a lot of shit about guilt. Save your own fucking soul, you know?"
"Jesus. Philosophy."
"Jesus is philosophy." The old man finished off the beer, hollow aluminum thump on the tabletop. "Let's go."
Joseph thought he would feel like an asshole, did as he sat down, supremely conscious of the old man, like a column, behind him. Turning green. "Fucking A," Joseph said, and started in again on the dog collage. Scalpel and little girl, fat woman, the patent medicine dripping, running, long voluptuous stream like a waterfall, infinite relief, infinite cure, peace is flowing like a river. His busy hands warm at the palms, cool the tips of his fingers. Sweat on his back. Yes. The little girl, daisy-faced and hair a river too, the fat woman's cum a river, the scalpel splitting skin to make the biggest river of all. It all wound into a road leading into darkest peace, a vortex not black but green, a deep wet green.
Joseph raised his head, smiling, took a long happy breath and saw the old man move, just a little to the left; he had taken off his shirt and was staring as happily at his arm, which was green to the shoulder.
"Just look!" the old man said, and waved his arm like a trophy, then bent to examine the collage. "Pretty good," he said. "Better than anything those other fucks ever sent you."
That night they had an amazing drunk, all the beer in the house, watching the greening of the old man. Joseph told him everything, everything that had happened since the first time, that original supplicant, his first vision or dream: "I thought I was going crazy," Joseph said.
"I bet you did." The old man drank. "I bet you were." "I called the police," shaking his head, tired amazement still at his own naivete. "They told me I'd have to press charges, you know, for trespass. Okay. Fine, for the first one or two. Or ten. But after that, shit." Slow sluice of Pabst Blue Ribbon. "They tried to make out it was my own fault, attractive nuisance, like I had too many Christmas lights or something. The traffic was incredible." and incredibly he laughed, and the old man laughed too. It was funny in a way. A weird way.
"Open another one of those for me," the old man said.
"You got it." Snap pop off comes the top, drink it on down and we'll never stop. He told the old man about the reporters, the tabloids and minicams, the failed attempts to make it stranger than it was which had to fail because there was no way, no way it could be: the shared hysteria of ten, twenty, fifty people, faces changing all the time, chasing their terrified messiah who wanted only to be left alone.
"Pictures," he told the old man bitterly. "Of babies. With no arms. Pictures of old people with big fucking tumors, close-ups of tumors. Dead wives or missing kids or who the hell knows what. They taped 'em to the window. Facing in. That was when I used to try to open the drapes." More beer. "Why, you know? Why do they think I can help them? It wasn't me made them crazy." And the visions, more certain with each one that he was going madder, working under their pernicious influence and waking to find grotesquerie, and beauty, beyond anything he had ever hoped to do: a power so harsh he was helpless before his own talent, magnified by their need, by the pain they carried like the seeds of some rich disease. Manna in reverse. The multitude feeding him.
"How can I say no to it?" wild, spilling his beer, head pointed to the ceiling, compass of grief revealed. "I don't want them to be hurt, but I can't help them anyway, and they keep giving me this stuff, how can I turn it down? How can I do that? I can't do that."
The old man opened another beer for them both, drank with lips green at the corners. "Come on," a gentle hand on Joseph's. "Back to work."
Waking in darkness. The old man, long swath of color in the metal folding chair. Joseph had to piss something terrible. On his way back from the bathroom he chanced a look outside: they were still there.
"Hey," second day, third? Who knew. He had done six new pieces. "Hey. What the hell's happening to you anyway?"
The old man's luminous smile; his teeth were as falsely white as ever. "Feels great," he said. "Riding the current usually does."
Eighteen, nineteen new pieces, they poured out of him like water. The old man was totally green now but insisted there was more to come, wait, just wait a little longer.
"Wait for what," said Joseph, but mildly. He felt better, oh God how much better he felt. He hadn't had a vision, a hallucination, since the old man came, except of course (of course) for the ones the old man carried, but those, oh those were different. Because they actually did something. For someone else, someone besides Joseph. Although they left him with an aftertaste, a restlessness that was perhaps a curve in the circle begun by the old man, instigated by the offering of his willful mutation, a cycle that nourished them and itself: more art equals more change equals more art, infinite cure, yes. Never Fails to Bring Relief.
The people outside did not leave but no new ones came. Joseph, pointing at the collages, told the old man. "Then these must all be for you."
"Not really," he said.
Palms to cheeks, a long yawn, Joseph rubbed his eyes to consider this last piece: the pristine alien beauty of wasps in promenade, long black streamers like cries of wonder from the skeleton children beneath, their skeleton mothers askip in their own inimitable waltz. He turned, to display it to the old man, hey look at this.
"Hey, look at this," he said, turning all the way in his chair. Nothing. "Hey," louder. He got up, still holding the collage, walked all around the basement. He realized he didn't even know the old man's name. He went upstairs, searched the house collage in hand, "Hey!"
The front door was unlocked.
He sat in the chair nearest the door to consider this. The collage was still in his hand. Someone knocked at the door and he opened it. It was a girl, young girl, with a mild case of acne and no right hand.
"Here," he said, and gave her the collage. As it left his hand and touched hers one of his fingers blossomed a bright and ineffable green.
The Neglected Garden
"I DON’T WANT TO GO," she said. "I'm not going."
Patient and calm, the way he wanted to be, he explained again; they had discussed it, she was moving out. He had already packed her things for her, five big cardboard boxes, labeled, he had done the best he could. Clothes on hangers and her big Klee print wrapped and tied carefully across with string, everything neatly stacked in the car, here, he said, here's the keys.
"I don't want the car," she said. Tears ran down her face but she made no crying sounds, her breathing did not change, in fact her expression did not change. She stood there staring at him with rolling tears and her hands empty, palms upwards, at her sides. He kissed her, a little impatiently, on her mouth.
"You have to go," he said. "Please, Anne, we've gone all through this. Let's not make it any harder than it already is," although in fact it wasn't all that hard, not for him anyway. "Please," and he leaned forward but did not kiss her again; her lips were unpleasantly wet.
She stared at him, saying nothing. He began to feel more than impatient, angry in fact, but no, he would say nothing too, he would give as good as he got. He put her car keys in her hand, literally closing her fingers around them, and picking up his own keys left the house. An hour or so, he would come back and she would be gone.
When he got back her car was still in the driveway, but she was nowhere in the house, not upstairs, not in the utility room; nowhere. Feeling a little silly, he looked in the closets, even considered looking under the bed; nothing. "Anne," calling her, louder and louder, "Anne, stop it, where are you," walking through the house and a movement, something in the backyard, caught his eye through the big kitchen windows. Letting the screen door slam, hard, walking fast and then seeing her, stopping as if on the perilous lip of a fire.
She was on the fence. The back fence, old now and leaning, half its braces gone. She sat at the spot where the rotted wood ended and the bare fencing began, legs straight out, head tipped just slightly to the right. Her arms were spread in a loose posture of crucifixion, and through the flesh of her wrists she had somehow pierced the rusty wire of the fence, threading it around the tendons, the blood rich and thick and bright like some strange new food and while he stood there staring and staring a fly settled down on the blood and walked around in it, back and forth.
He kept staring at the fly, it was suddenly so hot in the yard, it was as if he couldn't see, or could see only half of the scene before him, a kind of dazzle around the perimeters of his vision like the beginning of a fainting fit and back and forth went the fly, busy little black feet and he screamed, "Son of a bitch!" and moved to slap the fly away, and as his hand touched the wound she gave a very small sound, and he pulled his hand back and saw the blood on it.
He said something to her, something about my God Anne what the hell and she opened her eyes and looked at him in a slow considering kind of way, but with a certain blankness as if she viewed him now from a new perspective, and another fly landed and more hesitantly he brushed that one away, and still she did not speak at all.
"You have to go to the hospital," he told her. "You're bleeding, it's dangerous to bleed that way."
She ignored him by closing her eyes. Ants were walking over her bare feet. She didn't seem to feel them. "Anne," loudly, "I'm calling an ambulance, I'm calling the police, Anne."
The police were not helpful. He would have to press charges, they said, trespass charges against her to have her removed. They became more interested when he started to explain, in vague halting phrases, exactly how she was attached to his fence, and in sudden nervous fear he hung up, perhaps they would think he had done it to her himself, who knew what Anne might tell them, she was obviously crazy, to do that to herself she would have to be crazy. He looked out the kitchen window and saw her looking at the house, her eyes tracking as he moved slowly past the windows. He didn't know what to do. He sat in the living room and tried to think.
By the time the sun went down he still had no idea what course to take. He did not even want to go back outside but he did, stood looking down at her. "Do you want some water? Or some aspirin or something?" and in the same breath enraged by what he had just said, the extreme and dangerous stupidity of the whole situation, he shouted at her, called her a stupid fucking idiot and walked back inside, shaking, shaking in his legs and knees and inside his body, felt his heart pounding, it was hard to breathe. She had to be in pain. Was she so crazy she didn't even feel pain anymore? Maybe it was a temporary thing, temporary insanity, maybe a night spent outside would shock her out of it, a night sitting on the cold ground.
In the morning she was still there, although she had stopped bleeding. Ants walked up and down her legs. The blood at her wrists had clotted to jelly. The skin of her face was very white.
"Anne," he said, and shook his head. Her hair was damp, parts of it tangled in the fence, and the pulse in her throat beat so he could see it, a sluggish throb. He felt sorry for her, he hated her. He wanted her to just get up and go away. "Anne, please, you're not doing yourself any good, this is hurting you," and the look she gave him then was so pointed that he felt his skin flush, he refused to say anything, he turned and went back into the house.
Someone was knocking at his front door: the woman from next door, Barbara something, joined by the paperboy's mother whose name he could not remember. They were shrill, demanding to know what he was going to do about that poor woman out there and my God this and that and he shouted at them from the depths of his confusion and anger, told them to get the hell off his porch and he had already been in contact with the police if that would satisfy them, thank you very much, it's none of your business to start with. When they had gone he sat down, he felt very dizzy all of a sudden, he felt as if he had to sit down for a while, a good long while.
How, he didn't know, but he fell asleep, there in the chair, woke with his shirt collar sticking to his neck, sweat on his forehead and above his upper lip. He felt chilled. As he went into the kitchen to get something warm to drink his gaze went to the windows, it was irresistible, he had to look.
She was still there, slumped back against the fence, a curve in her arms and back that curiously suggested tension. She saw him; he knew it by the way her body moved, just a little, as his cautious figure came into view. He ducked away, then felt embarrassed somehow, as if he had been caught peeping in a window, then angry at himself and almost instantly at her.
Let her sit, he said to himself. We'll see who gets tired of this first.
It was almost ten days later that he called a doctor, a friend of his. Anne had not moved, he had barely gone near her, but even his cursory window inspections showed him things were changing, it was nothing he wanted to have to inspect. After much debate he called Richard, told him there was a medical situation at his house; his evasiveness puzzled Richard who said, "Look, if you have somebody sick there, you'd be better off getting her to a hospital. It is a her, isn't it?" Yes, he said. I just need you to come over here, he said, it's kind of a situation, you'll know what I mean when you see her.
Finally Richard arrived, and he directed him straight out to the backyard, stood watching from the window, drinking a glass of ice water. Richard was back in less than five minutes, his face red. He slammed the screen door hard behind him.
"I don't know what the hell's going on here," Richard said, "but I'll tell you one thing, that woman out there is in bad shape, I mean bad shape. She's got an infection that ? "
Well, he said, you're a doctor, right?
"I'm a gynecologist," and Richard was shouting now. "She belongs in a hospital. This is criminal, this is a criminal situation. That woman could die from this."
He drank a little of his ice water, a slow swallow, and Richard leaned forward and knocked the glass right out of his hand. "I said she could die from this, you asshole, and I'm also saying that if she does it's your fault."
"My fault? My fault, how can it be my fault when she's the one who ? " but Richard was already leaving, slamming back out the door, gone. The ice water lay in a glossy puddle on the chocolate-colored tile. He looked out the window. Her posture was unchanged.
It was a kind of dream, less nightmare than sensation of almost painful confusion, and he woke from it sweaty, scared a little, sat up to turn on the bedside lamp. It was almost three. He put on a pair of khaki jeans and walked barefoot into the backyard, the flashlight set on dim, a wavering oval of pale yellow light across the grass.
Perhaps she was asleep.
He leaned closer, not wanting to come too close but wanting to see, and flicked the light at her face.
Moths were walking across her forehead, pale as her skin, a luminous promenade. A small sound came from him as she opened her eyes. There was a moth beneath her right eyelid. It looked dead.
Her hair was braided into the fence, and the puffy circles of infection at her wrists had spread, a gentle bloat extending almost to her elbows. There was a slightly viscous shine to the original wounds. The old blood there had a rusty tinge. The grass seemed greener now, lapping at her bare feet and ankles. When he touched her with the light she seemed almost to feel it, for she turned her head, not away from the light as he expected but into it, as if it was warm and she was cold.
No doubt she was cold. If he touched her now -
He flicked the light to full power, a small brassy beam, played it up and down her body, nervously at first then with more confidence as she moved so little, so gently in its light. Her hair looked dark as a vine. There was dew on her clothing. He stood looking at her for it seemed to him a very long time, but when he returned to the house he saw it was barely quarter after three.
She kept on changing. The infection worsened and then apparently stabilized; at least it spread no farther. Her arms, a landscape of green and pale brown, leaves and the supple wood of the creeping growth about her breasts and waist, her clothing paler and more tattered, softly stained by the days of exposure. Flowers were starting to sprout behind her head, strange white flowers like some distorted stylized nimbus, Our Lady of the Back Forty. Her feet were a permanent green. It seemed her toenails were gone.
None of the neighbors would talk to him now. His attempts at explanations, bizarre even to his own ears, turned them colder still. Each day after work he would look through the kitchen windows, each day he would find some new change, minute perhaps but recognizable. It occurred to him that he was paying her more attention than ever now, and in a moment of higher anger he threw a tarp over her, big and blue and plastic, remnant of boating days. It smelled. He didn't care. She smelled too, didn't she? He covered her entirely, to the tips of her green toes, left her there. He was no more than twenty steps away when the rustling started, louder and louder, the whole tarp shaking as if by a growing wind; it was horrible to watch, horrible to listen to and angrier still he snatched it away, looked down at her closed eyes and the spiderweb in her ear. As he stood there her mouth opened very slowly, it seemed she would speak. He looked closer and saw a large white flower growing in her mouth, its stem wound around her tongue which moved, feebly, as she tried to talk.
He slapped her, once, very hard. It was disgusting to look at her, he wanted to smother her with the tarp, but he was afraid to try it again. He couldn't bear that sound again, that terrible rustling sound like the rattling of cockroaches, God if there was only some way to kill her fast he would do it, he would do it right now.
The white flower wiggled. Another slowly unfurled like a time-lapse photo, bigger than the first. Its petals were a richer white, heavy like satin. It brushed against her lower lip, and her mouth hung slightly open to accommodate its weight; it looked like she was pouting, a parody of a pout.
He threw the tarp away. He pulled down the blinds in the kitchen and refused to check on her after work. He tried to think, again, what to do, lay in bed at night hoping something would somehow do it for him. After a particularly heavy rain, during which he sat up all night, almost chuckling in the stern sound of the downpour, he rushed out first thing in the morning to see how she'd liked her little bath. He found her feet had completely disappeared into the grass, her hair gone into vines with leaves the size of fists, her open mouth a garden. She was lush with growth. He felt a sick and bitter disappointment, with childish spite wrenched one of the flowers from her mouth and ground it into the grass where her feet had been. Even as he stood there the grass crept a discernible distance forward.
Grass, all of it growing too high around her. Well when the grass gets too high you cut it, right, that's what you do, you cut it and he was laughing a little, it was simple. A simple idea and he started up the mower, it took a few tries but he started it. A left turn from the garage, walking past the driveway with a happy stride, pushing the mower before him, growling sound of the mower a comfort in his ears and all at once the ground trembled, was it the mower's vibration? It trembled again, harder this time, no earthquakes here, what the hell and it happened again, more strongly, over and over until the grass moved like water, choppy undulating waves that gained and climbed until he stumbled beneath their force and lost his footing entirely, fell down and saw with a shout of fear that the mower was still on, was growling at him now, the waves of grass aiming it towards him. He rolled away, a clumsy scramble to stand again, half-crawled to the safety of the still driveway. As soon as his feet left the grass the waves stopped. The mower's automatic cut-off shut it down. He was crying and couldn't help it.
"What do you want," screaming at her, tears on his lips, "what do you want," oh this is the last straw, this is enough. No more.
Back to the garage, looking for the weed killer, the Ortho stuff he'd used before, herbicide, and the term struck him and he laughed, a hard barking laugh. He had trouble attaching the sprayer, the screw wouldn't catch and he struggled with it, the hastily mixed solution, too strong, splashing on his skin, stinging where it splashed. Finally in his heat he threw the sprayer down, the hell with it, he would just pour it on her, pour it all over her.
Walking fast across the grass, before she could catch on, before she could start up, hurrying and the solution jiggling and bubbling in the bottle. "Are you thirsty?" too loudly, "are you thirsty, Anne, are you ? " and he threw it at her, bottle and all, as hard as he could. And stepped back, breathing dryly through his mouth, to watch.
At first nothing seemed to be happening; only her eyes, opening very wide, the eyes of someone surprised by great pain. Then on each spot where the solution had struck the foliage began not to wither but to blacken, not the color of death but an eerily sumptuous shade, and in one instant every flower in her mouth turned black, a fierce and luminous black and her eyes were black too, her lips, her hands black as slowly she separated herself from the fence, dragging half of it with her, rising to a shambling crouch and her tongue free and whipping like a snake as he turned, much too slowly, it was as if his disbelief impeded him, turning back to see in an instant's glance that black black tongue come crawling across the grass, and she behind it with a smile.
submitted by MilkbottleF to shortstoryaday [link] [comments]


2020.03.16 16:07 AntiMoneySquandering Live stream voyeur

H44 moved up to stand next to me, both of us focused on the live display of the strike team as they waited to move in. Kael paced in front of us, his hands clamped behind his back. As the countdown continued he eventually stopped, turning his own attention to the monitors. The bizarreness of simply watching settled over me once more but I noticed that H44 seemed calmer now, far less restless. Seeing my gaze she smiled and signed quickly.
This should help you feel less removed. And a bit of a voyeur
Before I could question her, I received a file from her AI. I scanned it quickly and smiled back, nodding my thanks. Accepting the link with my own AI and suddenly my view changed, the ship and its people disappearing. Instead the live stream was superimposed over my own vision, allowing me to almost view the scene if I was there, from the perspective of the man in front. The man swung his gaze around at his team and then back to the insertion point, a slightly disconcerting feeling with my inability to control it. Something else felt off and after a moment I pinpointed it.
“Strange to see the world from this height,” I chuckled to H44.
“It has been a while since I’ve looked up at anyone,” she agreed.
“What was that J35?” came the confused voice of Captain Kael and H44 and I chuckled again but didn’t enlighten him.
The countdown ended and the strike team moved as one into the tunnel. It was dark, and with their beaming torchlights, each twisting shadow looked as if it could be a threat. The man whose vision I was piggybacking slowly made his way forward, the muzzle of his rifle held out in front of him, sweeping the area. He stepped through the opening created by the ship’s AI and entered the rogue ship proper. It seemed to be some sort of storage space or cargo bay, though there was not a great deal of room for either. He squeezed between two large metal crates, wary, as the rest of the team were forced to follow in single file. It was a tense start, with the formation meaning that those at the rear would be unable to cover those in front should they encounter hostility this early on. After a moment, the soldier had eased himself into the centre of the room, quickly stepping out into the space to allow his comrades to do the same. His gaze flickered around the small area, his gun following as he checked over for threats. As the last of the team squeezed out from their enclosed entrance, he signaled as such, and took the lead out of the room. As he stepped out into the corridor, he paused, looking up and down the possible routes. He spoke over his shoulder and I realised we were following the actions of Strike Leader Sergeant Dell.
“Power’s on,” he whispered gruffly, edging out into the corridor with his soldiers following. “Tac lights off unless I say different. Patel, Price, with me. Jones, Chen and Collins take up the rear. Meds and mechs, stay in the centre. Everyone alert.”
There was a brief moment as the as the men and women moved quietly into position, the marines fluid, the auxiliaries slightly more clumsily. Once happy with the arrangement, Dell hefted his rifle and moved forward.
“Command, moving towards the living quarters.”
“Roger that Strike Team,” came the response from Captain Kael, his voice steady and relaxed now. The team continued down the corridor, a standard bare layout familiar to everyone who had spent time on human space craft. Dell slowed as he approached a point with a door either side. He looked back at one of his marines, a tall woman, and pointed to the left door. She moved to enter, the third marine at the front taking centre position to cover them. With a grunted “Now”, he entered his room on the right, sweeping his gun on the interior. It was lit with the same unnatural white lighting as the corridor but this at least illuminated something more than empty space. The room was filled with similar crates to the one they had entered, all securely closed and fitted together tightly to converse room. He walked in slowly, crouched and prepared. The nearest case had a series of numbers emblazoned on the front. He focused his camera on this and activated his mic.
“Command, can you get anything from th…”
“Sarge!”
Dell dropped his comms at the alert from his marine, moving swiftly back out of the room. The marine he had assigned to stay, Dell’s gaze passing over his signifier to show it was Price, was still in position, meaning it was unlikely Patel had found a hostile. Dell entered the left room, noting that it was a near identical copy to the one he had left. One of the few differences was one of the crates was open and the Sergeant took an almost involuntary step closer, craning to look inside. His feed picked up what appeared to be some sort of vibrantly coloured vegetables or plant life within when Patel’s voice quietly called out from a corner.
“Body here Sarge.” Dell spun swiftly, moving to where his marine stood crouched down by the corpse. It was dressed in black fatigues with what appeared to be no identifying material. As he approached, crouching to mimic Patel, he made out a small grey insignia on the right arm. A bird surrounded by thorns.
“Shrike” I heard H44 mutter from somewhere next to me as the Sergeant also reported in to the Jinx.
“You seeing this Sir? Looks like our theory on this being an Intelligence and Interrogation Agency ship were correct.”
“We have eyes on it Sergeant,” Kael responded, a tightness to his voice now. “Grey colouring so it’s not an actual agent, one of their lower ranked workers.”
It took me a second to realise the Captain had addressed that last part to us, the sound not coming through the feed the Sergeant was sending.
“Not anymore,” H44 said softly as the video raised up the body to the face. Or where the face used to be. The centre was a mess of ruined flesh and congealed black blood. The view enlarged as the Sergeant leaned in closer, surveying the gory scene. His gaze flicked upwards to the wall behind, scanning the splatter of viscera that was painted there.
“Signs of a struggle by the entrance Sir,” Patel said, jerking her head towards the door. The Sergeant nodded, returning his attention to the corpse.
“Get Dr Iglesias. Pretty clear what happened but maybe he can shed some more light.”
She nodded, standing quickly and striding out to grab the doctor. Dell rose slightly, seemingly resting on the balls of his feet as he glanced around the room more carefully. As the marine had said there was some scuff marks on the floor and a couple of crates seemed jostled out of position. Dr Iglesias arrived and immediately knelt by the body, shining a powerful torch into the wound. Dell’s camera swung away briefly before returning, accompanied by a deep breath.
“Gunshot Doctor?”
“Evidently,” he replied. “High calibre or very close range. I would say it’s the latter.”
“Why is that,” Dell asked, his view moving from the corpse to the expressionless face of the Doctor. Before answering Iglesias lifted the body’s hand, angling it so the Sergeant could see clearly. The knuckles had dried blood stained on them, as well as slight swelling and bruising. The Doctor peered in closer, passed the gore and stared at the corpse’s wrist, rolling up the sleeve.
“So he managed to strike his assailant,” Dell surmised, standing and making his way out of the room. “Given the blood, looks like it was a human.”
“So it would appear,” the Doctor agreed, Dell looking back at him in time to catch his curious gaze switch from the body to the open crate. He cleared his throat and the Doctor turned, walking out ahead of him, though with one last glance at the revealed box. They re-joined the rest of the squad and resumed their initial formation.
“One casualty identified,” Dell said to his team, their eyes unconsciously flicking to the room they had emerged from. “Human. Looks like this is an IIA ship after all. Stay alert.”
The team moved forward once more, through hallways still lit brightly. Patel, her voice lowered but enough to carry forward to her Sergeant, was picked up on Dell’s mic.
“So what are we thinking Sir? Alien raid? Or some old fashioned human on human pirating?”
Dell was silent for a moment, sweeping his gun over each doorway he passed, the squad walking passed rooms that housed nothing but empty bunks and tables.
“Given the blood on that corpses knuckles, i'd say the latter,” he responded eventually, his voice even and quiet. He looked up at the ceiling of the small ship, only about half a foot above his six. “Besides would be more of a disturbance if it was some Dralid raiders trying to fit in here. Could have been Vannett, even Berylian and the blood his. But I have a hunch and that hunch is pointing towards our fellow man.”
Patel grunted in affirmation and then fell silent as the group entered a larger space, dominated by a large table and stools. It appeared to be something of a rec room, with a small kitchenette space towards the rear. Unlike similar spaces on the Jinx, there was little in the way of actual recreation save for a few VR stations installed at the sides. Dell swept his gaze over them and they appeared to be geared more towards combat practice and government sanctioned drills, rather than the more versatile leisure versions you could find.
“Remind me never to join the Shrikes,” Price breathed, shaking his head as he gazed around the space. He frowned and Dell followed his gaze to the centre, where a few of the stools lay in disarray. Sweeping his eyes around the room, Dell gestured and his marines fanned out, covering the three exits to the room. He walked in, allowing his rifle to hang, and inspected the area more closely. The chairs seemed to have been abandoned in haste, scuff marks along the floor where they had forcibly been thrown. Similarly mugs lay strewn on the table, their contents pooling along the surface to drip onto the floor. A few remained upright, including the large pot of coffee at the centre he deduced had been used to fill them.
“Left in a hurry. Scrambled to fight off a threat?” he mused out loud, bending down to look beneath the table. He jerked his gaze left as Doctor Iglesias walked passed, purposely moving towards the small kitchen part of the room.
“Or to flee,” the Doctor responded. The kitchenette was a simple enough thing, a mid-height island blocking part of it from view. What they could see were standard issue steel cupboards and ovens and Dell was on his feet quickly, following the Doctor as he too saw the dent in one of the storage units. They rounded the island as one and the Doctor instantly dropped to his feet next to the second corpse they had found. Dell, leaving the Doctor to his work, examined the damaged cupboard. It was bent inwards, a fist sized shape aberration in the shiny metal. Leaning closer, he could make out small specks of detritus.
“We’ve got blood, a few hairs up here Doc,” Dell said finally. “Guessing you’ll find the back of his head caved in to match this.”
“Hers,” the Doctor announced absently, his fingers drumming anxiously on the wall next to him. “And yes, she shows cranial damage. But that isn’t what killed her.”
“It isn’t?” Dell asked, crouching down alongside Iglesias. “Another bullet wound?”
The Doctor didn’t respond but shifted slightly and Dell saw the corpse properly for the first time. It was a woman as the Doctor had said, her dark hair fanned out on the floor. The way the head lay, he could tell that the back of her head showed the damage from being forced into metal above. He looked closer and exhaled deeply, noting the dark blue marking to the swollen skin of her face. One side was so engorged it looked almost like it would burst if prodded. Her lips too were blue, as if drained completely of blood.
“Shit,” Dell said finally, rubbing a bead of sweat that threatened to fall from his shorn scalp. “Guess she’s been sitting out for a while.”
“No longer than the other,” the Doctor announced, manipulating a finger mounted light and camera to take a series of quick renditions of the body. “But the blow to her head, I don’t think that is what killed her. I’ll send these back to the Jinx, see what my colleagues think. The blunt force trauma is vicious certainly but on its own, I believe she would have survived it.”
“Then what…..” The Doctor shook his head and Dell noticed that while his demeanor remained calm, professional, his pupils were wide, his skin pale. The Doctor pushed passed him and looked around the room quickly, eyes scanning the walls. Dell looked up to him, wondering, before realising he was looking for an indication as to where to head. Evidently he found it, because Iglesias began to stride quickly from the room, towards one of the exits. The marines holding the doorway blocked him, looking back at Dell with raised eyebrows and questioning eyes. After a moment’s hesitation Dell nodded to let him through, and his gaze swept rapidly between them and behind, indicating the Sergeant himself was beginning to feel an inkling of panic. The two marines, confusion still evident on their faces, fell in behind the Sergeant as he hurried after the Doctor.
“Iglesias” Dell growled, though his voice was quiet, echoing in the silence of the corridor. “What is it? Where are we going?”
The Doctor ignored him and each door they passed, increasing his pace until they reached the end, where their progress was impeded by a larger entrance. It was sealed shut but a thick window comprised the upper portion. The Doctor pressed up against this and stared through, muttering under his breath. Dell glanced up at the sign above the door, the dimly lit words registering clearly on his cam.
Sickbay
He swung his gaze back down, pushing the Doctor aside and looking through the window himself. Inside the med room were rows of beds, of the adequate but uncomfortable variety familiar to anyone who had served in the military. Every bed housed a person and dotted between those were more, laid flat on the ground. One such body was near the door, arm outstretched up as if trying to open it even now. The body displayed the same bloated blue features as the woman back in the rec room.
“Bastard died trying to get out?” Dell said turning to the Doctor, though there was a shake to his gruff voice, a quaver running through it.
“No Sergeant,” Iglesias replied, rapidly typing something out on his arm pad to transmit back to the ship. “He was successful in his attempt. To lock them. To quarantine.”
The Doctor looked up at him, at the two marines with them and down the corridor where the rest of the team waited.
“Seems our ship was boarded after all. Just not by pirates. They’ve been hit by a disease and it seems it has proven one hundred per cent lethal.”
The Doctor tapped decisively, sending off his findings and then addressed his next statement to both those with him and those waiting on the Jinx.
“So we’d better start brainstorming now Captain because we need to get off this ship ASAP, not infect anyone else and synthesize a cure to something I personally have never seen before.”
The corridor lay silent after the Doctor’s words, the crew of the Jinx equally stunned into silence. After a moment the rough growl of Dell broke the silence.
“Well fuck.”
submitted by AntiMoneySquandering to HFY [link] [comments]


2020.03.16 15:54 AntiMoneySquandering Voyeur live stream

H44 moved up to stand next to me, both of us focused on the live display of the strike team as they waited to move in. Kael paced in front of us, his hands clamped behind his back. As the countdown continued he eventually stopped, turning his own attention to the monitors. The bizarreness of simply watching settled over me once more but I noticed that H44 seemed calmer now, far less restless. Seeing my gaze she smiled and signed quickly.
This should help you feel less removed. And a bit of a voyeur
Before I could question her, I received a file from her AI. I scanned it quickly and smiled back, nodding my thanks. Accepting the link with my own AI and suddenly my view changed, the ship and its people disappearing. Instead the live stream was superimposed over my own vision, allowing me to almost view the scene if I was there, from the perspective of the man in front. The man swung his gaze around at his team and then back to the insertion point, a slightly disconcerting feeling with my inability to control it. Something else felt off and after a moment I pinpointed it.
“Strange to see the world from this height,” I chuckled to H44.
“It has been a while since I’ve looked up at anyone,” she agreed.
“What was that J35?” came the confused voice of Captain Kael and H44 and I chuckled again but didn’t enlighten him.
The countdown ended and the strike team moved as one into the tunnel. It was dark, and with their beaming torchlights, each twisting shadow looked as if it could be a threat. The man whose vision I was piggybacking slowly made his way forward, the muzzle of his rifle held out in front of him, sweeping the area. He stepped through the opening created by the ship’s AI and entered the rogue ship proper. It seemed to be some sort of storage space or cargo bay, though there was not a great deal of room for either. He squeezed between two large metal crates, wary, as the rest of the team were forced to follow in single file. It was a tense start, with the formation meaning that those at the rear would be unable to cover those in front should they encounter hostility this early on. After a moment, the soldier had eased himself into the centre of the room, quickly stepping out into the space to allow his comrades to do the same. His gaze flickered around the small area, his gun following as he checked over for threats. As the last of the team squeezed out from their enclosed entrance, he signaled as such, and took the lead out of the room. As he stepped out into the corridor, he paused, looking up and down the possible routes. He spoke over his shoulder and I realised we were following the actions of Strike Leader Sergeant Dell.
“Power’s on,” he whispered gruffly, edging out into the corridor with his soldiers following. “Tac lights off unless I say different. Patel, Price, with me. Jones, Chen and Collins take up the rear. Meds and mechs, stay in the centre. Everyone alert.”
There was a brief moment as the as the men and women moved quietly into position, the marines fluid, the auxiliaries slightly more clumsily. Once happy with the arrangement, Dell hefted his rifle and moved forward.
“Command, moving towards the living quarters.”
“Roger that Strike Team,” came the response from Captain Kael, his voice steady and relaxed now. The team continued down the corridor, a standard bare layout familiar to everyone who had spent time on human space craft. Dell slowed as he approached a point with a door either side. He looked back at one of his marines, a tall woman, and pointed to the left door. She moved to enter, the third marine at the front taking centre position to cover them. With a grunted “Now”, he entered his room on the right, sweeping his gun on the interior. It was lit with the same unnatural white lighting as the corridor but this at least illuminated something more than empty space. The room was filled with similar crates to the one they had entered, all securely closed and fitted together tightly to converse room. He walked in slowly, crouched and prepared. The nearest case had a series of numbers emblazoned on the front. He focused his camera on this and activated his mic.
“Command, can you get anything from th…”
“Sarge!”
Dell dropped his comms at the alert from his marine, moving swiftly back out of the room. The marine he had assigned to stay, Dell’s gaze passing over his signifier to show it was Price, was still in position, meaning it was unlikely Patel had found a hostile. Dell entered the left room, noting that it was a near identical copy to the one he had left. One of the few differences was one of the crates was open and the Sergeant took an almost involuntary step closer, craning to look inside. His feed picked up what appeared to be some sort of vibrantly coloured vegetables or plant life within when Patel’s voice quietly called out from a corner.
“Body here Sarge.” Dell spun swiftly, moving to where his marine stood crouched down by the corpse. It was dressed in black fatigues with what appeared to be no identifying material. As he approached, crouching to mimic Patel, he made out a small grey insignia on the right arm. A bird surrounded by thorns.
“Shrike” I heard H44 mutter from somewhere next to me as the Sergeant also reported in to the Jinx.
“You seeing this Sir? Looks like our theory on this being an Intelligence and Interrogation Agency ship were correct.”
“We have eyes on it Sergeant,” Kael responded, a tightness to his voice now. “Grey colouring so it’s not an actual agent, one of their lower ranked workers.”
It took me a second to realise the Captain had addressed that last part to us, the sound not coming through the feed the Sergeant was sending.
“Not anymore,” H44 said softly as the video raised up the body to the face. Or where the face used to be. The centre was a mess of ruined flesh and congealed black blood. The view enlarged as the Sergeant leaned in closer, surveying the gory scene. His gaze flicked upwards to the wall behind, scanning the splatter of viscera that was painted there.
“Signs of a struggle by the entrance Sir,” Patel said, jerking her head towards the door. The Sergeant nodded, returning his attention to the corpse.
“Get Dr Iglesias. Pretty clear what happened but maybe he can shed some more light.”
She nodded, standing quickly and striding out to grab the doctor. Dell rose slightly, seemingly resting on the balls of his feet as he glanced around the room more carefully. As the marine had said there was some scuff marks on the floor and a couple of crates seemed jostled out of position. Dr Iglesias arrived and immediately knelt by the body, shining a powerful torch into the wound. Dell’s camera swung away briefly before returning, accompanied by a deep breath.
“Gunshot Doctor?”
“Evidently,” he replied. “High calibre or very close range. I would say it’s the latter.”
“Why is that,” Dell asked, his view moving from the corpse to the expressionless face of the Doctor. Before answering Iglesias lifted the body’s hand, angling it so the Sergeant could see clearly. The knuckles had dried blood stained on them, as well as slight swelling and bruising. The Doctor peered in closer, passed the gore and stared at the corpse’s wrist, rolling up the sleeve.
“So he managed to strike his assailant,” Dell surmised, standing and making his way out of the room. “Given the blood, looks like it was a human.”
“So it would appear,” the Doctor agreed, Dell looking back at him in time to catch his curious gaze switch from the body to the open crate. He cleared his throat and the Doctor turned, walking out ahead of him, though with one last glance at the revealed box. They re-joined the rest of the squad and resumed their initial formation.
“One casualty identified,” Dell said to his team, their eyes unconsciously flicking to the room they had emerged from. “Human. Looks like this is an IIA ship after all. Stay alert.”
The team moved forward once more, through hallways still lit brightly. Patel, her voice lowered but enough to carry forward to her Sergeant, was picked up on Dell’s mic.
“So what are we thinking Sir? Alien raid? Or some old fashioned human on human pirating?”
Dell was silent for a moment, sweeping his gun over each doorway he passed, the squad walking passed rooms that housed nothing but empty bunks and tables.
“Given the blood on that corpses knuckles, i'd say the latter,” he responded eventually, his voice even and quiet. He looked up at the ceiling of the small ship, only about half a foot above his six. “Besides would be more of a disturbance if it was some Dralid raiders trying to fit in here. Could have been Vannett, even Berylian and the blood his. But I have a hunch and that hunch is pointing towards our fellow man.”
Patel grunted in affirmation and then fell silent as the group entered a larger space, dominated by a large table and stools. It appeared to be something of a rec room, with a small kitchenette space towards the rear. Unlike similar spaces on the Jinx, there was little in the way of actual recreation save for a few VR stations installed at the sides. Dell swept his gaze over them and they appeared to be geared more towards combat practice and government sanctioned drills, rather than the more versatile leisure versions you could find.
“Remind me never to join the Shrikes,” Price breathed, shaking his head as he gazed around the space. He frowned and Dell followed his gaze to the centre, where a few of the stools lay in disarray. Sweeping his eyes around the room, Dell gestured and his marines fanned out, covering the three exits to the room. He walked in, allowing his rifle to hang, and inspected the area more closely. The chairs seemed to have been abandoned in haste, scuff marks along the floor where they had forcibly been thrown. Similarly mugs lay strewn on the table, their contents pooling along the surface to drip onto the floor. A few remained upright, including the large pot of coffee at the centre he deduced had been used to fill them.
“Left in a hurry. Scrambled to fight off a threat?” he mused out loud, bending down to look beneath the table. He jerked his gaze left as Doctor Iglesias walked passed, purposely moving towards the small kitchen part of the room.
“Or to flee,” the Doctor responded. The kitchenette was a simple enough thing, a mid-height island blocking part of it from view. What they could see were standard issue steel cupboards and ovens and Dell was on his feet quickly, following the Doctor as he too saw the dent in one of the storage units. They rounded the island as one and the Doctor instantly dropped to his feet next to the second corpse they had found. Dell, leaving the Doctor to his work, examined the damaged cupboard. It was bent inwards, a fist sized shape aberration in the shiny metal. Leaning closer, he could make out small specks of detritus.
“We’ve got blood, a few hairs up here Doc,” Dell said finally. “Guessing you’ll find the back of his head caved in to match this.”
“Hers,” the Doctor announced absently, his fingers drumming anxiously on the wall next to him. “And yes, she shows cranial damage. But that isn’t what killed her.”
“It isn’t?” Dell asked, crouching down alongside Iglesias. “Another bullet wound?”
The Doctor didn’t respond but shifted slightly and Dell saw the corpse properly for the first time. It was a woman as the Doctor had said, her dark hair fanned out on the floor. The way the head lay, he could tell that the back of her head showed the damage from being forced into metal above. He looked closer and exhaled deeply, noting the dark blue marking to the swollen skin of her face. One side was so engorged it looked almost like it would burst if prodded. Her lips too were blue, as if drained completely of blood.
“Shit,” Dell said finally, rubbing a bead of sweat that threatened to fall from his shorn scalp. “Guess she’s been sitting out for a while.”
“No longer than the other,” the Doctor announced, manipulating a finger mounted light and camera to take a series of quick renditions of the body. “But the blow to her head, I don’t think that is what killed her. I’ll send these back to the Jinx, see what my colleagues think. The blunt force trauma is vicious certainly but on its own, I believe she would have survived it.”
“Then what…..” The Doctor shook his head and Dell noticed that while his demeanor remained calm, professional, his pupils were wide, his skin pale. The Doctor pushed passed him and looked around the room quickly, eyes scanning the walls. Dell looked up to him, wondering, before realising he was looking for an indication as to where to head. Evidently he found it, because Iglesias began to stride quickly from the room, towards one of the exits. The marines holding the doorway blocked him, looking back at Dell with raised eyebrows and questioning eyes. After a moment’s hesitation Dell nodded to let him through, and his gaze swept rapidly between them and behind, indicating the Sergeant himself was beginning to feel an inkling of panic. The two marines, confusion still evident on their faces, fell in behind the Sergeant as he hurried after the Doctor.
“Iglesias” Dell growled, though his voice was quiet, echoing in the silence of the corridor. “What is it? Where are we going?”
The Doctor ignored him and each door they passed, increasing his pace until they reached the end, where their progress was impeded by a larger entrance. It was sealed shut but a thick window comprised the upper portion. The Doctor pressed up against this and stared through, muttering under his breath. Dell glanced up at the sign above the door, the dimly lit words registering clearly on his cam.
Sickbay
He swung his gaze back down, pushing the Doctor aside and looking through the window himself. Inside the med room were rows of beds, of the adequate but uncomfortable variety familiar to anyone who had served in the military. Every bed housed a person and dotted between those were more, laid flat on the ground. One such body was near the door, arm outstretched up as if trying to open it even now. The body displayed the same bloated blue features as the woman back in the rec room.
“Bastard died trying to get out?” Dell said turning to the Doctor, though there was a shake to his gruff voice, a quaver running through it.
“No Sergeant,” Iglesias replied, rapidly typing something out on his arm pad to transmit back to the ship. “He was successful in his attempt. To lock them. To quarantine.”
The Doctor looked up at him, at the two marines with them and down the corridor where the rest of the team waited.
“Seems our ship was boarded after all. Just not by pirates. They’ve been hit by a disease and it seems it has proven one hundred per cent lethal.”
The Doctor tapped decisively, sending off his findings and then addressed his next statement to both those with him and those waiting on the Jinx.
“So we’d better start brainstorming now Captain because we need to get off this ship ASAP, not infect anyone else and synthesize a cure to something I personally have never seen before.”
The corridor lay silent after the Doctor’s words, the crew of the Jinx equally stunned into silence. After a moment the rough growl of Dell broke the silence.
“Well fuck.”
submitted by AntiMoneySquandering to AMSWrites [link] [comments]


2020.02.25 08:13 turb0j3w Live stream voyeur

 The first real memory munch experienced was simple, it was a mans memory of his wife making and eating breakfast with him. It had felt nothing like he expected, it was as if his life was a dream and he had finally awoken. In the blink of an eye he found himself seated at a hand carved, hard wood table, in a completely foreign environment. 
It was time for brunch in this dreamscape, tight streams of sunlight were fighting their way into the dining room and he could see the dust particles refracting sunshine as they floated through the rays of early morning brightness. Upon his own cognitive understanding Munch was slowly becoming more aware of his current surroundings.
The table sat four and it was hand crafted along with what looked like all the other furniture in this room. They didnt appear as a set but as pieces added over time, there were chairs and countertops and two tables of different sizes. Someone had spent alot of time making these or alot of money buying all this furniture, this little table stood out though. It was delicate and intricate, the surface had been hand carved with whittling tools and epoxied over so it was smooth but it didnt detract from the mans handiwork in the slightest.
Munch leaned closer to the table and accidentally moved his face through a sunbeam which brought forth a knee jerk reaction, suddenly he was reeling back from the sun like it had burned him and in a way it had. Prepared now, Munch moved his hand through the beam of light and as he did he could feel the warmth of the morning sun touch his skin.
His weathered and feeble hand, which clearly was no longer his own hand, had shocked him the least of all. Munch was too busy trying to process what was actually happening to be fully aware of all the little details this first go around. What he was aware of was that this was not his memory and that some elderly woman was currently carrying two plates of breakfast foods over to the table he found himself sitting at. The depth of sensory input he was currently experiencing bordered on being almost unrealistic, as if life somehow couldnt do these memories justice. Munch could tell what was on the plate just by smell alone and whoever lived this life was a very lucky man. it made him think of his dead wife Elaine, she was the reason for these experiments.
His goal was to find a way to extract his own memories of her, that way he could experience falling in love all over again. Now that he found the proper process to extract and distill memories from a dead body, he hoped it would be much easier to do the same with a living person and not leave lasting damage. In an ideal world he could leave his own memories intact while mass producing copies of specific memory sets for his own use whenever he so chose but life is anything but ideal, as he would eventually find out.
Munch became acutely aware that he was experiencing this mans life firsthand, that these moments of pain or intimacy could now be harvested and shared with whoever he wanted, as he deemed it to be. He had no idea who this man was or what his life had been like but for a few moments he could life it as if it were his own. He felt like himself but with more external input that he wasnt used to and couldnt actually quantify, it was as if this mans thoughts and feelings wanted to be experienced and felt somehow.
Munch was getting bombarded by these purely blissful intentions and overly joyful expressions that were not his own, he could still think and feel for himself but it became easier to allow the wave to crash and carry him under then to continue trying to ride through the undertow. He instantly became awash with feelings of love and support, feelings of caring, compassion and a steadfast knowledge that this woman was everything he had and all he would ever need to be happy in this world. He wanted to build a world of beauty for this woman, he wanted to share in all her joy and be there to comfort her in all her sadness. He wanted to grow old and eventually die side by side, in the house he had built with his own hands for the both of them. This was his idea of happiness and it was exilirating and intoxicating, it was solid and true. It was overwhelming, Munch had to stifle a cough and scoot the chair back from the table.
The woman reacted, moving urgently towards him as she put their breakfast onto the table. She looked at him and he could see she had the most piercing hazel eyes, half her face was caught in a sunbeam and the eye in the sun had a more vibrant, deeper green hue to it. Her hair had silvered with age and the closer she got the stronger the scent of lilacs became.
It stirred something primal in Munch, something he hadnt felt in many years. A sense of love and ecstatic bliss. Not only did he love this woman but she loved him too and based on the tide of feelings he was experiencing, they had lived a full and happy life together. This man had built all of this furniture here and even built the house they lived in together. They filled each others wants and needs in ways most people couldnt even begin to fathom and here, Munch was a voyeur.
He had finally accomplished the first thing he needed to in order to reach his ultimate goal and damn if it didnt feel fucking amazing. Half the time Munch couldnt differentiate between what came from his own mind and what came from the ingested memory, it was like being asked to navigate a maze you had never walked or seen but still managing to have a perfect recall of it while simultaneously swearing you remember it differently then you do. Very disorienting, but clearly there was a basic level of interaction within a single memory thread.
He wanted to explore the reaches and bounds of his new world but for now he would settle for sharing a meal with his wife at the table he had crafted for her on their 35th anniversary. Munch knew it wasnt his wife, this was not his memory. He did however believe in full immersion therapy so go big or go home. He started getting fleeting blips of thoughts and momentary images attached, as if he was truly living this mans life wholeheartedly. He didnt recall much but he knew looking at the dining room table that he had promised his dearly beloved a new piece of handcrafted woodworking every year. On their anniversary he would sneak a new piece in and she would happen upon it, the look on her face when he did it for the first time was a memory Munch couldnt recall but every year since he had done exactly that. Even when she had asked him to stop, he didn't. He wouldn't let old age make a fool out of him, mayhap the gifts got smaller as he got older but for 35 years he continued this trend until their house was fully furnished and then some.
Munch had to pause at that, he began to wonder how this was even happening. This was so much more then he could have ever anticipated, the depth that he was able to plumb. the experiences he had shared with this man were so synchronous and harmonious. This mans life was so full of joy and wonder, Munch was able to piggy back on that in such a way that it felt like he had lived these moments himself and it was shockingly surreal. He was sharing all these thoughts and feelings with this man.
He was literally forced into this random mans shoes for a brief period of time and so far he couldnt be more pleased with the experience. When you live your life you dont think of how other people would feel in your shoes, you can try and explain but in practice its not physically possible.
You look at a prism one way which is different then how i would see a prism, now as light refracts through its core we can both share in that specific experience together. Its game changing actually. Munch wanted more of this memory but as he was formulating a sentence in his head he was shoved back into his own pitiful existence.
TL;DR Its a metaphor. What if drugs were still beautiful to everyone and not just those of us still balls deep? I think thats what it would start out like..... I think every drug starts out just as beautiful, in theory. What if i didnt have to hide a habit? What if my job was ok with it? Think about how people would feel if memories were not just in our own heads, if in some alternative multiverse version of earth instead of meth we did memories? Do you think the stigma would change or do you think something as harmless as someones happiness would eventually get regulated and criminalized, just because people are fearful of a specified outcome? Fuckin drugs man XD forgive me. Its copy pasted from something larger i wrote and cant figure out formatting.
submitted by turb0j3w to Stims [link] [comments]


2020.02.12 18:28 robertfcowper Rear Window & The Neighbors' Window

In the last two months I have heard more mentions of the Alfred Hitchcock classic Rear Window than I can ever recall. It first popped up in a book I was reading about film called Talking Pictures by Ann Hornaday. Hornaday used the film as an example in numerous chapters, especially cinematography and set design. Rear Window was also a clear inspiration for the Academy Award winning short film titled The Neighbors' Window. With the modern take still in my mind, and Horanday's glowing praise still top of mind, I figured I should sit down and watch Rear Window for the first time.
Simply, Rear Window is fantastic. Its simple premise meanders down hallways whose doors occasionally reveal a clue, other times a Technicolor red herring. For a film with a claustrophobic focus -- one city courtyard through one man's window, often through a camera lens or binoculars -- to feel so wide open is impressive. Nearly seventy years later, Rear Window is timeless and appropriate for our time. (One question did linger as I watched: why didn't Jefferies, a photographer, take any photos of the unfolding cover-up?)
There is one key difference between Rear Window and The Neighbors' Window that alters how you absorb the story. In Rear Window, you can hear the neighbors -- their voices, their music, their pets -- which makes them feel more intimate and connected to you as the viewer. In The Neighbors' Window, you only see the neighbors across the way, we never hear them. Without that aural connection, the viewer feels more voyeur than neighbor. As I watched Rear Window, I thought that that difference between the two films cleverly spoke to a generational difference in how we now interact with our neighbors. I live in a condo development that features a few common areas but I very rarely use them to interact with neighbors. Instead, my wife and I are content to entertain ourselves inside and only share passing pleasantries with our neighbors. Ironically, much of that time we spend inside keeping to ourselves is spent on screens streaming content that acts as a window to some other neighborhood. I know my parents and grandparents became great friends with those living next door or across the street. So, what impact would it have on our lives if we forged more meaningful relationships with our neighbors?
Somewhere between Rear Window and The Neighbors' Window we lost the desire and interest in being good neighbors. Both films end with scenes of neighbors making an unexpected connection which encourages me that if we all just "love thy neighbor" we can make our own neighborhoods a better place to live.
submitted by robertfcowper to movies [link] [comments]


2019.12.23 22:31 SorcererOfTheLake Live stream voyeur

To answer your first question: I do not think Yosuga no Sora is a good anime in the sense most people, including myself, think of when talking about quality. At best, it is a decent romantic series with a good balance between romanticism and sexuality to keep the viewer interested. At worst, it is full of half baked ideas that ultimately results from putting too much material and too little faith into a twelve-episode series that hampers its own runtime.
So, you may be asking yourselves now, why is it that I’m spending over 1000 words writing about a nearly decade old ecchi anime that not too many people remember? Well, there are a few reasons, but the most important reason is that I find it interesting. Through this essay, as I am exploring the various aspects and issues of the series, I want to ask ourselves, “What can we learn from this?” and “What does this say about our own tastes?”
Prologue: The Scenario We Are In
Yosuga no Sora started as a 2008 visual novel by Cube, a sister company of Cuffs. Two years later, in the Fall of 2010, production studio Feel adapted the visual novel into a 12 episode anime series, directed by Takeo Takahashi (Rokka, Citrus, and Wasteful Days of High School Girls) and written by Naruhisa Arakawa (Spice and Wolf, Gonna Be the Twin-Tail!, and Island).
The series focuses on the Kasugano twins, the older brother Haruka and the younger sister Sora, who are returning to the place they spent their summers in, a small rural town close to the sea. After their parents recently died in a car accident, they decide to live by themselves in their grandparents’ house and attend school nearby as they try to sort out their lives and what they want for the future. Along the way, they reacquaint themselves with their surroundings and figures both old and now: Akira, an energetic and friendly classmate who works as a shrine maiden, Kazuha, the stoic daughter of a local politician, and Nao, a childhood friend of the twins’ who acts like an older sister. Through his interactions with them and his memories of the past, we learn more about Haruka, Sora, and the ways they want to live their life.
Chapter 1: Branching Lives
One of the most notable aspects about the anime is how its narrative mirrors the branching structure of the visual novel it adapts. Rather than selecting one main arc to adapt and including elements of the others, the series instead gives each girl a few episodes to make her mark and tell her story. Some of you might be thinking of a similar structure within Amagami SS and there are similarities between the two, but Yosuga no Sora’s difference in its storytelling is that it doesn’t go back to the beginning with each new route, but to an earlier point where the storyline could branch off. Through this structure, we see how similarities and differences appear between the different romances throughout the series, all leading up to the final arc, a semi-tragic drama that would make Tennessee Williams proud.
Chapter 2: The Body Exposed
However, this isn’t the most striking thing about Yosuga, or rather its most distinctive trait; what strikes me – and probably most viewers – is the explicit representation of sexuality in the series. Some readers unfamiliar with Yosuga may feel I am referring to more of an ecchi kind of sexuality, and while there are moments akin to that, Yosuga is much more naturalistic with these moments, particularly during its sex scenes. During these moments – of which they are several in each arc – Haruka and the heroine of choice are framed in a way that highlights the attractiveness of their activities. It’s sometimes positive, sometimes negative, but always clear in its presentation of the feelings within the moment.
At the same time, while watching these moments, one is forced to ask themselves: Why does this still feel so rare? In an age like today, where norms are more loose and relationships are more open, there is still such a value placed on ideals like “purity” that it becomes hard to evolve beyond the typical romance archetypes. This isn’t to say that Yosuga doesn’t engage in those archetypes itself, but rather its presentation of sexual relationships, fully exposed, allows for possibilities of new and dynamic ways to represent romance and sex in the future.
Chapter 3: Paradoxically, Distant and Close
The German playwright Bertolt Brecht believed that one of the most essential aspects of a play is to create a distancing effect within its audience, that they would think of the theatre in front of them more in terms of ideology than plot and characters. In this sense, Yosuga recreates some of that distancing effect through its voyeuristic outlook and representation of reality. Shots seem like we are spying on the characters and their activities rather than an active part of them, often from distances that are more exclusive than welcoming. Voyeurism plays into the plot of the show as well, as characters often find out information from spying on others. In a way, the show asks its characters – and us by extension – to intrude on others’ privacy in order to learn more about them. However, it is this voyeuristic style that ultimately becomes the series’ biggest flaw. Because of this distancing, this gazing, it becomes nigh impossible for us to truly connect to the characters, particularly Haruka, who remains a blank slate/cum vessel, an empty voyager for the audience to inhabit in the beliefs that, by being enough of a nice guy, they could get all of these girls attracted to him. A romance series such as this needs more of an emotional edge in order for its audience to be affected in its story.
However, there are aspects of the series that allow those emotions to come through, particularly its greatest aspect being its music. Tracks like Kioku or Tsunagu Kizuna are deceptively simple, using their quiet tones to draw in the audience into the drama at hand, tying the bonds closer than could have been possible without this music. Manabu Miwa, who also did the music for Little Busters! and Rewrite, deserves a great amount of credit for the most affecting moments of the series, particularly in the final arc of the series, the Sora arc. The subject material of incest would be enough to drive most viewers away, yet through a combination of the music, strong voice acting, and compelling pacing, it becomes the strongest part of the series, overcoming the difficulties mentioned before and ending up on a forward-facing yet uncertain note.
Conclusion
For the most part, Yosuga no Sora is an alright anime; it’s nothing great, but nothing bad. Yet I’ve thought about it more than quite a few anime that I found better because it does things that make me think about what other anime have or have not done. There are some anime that might work better with a tone less concerned with placing the audience in the same shoes as the characters and some that should make us feel as they feel. There are shows that might benefit from a less straightforward story structure, allowing itself to repeat certain aspects to see how things might change with a few simple differences. There are anime that should be more honest about the body and its impact on relationships and explicit about what it means to become one. More than anything, I think about Yosuga because it doesn’t force me to simply ask what I like about it; it makes me ask “What is in here that I want to see elsewhere?”
MyAnimeList / Anilist / Yosuga no Sora is currently streaming on VRV
submitted by SorcererOfTheLake to anime [link] [comments]


2019.11.12 02:07 RTKGuy Stream voyeur live

Dr. Mark’s Final Seminar
By
Ryan Kinkor
For the record, I’m not telling this story to clear my name. I know a lot of people think I’m hiding something, or that I’m nuttier than a can of almonds, and I could change all that if I just coughed up the evidence they want. Believe me, I was tempted in the beginning to do just that. But, sorry, you’re now out of luck. I destroyed the video file, you understand. That video file, the evidence that every reporter and voyeur and federal agent out there claims I still have, the evidence that would explain what happened with Dr. Mark’s Final Seminar… I had to destroy the video. I even obliterated my hard drive to be sure. I hope to God it was the only copy.
Besides, I’m better at telling my story through my writing than speaking to a reporter. I’m a transcriber by trade. My name is irrelevant, only my job title matters. I get hired to write down the dialogue from live shows and official phone calls, all for record keeping and the hearing-impaired and so on. I’m pretty good at my job, taking down words almost as quickly as I hear them. I’m also on the verge of obsolesce, since they have computer programs nearly good enough to do my job. A few more years, and my position is history. That used to depress me. Not so much now.
I had the glorious task of transcribing the showing of Dr. Mark Weston’s Final Seminar, his big going-away session, the kind of hype-driven event reserved for singers and revivalists. Usually when I transcribe a show I’m physically at the production, but Dr. Mark had insisted that “only the truest of fans” could be present in the convention hall, even amongst the production staff. His definition of “true fan” was someone who had read his previous three self-help books cover to cover. He wasn’t kidding, either. He was so serious about this point that to get a ticket you had to complete an online survey answering thirty random questions that demonstrated your knowledge of each book. If you passed the survey, you had a chance at a ticket.
Dr. Mark also prohibited any cell phones or cameras in the auditorium, as well as any live feeds. Like I said, only true fans could be a part of this. But one of the producers, surely a true fan of Dr. Mark but a truer fan of making money, decided to live-stream the seminar to my home laptop, so I could do my job. I signed the usual confidentiality agreement and went to work.
So what you’re about to read is based on my written transcriptions. It won’t be as good as the video file, but it’s the best you’re going to get. I’m also keeping a few details vague or hidden so as to prevent you from retracing my steps or learning something dangerous. This is a cliff that we’re racing towards, you and I, and while I’ll do my part to put on the brakes at the right time, you’ll have to do your part as well. Hell, I keep thinking that I shouldn’t even do this much, that I should burn all my records and let the knowledge die with me.
But I can’t in good conscience stay quiet. Because it’s not safe for you to know what happened… but it’s worse if you don’t.
*****
If you don’t know which city the seminar took place in, or which convention center held the event, then you haven’t been watching the news at all. All that is public knowledge. The convention center was one Dr. Mark had used before, capable of accommodating an audience of ten thousand. Most of the time, Dr. Mark could get every seat filled in the place. This time, official numbers put Dr. Mark’s Final Seminar audience total at half that. It was unusual that he would restrict the event size so much, but that didn’t tip off anyone at the time. After all, it was “for true fans only.” He also rented the place for a single one-day event, with nothing else planned. That may not seem important, but since Dr. Mark made his living on improving the lives of his readers, he usually made himself available to clients and fans on a more personal basis by doing workshops and special sessions for those folks willing to pay his fees, typically scheduled before and after his public performances. This time, it was just that one final seminar, and it was certainly starting to feel like his final one.
By the time the live feed began, the audience was already seated expectantly, a few latecomers racing to get to their chairs before the lights dimmed. The crowd was a genuine slice of Americana, a melting pot of male and female, light and dark, youth and age. Lots of excited, beaming faces awaiting Dr. Mark’s final pearls of wisdom. Looking at the audience, I couldn’t help but feel how perfect the scene appeared, as if Dr. Mark had deliberately summoned a crowd you could proudly feature in your company’s advertising to show how egalitarian and global your company had become. I don’t know the demographic makeup of Dr. Mark’s fan base, but I have a hard time believing you could bring together an audience this perfectly diverse through random selection. What were the odds?
A few minutes into my feed, the show’s start time arrived. The ceiling lights dimmed, the crowd’s murmurs hushed, and the spotlights kicked on, flooding the stage before us in brilliant white. Even through the livestream I could feel the energy in the air, the pulsing desire of the people to give it up for the man who had maybe-kinda-sorta-almost changed their lives for the better. They knew this was going to be special, a once-in-a-lifetime moment, validation for all their loyalty and commitment to Dr. Mark’s philosophy. I have to admit that, going into this job, I had no idea what that was. Self-help of some kind, maybe business advice. I didn’t know and I didn’t need to know, not for my role.
Despite the cue from the ceiling lights, Dr. Mark didn’t instantly appear on the stage. In fact, he was running late. No one came out to explain his tardiness, giving everyone a well-lit stage and curtain to stare at but nothing else. Once the delay started going on five minutes, the crowd’s murmuring returned, heads looking around to other heads or to the rest of the auditorium in confusion. Delays weren’t unheard of. Technical issues can and do occur, often at the worst times. But considering how out of the loop I was, it began to make me irrationally nervous. Did Dr. Mark figure out he was being videoed and had stopped to chew out my boss? Was he going to contact me and chew me out as well?
So when Dr. Mark finally walked out on the stage, I nearly clapped with the ecstatic crowd, mostly out of relief. Dr. Mark strolled out with the ease of a man who’d done this a thousand times before, waving his hand slowly and smiling like a politician at a bake sale fundraiser. I had seen his picture before in the media. He was the doctor who was one of you, or so the tagline went. He wore nothing fancier than a black T-shirt and jeans, his hair a natural gray, his face dotted with a few moles and blemishes that he could’ve hidden behind pancake makeup. He was supposed to be approaching fifty and he looked the part, but for a moment I swore that he seemed far older than that. A trick of the light, a bad video buffer for a moment – I can’t say for sure.
The audience hadn’t shared my moment, for they poured on the acclaim and cheer with gusto. Dr. Mark reached the center of the stage and stood there, waving, saying thank you over and over, gulping down their attention as the crowd went to a standing ovation. My question over Dr. Mark’s real age faded as the good doctor grew livelier, invigorated by the adoration.
“Welcome, true fans, to the last words you will ever need to hear,” he said, and the audience cheered some more. That might have been music to their ears, but I winced at it. Just a little full of yourself there, Dr. Mark?
After the audience quieted again, Dr. Mark’s smile faded to a neutral expression, and he seemed almost melancholy in that moment. “You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of being in front of you folks. You give me the energy I need to keep going. Just as I help you, you help me. It’s what they call symbiosis. Wonderful word, symbiosis. It’s too bad we can’t talk about it more, because I have a lot to say and not a lot of time to say it.”
Dr. Mark began strolling along the stage, dutifully casting his gaze around the auditorium as he continued to talk. “I have obligations to meet tonight, folks. An obligation to you, and an obligation to me. Obligations all around, really. Those of you that I picked for this seminar, for this special moment, deserve to know the real truth. I will tell you why you’re here, what’s expected of you, and I shall give you peace of mind before it’s over. Tonight is the culmination of all our hard work, and I wouldn’t be here without all of you.”
The audience clapped again, not as enthusiastically as before. Maybe they wanted Dr. Mark to get on with it, or maybe what he said had them a little confused. Only one camera was in use, and it was almost always focused on the stage, so I can only guess so much at how Dr. Mark’s words played with his audience. He certainly wasn’t selling me on his brand of bull crap, that’s for sure.
“But you’re not here to listen to me ramble on about my duties and problems, right?” he continued. “You’re here to get empowered. You’re here because you undertook a journey years ago, a three-book odyssey to understand yourself and succeed in this messed-up world of ours. And I know you guys are authentic. Each and every one of you passed the test. You know what I need you to know. You’re almost ready. But as the cooks say, you just need to bake a little longer.”
On cue, the curtain behind him parted, revealing an unremarkable blank wall. With the clicker in his left hand, he summoned a projected screen onto that wall. It was a PowerPoint slide showing the title of his first book, What You Need Is Inside You. There were a number of weird circle-and-line drawings peppering the empty space around the title, none of which bore any resemblance to any recognizable iconography in my mental library. I was aware that Dr. Mark used these drawings in all his books. He called them his “success sigils,” designed to bring good fortune to his readers.
Out of curiosity, I looked up the word sigil before doing this job. Turns out, sigils are associated with magic and the supernatural. I had dismissed it as another pointless gimmick from a modern day snake-oil salesman. But whenever the camera focused on the slide directly, each time I would feel a sudden twinge of pain behind my eyes, as if the image was straining my vision. The pain intensified the longer I stared at the slide, and then diminished as either the camera or my eyes looked away. As much as it stung at times, I waved it away as some weird light or visual effect; something that gave sensitive people headaches when they stared at a computer monitor for too long. I hoped that wasn’t happening to me, since my livelihood depended on looking at video screens for long periods of time. Regardless, I quickly learned to avert my eyes when needed and powered through the rest of the show.
“My first book opened up your mind,” Dr. Mark stated, gesturing at the screen behind him. “The words didn’t matter so much, but the success sigils did. You read them along with all my thoughts about inner peace and special talents and all that fortune cookie nonsense. You thought they were there to help you succeed, like a Buddha statue or rabbit foot. But when you read these sigils in the right order, over and over again, they do something amazing with your mind. They prepared you for the next step. Can anyone tell me what that was?”
The audience, and I mean the entire audience, replied to him in one massive chorus: Get Ready For Further Instructions. It was the title of his second book. And when I say the audience replied, it was done with the utmost synchronicity. Five thousand voices managed to achieve the exact right tone with the exact right spacing and wording. It was both beautiful and frightening at the same time, because there was no way that five thousand people could have pulled off that level of precision without a hefty amount of practice. Hell, it didn’t seem humanly possible to be that perfect.
“Beautiful,” said Dr. Mark. Behind him, the screen switched to the title of his second book, and more sigils dotted the empty space around it. They were different than the last batch, and my eyestrain was gone as well. I was relieved for a few brief blissful seconds when the tuna fish sandwich I’d had for lunch wanted out of me all of a sudden. I grabbed the trashcan next to my desk and barely managed to catch my puke before it all came flying out. After a few long seconds of heaving, the nausea passed, and being the diligent worker I am, I placed the trashcan to the side, wiped my mouth, and went back to watching and typing. It only took a few more seconds of exposure to that book title slide for my stomach to start feeling woozy once more, but when I wisely looked away the nausea ended immediately.
I knew that I could’ve paused the action and cleaned up my mess, since I was recording the stream on my laptop, but some part of me felt compelled to bear witness while it was still ongoing. I have to wonder now, looking back, if I was under a certain compulsion, probably a weaker version of what had enthralled Dr. Mark’s audience. Because near as I could tell, there was not a single moan, complaint, or display of gastronomical distress coming from the crowd. I felt like crap just looking at some title slides. They seemed to be having the time of their lives, a sea of happy smiling faces waiting on Dr. Mark’s every word.
“With my second book, you gained a new understanding on life,” he declared. “Again, not with my sterling prose, but with all those sigils you viewed as you journeyed through my literature. I can’t say that I understood it all myself, not at the time, but I began to realize that it’s like a computer program. Anyone here a programmer?” When no one raised their hand after a few seconds, Dr. Mark shrugged and went on. “Not surprising. I never seem to attract the technical types. Well, programs require a lot of time and work to get right. In this case, I was laying out a program for all of you, one sigil at a time. Building inside you a new way of thinking, a new way of life, preparing you for what comes next.”
Book Title Card Number Two went away behind him and the next slide showed the title of his third book: We’re Almost There. At this point I had learned that maybe staring at the damn sigils was a bad idea, so I looked away initially, debating whether I could do the rest of this job on hearing alone. But either curiosity or compulsion got the better of me and I snuck a quick glance. To my shock, Book Title Card Three was clear of sigils. Just the title of the book was displayed in a normal boring font. Dr. Mark was now just standing there, his demeanor no longer enthused, replaced by a dire solemnity that made him age once again, to look far older than a man approaching fifty. That’s when I heard the audience murmur for the first time since Dr. Mark had started his slide show, little pockets of confused statements arising from the crowd to fill the silence. Apparently this move surprised them as well, or perhaps the lack of sigils had released them from Dr. Mark’s enthrallment.
Then Dr. Mark slowly walked to the edge of the stage and sat down, dangling his feet over the edge and shaking his head slowly. He now reminded me of a father tasked with telling his kids that he’d been lying to them about that trip to Disneyland this whole time.
“I said you deserve the real truth, and I meant it,” he began. “I’m giving you all a moment of free will, so you can hear me clearly. Truth is, I didn’t need to write a third book. I could’ve condensed all the sigils into my second book and sped this whole operation up a bit. But everyone likes trilogies and I was making a lot of money. So the third book was just more of the same. It was me stretching out your programming longer so I could make another million. It wasn’t my smartest move, I’ll admit. A lot could have gone wrong, but what’s life without some risk, right?
“And that’s really the point I want to make to you all right now. Do you ever stop to think how many self-help books are out there, how many philosophies and religions are out on display, promising success in life if you just follow their careful instructions? And yet, very few of us are billionaires with glorious love lives and lots of fame and admiration. We want a surefire strategy, but there isn’t one. It’s just work and risk. I figured that out after enough years of doing things the hard way, and it was a bitter pill to swallow when I finally realized that even if I kept trying my best, my best wasn’t likely to be good enough.”
Dr. Mark stood up and began backing away from the stage’s edge, spreading his arms wide as if to encompass the whole of his congregation. “That’s when I learned of a second path – sucking up to someone with all the goodies. If you can’t get everything you want, be next to the one who can. All that it takes is paying the price – your dignity, your morality, your soul even.”
The unhappy rumblings from the audience gained traction, and no one thought to cheer or agree with Dr. Mark’s ramblings. The spell on the audience seemed utterly broken at this point, where before they had been too enthralled or controlled to put it together, too hopeful or driven to see that their patron saint of success had hoodwinked them all. At that moment, I can’t say I had any sympathy for them. The critics had been clear about Dr. Mark. The warnings had been obvious. P.T. Barnum knew a thing or two about human nature, but very few people listen to his words, because no one ever wants to admit that they have been, or could be, a sucker.
But they didn’t deserve what happened next. Neither did I.
Dr. Mark had backed up all the way to the wall, directly under the projected video slide, and that solemn face of his quickly morphed back to his typical energetic self. A big toothy smile formed, and I felt goosebumps break out on my flesh upon seeing it. “Symbiosis. Remember that word? It describes a cooperative relationship between two persons or two groups. For us, the idea was that I help solve your life problems and you make me rich. Well, let’s be honest. I doubt I solved your problems. But you did solve mine. And I’m now about to solve a problem for my other symbiotic relationship. You see, they gave me a certain amount of power as long as I eventually got them what they wanted. All my books, all my words, all my efforts culminate now in this final moment… and this final slide.”
He used his clicker, and the slide changed to a barren white background graced with a single solitary sigil dead center. This one had a familiar shape, that of a whirlpool circling counterclockwise. I couldn’t tell if it was animated or if the circular motion I saw was an optical illusion. And the center of the image seemed… deeper, like a hole or tunnel that went through the wall itself. I was not at all sure where this was going, but despite the lack of discomfort I decided I’d had enough and twisted my head away, intending to turn off the broadcast, job be damned. I was done with this insanity.
Except my head didn’t twist. My eyes couldn’t shift. I tried my other body parts. Nothing. I couldn’t type, stand up, or even blink. My eyes were fixed on my laptop, my body refusing to do anything but stare at that damn whirlpool sigil. I was alone in my apartment, but I still tried yelling, hoping a neighbor might hear. But my vocal chords were as paralyzed as the rest of me.
Despite my growing panic, I remained keenly aware of what was transpiring on the livestream. The audience had snapped back to attention, all enthralled once more, the auditorium growing eerily silent. The camera operator was seemingly in the same thrall as the audience, for the camera had tilted off a bit, revealing a small section of the audience in the forward seats. My eyes remained stuck on the screen, and I think I would have stayed that way for as long as the sigil was present, but now I had a better view of the crowd. At first I thought the audience was equally paralyzed, but I could see several people shaking in their seats, like their chairs were equipped with vibration machines. As the seconds ticked by, more and more people followed suit, rattling their chairs and creating a humming sound that reminded me of a great engine slowly powering up. From my camera angle, I couldn’t see any of their faces, couldn’t read their expressions. In retrospect, I’m glad I couldn’t.
Dr. Mark’s smile came and went, sometimes replaced by a look of contemplation, sometimes by surprise. He paced up and down the stage several times, often out of view of the camera, and I believe he was inspecting his audience, making sure everything was going according to plan. When he walked back into frame, he was practically jumping up and down with glee.
“This is amazing!” he said, yelling his words to his captive audience. “I honestly didn’t know what was going to happen. I mean, I knew that showing you those sigils would change you, rewire you in some new way, but I didn’t think it’d be so effective. I don’t know if you have the capacity to hear me now, but I just want to say that, again, thanks for all your love and money over the years. Trust me, it won’t be all for nothing.”
More and more people joined in on the vibrations until there was nothing but people in motion. I feared that any moment I might start vibrating as well, but so far I was merely stuck in place. Purely by accident, I was now the unwilling sole witness to Dr. Mark’s closing act.
It started with a man of Turkish descent, near the edge of my vision. His arms suddenly rose up and elongated, his flesh stretching past any possible human limits, like he was a man of putty instead of flesh and bone. His arms arched over the audience as the bodies of others did the same. Hands and arms met each other in the air, entangled with one another, and then began to merge. The bodies left in the seats began to shrink as their mass spooled out through their limbs, their human forms losing shape and distorting. Something along the lines of a pillar of flesh formed at the joining point of all these bodies. There might have been more to it, but I couldn’t see all of it, and I dearly wished I couldn’t see what I already could.
This went on for several ghastly minutes as the audience slowly merged their flesh into this central mass, and I could see all manners of things flowing into the fleshy construct. Faces, fingers, hair, organs, skin of all colors and textures, even bits of jewelry and clothing that had come along for the ride. Not a drop of blood to be seen, and that somehow made it worse. And the most maddening part of my exposure to Dr. Mark’s machinations was that I began to feel an unnatural desire to be there. It couldn’t be all that bad, right? All those other people, joining together into one harmonious collective, no more pain, no more loneliness, no more responsibilities or decisions to make. Just go and be a part of it, and be happy in your new prison. Wouldn’t that be better than what I have now?
Through the horror, through my own conflict of blinding fear and unnatural yearning, I heard Dr. Mark speak. I couldn’t see him now, but his microphone still relayed his last words loud and clear. “Are you going to change the world? Are you one of my masters made flesh? Are you a door to let them through? I think, after everything I’ve done for you, that it’s time I got an answer.”
His answer came in the form of the ceiling caving in. I don’t know how it happened, though I would imagine that the flesh thing in the middle of the auditorium had something to do with it. The air suddenly screamed with the echoes of bright lights and sound equipment crashing to the floor, smashing into the still-merging audience, crushing flesh and sparking fires as hot lamps encountered flammable material. The flesh construct reacted badly to this, writhing away from the impact points, and the sound of more destruction erupted off-screen. I can’t confirm it, but I swear I heard Dr. Mark himself scream out a denial as something huge collapsed near him.
A moment later, the auditorium’s projector cut out, and the sigil disappeared. My body immediately came back under my control, and then I lost it again as the strain of my ordeal overwhelmed me, my body forcing a shutdown. Darkness quickly grabbed my mind and pulled me in, but I used my one brief moment of control to slam shut my laptop before I toppled off my chair and into a long bout of unconsciousness.
*****
You must have heard the official story by now. After all, it was one of the biggest tragedies in recent years, and equally one of the biggest mysteries. A convention center burns down and collapses, with five thousand attendees, twelve staff members, and the famous Dr. Mark himself all trapped inside. Yet not a single body recovered. Such a massive loss of life, but not a corpse to confirm it. The crime scene forensics people and insurance investigators still squabble over what happened to this day.
You still might be thinking that I should’ve gone to the authorities, told them my story, shown them the video file. Before you judge me on my silence, you should understand where things stand for me right now. Because when I woke up from my collapse, I hurt. Every joint in my body felt pulled and pinched. I had soiled myself, and my head felt on fire. Pain relievers got me through the next few days, and I healed up enough to get on with my life, but my health has never been the same. I can’t look at a video screen for too long before getting a headache, and my last doctor’s visit showed that my blood chemistry was all out of whack. If watching the video could do that to me, it could do the same or worse to others. Hell, I’d probably die watching it again. The only reason I’m alive is because I never read Dr. Mark’s books, so I wasn’t programmed like the rest of his fans.
I still believe that deleting the file was the right thing to do, but without that evidence, my story doesn’t hold up. Besides, not only did they not find any bodies, they didn’t find the flesh construct. Something that big, composed of five thousand people, somehow being missed by all those investigators? Not possible. So for the longest of times, I thought one of two things had happened – that either I was crazy and the contents of the live stream hadn’t been real, or that the thing Dr. Mark created perished in the fire and its body had disintegrated, like you see happen to some types of monsters in supernatural fiction.
But I’m telling you all this because I know that there is a third possibility – that the thing Dr. Mark created escaped somehow. This being that defies our laws of physics and biology may be out there, bidding its time, waiting until Dr. Mark’s legacy becomes a distant memory and we’ve all moved on. Because no matter what its true intentions for our world might be, it’ll need to make more of itself. And so it will eventually find another mouthpiece, another Dr. Mark, to start selling people on a surefire path to success.
And that’s when it’ll tell you the last words you will ever need to hear.
submitted by RTKGuy to DrCreepensVault [link] [comments]