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eriellesudario · 4 years

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Thoughts on the new Sydney Light Rail

Back in 2008, I was a tourist visiting Australia for the first time.

And back then, Sydney had the monorail that circled around Chinatown, Darling Harbour, and Town Hall. I rode it a few times, enjoyed it, and that was pretty much it.

Sadly, it was removed in 2013 and it sucks since it took away something that made Sydney’s transport unique. Like Melbourne had their free tram system (that I’m slowly learning), Adelaide has their tram system as well, and Tasmania is known for boats. Sydney just soon became… eh.

Now comes the new tram system that took SO LONG to create. When it was first announced, my first thought was “is this really necessary?! Especially since you just got rid of the monorail”. But it was an ongoing project that caused so many traffic issues, ruined Vivid Sydney 2017 and onwards due to construction making the walk to Circular Quay bland af, and according to my friends who study in UNSW, made going to university worse.

But after years of delays and construction… the Light Rail is open and riders were given free rides as part of the “final test run” for the L2 line (L3 is later in 2020).

The L2 Route – Circular Quay to Randwick

What I love about this route is that it makes returning to Randwick much easier for me.

You see, before I moved to Western Sydney, I lived in Randwick for a year and what was good about it was that we were near EVERYTHING! Shopping centers, library, church, schools, beach, bus stops, EVEN THE UNIVERSITY!!! It was very convenient but sadly… also getting expensive to live in. But I do return once or twice whenever I can.

So the fact that there is a tram line that can take me back to where I used to live is really convenient. Especially since… I kinda forgot the bus route (they have like 3 buses!!!).

The L2 Route is basically Circular Quay to Randwick so… I’d call it the route of my past since it’s like taking a journey to places from when I was a tourist to ‘permanent resident’. I just love the convenience of it since there are stops in between to locations I’d love to revisit such as Centennial Park.

Thoughts on the light rail

It’s really slow.

Like I rather ride the bus than ride the tram.

Apparently, the journey from Circular Quay to Randwick is around 40 – 50 minutes. To put into comparison, a train ride from Blacktown to Central Station is around 45 minutes (if it’s the non-express trains). Are you saying that travelling from Randwick to the city is equal to travelling from my place to the city???

Yeah… no.

I feel bad for the future UNSW students (which I was almost one since I was considering doing my master’s degree next year) since they need to put in AN EXTRA HOUR in their travel time. That’s just as worse as waiting in line for their buses.

I do hope the light rail operates faster because seriously… just take the bus. The bus will take you to your destination faster.

Other than its speed, it’s alright. I didn’t mind riding it. It’s convenient, it’s new and shiny, but are they worth the slow speed?

Overall

Obviously, what I rode was the public trial run so there will be improvements soon. But I just hope that travel time doesn’t get jeopardized once the light rail is fully operational. Conveniency is a huge plus here so that’s at least one thing they got right.

But if you have to ask me, I think it’s sorta a waste of money. Like years of construction and delays just to have a slow train move around Sydney? Did Vivid Sydney have to be jeopardized for this? I rather have the monorail. A light rail ain’t gonna set Sydney’s transport system apart from the other states. But at least that’s my opinion.

I do hope things improve further on and I can’t wait to ride the L3 line that goes to the main entrance of UNSW if I do decide to take on my master’s degree in the future.

For now… the light rail gets an “eh”… so a 3/5 stars.

#2019 #travel #sydney #australia

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skippyv20 · 3 years

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💚💚💚💉💉💉🚑🚑🚑NURSE ANON AND PG🚑🚑🚑💉💉💉💚💚💚

NURSE ANON & PG

NURSE ANON AND PG 💚💚💚💉💉💉🚑🚑🚑… Sydney, get nurse PG , while I’m in here she’s become such a stalwart , Ahhhh, PG tell these bloody buggering doctors I want to leave , I’m fed up of the blood sucking ,sample taking , drip feeding , body fussing, tummy prodding, ear probing, breathing monitoring, eye testing arseholes, sorry, about language PG but ‘ I WANT TO GO HOME!!!

Thank you😊❤️❤️❤️❤️

2/27/21💚💚💚💉💉💉🏍🏍🏍THANK YOU NURSE ANON🏍🏍🏍💉💉💉💚💚💚

FEBRUARY 27/2021

NURSE ANON #5

GOODNESS I CANNOT BELIEVE I FORGOT MY PURSE 👛 AT WORK. I ONLY REALIZED 💡 IT WHEN IT CAME TO BUS 🚌 FARE. NOW AFTER I HAVE ALREADY CHANGED OUT OF MY UNIFORM 🥋 AS I WAS DONE MY LAST SHIFT, I HAVE TO SUIT UP ACCORDINGLY TO COVID-19 RULES AND GO BACK TO THE WARD AND GET MY PURSE 👛. ALL THE WHILE I AM HOPING THEY FOUND HIMSELF AND MR SYDNEY. I DECIDE TO TAKE THE STAIRS, IT WILL HELP RID ME OF MY FRUSTRATION WITH MR. SYDNEY. TRACY SAYS, PG WHYARE YOU BACK UP HERE? OH MY 🧠 BRAIN IS DAFT, I FORGOT MY PURSE 👛. I WAS WONDERING WHOSE SMYTHSON THAT WAS. I BLUSH☺️, IT WAS A GIFT 🎁 TO MYSELF FOR DOING THE COVID-19 VACCINATIONS VOLUNTEERING FOR THE NEXT 🗓 THREE WEEKS. I NOTICE THE CHARGE NURSE’S NAME AND I SHIVER🥶🥶🥶🥶🥶. OH TRACY POOR YOU, THE OLD ESMERELDA IS CHARGE😫😫😫😫. HEY , HAVE THEY FOUND HIMSELF I BEGIN TO ASK, WHEN I HEAR THE YELLING AND BELLOWING. I RECOGNIZE THAT VOICE INSTANTLY. OH THANK GOD HE IS BACK BUT WHAT IS THE UPSET ABOUT? AAAAHHHH TRACY SAYS, 🗣.OLD ESME GOT THE DOCTOR TO ORDER ANTIBIOTIC INJECTIONS💉 AND NOT I.V. , LEST OUR GUEST FLEES AGAIN. OH NO, IMPULSIVELY WAS I ABOUT TO GIVE MY 🗣OPINION, THEN I HEAR 👂MY NAME BEING SUMMONED. I HEAR 👂 HIMSELF YELLING, SYDNEY GET ME NURSE 👩‍⚕️ PG, WHILE I’M IN HERE SHE HAS BECOME SUCH A STALWART. I HEARD 👂 HIM YELL FOR ME, AND ON DUTY OR NOT, I CANNOT IGNORE SOMEONE CALLING FOR ME. I KNOCK AND ENTER THE SUITE AND ESME GLARES AT ME 🥶🥶🥶🥶. I IGNORE HER BECAUSE NO MATTER WHAT, I AM HERE BECAUSE I WAS CALLED FOR. HIMSELF, SO UPSET, UPON SEEING ME, RELAXES SAYING 🗣AHHHH PG, TELL THESE BLOODY BUGGERING DOCTORS I WANT TO LEAVE. I’M FED UP OF THE BLOOD 🩸 SUCKING, FUSSING, TUMMY PRODDING, DRIP FEEDING, SAMPLE TAKING, EAR PROBING, BREATHING MONITORING, EYE TESTING ARSEHOLES, SORRY ABOUT THE LANGUAGE PG, BUT I WANT TO GO HOME!!! SIR, NO LANGUAGE MY EARS 👂 HAVE NOT HEARD MANY TIMES BEFORE.🤣🤣😂😂I FURTHER RESPOND, OH SIR PLEASE DON’T HOLD IT IN, TELL ME HOW YOU REALLY FEEL!!😂😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣🤣HE LOOKS 👀 AT ME AND GIVES OUT A BIG BELLY 😆 LAUGH 😂 , SEE THAT IS WHY I NEED PG!! I PULL UP A CHAIR 🪑 AND SIT DOWN, CLOSER TO HIMSELF. SERIOUSLY NOW I SAY, SIR, I WILL NOT GIVE YOU THE TYPICAL, I KNOW EXACTLY HOW YOU FEEL, LINE THAT SOME NURSES GIVE. I SHALL SAY, I KNOW YOU ARE ILL AND FEELING POORLY AND IT IS SO HARD FOR A MAN USED TO HARD WORK TO BE FUSSED OVER. IT IS A WEE BIT SCARY AS WELL SIR, I AM SURE. HOWEVER I WANT YOU TO KNOW SIR, I HEAR YOUR EXTREME FRUSTRATION AT STILL BEING IN HOSPITAL 🏥. I THINK THE ENTIRE BUILDING HEARD HOW YOU FEEL. HIMSELF CHUCKLES AT THAT🤣. BLOODY RIGHT!! GOOD JOB OF THAT I DID WELL. SIR, I THINK EVERY PATIENT CAN KNOW HOW YOU FEEL AND I HAVE A HUNCH THEY WERE ALL CHEERING 📣 FOR YOU. JUST BEING AWAY FROM HER MAJESTY 👑MUST BE SO DIFFICULT. HOW ABOUT IF I GET MR SYDNEY TO SET UP A VIDEOCHAT WITH HERSELF? SOUNDS JUST THE TICKET GIRLY, MY CABBAGE 🥬 WILL BE THE BEST MEDICINE.💊 SIR, I WILL LEAVE YOU TO IT, TAKE CARE SIR. IT HAS BEEN AN HONOUR BEING YOUR NURSE. HIMSELF SAYS WHAT ?SOUNDS LIKE A FINAL? SIR I HAVE BEEN SECONDED TO THE COVID-19 VACCINATIONS 💉 THIS IS MY LAST TIME HERE FOR THREE WEEKS. I ONLY CAME BACK FOR MY SMYTHSON THAT I FORGOT WHICH I REALIZED TRYING TO BOARD THE 🚌 BUS. HIMSELF SAYS 🗣OH WE SHALL SEE ABOUT THAT. SYDNEY, HIMSELF SAYS, GET PG A RIDE HOME, 🚗 NO BUSES TONIGHT. SIR THAT IS NOT….BEFORE I CAN COMPLETE MY SENTENCE HE SHUSHES ME AS HIS BELOVED CABBAGE IS NOW ON SCREEN. LET US GIVE THEM SOME PRIVACY I SAY🗣, ESME STILL GLARING AT ME, SAYS PG I DO NOT KNOW HOW YOU DO IT. JUST BE KIND ESME, RELAX JUST A LITTLE BIT. GOODBYE, DO WISH HIMSELF A GOOD NIGHT 😴 💤 FROM ME. OH AND HE LIKES A HOT CUPPA ☕️ SURPRISE HIM HE LIKES THAT. ……..TO BE CONTINUED……

DONE WITH THE GREATEST LOVE AND RESPECT FOR HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN AND HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE PHILIP THE DUKE OF EDINBURGH

🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻CONTINUED

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿

ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES

Thank you😊❤️❤️❤️❤️

2/27/21

Thank you PG! Great job!😊💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

#Ask Skippy #submission

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bathtubjohnny · 3 years

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Chapter 1: Rough draft (Edited once for spelling/grammar)

TW: Bloody noses, descriptions of a corpse, mild gore and swearing, spooky zombie lady, bad formatting, rushed writing

Note: Please give me your sweet sweet feedback. Oh how I crave honest and good-hearted criticism.

*Thanks to a handful of members from a group chat for convincing me to post this*

The forest was dense enough to blot out the sun, almost completely plunging the path in darkness. It didn’t bother Sydney though; he was too focused on the building at the end of it. It was a church, and he stood in front of it, staring up at the grey steeple protruding from what was left of the roof. It was a miracle that it was still standing. The walls had been scorched by fire, and the once-beautiful stained glass windows had melted into colourful, wax-like puddles. He could still smell smoke even though the church burned an impossibly long time ago. It never occurred to Sydney that the surrounding woods were completely untouched by the fire, as if it had never happened in the first place.

The inside was different as Sydney pushed the double doors open. He didn’t recognize the inside. It was more spacious than what he remembered, but like the forest, untouched by the blaze. Instead of red carpeting there was a wooden floor; instead of oil paintings depicting the trial of Jesus, tapestries with horrific, indescribable images decorated the walls. The interior had an ancient feel to it, making Sydney feel insignificant as he stood before the rows of pews. He could tell that it wasn’t a Catholic church anymore. It was a haven for a religion that existed long before the concept of Christianity.

Across from Sydney and past the pews was a stone table where the altar should have been. There was a white sheet covering something laying across it. As he padded down the aisle towards it, he could see symbols etched into the stone, characters he couldn’t recognize. The closer he got the louder his ears rang, his sinuses becoming so congested that soon fluid began leaking down his chin. It wasn’t until he reached the table and saw the bright red droplets fall onto the stark white sheet covering it that he realized his nose was bleeding.

Ignoring his instinct to wipe away the blood, Sydney reached for the edge of the sheet and pulled it back. Underneath was a girl, or at least the body of one. Her skin was ashen and waxy, a greenish-blue in colour. Small blisters had begun to form on her cheeks and forehead, as if she had been sunburnt recently. Even though they were closed, Sydney could tell that her eyes were sunken into her skull.

“Syd?”

Pulling the sheet down further, Sydney saw that the girl’s arms had been placed palms facing up, leaving the undersides of her forearms exposed. On both of them were deep gashes, starting from her wrists and ending in the crooks of her elbows. The rest of her had begun to decay, but her wounds appeared recent, oozing thicker, darker blood than what was dripping from Sydney’s nose.

“Syd, are you awake?”

The sound of her inhaling made Sydney’s attention turn sharply back to her face as her jaw creaked open, sucking in air. He stumbled away as her eyes, covered in a watery blue film, flew open. Her head turned towards him with a snap, sending him falling backwards in shock. He hit the floor hard as she sat up, bones creaking and popping as she threw the sheet off her bloated body-

“Mr.Patrick!”

Sydney bolted up from his desk as the shout tore through his dream, nearly sending him toppling to the floor. Mrs. Bray was sitting on her desk glaring directly at Sydney, arms folded. A snort of laughter to his left made him blush as he realized he’d dozed off...again. “Uh, sorry.” He mumbled, slowly sitting back down and trying to ignore the eyes on him. Although Mrs. Bray had a stern look in her eyes, Syd was somewhat comforted by the fact that she was obviously trying not to smile.

“I get that there’s ten minutes left, but let’s try to stay awake, alright?” She sighed. “To those of you who may have dozed off, I’m not repeating myself about the assignment. You can ask your group. Now,” She side-eyed the room. ‘Is there anyone who isn’t in a group of three yet?”

Syd sneaked a quick glance across the room over at his close friend Lizzie Abrams. She caught his eye and shrugged apologetically, motioning to two other girls sitting near her. Feeling his cheeks heat up, Syd averted his eyes, staring down at his desk in embarrassment.

“We don’t have a third person in our group.” The voice to Syd’s left spoke up, making him turn. It was a girl in a worn, blue and white baseball cap, someone who Sydney unfortunately recognized. Her name was Morette Woodward, better known as Mo, and Syd knew her as being the one who broke his nose during dodgeball back in fifth grade.

She had one elbow propped up on her desk and was leaning her head against her hand while picking at her braces with the other. When she caught Sydney’s eye, she flashed him a toothy smirk.

Mrs. Bray glanced between the two and shrugged. “Perfect, evens out the groups. Now,” she turned to address the rest of the class. “I’m giving the last couple minutes of class to organize your chapters, so use your time wisely. Remember your book and your portfolio should be in at least six sections!”

Portfolio? Sydney rubbed his eyes and groaned, wondering what else he’d missed. Falling asleep at random times wasn’t a problem before, but lately he'd been feeling lethargic and finding himself unable to keep his eyes open for long periods of time.

“Hey, scooch your butt over next to us so we can talk better.” Mo nodded at a tall boy sitting beside her. Sydney didn’t know who it was, but thought he looked familiar. “Yeah hold on,” he turned his chair to face them before leaning forward. “So… what’re we doing exactly?”

“Man, you were really out, huh?” The tall boy said, giving Sydney a sympathetic grin. “You were pretty twitchy too. Were you dreaming or something?”

Syd blinked. “‘Twitchy’? What do you mean?”

“Like...mumbling and tensing up a lot,” He clenched his fists in emphasis. “It was kinda creepy. What were you dreaming about?” He was already talking again before Syd could reply. “Oh shit, you don’t know me. Sorry, I’m Henry Kaminer.”

Kaminer. Sydney didn’t know Henry, but definitely recognized the last name. He remembered reading about the Kaminers in the newspaper, and made a mental note not to bring it up.

“Oh. I’m Sydney. I don’t really remember what I dreamed of.” Sydney lied. Henry laughed. “Yeah, I heard. Isn't Sydney a girl's...? Whatever, nice to meet you Sydney."

Morette handed Sydney a sheet of paper. “I had an uncle Sid so no, it's not 'a girl's name'. Anyway, literally all we have to do is split the book up to read for a week, then do some fun little questions and activities at the end of each week." She flipped through her copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. "It's like the same stuff we did in grade 5, but with racism."

So she does remember. Sydney looked over his sheet of paper. "Oh."

"Yeah, it'll be easy." Morette leaned back in her chair and scrunched her nose up. "There's 31 chapters, but they're not too long. Let's just do five chapters each week and read whatever's left when we get to the last week." She tossed a stack of pink sticky notes at Sydney. "Use those as a bookmark."

Sydney looked down at the sticky notes. “...Thanks.”

___

“Hey Syd!”

Sydney paused at the front doors of the school just as he was about to walk through them. Henry hurried over to him, lime green beanie clutched in one hand, messenger bag in the other. The tall boy stopped beside him, huffing. “Man, I jumped down the stairs to catch up to you. Sorry, anyway. Walking home?”

Sydney pushed open the doors, nodding. “Yep. What about you?”

“Same here, but uh...which way are you going?”

“To the left.”

“Sweet! Mind if I tag along?”

“Sure,” As they made their way past groups of students waiting for their buses, they started walking down the sidewalk towards the nearby neighbourhoods. Syd, who barely made it to Henry’s elbows, couldn’t help but feel self-conscious with the giant beside him. “Do you live close to the school?” He asked. Henry shrugged. “Well, not really. To be honest I’m just tagging along to avoid my older brother, Marvin.” He chuckled a bit, but it sounded forced. “He’s got his driver’s licence and all, but…”

“But what?” Syd asked. Henry sighed. “He’s an asshole. I don’t feel like dealing with his anger issues today. So I’m here with you instead, little man. If that’s cool with you,”

“I’m not that little! But yeah, it’s cool.”

“Yeah you are, shortstack!!” Henry guffawed and rubbed the top of Sydney’s head with one hand. Syd swatted at his arm, but joined in the laughter. The two boys continued talking and joking around as they continued trekking down the street towards a crosswalk. The weather was warm for being early September, the sun beaming down on them helping to keep Sydney in high spirits.

The first week of school had been rough for him; being as timid as he was, making friends was hard enough in elementary school, never mind being in a new environment. For the longest time he’d considered Lizzie to be his closest friend, but they’d drifted apart over the summer, making him feel even more isolated than ever. As he listened to Henry telling him about his pet cat, Bowie, he felt a ray of hope that maybe he wouldn’t have to be so lonely after all.

“...he’s a really sweet boy, but he’s pretty ugly,” Henry was telling Syd. “He’s got this weird skin condition though so there’s like almost no hair on his body. I think it’s kinda hilarious, but every time he sits down his butthole sticks to our table.”

Syd snorted. “Gross.” He stopped at the edge of the crosswalk as the traffic light turned red, Henry following suit. “I don’t have any pets. My mom’s allergic to animal hair. It makes her sneeze.”

“Damn. No siblings either? Sounds quiet.” Henry leaned against a pole covered in colourful flyers and shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand. Sydney took a couple steps back so he was standing in Henry’s shadow and decided that tall people weren’t that bad. “Hey,” he said. “My house is just up ahead, what about you?”

Henry shrugged and shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets. “Not me little man, I’m heading to the right but maybe I can come over and wreak havoc at your place sometime.” He flashed Sydney a grin and straightened up, a couple flyers sticking to him before fluttering to the ground. “Whoops, those seemed important.”

Syd rolled his eyes and laughed as Henry stooped down to scoop them off the sidewalk. “Nice going there, big guy.” He joked. “Careful you don’t bring the pole down too.” Henry didn’t respond; instead he slowly stood up, clutching a white flyer and staring down at it. Sydney felt his smile fade when he saw the dismayed expression on Henry’s face.

“...What is it?”

Henry swallowed hard before handing Sydney the poster. The white paper was crumpled and soft from being left outside, showing signs that it had been there a while. A photo of a man with a goofy grin and a buzzcut holding a balding cat was in the center. The words were in bright red at the top of the page as he read them.

MISSING PERSON

Jeremiah Lee Kaminer

Also goes by ‘Jerry’

19 years old, blue eyes, blonde, slim build, 6’0”

Last seen November 27th wearing a leather jacket, blue jeans, and brown hiking boots. If you have seen him or have any information of his whereabouts, please contact the Denville City Police.

“Henry,” Sydney glanced up from the page. Henry was fidgeting in place, avoiding making eye contact. “Is he...?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, staring at the ground. “It’s our oldest brother. He’s been missing for over a year. Went into a bar one night for a drink, and just…. Never came out.” A cold gust of wind sent the remaining flyers drifting down the sidewalk as they caught the breeze. Henry’s hands tightened around the poster, creasing the paper before he folded it into a square. “Whatever. I gotta go.” He turned and started heading down the street, leaving Sydney alone.

Syd watched him walk away, wondering whether he should call out or not. Deciding not to, Sydney went home, ignoring the icy loneliness that had begun to creep back.

#writing #creative writing #writing prompts #horror #ocs

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kittenwithsecrets · 5 years

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Still broken.

I lied to myself, when I said I’d stop thinking about you. When I told myself I wouldn’t write about you anymore. When I told myself I had to let you go. The only thing I’ve managed to stay true to was promising myself I’d never cry over you again. But who knows, it’s still early days… Maybe that’ll also be a lie.

It’s been one month since I last saw you. I thought it’d give me the closure I needed. I hoped it would. I won’t lie, it did help a lot. At the very least it stopped the anxiety attacks I was experiencing every single waking moment. Meeting you that day finally allowed me to breathe freely again. That crushing, oppressing weight on my chest was finally gone.

But I keep replaying that last conversation we had, over and over and over again. I’m struggling to accept it. I’m struggling to understand it. The problem with me is that I can never process things on the spot. Sometimes it takes awhile, and for the conversation to keep replaying in my head before I’m finally able to articulate how I really feel.

Part of me wishes I can have another conversation with you, but seeing you again might kill me. Part of me wishes I could have a do over, having the knowledge of what I want to really say when I finally learnt what was going through your mind.

I want to force you to answer my question, when I asked you if all your friends or all the girls you were fucking constantly gave you things every time they saw you. Telling me you didn’t understand our culture, that you weren’t sure if it’s the norm in Singapore; feels like such a poor excuse. The way you answered makes me think that no one else did what I did for you. So how could you have been so oblivious to the fact that you meant so much more to me? It’s not even about the money that I spent on you. It’s the time and effort that went into these actions that were completely lost on you. That they meant so much more to me than it ever did for you. That you couldn’t even recognise any of it for anything more than just a cultural norm. Honestly, now I regret de-seeding the rambutans for you so that you’d never get the disgusting peel when you eat them, so all you’d get was the perfect flesh. You’ll never have any idea how difficult it is to do that.

When you told me that most girls who see you on a regular basis end up falling in love with you, I wish I told you that you’re the problem. The one constant is you and seeing the way you treated me, if you treated any of the other girls the same way, I don’t blame them for falling in love with you. I blame you for misleading us all. I blame you for sending all the wrong signals.

I wished I asked you earlier on about the ‘heartbreak’ that you experienced. I never imagined that the story would seem so insignificant… So juvenile. It’s so difficult for me to accept that you’re the way you are because of that. But what affects me the most is coming to the realisation that you seem to have led your life solely to prove your younger self wrong. That you can talk to girls, that you can be charming to girls, that you can kiss them, fuck them, and make them fall heads over heels in love with you. Is that what you were after? Making girls want you. Did you enjoy it every time a girl showed you how much they needed you? Did your ego grow every time a girl would choose you?

I keep thinking about you telling me that you were excited for the JB trip as well, but I don’t think you truly understand what it meant for me… To me. You’ve clearly enjoyed our time together and you seem to have pleasant enough memories. But we’ve clearly been on completely different pages this entire time. I wish you could understand and feel what it meant to me. What every second we spent together meant to me and the potential for any additional time we’d have together. Maybe then you’ll understanding how devastating it was for me to get that early morning text on that fateful Wednesday. The tonality of your messages so flippant… Did you even realise that? Or were you your usually oblivious self. I think you couldn’t have chosen a more cruel way to let me know.

Everyone tells me that I need to move on, that I need to want to move on. Do they think I want this? I feel absolutely awful. I feel like you’ve sucked the joy out of my life. Things I used to love to do doesn’t bring me the same kind of happiness that it used to. It feels like someone has thrown a filter over my world and its been muted or dimmed and nothing is as vibrant as it once used to be. I don’t know why anybody would want to feel this way if they could help it. I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to keep thinking of you. I don’t want to keep dreaming of you. I don’t want to keep agonising over all the possible ways that I wasn’t good enough for you. Losing you has left a profound hole in my life and I don’t know how to fill it.

My boss told me that the healing process will take 2 weeks but it’s been a month and I feel nowhere near healed. I wish you could feel the amount of hurt you’ve inflicted upon me. I wonder if you feel guilty. A part of me wishes that you’d see something and be reminded of me and when you think of me, you’d feel a stab of pain, of loss, of guilt. But that would mean that I meant something to you and honestly, who am I fooling?

I wonder if you ever think of me at all, because I think about you all the time. Did you know the hungry ghost festival just ended? It reminds me of how you used to laugh at my strong belief in the spiritual world and the traditions we observe. Do you know that it’s the Mooncake Festival season now? It reminds me of when I introduced mooncakes to you. Every where I go, everything I experience; I keep thinking of you. I went to the opening of a showroom and I wonder if anyone has explained the significance of a lion dance to you. Or if you’ve ever seen a barrel of sake being smashed open. I went to Golden Mile and I wonder if you’ve ever been, if anyone will bring you and introduce you to all the amazing Thai food that you can find there. I saw the passengers waiting to board their buses to KL and I thought of you flying to KL and paying a lot more than if you were to take a bus. Did you know you could buy a bus ticket for $10?

I went to Sydney and thought it’d be a good distraction from thinking of you. But everything reminded me of you. Seeing the packets of Pods in the supermarket broke my heart a little bit more. Seeing the chocolate store in the Rocks market made me think of my promises of buying them for you broke my heart a little bit more. I went to a little coastal town and it was breathtaking and I wanted to share it with you, then I remember I can’t. I saw so many wild dolphins and I wanted to share it with you and I can’t. I got to take a boat ride around Singapore and visit a Kelong and I wanted to share the whole experience with you and I can’t. I see so many different things throughout my day that I want to share with you and it breaks my heart that I can’t. Not anymore.

The most horrifying thing is that I’ve started seeing you and thinking of you when I’m with other guys.

Why can’t I get you out of my head? Why are you so difficult to forget?

I hate that you’ve ruined so many things for me. I don’t want to go back to Dempsey because I took you there for your birthday. My friend mentioned Sami’s curry the other day and I think whatever’s left of me died a little bit more. I don’t want to go to Springleaf. JB, KL and Tioman bring back bad memories because we were supposed to go there together one day and that’s now never going to happen. The wedding at the end of the year in KL will now be tainted by the memory of you and the potential of you having been there and it’s something I can’t not attend.

I hate that you were the first guy I brought to MBS, the first guy I brought home to my bed. How can I escape my own room?

I hate that you’ve made me feel less than. That I can’t seem to get out of my own head. To stop thinking about all the things that I’m lacking in and why I wasn’t good enough for you to choose me. I hate that you’ve made me feel like I’m worth less, that I don’t have enough value. I hate that you’ve made me feel more alone than ever. I hate that I’ve done things in the past month out of desperation that’s made me feel terrible inside out. That has made me feel so ashamed of myself and the levels that I’m willing to descend to. I would have never imagined the power you had over me, to reduce me to what I am now.

I dreamt of you last night. That you weren’t happy in your newfound relationship. That you think you might have made the wrong choice. I woke up happy before I realised it was only a dream. But small mercies, after a month of barely any sleep, I’m finally able to sleep through the night again. At one point I thought I’d never be able to sleep again.

I wish I had a stronger mind. I wish I wasn’t so weak. It’s killing me to imagine you continuing your life with her, talking to her over the phone, spending time with her over the weekends. I wonder what kind of couply things you’d be doing and it absolutely wrecks me that I’ll never have any of that with you.

But I can’t stop. I don’t know how to stop. I’ve tried cigarettes, vaping, drinking, sleeping pills, sleeping around… Nothing has worked.

What will? I just want someone to give me the answer. I want to be cured of you.

There’s a chance that I’ll be going to the F1 weekend and I know you’re going as well. Part of me hopes that I’ll bump into you. I want to make sure you know how you’ve completely ruined me. I want you to live out your entire life with the knowledge that you’ve completely destroyed another person through your actions. But it’s a 3 day event so really, what are the chances…

At the very least, I hope you see the Alfa Romeo cars and when you do, you get reminded of me. I’ll never be able to tell you this, but they offered me the job. I couldn’t take it. It reminded me too much of you too…

#heartbreak #i need help #how do you move on

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e350tb · 6 years

Text

Steven Universe: Woomera - Chapter Three

(with thanks to @real-fakedoors for proofreading. READ HER STUFF.)

Three

Every time I thought I'd got it made It seemed the taste was not so sweet

Civic was the cultural and social hub of the city of Canberra.

All things considered, this was not saying much.

Certainly, the twin Sydney and Melbourne Buildings, stately Mediterranean-styled structures on opposite sides of Northbourne Avenue, had a goodly variety of shops and restaurants, and there was the Monaro Mall if you wanted to visit the upmarket David Jones department store. There was the stately Hotel Civic, famed mostly for a protest against its gender-segregated public bar back in ‘65. But it was just too quiet and dull compared to Sydney or Melbourne, and it lacked the country-town charm of a rural centre. People didn't excitedly anticipate going to Civic - they went there because there was absolutely nowhere else.

Well, except perhaps Queanbeyan, but that was a bit of a drive.

O’Reilly’s was an Irish Pub on the corner of the Sydney Building (or so it was claimed - the founder was an American who'd never been to the Emerald Isle in his life, and the dark, shadowy musk felt more like Goulburn than Galway). It was by no means the heart of Civic, but it was cheap, and that was what mattered to its patrons. There were no politicians here, no big-name journalists - just ordinary people.

Lapis sat at the bar, looking at a dog-eared copy of the Canberra Times. It had been printed this morning, which was already starting to feel like an age ago. OPPOSITION BLOCKS SUPPLY, it bellowed.

“No kidding,” muttered Lapis.

She shrugged and turned through the pages, past the editorials and the letters and through the various local news stories, and found herself at the sports pages. She looked again to be sure, and then threw the paper away in disgust. No abandoned car story - the editor hadn't run it. She doubted he'd even looked at it.

She sighed, burying her head in her arms.

“Can I get you anything?” the bartender asked helpfully.

“Can you get me a ticket out of this place?” replied Lapis.

“I can get you a beer,” shrugged the bartender.

Lapis groaned.

“Straight vodka,” she replied, “It’s been that kind of day.”

“Right away, ma'am.”

The bartender walked off to prepare the drink. As he walked along the counter, he passed two young women, both on the short side, in animated discussion.

“Amethyst, you know I can't,” said one, “I've got an essay due the next day and I need that time to study!”

“C’mon, Peridot, this is what student life is all about!” exclaimed Amethyst, “You gotta live a little!”

“By attending a communist rally?”

“Socialist,” Amethyst corrected, “It’s a big tent. And it'll be for a good cause! Trust me, I know a bunch of people there, you'll fit right in!”

“Amethyst…”

“Would you do it for me?” asked Amethyst, grinning sweetly and leaning in on her friend.

Peridot’s face turned red.

“I… uh… sure, okay. But don't do that here, we’re in public,” she warned.

Amethyst sighed and sat back.

“Being in public sucks,” she grunted.

“Well, we’ll be back at the dorm soon,” shrugged Peridot.

Amethyst grinned.

The bartender walked back past them, handing the shot of straight vodka to Lapis. He sat the glass down in front of her, a bit of strain in his expression. He looked like he wanted to say something, maybe, but Lapis wasn't particularly in the mood for chit-chat.

"I know what I'm doing," she grunted, letting her fingers circle the rim of her liquid courage. The man's frown deepened momentarily, but he walked away without any probing questions.

Mission accomplished. Miserably, Lapis raised the shot glass.

“Here's to Melbourne,” she said, “Some day.”

She sighed, draining the small glass in one go and shaking her head.

Not far away, Donald Fryman sat at a table, rubbing his temples. A friend of his, a local lawyer named Marilee Zircon, regarded him with sympathetic eyes.

“I'm sorry, Don,” she said, “There just doesn't seem to be anything we can do about it. The RSL guys just won't hear it.”

“Why not?” demanded Fryman, “They're the Returned and Services League. I'm a returned serviceman! Why can't they let me in?”

“They, uh, they sent me a letter, but I don't think it's…” Zircon began.

“Give it here,” grunted Fryman.

Swallowing, Zircon produced a single sheet of paper from her pocket and handed it to Fryman. He unfolded the sheet and read it out loud.

“Ms. Zircon,” he read, “As Mr. Fryman did not serve in a real war - that's underlined, glad they made that clear - we are not obligated to provide him with membership or support. Furthermore, we believe that the conduct of servicemen in the late war in Vietnam does not correspond with the values of the RSL or the Anzac tradition… where the fuck do they get off on this?”

He threw the letter down in disgust.

“Don…”

“I need some air,” snapped Fryman, climbing to his feet and marching to the door.

The night was brisk - although winter was long over, the Canberra evenings still had their bite. Fryman walked up to his rusty old car and stopped next to it, lighting a cigarette.

“Bad night?”

Fryman looked up. Bill Dewey stood under a street lamp by the bus stop.

“Mhm,” grumbled Fryman, “Bad day. This Senate crap’s turning Parliament House upside down. They've got me guarding Fraser now - twelve ‘till ten, can you believe it?”

He took a drag of his smoke.

“If I wanted to work those hours, I'd have stayed at Nui Dat.”

Both men chuckled, and Fryman took another drag.

“So, what’re you up to?” asked Fryman.

“Waiting for a bus,” replied Dewey.

He leaned forward, looking left and right, and shook his head.

“It never seems to be coming, does it?” he sighed.

“Nah,” said Fryman ruefully, “Typical Canberra buses.”

He took one more drag of his cigarette and dropped it, crushing it under his shoe.

“Well, one more,” he said, “Then I’d better be getting home to Peedee.”

“You have a good night, Don,” Dewey nodded.

Fryman smirked and performed a mock salute.

“You too, Lieutenant Dewey.”

He turned and walked back inside. He was halfway back to Zircon’s table when he felt someone tug on his arm. He turned - an elderly fellow, perhaps sixty years old, was sitting alone at a table. He was gaunt, his dark rimmed eyes magnified by a pair of glasses.

“Couldn’t help but notice you’re getting screwed by the RSL too,” he said raspily, “Same happened to me, you know.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” nodded Fryman.

“Yeah, it’s the way it goes, isn’t it?” grunted the man, “The government calls you to do it’s dirty business then throws you away when it’s done.”

He shook his head.

“They sold our lives at Woomera,” he muttered darkly, “May as well have fuckin’ shot us themselves.”

Across the bar, already fairly drunk, Lapis’ ears perked up. Woomera… Woomera, that was important… Roy Bradley’s car! WOOMERA!

Lapis pursed her lips and nodded to herself. It was time, she decided, to start getting some answers.

She climbed to her feet in determination. Then she swayed, losing her sense of balance, her vision swimming and her head pounding. Bile built up in her throat. For a moment, she glanced back at the counter, and the ten shot glasses that had accumulated in front of her stool suddenly into sharp focus.

As she fell backwards, crashing to the hard, tiled floor, she asked herself if ten shots of straight vodka had really been such a good idea.

Then there was a crash, and all was dark.

There’s a blissfulness about unconsciousness, about neither feeling nor thinking. One can’t really be hurt or punished in such a state - it is a strange sort of zen, bereft of the wonder of dreams or the terror of nightmares.

Usually it’s to define when consciousness returns. The exception to this rule is when it comes back in the form of a pounding, splitting headache. In those cases, it comes back with great and unwelcome fanfare.

Lapis groaned, clutching her head as she took stock of her surroundings. She was back in her apartment - how did she get here? She’d been laid on the couch, a pillow under her head and a blanket over her body. Did she walk home? Get a cab? Fly, even? That perhaps was unlikely, but part of her didn’t want to rule it out.

Still moaning to herself, she sat up. The apartment was a mess, but that wasn’t new - cleaning products were expensive and she wasn’t exactly swimming in money. Among the dusty pile of old newspapers and junk mail on the coffee table, she sighed a clean sheet of a paper, a hastily scrawled note written upon it.

Found you laying outside that Irish Pub at eleven last night and helped you get home. Hope you don’t mind, but I had to go through your pockets to find your keys. - Greg.

Outside? But… but she passed out inside the pub, so…

So they’d picked her up and deposited her on the pavement outside at closing time. Typical. Stay classy, O’Reilly’s.

She picked up the note paper and turned it over in her hand. There was a logo printed on the other side; It’s A Wash! An address underneath revealed that the business was in Acton, and was owned by a Greg Universe. Maybe she’d have to thank him.

She looked at the clock and sighed heavily. It was already evening - she must have slept all day. She’d be in trouble, except she doubted anyone at the Canberra Times had even noticed she hadn’t come in. Sitting back on the couch, she grabbed the remote and turned the television on.

Immediately, she was met with the face of Gough Whitlam, in the middle of an interview with someone at the Australian Broadcasting Corporation - the ABC.

More politics, she thought to herself. It was hard not to get sick of it all.

“...so, must Sir John Kerr accept your advice whatever advice you give-”

“Unquestionably!” Whitlam replied forcefully, before the interviewer had finished his question, “The Governor-General takes the advice of his Prime Minister and from no one else.”

“And must act on that advice?”

“Unquestionably! The Governor-General must act on the advice of his Prime Minister.”

“There is no tolerance here? He must do-”

“None whatever.”

Huh, Lapis thought. Well, this was a slightly interesting development - it seemed Whitlam was making it especially clear that he had no intention of backing down. Still, it all seemed a bit strange and technical. Who cared about the Governor-General anyway? He sat in a mansion and rubber-stamped laws, everybody knew that.

She turned off the TV. It wasn’t worth worrying about.

There was a lot worth worrying about for Pearl.

The press gallery was already going off; she could hear them from the Prime Minister’s offices. She didn’t blame them - the Prime Minister had directly challenged Ellicott’s legal opinion of the previous day, which wouldn’t have been a problem, except for the fact that it could easily be interpreted as a challenge to Sir John Kerr himself.

It made yesterday seem simple by comparison - a spat between Gough Whitlam and Malcolm Fraser, a normal dispute between parties. Now it threatened to become something impossibly larger. They’d called it a constitutional crisis yesterday - now ‘crisis’ seemed too tame a word. The world had turned upside down once again, and it had only just gone five.

It seemed it’d be a late night, so she’d headed down to grab a coffee. She needed caffeine - it was that or insanity, at this stage.

She met Fryman at the cafeteria, intently studying the board, his eyes sunken and weary. Pearl’s heart went out for him - being a security guard was a thankless job, after all. Next to him was one of her counterparts from Malcolm Fraser’s secretarial pool; a tall, lithe, blonde woman, conservatively dressed, her face set into a perpetual frown.

Yellow - for that was what everyone called her - had a reputation for being neurotic and something of a perfectionist. She was often hard to like. Yet under that exterior was a deeply competent woman, and one that Pearl respected...at a distance.

Nevermind the company. She came here with a goal in mind, caffeine, and she was going to see it through. Pearl stepped up beside Yellow and waited for her turn, though she was pleased when the pair included her in their conversation.

“That Briggs man came around today,” she spat, and Pearl raised an eyebrow.

“Martin Briggs?” she asked, “From the American Embassy?”

“Yeah, I saw him heading into Fraser’s office,” nodded Fryman, “What did he want?”

“I don’t know,” replied Yellow, “Something or another; Mr. Fraser was busy so I told him to come back next week. And then he hung around for twenty minutes leering at me. How does someone so uncouth get to be a diplomat?”

“Beats me,” shrugged Fryman.

“Yeah, he was coming onto me yesterday,” said Pearl, “Gough sent him off - told him to come back at six.”

“Well, if he came back, I didn’t see him,” shrugged Fryman, “But I might have left before him.”

They chatted idly for a little longer as the line moved. Eventually, Pearl had her coffee - no sugar or cream, as usual. Yellow turned her nose up at it.

“You’d have it without milk if they let you,” she sniffed.

“I don’t tell you how to have your coffee,” snapped Pearl.

Yellow snorted as she walked off, leaving Pearl and Fryman alone.

“Are you sure you don’t want to…” said Fryman, looking down at Pearl’s mug.

“I’m sure,” replied Pearl, “Certain flavours make me gag. I’ve always been something of a fussy eater, at any rate.”

“Get it from your parents?” asked Fryman.

“I don’t really remember my parents much,” replied Pearl, “Dad was a railwayman, he left my mother shortly after I was born to go to Junee. Then she died of pneumonia when I was about four, so I grew up with my relatives in Queanbeyan…”

“Oh.” Fryman bit his lip. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Pearl shrugged, “I don’t think about them much, anyway.”

He nodded, covering his mouth as he yawned.

“I’d better get back to my post,” he said, “You have a nice evening, Pearl.”

“You too, Fryman,” nodded Pearl.

She yawned on reflex as the security guard walked away, and gazed morosely into her coffee. Her face was reflected in the cloudy liquid - god, she looked tired.

To think it was only day two.

#steven universe #woomera #lapis lazuli #pearl #amethyst #peridot #mr fryman #mayor dewey #blue zircon #yellow pearl #gough whitlam #amedot

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