Take a gander at this team photo https://mobile.twitter.com/stevenschirripa/status/1002026082466455552
I legit stared at this for a solid 15 minutes last night. Granted, I was high as a Georgia pine at the time.
Image: Awooga wolf
Top text: Me when cute boy
Bottom text: Awooga Awooga
Dark, isn’t it?
I learned how to meditate in college, when the stress of papers and exams and a full time job got me halfway to a mental breakdown. Ever since then, I've taken ten minutes in the morning and ten minutes at night to sit cross-legged on the ground, close my eyes, and just breathe.
I'd never expected to use meditation quite like this.
I woke up blearily and slowly sat up. Around me, I saw dozens of other people doing the same. We were all wearing the same white, pajama-like uniforms. The room was huge and white and didn't seem to have a door.
"What the fuck?" I muttered. A girl, maybe ten years old, started crying a few feet away from me.
"Welcome," said a pleasant, neutral voice, like an airport announcement system or something. "You have been selected for the annual Varos Sweepstakes. Once the contest begins, the first 99 people to move or speak will be immediately executed." The people around me started freaking out. Some yelled at the ceiling, some ran to pound on the walls, some seemed almost catatonic with shock. "You have 20 seconds to prepare. Good luck! And remember: Smile! You're on camera!"
A large number 20 appeared on each of the walls and began to count down. I only had a few seconds, so I had to make it count. I grabbed the ten-year-old, who was still sniffling loudly.
"Sit down, shut up, and close your eyes," I said. 'Plug your ears if it helps." A few of the people around me seemed to be taking that advice as well. Maybe I should have said it louder, gave more people a chance, but there was no time now. I crossed my legs, closed my eyes, and tried to empty my mind of everything happening to me.
Those first few seconds were chaos. The people who hadn't found a way to follow the instructions were killed off first in a cacophony of gunshots. That set off other people, all screaming and the sound of running, and they were shot as well. Within 30 seconds things had quieted down a bit, and I set in for the long haul.
It was weird, sitting there, the ten-year-old girl pressed up against me for comfort, trying to ignore the metallic tang of blood. Every so often someone would slip, and another gunshot would ring out. The announcer had said we were on camera. Was this some kind of weird test? A deadly reality game show for some sick rich person's amusement?
The worst of it was when the child next to me shifted, stretching out her legs. The gunshot rang out and hot blood splattered my face, and I barely managed to suppress a flinch. The body w
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I get the visual all the time where i’ll close my eyes but nothing at all will go black… whatever i was looking at just stays and most of the time it will change in strange ways. (like my bedroom will turn into a school hallway), then i open my eyes again and it’s back to my bedroom. i fucking love this shit, jw if anyone else gets this
Anyone else experience this. It's truly the most unique thing about dph.
I have never found another person who can do this.
The fact that your eyes remain open just makes death seem all the more disturbing.
Hi! I if you already read this on WP, you can either click here or comment SubscribeMe! on this thread to get a PM when I post part 2
Also by the time I post part 2 I should have, uh... a title... ;) Thanks for reading!
I sat in the lobby of the J. Edgar Hoover Building, awkward as hell and waiting out the clock. I couldn't shake the feeling that the receptionist kept glancing at me, as if she had to keep reminding herself why I was here.
Like usual, I was Izzy's entourage somewhere. I had gotten used to living in the comfortable shade of her reputation. Ever since we first met as schoolchildren, Izzy had been the gifted one. The one who was going to do something with her life. She could glance into my mind and read my every worry as clear as a page in a book. Most people were born with an ordinary magic: an affinity for finding things, random and usually unhelpful blips of predestination if you were lucky.
But someone like Izzy... she was special. Telepathy was a rare enough gift, much less one as powerful as her. Most people who could peer into minds looked as if through a thick pane of fogged glass. But Izzy could peer into your mind and find anything she wanted.
That's why it came as little surprise to me the day she informed me that she was going to apply for government work. We both knew she was destined to do something that mattered. I was surprised the morning of her followup interview, when she asked me to go to the heart of downtown Washington D.C. with her.
Before I could even open my mouth and ask her why, Izzy smiled sideways at me and said, like she always did, "Because you're my good luck charm."
But I didn't feel very lucky. I sat in that grand lobby, with its high marble ceilings, feeling smaller and more powerless than I ever had before.
The receptionist just kept staring and staring. I did my best to watch at the floor and try to blend into the wall. Maybe she was a telepath like Izzy. Maybe she could tell at a glance that I could never belong in a place like this. They weeded out the empties like me on the first round of interviews. Unsuitable. Not worth the resources.
The receptionist's eyes never left me as she plucked the phone off her desk and started furtively dialing. S
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Dark, wasn’t it?
