#i got 'Epicene'

[couldtransitionhavesavedthem]

COULD TRANSITION HAVE SAVED THEM?

Have you ever thought about your blorbo that the creator insists is a cis, binary male or female character that you believe would benefit from a nontraditional, nonbinary transition? Have you ever thought your blorbo had an understanding of gender that was nonconventional, otherly, or beyond what most binary genders can be conceived as? Have you scoured the internet for obscure genders that would possibly fit your blorbo?

If so, I've got the headcanon blog for you! Welcome to "Could Transition Have Saved Them", a trans headcanon blog for you to headcanon all the nonbinary characters to your desires!

Just submit your headcanon in the form here, and have fun!

Note: I have the right to refuse any headcanons or series that I deem offensive or uncomfortable for me.

The blog mascot is Colonel.EXE, who I headcanon as epicene and knightgender, and the header is the nonbinary flag.

UPDATED NOTE: NO REAL PEOPLE.

#nonbinary headcanons #trans headcanons #nb headcanons #nonbinary #trans #transgender #gimmick blog #could transition have saved them #nonbinary poll #poll blog #poll

[revenant-coining]

i got bored so here's a list of all letters and their corresponding term(s) for letters used in glg / juvelic terms that i could find

0 = zero ( as in, no one; attracted to no one )

a, an, andro = androgyne

a, ab = abinary

ae = aurethesia

aeth = aetherine

a, ag, agen = agender

aliag = aliagender

alt = altumen

am, ambo = ambonec

apog = aporgender

a, aporg = aporagender

au, aut, auti = autigender

b = binary

b, big, bigen = bigender

d = demigender

dat = datesime

db = demiboy

di = dimensen

dg = demigirl

dre = dreandna

e, en = enby

ep, epi = epicene

faunag = faunagender

fer = feruvel

fi, flux, gf = genderflux

fifu, fluxid = genderfluidflux / genderfluxid

florag = floragender

fre = freelekour

gendvd = gendervoid

gf, fluid, flu, flui = genderfluid

gf = genderfluix

got = gorture

how = howabeiyn

i, iso = isogender

i = intergender, intersex, ipsogender, indetermined

ins = instinctant

k = kenochoric

kam = kenochoric, agingender, mingender, and miaspec

l = luxine

l, lib, libra = libragender

m = man

mis = mislypec

mg, polyg = multigender

mw = man+woman

n, ne, neu = neu / neutral / neutrois

nb, nonb, n = nonbinary

neutr = neutrois

nu = neutral, neuter, null

p, pa, pang, pangen = pangender

po, polyg, polygen = polygender

roset = rosetoric

s, sp - soporine

te = tenethesia

tm = transman

tri, trigen = trigender

tw = transwoman

w = woman

wf = warfaren

xe, xeno, xin, xg, xn, xen, x = xenogender

x = genderless

zab = zabainal

zodiag = zodiacgender

#glg #juvelic #i have no intention of consistently updating this btw #i made it cause. bored and mogai spin <3 #🌊 talking

[consistentsquash]

HOTD - Detailed Fic Rec - Ossuarium Finale ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

General context

Ossuarium contains 33 interconnected fics about the Dance Era protagonists and their relationships with each other. You should read everything. Because it's going to change you as a person and you are going to love it. The mastery in the writing and the emotional connect is just next level.

This rec is about the finale! Because a masterpiece of a series like this doesn't just get an ending. It gets a finale! ❤️‍🔥

Rec with spoilers below the cut.

Detailed Finale Rec!

TL;DR - Perfect characterizations + pacing + a really good plot that captures the Targaryen house and their tragedy. Soon the light is the recurring promise in the series. We finally get to see the light in the finale.

Content Warnings - Didn't really see any major warnings outside the canon warnings themselves. YMMV.

Length - 70000 words.

Why a rec - Because this is a really unusual story about love without being a story about OTPs. Intergenerational cycles of ambition/betrayal/loss/love/grief. The humanity in the characters is just insanely deep.

What stands out? I feel like fics in this fandom can get really nihilistic because of the canon itself being that way. But Ossuarium follows the formula of a lot of myths/epics/sagas with love as the biggest motivator. Zero nihilism here. Zero shortcuts. Zero simplification. No single character gets bashed/torn down/mischaracterized to level up some other character. It's just a human tragedy with lots and lots of hope and a genuine bittersweet ending.

Themes

Masculinity - You know it's a fic by eldritcher when it goes that extra mile about showing the characters and their headcanons/relationships with masculinity and how the performativeness/projections can have some pretty serious consequences. It's pretty intense and raw. If you have read Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides it feels like that.

Scale - This fic is ambitious. Like whoa! levels of ambitious. It covers the Targaryen story from Valyria creation myths to Dany's canon in GOT.

Depth of characterization - Usually characterizations suffer when fics have scale. But here the scale and the characterization actually complement each other. It feels really organic.

Gender - Pretty hard to explain. But this is a fic that deconstructs gender. Starting/ending with the epicene POVs. The running theme of the gender role switching/subversions/complexities in the creation myth which is one of the core concepts of the fic.

Prose - Dreamy, emotionally connected and intense in a really weird, lasting sense.

Beauty - I don't know how to explain it. This fic is beautiful. Like art that's going to make you think about it forever for the rest of your life. A lot of that is definitely because of the technique/craftsmanship in the writing. It is really precise sometimes and really impressionistic in other parts.

Soon the light, Grandmother had promised. And there it was.

#ossuarium #finale #because its really a finale #beautiful fic #fics that are actually art #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fic recs #hotd meta #house of the dragon fic recs #daemon targaryen #house targaryen #the best targaryen fic ever #fic recs #recs #multifandom recs #asioaf recs #detailed fic recs

[sunkern-plus]

001 danpoison they are a neat ship : )

YOOOOO the only "straight" (dan is imo genderfluid epicene so he doesn't count) ship ever

001 | send me a ship and I will tell you:

when I started shipping it if I did: as soon i discovered that "saikyo style is all about diversity" winquote lol. that and poison's got one of the few friendly winquotes against dan, saying he'd be a good wrestler, AND kind of the arguably hot "just looking at you makes me wanna whip you!" winquote while dan OBVIOUSLY flirts with her by saying his "awesome bod" is his weapon like her whip is hers in street fighter v, AND in the mostly ooc street fighter store sections where dan is an irredeemable pervert, he is SO respectful of poison and literally one of the few respectful men about poison in general.

my thoughts: if dan IS on the off chance cis, this is the only close to normative m/w ship i have, but imo, i like them even better t4t. like, my concept of dan being trans for a long time but not knowing it until he meets poison is just so. good. and the idea that dan helps poison through her obvious insecurities about her past and stuff and she helps him with that is. mwah.

What makes me happy about them: everything <3. but mostly that they're essentially the ideal trans version of the youthful obnoxious but sweet anime dad who loves his wife and the hot blooded tomboyish aggressive but loving mom who loves her husband, and they've been together since the beginning of time is just. <3

What makes me sad about them: the fact they both refuse to go to therapy :(. that and that people only ship them either to make dan a bottom that's prey for the sexually predatory femdom milf poison or make DAN a rapist. i hate fans like that die hentai brainrot fans.

things done in fanfic that annoys me: see above, though there's rarely even fanfic about them if at all.

things I look for in fanfic: ideally my dynamic with them in fanfic is literally just. dan loves his wife poison and she loves her (they)husband dan. that's the dynamic

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: literally i ship dan with either blanka or guy (guy has SUCH a cute dynamic with him that's so underrated, it's literally just "ikarishipping if paul wasn't a pokemon abuser") and poison with lucia or MAYBE cody, but what if. a polycule with all of them

My happily ever after for them: dan and poison marry and they split there time between dan's home and dojo in hong kong and poison's apartment in metro city and they party with the mayor and sakura and karin and blanka

who is the big spoon/little spoon: poison hates being touched so she's the big spoon. as i've said before, if she were a lesbian she'd absolutely be stone butch if only for the fact the idea of being touched by anyone in general would make her dissociate if she's being honest with herself and not forcing herself to enjoy being touched so she can feel loved.

what is their favorite non-sexual activity: GAMING ABSOLUTELY they play valorant and league of legends (stuff like that anyway) and poison crushes dan in it and dan cries afterwards but it's okay because poison gets him ice cream after that while bragging about how good at games she is

#francis' musings #street fighter #dan hibiki #poison #poidan

[epallogo]

EP: 5 Genre: HyperPop

"EVAPORATE" By FREE.99

"Feel the beatdown, bitch

Life's just a dream, then you bleed, that's it

(That's it)

Yellin' smoke 'em if you got 'em

Color of a TV, toilet full of vomit

Glitchy little mind-crime hybrid

Kilobyte child with the hive-mind eyes stitched

Baptized in Wi-Fi, while I choose to pretend

Dead eyes fiendin' for a dexadrine

Bled tied to the shape of somethin' epicene"

If you like HyperPop or Experimental Tech, I heavily recommend FREE.99 to be an artist to check out. Sadly, because they are so small, I can only find them on Bandcamp and on SoundCloud. If you can get past that, then check them out. The music scratches my brain and leaves me wanting for more with each song I listen to.

I also heavily recommend checking out their other song, "TRANS RIOT MUSIC." As a trans person, it's amazing.

#music #music recommendation #lyrics #bandcamp #soundcloud #small artist #free.99 #music recs #hyperpop #experimental #brain scratch

[yeehaww-sims]

hi, are you still taking pride flag requests?? if so, do you mind adding xirl, gynesexual, gyneromantic, skoliosexual, androsexual, androromantic, and biromantic? and any others that go along with these :) thank you :)

Howdy, I sure am! I've gone and added those, I'm so sorry I don't have a proper preview image for it, I haven't had the time to make one. It has been tested and works in game though!

You can find them in Requests part 2, since I got a request on twitter that got the first file to 100 swatches fdsjklsdfkjl Part 2 starts with Duaric!

[SFS] | [MF]

[Original flags post]

Also, skoliosexual's flag is in the original flags! It's listed under it's newer name, ceterosexual. If there was a specific flag you were looking for, I didn't see it in my search, and feel free to request it!

And to the anon who forever ago requested a pastel bisexual flag, I was originally going to do a full set of them but didn't know what ones I would want to do, so it's here now sdfkjldfs.

All flags in the Requests files as of posting:

This round of requests starts from Aliquaroace and ends at Xoy. Also just to have everything in one place, here's the requests I got from Twitter:

Aliquaroace, Aliquaromantic, Aliquasexual, Apothigender, Cupioromantic, Denromantic, Densexual, Epicene, Intrafeminine, Intragender, Intramasculine, Ipsogender [Man & Woman], Koiromantic, Koisexual, Lithosexual, Lithoromantic, Neutrangi, Pseudogender, Psuedomars, Pseudovenus, Ultergender. <- All of the twitter requests.

Duaric, Intergender, Julietian, Neutremme, Neutromme, Pluralian, and Romeric were added with those.

Androromantic, Androsexual, Biromantic, Pastel version of the Bisexual flag, Gyneromantic, Gynesexual, Xirl, and Xoy!

#pride flag rqs #faceless #ask #I'll make a big display image for this round of requests later sdfkljdfslk #I've been busy and my sims takes upwards of an hour and a half to load #<- my own damn fault sdkjlsdkf #had a friend take the in game picture for me love you Des ✨ #also again no MTS upload yet because I! Hate uploading to their site #I was gonna wait to make the preview but I don't want to make anon wait for their requests #androsexual #androromantic #biromantic #gyneromantic #gynesexual #xirl #xoy

[parakeet]

just found out theres a non binary wiki with a ‘random identity’ button. click this button. tell me your new government assigned identity

#i got 'Epicene' #which means #a lack of gender distinction #?

[youreobsessedwithtoomanyfandoms]

One Hell of a Butler

🌈-Fluff ⛈-Angst 🌧-Both

✨-Series

☁️-Undecided/I don’t freaking know

⚡️🔥-Triggering Possible

Word Count:1084

Not me writing a Black Butler inspired thing... Warning, I just started season 2 (I’m about to go to sleep so I’ll watch it after school tomorrow) SO I don’t know much of what happens after the epicenes called episode 24 It won’t be exactly like the anime/manga (which I own like 3 but they’re my brothers and idk where they are) It’s sort of like a spin-off/parody I guess Just so you know Y/N=Ciel Loki=Sebastian Wanda=Mey-Rin Bucky=Finnian Steve=Bard Scott=Tanaka Peter= Elizabeth Madame Red=Natasha

PeterxReader Butler!LokixPlatonic!Reader Demon!LokixPlatonic!Reader

MASTERLIST

(Part 2, Part 3)

“Milady, good to see you up.” A girl who seemed to be not much younger than the one she called ‘milady’ spoke. “Is there anything I could get you?”

“No, I don’t think so. Unless you can ask Loki to have tea ready earlier.”

“It already is young mistress.”

The maid jump as the one everyone was speaking formally to just nodded, “Good Loki. I’ll be in the study.” 

She walked away and the maid looked at the Butler, “How did you already know what she wanted Loki?”

He looked down at her, “I guess it’s because merely am one hell of a Butler.” He walked up the stairs and stopped at the top, “Do clean these stairs. We have guests arriving in two days I don’t wish for them to believe that we are lazy.”

“Oh! Yes sir! Right away!” She ran off to get the cleaning supplies and Loki just shook his head.

--------

The young countess stared out the window of the study. A little black book of names were in her hand. Names of the people she suspected might be why her parents were dead. She gasped and gripped the ledge.

She shot up, smoke surrounding her. She pushed herself out of her bed and ran down the hallway. “Mama? Papa?” She opened the door to her room and saw their bed empty. She turned around and ran around trying to find them. Opening every room in the manor until she couldn’t. She realized that she was surrounded by the flames from the fire. 

She wiped the tears from her eyes and heard a voice shouting her name. She followed it to the study. Due to the fire being bigger than she was, she got burned a couple of times. But when she opened the door to the study she found her parents, but not in the state she thought she would. 

The bodies charred and she continued to hear the voice shout her name. 

She shot when the smell hit her. Loki, Wanda, Bucky, and Steve were standing over here, Scott was standing next to her. ”What happened?”

“You fainted ma’am. We were very worried, very worried indeed.”

“Yeah, luckily Steve remembered some things from the war.”

The man in question was Steve Rogers. A war veteran turned cook. She didn’t question how or why Loki hired him to be the cook. He rubbed the back of his neck, “Didn’t work to well as I forgot how to use them. But then Loki knew immediately!”

She looked at her Butler, “Is what they’re saying true, Loki?”

“Yes young mistress.”

She nodded, “Well, shouldn’t you all being doing your job?”

“S-sorry miss! We’ll get back to it!” Bucky grabbed Wanda and Steve’s arms and pulled them out. Scott following after them, sipping his tea.

Loki helped her up and sat her down in her chair. “Are you alright young mistress?” She didn’t speak and Loki poured the tea, “They got worked up over nothing, I assume.”

She nodded as she grabbed the tea from Loki’s hand. “Yes, I assume they did.”

“Very well, would you like me to do anything else my mistress.”

She sipped the tea, “No, there is not. You may go.”

“Is that an order?”

“Do you have anything better to do?”

“I assume not. Well, I should get going and see what those idiots are doing.” He walked towards the door, “I shall see you when tea time is done young mistress.” She nodded and he walked out of the room.

As the door shut she opened the top drawer and grabbed the small photo from it. It was taken 2 years ago. Just before her 14th birthday. 2 days before to be exact. 2 years ago to the day. 

What was the photo in question? It was a photo taken by Scott. It was of herself and her parents. She rubbed her nose and soon felt tears leave her eyes. She wiped them away. “What am I crying for?! It’s been two years! I’m perfectly fine! It hurts no more!” She slammed her hands down the desk as she stood, “Dammit Y/N! Why are you crying?! You’re almost 16! You are the Countess of the Stark family! So why are you wasting your time crying over something so trivial?!”

There was a knock at the door, “Y/N, is everything alright?” 

She drew a breath as she heard Bucky’s voice. “Everything is fine. Continue on with what you were.”

“Of course miss! Will do!” She listened as the sound of his feet faded. She collapsed back into the chair. Grabbing the pen and paper she began to write down a reply to her aunt.

--------

Y/N walked beside Loki to the dining hall, “Young mistress?”

“What is it Loki?”

“Well, your aunt is coming to the manor in two days. Along with your betrothed.” She stopped when Loki mentioned the fact of her being betrothed. To be completly honest, she had forgotten about him. When Loki noticed she had stopped walking he stopped and looked back at her. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, yes, everything is fine. It will be nice to see Peter again. It has been almost a year, hasn’t it?”

He nodded and let her walk back up to him and they began walking again. “Yes, he left for the trip the day after your birthday last year.”

She nodded, “Yes, he needed to understand every one of the things my family owns as he is marrying into it.”

“Correct, that is why your aunt went with him.” He opened the door to the dining hall and she walked in. 

“Yes, right.” She sat down as he pulled the chair out, handing him the letter she continued, “Do have this sent to the place they will be staying tomorrow night will you? It should get there before them.”

He nodded, “Of course young mistress.” He took the letter and placed it in his pocket. Taking the lid off the plate and smiled, “Eat well.”

--------

As she slipped the gown on and into her bed she looked at the ‘Butler’. “Loki?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you agree?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why did you agree to make a contract with me?”

He shrugged, “You interested me young mistress. I wished to understand you more.” She nodded and laid down, “Now, is there anything else my young mistress?”

“No, I believe not.”

“Very well, I shall see you in the morning, young mistress.” Y/N nodded and soon fell asleep.

#loki #loki x reader #loki imagine #tom #hiddleston #tom hiddleston #tom hiddelston x reader #tom hiddelston imagine #peter #parker #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagine #holland #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #x reader #imagine #black butler

[jigsawgender]

I absolutely love azurgirl and rosboy, I wanted to make a masculine and feminine nonbinary version because that would fit how I’ve been feeling lately quite nicely. I came up with azurosenby/azure rose enby, but it starts to get a bit cluttered, especially if you were to add a xenic and null prefix. What drew me to azurgirl and rosboy in the first place is the fact the prefixes are grounded in pre-existing words much more than other terms I’ve found. I find I connect with terms more based on how similar they are to other, familiar words (poor explanation, but it’s the best I’ve got rn). I wanted to keep that. So I also considered using the fact that it’s based on colors and finding a combination of pink and blue to use. You could expand it out to include other colors, like citrine/amber for yellow to mean epicene, ivory for white to mean null or all, and infrared to be xenic

#azurgirl #rosboy #mogai #gender #gender system

[prismatic-starstuff]

what's your dreamcast of mairon and melkor in possible movie? actors or models

At the moment, I quite like the thought of Bartek Borowiec as Mairon! He's got the long red hair and the beautiful, epicene features that I associate with him.

As for Melkor, I didn't have anyone already in mind, buuuuut... How's about Efren Garza? He's got handsome, angular features and long black hair, which I associate with Melkor.

#tolkien #mairon #sauron #melkor #morgoth

[epiceneandroid]

so uh! since my computer’s broken (i’m using my mom’s computer and i don’t want to out myself as mogai, let alone the regular lgbt letters) i have a gender for you but it’s got no flag...although i could brainstorm a few ideas

it’s called trixtor: a gender that’s a combination of, or a blend of, masculinity and femininity, but not man or woman. 

i figure the flag’s gonna have a feminine color (but not necessarily associated with women), a masculine color (but not necessarily associated with men), and a cross, the white half vertical and the black half horizontal, across the flag. the feminine color connotes the gender’s connection to femininity, the masculine color connotes the gender’s connection to masculinity, the black horizontal line connoting an absence of manhood and womanhood (while being masculine and feminine), and the white vertical line meaning a blend of masculine and feminine into its own gender

it’s on the epicene, androgynous, and ambigue spectra, so it’s EPINgender (epicene in nature), LINgender (androgynous in nature), and AMINgender (ambiguous in nature)

the trix comes from the feminine suffix in latin, -trix, used to form a feminine agent noun, and -tor to form a masculine agent noun. since most people on this website understand masculine and feminine don’t necessarily mean male or female, this usage is completely off the binary. it can be used as a midbinary, abinary, etc gender, even a xenine gender of connecting to masculine and feminine qualities in a xenine way. as long as you are a combination of masculinity and femininity, but not man or woman, you can use this (although people who are simultaneously trixtor and femache/bigender m/f/etc can exist, i’m not one to gatekeep)

#trixtor #my gender

[dorigvbcorvis]

The French Horn

A Second Season Glee Story

CHAPTER 3: THE SECRETS WE KEEP - FROM OURSELVES IF NECESSARY

The Muse behind this story is Kurt’s French Horn tee-shirt.  Seen here in ‘The Power of Madonna’ it was also worn in ‘Grilled Cheesus’ - My head Canon since seeing Kurt wear the shirt twice is that Kurt had once played the horn. This is a story that addresses why Kurt quit playing

NOTES:

Since originally this chapter had graphic depictions of high school bullying and the use of homophobic slurs I felt that this might be too sensitive and/or could be a trigger for some and for this reason I split the chapter into three pieces CHAPTER 4 will post likely to my Live Journal or possibly A03 

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3: The Secrets We Keep…From Ourselves If Necessary

Kurt felt his world starting to fold in on itself the moment he stepped outside Dr. Thompson’s office. His hand went to his chest as it tightened - Each step he felt his body become increasingly shaky- more clammy, his legs were like lead, and yet chief among these growing concerns for the epicene young man was the fact that the perspiration dripping from his forehead was now leaching product down his face. For him it was the worst; it meant he had to fight like mad the urge to wipe away the whole mess from his eyes with his sleeve of his wool-blend blazer - If he was in his father’s garage in his work coveralls this would be no problem….

But here at Dalton he still needed his uniform one more day as it was midday Thursday. Oh great! he said literally dripping now - He knew he had to find something to wipe the mess away - but he had nothing, not even a pocket square.

Everything was spearheading into a perfect storm and like added water Kurt had come to an icy cold realization that the last time he felt this badly it was just after learning Korofsky had won his appeal and was returning to McKinley. Kurt knew it made little sense to believe Korofski was behind his current malaise - For one the guy would never drive two hours out his way just to seek him out when it was more likely the guy would have just move on to another target. Deep down It was Kurt’s personal hope that somewhere in the whole f***ed up mess that Korofski had just found peace with himself - So where did that put him? 

Stalled…stalled by what?  fear? Then if fear, what was he was afraid of? And just like that he was back to square one trying to figure it all out.

Shit, Kurt uttered finally wiping the mix of sweat and hair product away with the sleeve of his blazer He had to - It had gotten that bad.

As much as fear made sense to Kurt he quickly ruled this out with the reasoning that fear was something he should have had before meeting with Dr. Thompson not afterwards. Yet looking back at Thompson’s closed office door Kurt knew Thompson was the only thing different in his routine - So what was it about him?

Maybe it was it bringing up his mother’s death and because of this having to stay back a year when he was in the third grade…

‘No, no,’ Kurt shook his head: ruling this out. It couldn’t be this. There had been countless times he had shared how he didn’t have a mom - and sure this often bought back heart ache and tears - He could not recall a time this ever make him feel this physically ill.

Kurt’s head started to swim with racing thoughts he didn’t want. If he were at home right about he was sure nothing at all would be stopping him from numbing his thoughts with alcohol – His Aunt Mildred’s variation on a Tom Collins that entailed mixing champagne with gin came to mind. “Except news-flash Kurt,” Kurt made a harsh point to informed himself. “You only just came off probation…Something like getting drunk at Dalton is not just dumb but you’ll surely get yourself put back on probation or worse get yourself expelled.’ This self-admonishing only made things worse and he still wasn’t any closer to knowing what it was exactly that was making him he feel like crap and he was running out of ideas.

The only thing Kurt knew looking at his watch was that the lunch hour had almost slipped away completely without him eating a thing. This revelation made Kurt giggled with a sad laugh - ‘Was is it really that simple? Was this only because he had skipped a meal?’ He of course remembered when he and Mercedes were in The Cheerios and how Mercedes face planted in the middle of the cafeteria’s from not eating. Low blood sugar now seemed plausible and it had a lot of the same symptoms. This was enough to point his feet in the direction of the cafeteria in hopes that this late the dining hall would still be open. Kurt quickened his steps fearing this would indeed be the case.

Just as he expected- Only the cleaning crew was in the hall. Gone was everyone else. He walked past a crew bussing tables with what dishes still remained on his way to the cafeteria itself only to find the cleaning crew had already switch off the heated buffet tables and removed the food trays leaving nothing but lukewarm baths of water. Even the salad bar had been gutted…but what really sucked was The desert case had been completely emptied out he could have totally gone for comfort-food in the wondrous baked pastry form.

“I’m not going to catch a break am I?” It was a loud enough statement for him to start to fume.  That was until one of the headphone wearing cleanup workers stopped and pointed out the three tiered basket display at the end of the counter.

 “Thanks,” Kurt said to the worker

The worker only nodded and rolled his mop bucket out of Kurt’s way

 The worker was right - It hadn’t been cleared out yet. Five weeks of being at Dalton Kurt knew Sandwiches had always been placed in the bottom basket, chips and pretzels in middle basket, and fruit in the top basket. ‘It would have to do,’ He told himself as he rifled through saran wrapped sandwiches Only here too he found his run of bad luck had continued because every last one of them was Ham and Cheese sandwich - Kurt uttered an Ugg tossing back the of the lot he has looked at - He absolutely loathed processed deli ham he found it too salty and that emulsified gelatin sort of grossed him out. If it was to be ham he preferred a slow cooked ham leg that had been properly cloved or pork tenderloin medallions glazed in a sesame ginger sauce and then that had been grilled to perfection …and then he would not ever add cheese.  His stomach growled thinking of food but he didn’t seem to be catching any luck.

He knew it was his own damn fault He should have eaten first and then gone to see Thompson - ‘actually,’ Kurt thought internally correcting himself - ‘He shouldn’t have gone to see Thompson at all - That way he never would have spilled the beans and made himself feel like crap now…Now was that really what was wrong?’

‘Oh crap,’ He knew now. While it bothered him that any additional meeting with Thompson he would end up letting the man know everything - What was really bothering him; the brass tacks of it all, was the risk of his dad finding out all the things he kept from him. It would kill him.  Suddenly Kurt wasn’t hungry anymore he tossed back the bag of sun chips before picking it up again plus an apple from the top basket.  Kurt knew it would be six hours until dinner service.

Kurt quickly departed the food area to find a seat the worker with his mop moved in behind Kurt to mop the floors like they had been only waiting for him to leave.

Kurt tried not to let this too bother him the guy after all pointed out the chips….but the thin irony of it all was feeling like every last thing in the world was eating at him while he went without anything to eat himself.

Kurt was just about to sink his teeth into his apple when he heard Blaine call out for him. And as much as he was secretly crushing hard on the black haired boy with the killer tenor voice the last thing Kurt wanted was for Blaine to see him like this - So exposed, so vulnerable with his heart pounded in his chest like something was terribly-terribly wrong.  Blaine called to Kurt with a tone that was both happy and relieved to see him. “So it’s true -Trent said he saw you in here. I totally looked for you everywhere during lunch.”

“Except where I was,” Kurt blurted, before instantly regretted it. He didn’t know why he said it out loud. “I had to see Dr. Thompson.” Kurt now said, offering up the truth.

The explanation alone gave Blaine pause. He knew Dr. Thompson and how most at Dalton liked the man- It was just as well known how many emerged from his office in tears either because they had lost their scholarship or because they had to see Dr. Thompson in the capacity of the school’s psychologist…given his own bout with the man and how similar Kurt’s situation mirrored his own it was much too likely this was how it was with Kurt now but it wasn’t until Blaine actually looked at Kurt did his happy go lucky demeanor change… “My God, are you alright? - It looks like you’ve been crying “

“It’s nothing,” Kurt said defensively blowing off the question.

Blaine wasn’t about to buy Kurt’s write-off noting how he could “Totally see your eyes”

Caught Kurt was back peddling “What I meant was, I don’t want to talk about it and I kind-of want to be alone right now” this much was true.

Blaine frowns… ”Fine,” he says, after a beat of feeling stunned.  But then he adds “But let me at least tell you why I was looking for you.”

All Kurt had to do was look at Blaine sitting in front of him hazel eyes looking like a lost puppy for him to cave. “Okay - You win. Why were you looking for me?”

“I got comp tickets for my King’s Island gig - Dad called right after our duet in the Commons Room - He has to fly to New York on business so he can’t go.” Blaine sets a King’s Island admissions ticket down on the table and pushed it towards Kurt - It’s yours if you want it” then he adds with a high brow flourish Call it a Thank You for our practice session last night” Blaine returns back to common speech for the details “The plan is Mom is gonna pick me up Friday to drive me there. We’ll probably stay a couple nights in Cincinnati and come back on Sunday”

Kurt silently cursed the rotten timing of how in a heartbeat he would go see Blaine and spending two nights in a hotel with Blaine? …In the same room?  Kurt was kicking himself. “I-I cant,”‘ Kurt said, biting his tongue in protest. “Friday is dinner night - I also have these damn papers my dad needs to sign.”

“What are those?” Blaine asked, suddenly taking notice of the stack of papers sitting on the table next to Kurt’s arm.

“One is for a test I need to take…” Kurt trails off “The others…” Kirk’s voice breaks and wavers as he starts over… “The others are because Thompson thinks I should see someone over what happened”

Blaine was nodding knowingly. “Yeah, he was like that with me last year…But he’s good. He’ll listen…But…you don’t want to hear that do you?” Blaine saw Kurt didn’t seem to be listening.

“It’s not that, not really - It’s complicated - It’s why I have to go home when I so much rather go with you and not have to bothered with this - It’s just horrible timing and rotten luck. And - I am sorry”

Blaine shook his head, Kurt’s apology wasn’t needed - He knew he would have no trouble finding another to go in Kurt’s place. It was that he was just as sorry it wouldn’t be Kurt joining him.. He also heard the hurt in Kurt’s voice so he knew it wasn’t out of personal choice.  It was why he hesitate to go any further talking about Thompson or his King’s Island gig - Instead the first words out of his mouth are only about the test. “Haven’t you taken enough tests? - I mean when I came here I didn’t have it anywhere near as bad as you had it” he looks again at the stack of papers and corrects himself saying: “….still have it”

“That’s because you came here as a sophomore” The voice seemed to come out of nowhere.  Both boys look up to see that Wes was now standing at the table’s edge. Wes was still talking “Kurt came here as a junior, and everybody here knows that’s the year they get you: SATs, Subject Tests, AP Exams….” Kurt’s eyes had widened hearing what still remained. Wes switches to a more personal note with Kurt and asks “Did everything go ok with Dr. Thompson?”

“Yeah, he just wanted me to take some cognitive test” Kurt answered, deliberately stopping short of repeating the bit about Thompson also wanting him to seek counseling..

“Very well. You boys need to finish up here and get to class.” Wes starts to walk away before turning back. Oh, and don’t forget we have a double practice meeting today.”

“Through dinner?” Kurt asks with the kind tone in his voice that would let anybody know he wouldn’t liking the answer if it was to be yes.

Blaine was already jumping to Kurt’s defense. “He’s kidding!” Blaine exclaimed, placing a comradic arm around Kurt’s neck like they both in were in sync while he emphatically added: “We’ll be there!”

Wes raised an eyebrow but he was also a perceptive young man, he knew enough to guess what was behind Kurt’s objection. With a shrug he said. “We’ll order pizza like we always do when our practice cuts through dinner”

It was just enough to make Kurt reply with a simple relieved “Oh?”

“Now you two should really get to class. The Warblers have a reputation to up hold.”

“What kind of test did you say?” Blaine asks wondering if he would be someday be taking the same test.

“It’s called the CogAt - Apparently I was supposed to have already taken it. But I never did. That’s Public Schools for you - gotta love that attention to detail.”

“You’re smart,” Blaine insists like it’s known statement of fact.. “You’ll probably ace it”

“I’m not that smart”

“Yeah, you kind-of are,” Blaine reaffirms with a warm smile that could melt butter. “It’s one of the things I like best about you.”

Kurt manages a halfway smile. He knew there was no ‘there’ yet between them but he loved it when Blaine flirted – It made him believe that one day there could be.

“Well, you heard the man,” Blaine said, standing up.

“Where to?” Kurt asked, also getting up out of his seat and placing his paperwork in his satchel along with his apple and unopened bag of chips.

“I have Algebra” Blaine answered, promptly. “You?”

“World History - I actually think today might be the day I am finally caught up with the class.”

“You’ve been working on that hard enough.”

Kurt pursed his lips - He wasn’t sure if what Blaine said was meant to be a jab or not.

Blaine was already sheepishly offering a correction. “What I meant to say is I hope whatever it is getting you down - I hope it passes”

Kurt drew a hard breath trying to hide his feelings he managed to nod.

The boys left the dining hall not saying much else. They proceeded down two long corridors to the section of Dalton where the classrooms were. Kurt watched Blaine turn down the maths wing “I’ll see you after class,” Blaine said, with one last look back. He then proceeded turning the door knob to his math class and walking in.

As the door closed Kurt suddenly knew he was never going to make it to history… He went straight to the nearest bathroom to throw up the contents of his stomach which under the circumstances wasn’t a whole lot. When he finally had stopped he washed his face. He looked up from the sink, to the mirror mounted above it not at all liking the young man in the mirror staring back at him. Not even a little.

Maybe it was because he was in a restroom - maybe it was because he was dripping with perspiration…or maybe simply after two years it was bound to resurface but standing there looking at himself in the mirror Kurt’s memories came flooding back and covering his face he began to sob.

The pee filled balloons didn’t end with him being chased off the football field - No, That was where it began - It started back up again after the jocks followed him into the same bathroom.

#Glee #season 2 #kurt hummel #blaine anderson #angst #fanfic #french horn #pee balloons #cptsdhealing

[ecoamerica]

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[sabazio]

@pinkusentai said: Die by my bow and arrow, Akihiko-senpai. ________________________________________________________

unprompted | always accepting

It’s half-passed the Dark Hour’s end when she finds him in the cramped space of the dormitory’s kitchen. He’s caught red-handed... four spoonfuls deep into her special, imported uji-matcha flan. 

He does not scream-- Akihiko Sanada would not do something so, so... epicene-- but the surprised yelp he belts sends Koromaru into a frenzy loud enough to wake the entire building. The pudding jar fumbles through his hands, slipping as sure as a wet bar of soap, before he can get two hands on it, dramatically gripping at the counter-top for what life he’s got left. 

He’s wholly unsure if the embarrassment is more from being caught eating sweets, or the fact he’d forgone pants in his late-night search for snacks.

“ W-What!? ” he hisses through clenched teeth. “ How was I supposed to know they were yours!? ”

#pinkusentai #;ic #.answered #in this house we reference the p3 fanbooks #where akihiko eats... all 100 of SEES special puddings mitsuru bought for the dorm #and he apologizes by buying everyone their own u__u

[outsider-ul-blog]

The Ghosts of October

There is an infinitesimal detail which tells us if a building is inhabited or not. This doesn’t refer to any exterior sign. By merely watching the windows, one can figure out if at night these let light traces around the house, if the shapes of light are pierced by the shadows of people who pass behind the windows. If there are voices sounding in corridors and rooms. If under the roof are sheltered thoughts, feelings, experiences, or the building is ever deserted and it only houses memories. As I am among the people who believe that memories remain in a deserted place, once inhabited. That the events which had happened leave marks that cannot be erased. That a building, once inhabited, gets a life of its own which lingers even after it has been left.

In that autumn which was unusually cold for the beginning of an October when I came back for the first time - after seven years - to the school where I had spent my lower-secondary and primary school years, looking at its walls on which shadows were moving, I told myself that that place looked as if no one was living there.

Nothing had changed outwardly. The square tower of the school, - the school which was painted in orange, as if it were in an eternal autumn, - had the same broken clock which displayed, whoever knows for how many years, the hour 23:25. Behind the windows one could foresee the classrooms full of packed with children, with walls covered with colourful posters, water-coloured paintings and other things made by children during the Art classes. However, the place gave me an overwhelming feeling of emptiness, while standing in front of the building and smoking a cigarette, trying to pluck up my courage to enter and see the rooms and corridors I hadn’t stepped since I was a child.

I was felt by an unvoiced emotion, though not unexpected. I’m a sentimental person. I am excited by some things which shouldn’t excite me, which do not touch any chord in other people. For instance, as I was standing there, with the feeling that, seeing the walls I had seen only in my childhood again, I would have stepped in another time. That, walking over the school doorsill, I would pass inversely maturity threshold and I would become a child again.

I was beginning to get rid of the emptiness in my stomach by looking at the same trees around the building which I had seen hundreds and hundreds of times each time I had been to school at the age of eight, eleven or fourteen, and watching the yellow, rust-coloured or brown leaves and telling myself: “What a bizarre autumn! What a bizarre season autumn is!” it was the season of reflection, of collectedness, the season in which recollections are gathered, as withered leaves are gathered on the asphalt.

Finally, I let the cigarette stump fall on the ground and put it out under my shoe bottom, pressing and rubbing against the asphalt with more aplomb than usually, trying, perhaps, to delay with a few seconds the moment – fateful, as it seemed to me – in which I would step over that magic doorsill of childhood.

I set out then walking onto the unstable shadows of the half-bare branches on the ground and heading towards the school entrance.

2

On my way, however, I halted. The main entrance to school, the only one open, or at least the only one I dared enter – as a visitor, a stranger, now, there – was placed as the fashion of school architecture used to be, right in the middle of the long building equally placed between a side and another. To get there I had to traverse a path of a few steps from the place I had been standing and contemplating the new building which seemed incredibly old to me, the inhabited building which seemed deserted as a medieval castle half dilapidated.

In front of the walls, along the largest part of the building, there was a short fence of shrubs now with tangled spiky twigs. Above the fence, at a window, I saw a girl who was watching me from an empty classroom.

The window was covered with ice flowers, so I wasn’t able to see the girl’s face well. Maybe this is why she troubled me so much that made me halt. The tall and wide building door seemed to have been waiting for me, urging me to enter, but I stopped and was watching the girl.

I watched her persistently, trying to remember who she was, and if I knew her. She was also looking at me persistently, but her face was lacking any expression, so that, for a while, I was wondering if she was looking at me or if she was watching something, to an imaginary point behind me. She was around ten years, maybe two years more, or two years less. It was very difficult for me to figure out her age. From behind the ice flowers, over the bare hedge, her look was really upsetting.

I remembered, for no certain reason, how my grandmother used to read to me when I was little from Hans Christian Andersen. As, in Snow Fairy I think, it is said that the ice flowers are formed when the Fairy approached her face the glass window. That image had given me thrills once, and it gave me thrills then, too.

Only after a while I realized and admitted to myself that I was scared. That girl’s face scared me. She had black hair, prolonged face, dark eyes, indescribably dark and deep, the eyes of a fairy, the eyes of a monster. I started moving towards the school entrance, only to shut off her sight. Only after I found myself inside the building, in the warmth, I understood how inexplicable my reaction had been. How could I get scared of a child?

I was in a sort of large lounge, with lots of flowerpots, with a large gate with two parts, with glass panels overlooking the school corridor – the lounge was part of that school architecture fashion, and it could be found in almost any school.

The doorman, a stout fat man, came to me and asked me what I wanted. While I was explaining, my mind was set on the apparition who had shown to me at the window. Although the fright had passed, my mind was still there.

After I had passed the doorman, and past the glass door to the school corridor and I was struck by such a powerful feeling which I hadn’t experienced for years, and as I could hardly remember to have ever felt, that I completely forgot about the horrible child who had shown from behind the window.

I saw Mrs Alexandrescu talking with a teacher I didn’t know. I didn’t know the majority of teachers there. Almost all who had taught me, retired. The corridors were walked only by strangers, strange adults and strange children of all ages. And still, those places were welcoming me. I felt as if I hadn’t left it not only for a day. I could as well been a pupil, to have left the place only yesterday from there, when the bell rang for the last class and today to come back to school, as usual, idly for another day of classes.

The thought excited me inexplicably. I felt as if I were still a child, that every maturity worries vanished as a bad dream, dissipated as smoke rings, that I had again the innocence and the dreams of the old times. After this, the painful realization of the fact that I was no longer a child came, that I had worries and sufferings, that I could no longer step onto those corridors as I once used to do. And yet, a part of myself remained as it had been then. A part of myself had never changed. Otherwise how could have felt so at home in that place, how could I have felt that I had returned only after one day?

Trying to keep in dam up my feelings, I approach Mrs Alexandrescu. She smiled at me, as a sign she had seen me, after which she continued her talking.

I waited for her to finish, while I was looking amazed at the walls. The painting was the same. Even the flowerpots on the walls were the same. Even the drawings made by children during the art classes and displayed on numerous wooden boards one could see in schools, even those were greatly the same; or, at least so it seemed to me.

Mrs Alexandrescu had got white hair, or rather a very light shade of grey, a colour which seemed to shine; her hair was straight, thin and shoulder-length. She was wearing a pair of small shiny glasses. Her skin, as soft. Small features, timid behaviour. She was wearing a flowery blouse, grey trousers, as you could often see at elderly women, and black flat epicene shoes, which once had been shiny, but now were worn out.

As it was pretty warm in school, I took off my scarf and hat and I unzipped my jacket.

After she finished talking and the other lady set off in the corridor carrying under her arm the class register with shiny metal corners, the woman got close to me and greeted me.

“So glad to see you, Andrei! Hmm…looking good. Happy to see the school, aren’t you? Aren’t you happy? How long is it since you last were here?”

“A long time…” I answered in an undertone, looking at her small features, shifting, from time to time, my sight to the well-known, so stirring to me, walls.

“For a very long time” I added. “I think seven years have passed”.

“Well, well! Then it’s good you came, isn’t it? It’s good I have convinced you! If I hadn’t, then maybe you would never have come!”

My heart sank knowing that was right. I could never have dropped in. The memories which had gathered among those walls, waiting for me, asking me to come, waiting to be woken and lived again, those memories could have remained forgotten. I could have never dropped in.

“You want to visit the school, don’t you?” she said. “You want to see if there are teachers in your time who are still here. There aren’t too many, what can you do? Still, go and walk as long as you want. Then you can find me in the library. I will be waiting for you”.

3

I had told the doorman that I was looking for the librarian, or else I didn’t have anything to tell him. But now it the bell had rung for the classes, so children bunched up into their classes, and I could walk by as if I had nothing to do, as if I belonged to the place.

Maybe it would have been wise to go and look for the classroom from which I had seen that upsetting girl watching me; however, once I had entered, I completely had forgotten about that weird happening. I did nothing but walk pointlessly around the corridors, as if I had been hypnotized. I walked to the window and looked at the athletic field, which now was glaze frost, but which hadn’t changed too much in the meanwhile. I went to my former classroom in which I had studied during secondary school and I looked at the door on which another class and another class teacher’s name were written. I looked from the landing at the students’ water colour paintings, which hadn’t been changed for ten years, since I was in class 7.

There was an elephant drawn against blue background, some yellow palm-trees huddling against orange background and many more. They looked psychedelic to me. I watched them absorbed, thinking it was unbelievable they still existed, that I existed and I was there to watch them.

“Who am I?” I asked myself, feeling a pain in my chest, “Who am I? Why do I feel all the things I feel?” eventually, I headed towards the library. I was welcomed by the smell of old books. I hardly went there when I was a pupil. However, I enjoyed to see the narrow room, bookshelves over bookshelves. Mrs Alexandrescu was waiting for me at a desk. It seems to me that the place had something rustic in it.

“Do you know that a child died here? she said while I was helping her arrange some books. “I don’t know if it is a good idea to tell you. Maybe I’m upsetting you.”

A hesitated a while before I answered.

“When did it happen? I said.

“Yesterday. It was yesterday.”

I got a shudder with no reason. I remembered the girl who was watching me from the window, above the hedge.

“But what happened? I said. How could she die like this…with all the people around…the school was packed, wasn’t it? Didn’t they do anything?”

“It wasn’t full. He was found dead at night at the back of the schoolyard. They think he jumped over the fence, into the schoolyard to play and afterwards he did something, got injured…he was found with his head crushed…he bled until he died. Lord, I cringe only when I think about it.

‘Wasn’t he murdered? I mean, what was he doing at night in the schoolyard? Surely he didn’t come to play alone? Crushed head…he couldn’t crush his head himself.

“Yes, we all gave it a thought. I mean, maybe he had come here to play with several children, what had happened, happened, and the rest ran away and said no word about it. But Razvan was a good boy, who didn’t have friends to look suspicious – mostly because he was in class 6 – and he usually didn’t stay out till very late. All his friend say that they left him, that night, around 19:00 and each of them went home. So…”

“This means he was killed. Someone must have waded into him on his way home, and he ran into the schoolyard. He was chased over there and killed!”

“This is what the police thought. But…hm…do you know that little park with oak trees at the back of the yard? Yes, well. It was there where he was found. Two days earlier it had rained, and the athletic field was wet. The only footsteps which were discovered belonged to Razvan. The chaser couldn’t have failed to leave some marks. And it was easy for the police to observe this. Nobody approached that place until the police came. You how usually this happens….people gather, children are curious, they could have trampled all footprints with their footprints. But such a grotesque event…”

I thought for a while, rubbing my chin.

“What was he murdered with?”

“Well, this is a mysterious case. The object in which he crushed his head wasn’t found and the corpse was far from the wall, and the wall hadn’t been smeared with blood, so we couldn’t say that he crushed his head against it.”

“Well, I still think it’s a murder. Who knows what monsters exist in this world!”

“The boy lived near school. There are two major town avenues, very crowded. Nobody could do anything to him in in the open, mind you to chase him. And another fact: he couldn’t jump over the fence without being seen by anybody. He must have waited until after 22:00, when the streets were empty.”

“Well this is weird. This makes me think…hmm…my thoughts take me to something paranormal.”

I said it jokingly, but I was thrilled while I realized that maybe this was really the case.

“Police say it was an accident. And this is what it will be written in the report. Until then, some formalities, some formal investigations need to be done….but no one thinks this will come to anywhere.”

I sighed, turning with sadness my eyes to the books I was arranging on the shelf – those tall, white books from the complete collection of Joules Verne’s adventure novels, the ones had been released a long time before and had been read by my generation’s parents.

“I have upset you, haven’t I?” said the woman.

I told her no, but she didn’t look convinced.

“Look, she said, you can go home now. If you really want to help me, you can come here tonight around 21:00, but we will talk on the phone before to tell the exact hour. We will meet and clear things and talk as much as we want. Until then, you can walk around in the school if you want!

4

By the time Maria Alexandrescu got out of the school yard to head towards her house, towards her flat, which was quite far from her workplace, the weather had become very bad. The sky had become opaque, grey, and the cold, which was unusual for the beginning of autumn, had got bitter.

The woman folded up her scarf around her neck and picked her pace, knowing that, unfortunately, she had quite a long way to go. She would leave the school the last and she would lock the door, a smaller one than the imposing front entrance. The building, when it was empty, looked quite gloomy, even upsetting. She didn’t realize that till then.

She turned round and looked back, as she could see the school, she looked at the tower with a square roof of tiles, on which there was an old clock, elegant, which had broken and which had shown for years – since she started working there, more precisely, that is, a long time ago – the hour 23:25. She looked at the small tower with the clock, painted in orange, and shuddered, after which she went on her way.

While she was walking, it got darker and the streetlights were lit up. She felt something cold draining through her body. And it came to her mind, against her will, as she didn’t like to think to those moments, the other day. The emotion and the unexpected fear that got her with no reason, were so strong, that she stopped walking and stood staring.

Even after the whole uproar following Razvan’s death came to an end, the classes couldn’t be held as usual. All school had been seized with some excitement. A lot of teachers ended up with not giving classes, others let their pupils go home sooner.

After the classes finished, and the building emptied and so did the athletic field, Maria, driven by an uncontrollable impulse, got out of the yard and headed to the playground.

This was empty; only some wrappings were moving, taken by the cold strong wind, which the children had left behind and the cleaners didn’t manage to collect.

Past the playground was the small park in which the boy had died. The place was, then, encompassed with warning yellow stripes meant to alert the curious that it was not allowed to pass onto the crime site. But, despite this, despite a quiet and reasonable life in which she followed the rules as much as she could, Maria headed to that place and past the warning stripes.

Before this, the very idea to squat to go past some stripes which marked a forbidden place would have made her laugh; she had never believed she would do something like this.

But, at that moment, she seemed to have been held by an outer force. She was moving as in a dream.

She climbed the small slope, through the trees, and stepped onto the ground, now dried, right on the spot where the poor child had died, place which was still stained with blood.

She stood there for a while. But how long has she standing there with no reason, had just been standing…and standing…and standing and gazing, no thought crossing her mind? How long? Not even herself could have said it. But surely the sky had grown darker in the meanwhile.

At some point she felt that something was going up in herself and snuggled in her soul. It was almost physical. Something bad, organic, cold and alive; worse than the illness, worse than dark thoughts, worse than gloomy feelings.

For a while, she had the feeling that her heart would stop, that she would die.

After she recovered her spirits after she regained control on herself, after she got rid of that hypnotic state, terrified – double terrified: first for what it had just happened, then a more terrifying fraught, without name, with no clear reason, more like a presentiment – she dashed out of the dreadful small park, in which a terrible accident happened (or a murder? or worse than a murder?) still paying attention to sneak under the plastic stripes, meaning not to disarrange them. So as no one could realize she had been there and she had done what she had done.

But what did she do more exactly?

She ran over the empty playground. If before she had been told that she was going to run like that, with no reason, from an imaginary threat, she would have laughed. All the way she tried to convince herself that she had done nothing wrong.

Another sudden impulse, as crazy as the one to enter the playground forbidden area and stand on the place where Razvan had died. She felt like going around the school to get to the playground which overlooked the street and jump over the fence, as probably Razvan had done, in the last hours of his life.

But the conspicuous feeling that she needed to preserve her mental health and the fact that it was she who had to lock the exit door, prevented her to resist this urge. Once she got home, she felt exhausted, almost sick, and she wouldn’t have gone to work today if she hadn’t made an appointment with Andrei.

It took her some time to escape the tormenting toils of the memory – and she hoped they would remain that way: some memories, otherwise she wouldn’t have liked to know that she was going to lose her minds again, as she was sure that that had happened the previous night – and to gather her force to go on to her house, in the darker and darker streets.

5

It took me a while to realize why I had got thrilled at the sight of that girl standing at the window, the girl with long, emaciated face and black hair. The glass of the window was covered with ice flowers but it wasn’t winter. And why only at one single window?

While I was thinking at these things and was trying to find a reasonable explanation, I noticed it was getting late and the time I had to be at school to help Mrs Alexandrescu arrange the books was getting closer. I only had managed to have a shower, make myself a frugal, boil a cup of tea and go over the paperwork.

The unpleasant feeling that I had to do with something unnatural made me, before leaving the flat, after I had got dressed in a hurry, having buttoned-up wrong my jacket and tied my scarf around the neck slovenly, to enter the study and take, from the lowest drawer of my desk a wooden amulet.

An acquaintance of mine, a witch (a white witch, she insisted) keen on New Age and parapsychological methods of healing and banishing negative presences had given it to me. She said it was powerful. That, if it happened once to come across a malign supernatural manifestation, the amulet would help me. By me believing it was powerful. I was reluctant to accept it at first, as I didn’t believe in things like those - but I can’t say I was an embittered skeptic. However, I told myself, if I were ever going to meet an unnatural force, the amulet would help me not with its power, if any, but by my sureness it would help. By mere fact that it had a power.

While I was putting it into an inner pocket of my jacket, I remembered, although I wasn’t a religious, the excerpt from the Bible: “Thy faith hath made thee whole”.

Still, I lingered for a while in front of the door, with my wrongly buttoned jacket and floppily tied scarf.

“I can’t take the amulet each time it seems there is something weird. I will get to carry it all the time with me. If I don’t put it aside this time, then tomorrow I’ll have to take it again, as I could believe there is something weird somewhere else”.

So, before leaving the house, took the amulet out of my jacket and left it on the little stool next to the hallstand.

6

When I got in front of the school, it had got pretty dark. The clouds were hiding both the moon and the stars. The school building seemed to lean threateningly towards me, with all ghastly windows, with its square tower, with its orange which the darkness turned into deep black. Standing there and watching it, on the other side of the street, it seemed to me that it was a wonder castle, that behind the frontage, numerous fairies and elves, and goblins and ghosts were waiting.

“Didn’t I see how strange this building was when I was little?”

I tried to remember if I had ever been there at night. I had to have been, during the end of the school year festivals, at least in primary classes. How is it that I didn’t realize how imposing the building was, even with its minimalist architecture and even with its small size?

When I was a child I was disgusted with daily routine banality, going to school, leaving school, homework, private classes, boring games. All I was dreaming of were fantastic tales and charming creatures. But sometimes it takes a lot of time to see the beauty, the miracle and the terror which was to be found in even the smallest events. So it happened in the house where I had spent a large part of my early childhood. My grandparents owned a sumptuous house from before the beginning of the last century.

When I lived there I didn’t see anything special. Only after my grandparents died, after the house was sold, I started remembering its large rooms, the lavish old-fashioned furniture, and admiring its frontage each time I walked in that street. Maybe this why we are so nostalgic about the childhood years. When we are children we simply live. We don’t ask ourselves questions. We live and dream. When we grow up, we understand how the world we live in is like, and the miracle disappears.

I waited at the traffic lights and then I crossed the street. Once in front of the dark building, I realized I had arrived earlier than agreed. I decided to take advantage of the occasion to go and look at the window covered with ice-flowers.

Imagine my fright when I got to a certain distance to the window, I realized that the girl was still behind it, in the same position in which I had seen her last time! She was unbelievably still, as if she were a manikin. That window, and only that, was covered with a thin layer of ice.

I had the feeling that the night was getting colder and colder around me. The pit in my stomach seemed to get bigger when I saw that, behind the girl, there was someone else. Another girl, about the same age, or at an age as difficult to guess as the first one’s. She had yellow, curly hair and she was dressed in white, had unusually pale skin and she was watching me with her blue, big and upsetting eyes, over the other girl’s shoulder. Why was she standing behind her, if she wanted to look out of the window? Behind them, the classroom was empty and dark.

I didn’t dare to get closer. The clothes they were wearing were upsetting me, as well. They seemed old-fashioned night gowns from another century, with no adornment, plain as some funerary shrouds.

I got so terrified that I didn’t know what to do. Without knowing where I was going to, as if a strange force had taken hold on me, I ran; I was heading, I knew, to a certain place, but I didn’t know which place it was. It didn’t matter how, just to escape from there, so as not to see those two beings, still as some wax statues, from which, one standing at some distance from the window, was hidden in the shadows even more than the first one.

I had no idea what got me, but I went to the fence facing the playground. I climbed it, with some difficulty (but the force which had taken hold on me gave me such power and agility which were not specific to my build, which was rather weak and clumsy), after which I let go and landed, with a leap, onto the dead leaves which covered the grass.

The building was rising black next to me, black against the lighter sky background. Tall and unseen, it could as well to be a horror castle.

I ran around the sinister building to the little park where Razvan had died. The place of the mysterious death was marked with warning stripes. I crept up under those, paying attention not to disarrange them, without feeling anything, no shame, no fright and no incitement.

I made a few steps, stopping at the place marked with blood and halting there.

7

I don’t know how long I stood there. It is certain that, at some point, I saw the silhouette of the girl with yellow, curly hair, standing on the school roof and watching me. Her funerary shroud – for that was her robe was, I’m sure now – was fluttering in the cold wind and seemed to light blandly against the sky black background. She was standing there with her feet crossed and kept staring at me.

The next thing I remember is that from the ground, a chill started to rise in me. It crept into all my limbs, it merged into my body and then I was freed from the spell.

I got petrified. I looked up to the school roof which could be glimpsed through the branches, but the yellow-haired girl had vanished.

I crept up carefully under the yellow stripes being aware I had committed a crime, and determined that no matter what it had happened to me in those moments, not allow to be disclosed. Luckily, the ground was dry and I hadn’t left any footprints, especially that I was stepping on a soft carpet of dried leaves.

No sooner had I got out from the trees than, from behind a dead tree trunk, with thick bark and half fallen out, a child appeared.

I bumped into him and it took me very short time to realize that he was dead, half putrefied. The aqueous eyes didn’t look anywhere, were absent and still could see me. The purplish skin was dry and cracked. Such a stench came from him that I immediately drove my hand to my nose.

He was wearing a red T-shirt with Spiderman on it, and had long chestnut hair , the shape of his face, round. He looked up at me and watched me (I had no idea how I could read anything on that immobile face – I rather felt the facial expression which should have been there) desperately. But it was a despair which horrified me, as if it had been the bitterest hatred.

I ran, decided to jump over the fence and get out of school, to run away and don’t stop from running until I got home. Two things stopped me. Firstly, I knew I could be seen jumping over the fence, and that could connect me to some crime. It could link me to the boy’s death, Razvan’s. secondly, Mrs Alexandrescu was waiting for me. If she somehow had seen me jumping over the fence, at the moment I was “possessed”, so to speak, and the police were to inquire me, then I was able to tell them the truth – I had come there to meet the school librarian, she hadn’t come and I thought of entering the school before her. She could give me an alibi. Surely, it was rather a weird behaviour, but it was better they knew that, rather than not being able to give any other explanation. However, it seemed dangerous to me to stay there any longer in that building. I felt as if each minute spent there magnified the possibility that that unknown force to get hold of me again, it would increase its influence on me.

8

I thought that, instead of jumping over the fence and go to the front of the school, where I was supposed to meet the librarian, risking to be seen one more time, it would have been better to try the first the gate from the yard to the interior of the building.

I crossed the sports field and tried the gate, very skeptical that it would have been open. To my surprise, it was unlocked. I got in, after which I closed it carefully behind me. All the way to that place, the gate, I kept looking fearfully waiting to see the girl from the roof, then looking back with fright, waiting to see that the dead boy was chasing me.

I wandered the dark corridors, heading towards the library. I walked up the stairs which I had done so many hundred times before, sad because the classes were to begin, and which I had walked down so many hundred times, happy because the classes had finished. The library was at the end of the corridor.

I was afraid to cross the dark corridor, but the fact that I had seen the library door ajar and from behind it the light was lit. Thus, I crossed it and pushed it with caution as if afraid to make any sound.

I got to the little room. Mrs. Alexandrescu was sitting behind the desk and checking some files. index cards. I felt at ease. I breathed a sigh of relief. I managed to come to my senses, at least a little bit.

“Hmm… you’re just coming? she said, smiling at me. I’ve almost finished with all the work!”

“Yes…I’ve had some…hmm…problems.”

I was even more ashamed as I didn’t have any idea how long I had been missing. I had lost any notion of time while I had been standing there, in the park, with my feet on the blood-stained leaves. It was as if I had been kidnapped in another world.

I imposed myself to master my fear and behave as normally as possible. So, I helped the woman with the little work which had left to be done.

9

“Do you know there have been some news regarding Razvan’s death? she said as an aside just before we leave, while I was putting back the SF books with blue triangle, edited by Ion Hobana, shortly before the release of the Fantastic Club collection.

“Yes?” I said trying not to give away the anxiety in my voice.

“Police have talked with the residents from the blocks of flats opposite the school, they asked them if they had noticed anything uncommon.

“And?”

“Several said that they had heard a scream, about 3 at night, coming from the school.”

I felt a stabbing as cold as ice in my stomach.

“”Well”…I said trying to speak as normally as possibly “that could confirm the …murder hypothesis. Couldn’t it?”

The woman sighed and lowered her eyes to the books lit by the desk lamp while her white soft hair fell over her temples.

“Yes, it could. God, what world we live in! How many evil people are in this world! Why would anyone murder a child, just like that…Why would someone kill for its sake, with no reason?! Razvan wouldn’t have had any personal issue with that murderer, would he? Who ever that were, he’s a sadist, a scoundrel!”

“How about the footprints? Whoever the murderer were, they should leave marks! It couldn’t…it couldn’t have been immaterial!”

“You know what, Andrei, it seems to me sometimes that this story has to do with a curse.”

I gazed at her with eyes wide open.

“You simply don’t believe in such things!” I said while I was arranging on the shelf a short story collection written by Mircea Opriță. “You just don’t believe in curses!”

“No, surely, not! I was speaking for its sake…metaphorically. Though, … lately I’ve kind of started believing in anything…”

I let the remark pass as if being unnoticed. After a while, in which I arranged the books in silence, and blew the dust off the old volumes and straightened the bent corners, I said:

“Mrs. Maria…do you mind me asking something?”

“Mind? How could I? surely not? Ask me!”

“Could you tell me… what did Razvan look like?...what was he wearing when he was discovered?”

She looked up her eyes from a Joules Verne’s book and watched me.

“Why do you want to know this?”

“It’s… just a…a…morbid curiosity.��

“He had long straight chestnut hair. Round-faced, a round nose, with nostril sides lifted/ a bit. He was very nice. When he died he was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a Spiderman T-shirt. Some thin clothes for a cold night, but, I think, this is the least unusual detail of the story.

We finished the work at about 22:00. I had been late for an hour, it was that time I had been lingering in that damned grove from behind the school. I got out through a smaller door, from the right side of the building, after I had climbed down some narrower stairs which led to that wing of the building.

After she locked the door and put the key into the thick coat, with fur collar, Maria looked up at me with her washed-up, aqueous, very light hazel eyes.

“Thank you for your help, Andrei!” she said. “Take care of yourself. And come round to school when can! You know I’m always glad to see you!”

Watching her standing in the light of the lamp posts, her glass lenses glittering orange and hiding her eyes, it seemed to me that I have in front of me not the known woman, but a strange, cold and inhuman being.

10

Once at home, Maria took a hot foamy bath, as she would do every evening, before she went to bed. She had a little flat, suitable for a single woman, shabby, with little furniture furnished but rich in books as it would look for a librarian. She afforded to let the bathroom door ajar. Anyhow there wasn’t anybody to see it. At least steam didn’t accumulate so much!

The bathroom tile was blue, the bathtub was painted in blue, too and on its edges she had interspersed shells which relatives would bring her as gifts when they went to the seaside in various countries. It was a little treat which a single austere woman would afford. In the flat there was also a toilet so small that she could hardly find room in it and which she rarely used. In the bathroom there was a washing machine, and this, together with a little locker and the laundry basket filled almost all the space. On the floor there was a cork rug.

She sank more into the hot calming water when she thought she’d heard some noise from a room, the farthest from the bathroom.

“Who’s there?” she said, standing up from the water. “Who’s there?”

She thought to get out of the bathtub and go and check but then she changed her mind. Nothing was heard any longer. Who knows what she heard or she imagined she had heard? She indulged herself in her thoughts, feeling how her worries were vanishing, that those wretched memories leave her. If it had been up to her she would have completely erased that event from her mind. She was an elderly woman with too many worries. It wasn’t necessary to add up some paranormal preoccupations.

At that moment, from the water, among the bath foam, a shape arose, a tall figure, with long black hair which hid its face so it was hard to figure out if it was a man or a woman.

Maria would scream, but her yell stopped in her throat. Anyhow, she ran short of time/couldn’t since the entity who had materialized in her bathroom, snatched her head with a hand smelling of dead body and pushed her violently under the water. However, she had enough time to see two things: that the black hair fell from the stranger’s face, revealing a decomposed face and that in the room she‘d heard the noise there was somebody, somebody who had stepped only half way onto the doorstep, a girl with wavy yellow hair, with blue eyes and purplish cracked, corpse skin.

11

October was blowing cold at windows. While tormenting myself all through the night, unable to fall asleep, after I had been lying in bed and turning from one side to another, after I had been walking around the house, trying to chase away all the previous night recollections, trying to find them conventional explanations, I decided to call Maria and tell her what had happened before I met her in the library. Since she had mentioned the opposite to school neighbours’ testimonies, I kept imagining the boy’s horrified scream in his last life moments and this didn’t stop, he kept screaming and screaming in my head.

So I called her up and un unknown voice responded.

“Who are you? Are you some relative?”

It was a woman’s voice and it felt from her voice that she had just stopped from crying.

“No, an acquaintance. I’m sorry to call at this hour but I really need to tell her something as soon as possible”

The woman burst into tears again and kept it like this for a while. I waited for her to settle down to be able to talk with her and find out what had happened. Maria Alexandrescu had been found drowned in her bathtub. The police were now at her place. I immediately shut the mobile phone down and rushed out from the flat hardly able to get dressed. Maria’s flat was packed with police officers. The door was wide open so I could get in with no difficulty. Maria’s dead body was still lying in the bathtub, among the half melted bath foam, and onto the floor there were scattered shells and scented foam. The neighbour, an elderly short woman, the one I had talked on the phone with, and who had come to visit Maria in the dead of the night – I still didn’t find why – was in another fit of crying. Having known that I knew the deceased, that I was a former student at the school she had been working, the police officers wanted a statement from me, although one of them confessed that it would be proven it hadn’t been a murder – there were no signs of fight, no break-in signs, the neighbours heard no noise. However, it was weird that someone had died like that, drowned in the bathtub, maybe she had had a heart attack or a stroke, although they had been told the woman hadn’t had any health problems.

Knowing that policemen are so stupid, I could walk freely in the flat, to find the key to the school and take them with me effortlessly. Normally everything should have been under surveillance, no one should have been permitted to touch anything in the flat until the mystery had been solved. Not that I’m a forensic expert, but I have read some detective novels.

I hoodwinked the cops that I would urgently have to do something, that I would come to the police department at the latest within an hour to write my statement. They withheld my identity card and allowed me to leave.

I took another taxi to school. A grotesque moon was floating above the building, above the tower with the clock. That clock seemed a giant eye, circular and white – which it may be, an eye which was watching on the Earth from another world. At least this was the previous night when Razvan had jumped over the fence and brought along with him the horror which had been chasing him. I plunged my hand into my pocket, biting my lip, keeping tightly the wooden amulet showing a pagan deity and praying, to any deity or entity which could have been guarding me, to guide me further, to destroy that terrible force which had broken into school, into my past.

12

I opened the side door and I got into the school. Walking along the dark corridors, lit only by the evil moon not daring to light the flash lantern so as not to draw attention upon me, the objects around me were terrifyingly silent and common.

Was that place similar to the one in which I had spent so many hours of my childhood’s? No, surely it wasn’t, how could it be? Even the mere presence of the darkness which seemed to have changed all the objects made me understand that everything was different. The displayed drawings in wooden boards were paintings from a haunted castle, which were watching you with their careful and scrutinizing eyes, eager to become alive and grab you. The sports field which could be seen from all the windows I was passing by, embraced between the wings in the arch form of the building, was a grey dark fairy tale land.

Despite my judgment, I could not withstand the temptation and began walking around the corridors, reviving my memories, inhaling recollections with every breath, now, that the darkness unveiled the objects and gave them a new nature and a new significance.

I went to the staff room door, next to which was the chair of the student on duty, the little chair I had been sitting on countless times starting with seventh grade. The door was half open, revealing the darkness in the room. The drawings from the opposite wall had been changed. Now, each one represented a colourful clown. The twelve or sixteen clowns, lit by the moonlight, were all watching me. Each of them had been drawn by a child.

If any children didn’t notice, how is it that adults didn’t either, that those paintings were hideous? The more hideous, as they tried to be prettier. If such things could get out of children’s hands, it means that the evil was deeply rooted in our souls at the youngest age.

One of the clown had a small head, white and blue hair, disproportionally big and bloated as compared to its head. Other one seemed to be looking at you viciously, that you couldn’t say if the one who had drawn it tried to make it friendly, or he had imprinted purposefully that cruel and scornful look. Another one was, to be honest, smiley, but was uglier than the former, it had the grin of a psychopath. A fourth one, with a fatty face, had some shiny beads stuck for the teeth, which resembled the fangs of a prehistoric beast. Surely those drawings hadn’t been there when I was a child. I would have recognized them even for the reason that at the age of 13, when I began to role-play the student on duty, I had read IT by Stephen King, sometimes when I was sitting on that very chair, right in front of them, of those posters, and for this reason they would have drawn my attention.

I then looked towards the dark corridor and I imagined the school was full of children, the children’s ghosts. I liked children, but I felt uneasy in their presence. Sometimes I was afraid of them. A part of me believed in that cliché that all children are evil. I imagined an army of dark children coming out of the classrooms and gather around me trying to assault me, to get me immobilized, to kill me.

Suddenly in the corridor there was a dry, cold wind, different from the real thing, which would have blown if there have been more windows opened, a supernatural wind. The water coloured paintings and the crepe paper ornaments, in all the rainbow colours, shook, swished and tingled on the walls.

The majority were the drawings which I had seen when I was a child, but others were more recent; I was sure of this as some of them showed characters or symbols from series which were released after I had left school’ or cultural images like the Anonymous mask.

Petrified, no sooner had I figured out what to do, than from the window close to me, two red eyes appeared… gleaming in the darkness, redder than the embers, redder than the blood. I turned my head to see, horrified, an unnaturally enormous dog, black, with his standing on end fur, with his uncovered gums. His saliva was running down foamingly among his fangs. He started snarling louder, and this sound curdled my blood. He didn’t bark, as dogs would do, he was simply snarling persistently, like wolves would do.

I drove my hand into my pocket and kept the amulet tightly. As I had no idea what to do, led only by terror, I started running along the corridors where the phantom-wind was blowing and where the coloured posters were soughing and swishing. The doors were passing and passing by me and I was expecting that, from behind of one of these some creature appeared to grab me and then to kill me. Sometimes, when I was approaching another door I had the feeling that behind it there was something so horrible that petrifying thrills almost paralyzed me.

The demoniac dog was chasing me passing by every single window I was passing by myself snarling louder and louder, with foamy mouth.

I reached the stairs and started going up the known (too well-known) steps, only to get rid of the dog which was prowling. The wind was blowing from the stairs, too, as if it wanted to prevent me from getting upstairs. On the second floor landing were waiting for me, as usually, those water paintings which I had seen hundreds, thousands of times in my childhood. The little blue elephant had a look full of hatred at me.

I went past them and got to the long corridor which was leading to the library. Right near the stairs was the door of my former classroom, on which there was a small board with the name of another class, with the name of another class teacher. The wind was blowing insanely from the library towards me, then it was also blowing from the corridor to my left, this one covered with doors, to the library.

I rushed to the window while the wind blew my hair to the left, it blew my hair to the right, I saw the black dog with red eyes fretting, prowling the sports field. And from behind the sports field, and from the playground, in the little park, hardly visible through the half-leafless branches, there was a tall person, in a long white gown. You couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. Its black hair, shoulder-length, was falling on its face and hiding it. It was standing completely still, its arms down, right on the very spot where Razvan had died, surrounded by the warning signs.

I moved from the window meaning to get downstairs again, to get out into the schoolyard, pass by that dog by all means and get to the mysterious person who was, I had no doubt, the embodiment of curse.

I tore myself from the window, and the wind stopped, unexpectedly, blowing. The corridor remained in a terrible silence. This until the door of my former classroom blew open, banging against the wall, and the person whom I had seen in the yard before, at long distance, got out of it with small steps, almost dragged, with hidden face in the black hair, with slow movements like a zombie.

Frightened to death, I forgot I’d wished to face him and I wanted to run in the other corridor which led to the library, which made a right angle with the one that led to the library. But, as I turned I saw that in that hall the two girls made their appearance, cutting my way. I looked right and I saw, coming from the library a duplicate of Mrs Alexandrescu’s putrid skin, covered in foam, hardly pulling along. I looked left and I saw, coiled up, at the stair base, Razvan in his Spiderman T-shirt.

Having no other choice, I took my amulet and rushed towards the person with hidden face, who was getting closer to me but hardly had I stepped to its direction than it vanished like a ghost.

I looked around and saw that the other appearances had gone. No matter how scary, dark and silent the corridor was, it was better like that, than haunted by the living dead.

I rushed to the window again. The dog was still prowling the sports field, and in the distance, the person with hidden face made its appearance again. I was determined to pass by that damned dog at any cost.

I ran hurriedly the two floors and dashed outside; the door facing the yard was still open. Perhaps the school guardian wasn’t used to closing it, which was weird, especially after everything that had happened. In the meanwhile, the dog had turned into a black hawk, unnaturally big, which pounced upon me. It had rotten feathers, an eye missing, its fleshless belly revealing the putrid viscera but the whoosh it was making was strong and frightening.

I raised the amulet and the hawk stood aside. It tried a few times to attack me, swooping upon me, but each time I was raising the amulet it winced.

After the hawk flew and disappeared, I hurried. I crossed the sports field upon which the wind had gathered piles of withered leaves, yellow leaves, rust-coloured leaves and I reached the little park. The mysterious person was still there, hidden among the branches. It seems it couldn’t leave, for long time, the cursed spot.

I passed under the yellow stripes, but it made no movement towards me. Only after I had stood up, it raised a hand to me. But I rushed at him upon him, raising the amulet and sticking it against its chest. Rotten chest judging by the smell it was coming from it. It didn’t make a sound, but raised both hands. Although its head was covered with a curtain of hair I realized it could see me. The amulet showed a monstrous creature if it was a creature, since looked more like a hybrid between innumerable beings, humane, animals and fantastic, or a bunch of such beings coiled. They were all carved in wood: arms, legs, claws, tentacles, heads…

The ghost, as silent as usually, vanished as a smoke cloud and I sensed how its influence was disappearing. I felt that devilish coldness getting out of my limbs.

I turned and I saw innumerable phantoms, the two girls from behind the window, Razvan, Mrs. Alexandrescu and many more, about twenty altogether. Or they weren’t phantoms but images of people? Ringers born from the curse to be used to his goals?

All gave off a white sick mist and soon it dissipated into smoke clouds – or was that black stuff smoke? It looked like smoke, but it was too dense, too dark to be a volatile substance. It might be a sort of noxious ectoplasm. Anyhow, the ectoplasm had disappeared, and the schoolyard got quiet, quietness only disturbed by the rustle and the crunch of the October leaves.

I got out, mindfully, of the warning stripes. I left the little park, all sweat on my body, sweat on my forehead, feeling my skin cold and somehow artificial. I sat down and I lit a cigarette.

Razvan, what a terrible curse have you brought along!

Surely there were plenty of questions without an answer, questions which, probably, wouldn’t be given an answer. At least I’ve sent the ghost away! I didn’t annihilate it, I didn’t destroy it, I’ve just chased it away from this world. But why had that entity been attached to Razvan? Had it been chasing him all his life? But Maria Alexandrescu told me he had been a normal child. Was it a family curse which had woken up just a little time earlier? Or, maybe, it had chosen the boy randomly? Maybe it had picked on him one night, out of the blue, and the boy ran for safety into the schoolyard, bringing along the terrible phantom? Or was Razvan the last chain loop from a long line of victims, among whom the most would remain unrevealed?

[jungleindierock]

Album Stream

Various Artists - Indietracks Compilation 2019

Here is the compilation album from this years Indietracks Festival, which will be held on the 26th to 28th July 2019, in Derbyshire, UK. The album can be downloaded from their Bandcamp site for £5. or every compilation from 2012 for £16.50. All money raised from this compilation is donated to the Midland Railway Trust, the charity which hosts the Indietracks Festival.

Tracklist

cheerbleederz - staying up late

Peaness - Same Place

MOLAR - Weights & Values

Martha - Heart Is Healing

Big Joanie - Way Out

L I P S - Apartment

Strawberry Generation - Coffee

Jetstream Pony - Self-Destruct Reality

Porridge Radio - Eugh

Holy Now - All The Time

Mammoth Penguins - Closure

Lost Tapes - The Bill

Foundlings - Horizon

Advance Base - Summon Satan

Withered Hand - Heart Heart (EP Version)

Seazoo - Dig

The Spook School - Gone Home

Young Romance - Dark of My Shadow

Witching Waves - Best Of Me

Child's Pose - CCMMD

Owls of Now - Lead Singer

Kermes - Yr Beast

Current Affairs - Cheap Cuts

Best Praxis - We Fell

Squiggles - Bend Becomes Break

Fresh - Willa

Common or Garden - Bought

Grawl!x - Epicene

Thud - Ado

She's Got Spies - Bachgen Drwg

Songs For Walter - Alien

Randolph's Leap - Real Anymore

The Proctors - Summer Begins

The BV's - Gentiana

Surf Muscle - Korobeiniki

Nim Chimpsky - Delighted

Junk Whale - August

JC Quick - TK Maxx

The Sunbathers - Freiston Shore

The Catenary Wires - Dream Town

Solution Hours - Kneading

Athabaska - Muddy Moons (Rehearsal Demo)

Jacqui and Geoff - Moon on a Stick

#Indietracks #UK #indie #indie rock #indie music #music #compilation #new music #2019 #Rebjukebox #Jungle Indie Rock #alternative #alternative rock #rock