Quinceanera nails

I parked in the tower's lot, letting my headlights bore into the amalgam of twisted metal and glass for a few moments before shutting them off.
Josh muttered, his voice low. "We're really doing this, huh?"
He ran a hand through his mop of curly hair— a dumb tic he developed last summer when his girlfriend, Annabeth, told him it was sexy. She was beside him now, cuddled up in the backseat across his lap.
I glanced at my own girlfriend, Ellie, in the passenger seat. She was trying her damndest to appear brave, but I knew better. There was no way she was comfortable with trespassing tonight.
I sighed, realizing that Josh would also chicken out.
"We're doing this? You sure you want to come?" I prodded.
Josh shifted in his seat, hand running through his hair yet again. "Maybe it's better if I stay in the truck.”
Annabeth shrugged next to him, unsurprised.
"Me, too,” Ellie chimed in, nodding at Josh.
Annabeth met my eyes, a glimmer of understanding passing between us. Our partners were both boring, god-awful goody two shoes.
"Pussies," I jabbed, swinging open my door without giving them a moment to respond.
Annabeth hopped out behind me, waving at the two losers in the truck before spinning towards me with a grin on her face.
"They're weird," she said, rolling her eyes.
For a moment, I was drinking in the way her golden hair shimmered in the moonlight. A light breeze tickled at our faces, sending sparkles of her moon-lit hair between us.
"Yup," I mustered.
I turned, strolling towards the chain link fence that formed a circular perimeter around the base of Sabe's Tower.
Sabe’s Tower. Thirteen stories of abandoned potential, whispering of times past when our town's inhabitants thought we'd hit a population boom, becoming the Houston of West Virginia. In the 70s, our success was tied to coal. Jobs flooded in, and with them, a myriad of people trying to make their way in life. Then the mines abruptly ran dry, decimating our town's economy. Since that time, our population has done nothing but dwindle.
Sabe’s Tower. Thirteen stories of decaying grandeur, silently rotting from the inside out. Some say that's what happened to Sabe himself— a rot took hold in his core, spreading and spreading until nothing but rot was left. In the end, he took his own life, which some say was for the best. He was a greedy fool, the wealthiest man for miles, owning half the surrounding countryside before the mining industry took off. Made a fortune selling his family's land to coal companies, putting every ounce of profit into making his towering hotel more luxurious than a Ritz Carlton.
Sabe’s Tower. Thirteen stories of failed dreams, now screaming vulgar obscenities at our eyes. It is a truly ugly behemoth, domineering our town's skyline with unmerited arrogance. Sabe thought painting the tower purple would give it an air of majesty, like royalties of the past, swaddled in silky lavender robes. His aspiration, after all, was nothing less than to emulate the sacred Tabernacle of Moses, to make his hotel a dwelling place for gods among men. In its current state of disrepair, however, the tower was no more than an eyesore— a visual cacophony of broken glass, peeling sickly-purple paint, and rusted steel inlays.
Adding to the hotel's disgrace, it was cylindrical in form, perched atop the highest peak for miles, jutting into the sky like a middle finger to the gods. Its phallic outline stood in stark contrast to the run-down strip malls lying in its wake.
The fence surrounding the tower was a bit too tall and a bit too wobbly to safely scale, so we circled, looking for an entry point. Every few yards, a DO NOT TRESPASS sign hung, tied to the fence with zip-ties in each corner. Someone had taken the liberty to spray paint a word underneath each sign, now making them all read:
DO NOT TRESPASS ALONE.
"Good thing you're coming with me," I joked, pointing at one of the signs.
Annabeth paused to read it for a moment. "Yeah... kinda weird that someone did that. I wonder why?"
I shrugged, continuing around the perimeter.
Eventually, we found a gate in the fence, held closed with chains at waist level. The gate's post careened steeply outward, creating a manageable gap near the top. The gate post was only held in place by the chains, not even slightly anchored to the ground. Without too much of a struggle, we hoisted ourselves up and through the gap.
Once inside the fence, I found myself spellbound by the abandoned hotel. The stars in the night sky reflected across the windows, bending and warping around the curved perimeter. Each glimmer of starlight turned into dizzying fractals, melding together and slipping between the shards of broken glass with each shift of my gaze.
The result was honestly breathtaking.
At night, the eyesoriffic tower was beautiful. Its silhouette dared to embrace the star-studded cosmos, standing with a quiet dignity that defied its daytime mockery.
I felt Annabeth shuffle beside me.
Suddenly, her phone flashlight was on, illuminating a path through overgrown concrete to the tower. At the end of the path was the structure’s entrance— a gaping hole with no attempt to conceal the darkness within.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" I yelled, spinning to face her.
"W... What do you mean?" she stuttered.
"Turn that off, you idiot," I explained, lowering my voice. "Someone might see the light and call the cops."
The light flicked off, Annabeth mumbling apologies.
I blinked away the afterimage of weeds eating through the concrete lot, silently cursing myself for being so ridiculously hostile toward her.
"Sorry," I mumbled.
"You're good, Donovan" she whispered, brushing her hand across my arm.
As we continued to the open doorway, the outside of the tower came into focus. It was far further dilapidated than I had realized— each accent of purple paint, faded and peeling, was bulging out from between the glass and steel like it was trying to escape. I rubbed a fingernail on the paint, revealing a soft, rotting wood beneath.
I entered the tower first, pausing to let my eyes adjust. The darkness of the doorway opened up into an atrium that must have once made for a magnificent entrance. It was shaped like a slice of pie, us standing near the crust, peering inward toward the center. Above was pitch black, not yielding any answers to just how high up this mighty room's ceiling stretched.
The musty scent that filled my nose was surprisingly welcoming— somewhere between the smell of fishing trips and century old bookstores. I took a deep breath, relishing in the soft stench.
I could vaguely make out wires dangling down from the ceiling of the atrium. They were impossibly long, stretching upward into the infinite gloom.
"They look like vines," Annabeth whispered, her voice a soft purr.
The air was thick with falling dust, filtering down from the abyss above, twirling between the wires in satisfyingly slow-motion. The falling dust made it even harder to see in the dark, leaving the walls on either side of the room foggy blobs. I waved my hand, sending fleeting dust spirals through the air.
I remembered seeing photos of the atrium online, taken on some of the earliest digital cameras ever made. Those pictures showed marble countertops, intricate wooden carvings, and lushly carpeted floors.
The room, as it stands today, is a barren husk of Sabe's vision. The carpet, only present in scattered clumps, was impossibly dark, soiled to the point of true black. It clung to the concrete foundation, viciously holding on for dear life in a losing battle.
I bent down to examine a clump of carpet in front of me, amazed by the absence of light reflecting back. It was like staring into a pit of nothing, a vague absence, an outline of something that should be there.
I poked the toe of my boot at it.
FPOOSH.
It exploded, erupting into my face.
I gagged instinctively, tasting the vile substance mix into my lungs. Annabeth slapped my back as I continued gagging and coughing, begging the mucus to tear itself free from my lungs and just fucking get out of my body because it feels like I'm dying oh GOD.
And eventually, it did.
The violent hacking subsided into slight wretching, then was gone.
"Are you okay?" Annabeth tested.
Do you think I'm fucking okay?
"What the fuck was that?" I spewed.
She bent over the clump of carpet. Underneath the blackened top layer that just violently erupted was a pale network of matted spiderwebs.
"Hmm..." she began, "It kind of looks like mycelium."
She met my raised eyebrow with an eye roll.
"You know, like the roots of a fungus or some shit, I don't know. I just saw the shrooms growing in Bryce's closet that one time he showed me his stash. This white stuff looks just like it. So I guess that makes this black stuff like the part of the shroom we eat, or whatever."
"Oh dip," I responded, nodding. "That makes sense. One time I saw a nature show about some plants that shoot their seeds everywhere when something touches them. It's probably just spreading its spores when we touch it."
"Yeah," she breathed, "pretty gnarly."
We shuffled deeper into the gloom, weaving between dangling cables and clumps of fungus. I felt a drop of moisture flick off a cable, sliding onto my arm.
I groaned. "Fuck. That cable was wet."
"Disgusting," she whispered back.
We made our way to the apex of the room, the center of the tower, revealing a rusted set of elevator doors leaning together like drunks at a quinceanera. The doorway to the stairs, however, beckoned to us with the same unobstructed, pitch-black allure that the tower's entrance emanated just minutes before.
In the dark, it's truly amazing how utterly void all open doorways look.
Upon stepping inside the stairwell, the world vanished. The only proof of having working eyes was a faint, vertical glow of light filtering through the door, abruptly fading into all-consuming black.
Every sound in the entire building bored through my soul, bouncing from wall to wall, ceiling to floor, echoing on and on for all of eternity. The stairwell, directly in the center of the decrepit hotel, was the focal point of every creaking floorboard, every popping nail, every howling gust of wind. It was as if I was holding up a monstrous conch shell to my ear— a deafening murmur of echoes in disarray, smelting together to form satanic harmonies.
"Whoa," Annabeth mumbled.
Her word cut through the other echoes, impossibly loud against their monotonous hum.
Instantly, the echo of her voice filled the stairwell, rising like the build up of a dubstep song until peaking, impossibly overwhelming for a few brief seconds. The echoes of her voice then faded as quickly as they arrived.
She put a hand to her mouth, the whites of her eyes barely visible in the glow coming from the doorway.
I reached out, placing a hand where her shoulder should be. There was not enough space for us to stand abreast in the stairwell, leaving us in a comically squished proximity. She was breathing rapidly, barely managing to stay silent. I squeezed, and her breathing quickly slowed. I felt her hand creep onto mine, and we stood for a minute, simply listening to the cries of the dying building echo around us.
As my eyes adjusted, I could make out a staircase spiraling up the curved wall. Clearly this was a service stairwell, as it is much too cramped for the likes of Sabe's guests. Only a few steps were visible through the darkness at a time, making the staircase feel even tinier than it already was. Luckily, no fungus grew on the stairs themselves, leaving the metal alone to rust.
Annabeth shuffled onto the first step, producing a small object from her pocket. She handed it to me, then pointed up the stairwell, careful to not send echoes through the cylindrical chamber again.
I brought it close to my eyes for inspection, straining against the lack of light.
A joint...
She wants to go to the roof and smoke.
A smile cracked my lips. Classic Annabeth.
Every couple stairsteps, there would be a doorway. Most of them let in a dim glow, offering a glimpse into what must have once been a custodial closet on each floor.
On floor 9, I tugged at Annabeth's hand. We made eye contact in the faint light coming from the doorway. I motioned through it, pointing to the nearly fungus free floor. I wanted to explore at least a little bit, to see if the closet circled around the stairwell or not.
I poked my head through the doorway, freeing myself from the overwhelming cacophony of echoes in the stairwell.
I verified that the closet did, in fact, curve around the circular staircase like a donut. A few steps in one direction led to a terrifying drop— the elevator shaft. Next to it, a sidewalk sized ledge led to an open door, giving a view of the floor's main hallway. The path looked safe— no fungus, cracks, or otherwise obvious defects— so I proceeded, treading as light as a fox, fumbling for Annabeth's hand behind me.
The main hallway ran between the custodial closet and the guest rooms, creating another donut ring around the central stairwell. Throughout the hallway, patches of fungus grew alarmingly close together, threatening to overtake the concrete.
"That stairwell was insane," Annabeth whispered.
I nodded. "Fuck yeah, I wonder what it was like when the hotel was actually open. Must have been miserable for the staff."
We weaved through the fungus filled hallway, coming to room 901. I glanced at Annabeth, raising my eyebrows. The door was slightly ajar, hanging from its one remaining door hinge. I pushed gently, eliciting a monstrous creak.
The room was empty, extending away to the outside in a familiar pie shape. The mold seemed to grow thinner in the room, leaving most of the exposed concrete safe to cross. At the far side, a floor to ceiling panel of windows looked out over our town.
I gasped, taking in the view. Never before had I seen our town from this high up. My eyes drew to the smokestacks by the river, their blinking lights ominously flickering over downtown. Individual streets ran in parallel lines away from the tower, lit with yellowing streetlights. Between the roads, tiny lights cast from window panes twinkled, blending with one another into a starscape of their own.
"Dude," I said. "Look at this."
No response.
I spun, looking for Annabeth, frantically scanning the room. My eyes had adjusted to the outside light, leaving me sightless.
"Annabeth," I hissed.
A cold tingle went up my spine, pulling at hairs on the back of my neck.
"Annabeth?"
​
Silence.
​
Silence.
​
Silence.
​
I crept back across the floor, now aware of the entire room at once. There was nowhere for her to be hiding. No desks, cans of paint, ladders, nothing. Just an empty room with patchy fungus growing on the cement.
Something must have happened.
I studied each fungal growth in the room as I passed by. Even with the light cast from the windows, the tops remained impossibly dark. Not a single feature was discernible— only an outline was visible.
Halfway to the door, a three foot wide hole led straight to floor 8. I could have sworn it wasn't there before. I peered into the opening, seeing straight through to the room below. From what I could see, it was identically empty.
"Annabeth," I tried again, nearing the door to the hallway.
"BOO!"
I stumbled backward, tripping over my own feet. I landed squarely on a patch of fungus.
FPOOSH.
I remembered to hold my breath, close my eyes, and plug my nose.
Annabeth cackled from the threshold of the doorway, standing over me with both hands on her forehead.
"You should have seen the look—" she began, breaking off into another fit of laughter.
"Shut up," I groaned, pushing to my feet. My entire body was covered in squishy fungus gunk. I pointed at the hole behind me, continuing. "You could have killed me."
"Blah, blah, blah," she mocked. "You're fine... you're just being a baby."
Annabeth gave me a playful shove, hands lingering for a moment overdue. Swatting her paws off me, I marched back to the stairwell. I led the rest of the way to floor 13, followed by her snickers.
As I reached the top of the stairs and stepped onto the 13th floor, my jaw dropped. It was a scene straight out of a surrealist painting. An enormous pool room lay before us. Glass walls extended up from the tile floors, creating a massive, clear domed perimeter. A swath of stars twinkled brilliantly through the clear ceiling, their light refracting through the glass, casting ethereal patterns onto the room's otherwise bleak surroundings.
The pool itself was a semi-circular cutout covering half the floor space, starting at ground level and deepening in a corkscrew motion. Its ceramic tiles, once probably a bright blue, were now tinged with patches of the same fungal growth we had come across on the lower floors. The growth was sparse here, though, letting the original floor design take prominence.
In the center of the room— on top of the staircase we just stepped out of— stood a circular pillar that extended up to the middle of the glass dome, like a spine holding up the entire tower. A small antenna jutted out from above the pillar atop the dome. Surrounding the antenna was a low fence, perhaps a safety measure for maintenance workers.
Annabeth, having finally contained her laughter, stepped beside me, her face illuminated by the soft starlight filtering in through the dome. She too stood silent, taken aback by the unexpected beauty of this forgotten space.
As we moved around the room, our steps echoed across the vast emptiness. With every patch of fungus we passed, the same eerie darkness hovered, the undulating mold standing stark against the ceramic tiles.
We made our way back to the central pillar. A ladder, carved into the pillar, connected to the glass ceiling with a trapdoor.
"To the roof?" Annabeth sang, rubbing her hands together in a goblin-like motion.
"Ladies first."
As she climbed above me, I couldn't help but crane my neck and drool. She slammed open the trapdoor, and we burst through to the roof.
The fenced-in area was covered with a dark spongy surface, gripping at my knees when I stood up. Wind whipped around us, carrying a chill that cut through my clothes and bit into my skin. With each gust, the antenna above us groaned and swayed, almost as if it were joining in a dance with an unseen partner.
We sat on the squishy rubber surface, comfortably in silence. I met her eyes, smiling dumbly. We passed the joint back and forth until it dwindled down, its ember glow flickering one last time before extinguishing completely. A familiar haze crawled through my thoughts, slowing the passage of time to a languishing crawl.
"Hey..." she started, "I think I've finally found inspiration for my next album."
I scooted closer to her, taking her hand. I knew the topic brought about an unusual timidity in her— a blemish in the badass persona she's so keen on presenting. She won't even talk to her own boyfriend about her music career.
"Yeah?" I floated.
She hesitated for a second, settling into the moment. I felt a tug at my crotch, suddenly all too aware of how pretty she looked in the moonlight. I took in every detail— the way her hair fell across her face, the pattern of her freckles, the soft speckling of stars reflecting across her eyes.
"I think you need to take off your shirt, first, though," she whispered, now inches from my face. "You're filthy."
I glanced down, remembering the fungal gunk that had soiled my clothes when she scared me.
Without warning, her hands slid under my shirt, warm and sure. I helped her yank it off, collapsing into her lips.
***
When we got back to the truck, I was still high enough to see everything in slow motion. Before pulling out of the parking lot, Annabeth and I regurgitated the events of our urban exploration, trying to show our significant others what fun they missed out on. It goes without saying that part of the story was intentionally omitted.
Ellie and Josh were unamused. Their lack of adventure will forever be a mystery to me.
We swung out of the lot, hopping onto the highway headed into town. I swayed between lanes, struggling to keep the double-yellow lines in focus.
"Are you sure you're good to drive?" Ellie asked, gripping the armrest.
"I'm fine," I slurred.
Seconds later, another truck materialized in front of us. I swerved to avoid it, then everything went black.
***
I woke up to a strong hand pulling me out of the window. My truck was upside down, the roof completely caved in.
I groaned. "Aww... fuck...."
The person who pulled me out looked like the kind of guy to chew tobacco and spit wisdom. His fishing cap cast a deep shadow across his eyes in the moon's glow, concealing his gaze. He was an old timer, that's for sure, one of those folk who came during the coal rush and decided to stay when all was said and done. I could see his truck— the same truck I saw moments before the crash— pulled into the shoulder of the highway with its blinkers on.
"Easy now," he reassured, his voice like gravel under a boot. "Anyone else inside?"
I nodded, unable to speak.
I plopped onto the grassy slope embarking off the side of the road. The old man pulled their mangled bodies out, one by one.
The countryside shrank around me. I felt the corners of my vision pulling in, the weed in my system straining the limits of shock I could take before melting down.
"I'm sorry, son," he whispered, his voice carrying the weight of my guilt. "The police will be here soon. Don't you worry."
The police.
I stood up. I knew exactly how the police treated people with my skin color in this town.
I ran.
"Hey now!" the man hollered.
I kept running.
Away from my truck, away from my dead friends, away from the police.
I ran until my breath came in ragged, uncontrollable huffs. I flopped to the ground, laying on the cool concrete, cradling my head with my hands. Blood flowed between my fingertips, pooling onto the pavement.
I laid there until police sirens wailed through the night, rapidly approaching. They stopped at the wreck, leaving me in silence. Moments later, the sirens picked up their mournful song again, heading toward me.
I sat up.
I was back in the lot of Sabe's Tower. Only then did I realize how little distance I really ran from the wreck— a couple hundred yards at most.
Four, five, maybe even six sirens filled the air. They were all coming for me. They knew what I had done.
I bolted from my position on the concrete. I could hide in the tower. No way the cops would look for me in that rotting place. They wouldn't dare.
I squeezed through the gap in the fence, same as before, vaulting past the
DO NOT TRESPASS ALONE
signs in a fluid lunge. The sirens behind me screamed into the night, melding together into a continuous doomsday chant.
Red and blue lights filled the lot. I hit the ground right in front of the gaping entrance to the tower, praying that the weeds poking through the concrete would be enough to mask my form. I army crawled, inch by inch, dragging myself across broken bottles and plywood shrapnell, until I was safely in the darkness of the tower.
In.
Out.
I breathed.
In.
Out.
A police cruiser parked in the lot. Its siren drowned out all other wails for a moment before shutting off. A chubby white officer hopped out, surveying the scene. His gaze came to rest on the spot where I had lain. He squatted down, raking a finger through the pool of blood I left behind. He took a few steps toward the tower, squatting down yet again. Another splotch of blood, no doubt.
His voice floated through the plaza, slightly nasal and a little out of breath. "Dispatch, this is officer Chetty, badge number 741. I'm on the scene at 1019 Pleasant Valley Lane, in the lot of Sabe's Tower. I've located a pool of fresh blood that may be linked to our hit-and-run suspect. Possible injury, suspect could be close. Requesting immediate backup and forensics for evidence collection."
Fuck.
I wormed my way further into the tower's belly, sliding between patches of fungus like a mouse in a snake pit, heading for the stairwell. I had to ascend, to find some nook or cranny out of reach of the pursuing officers. The godforsaken tower was one big game of hide and seek, only this time, losing meant far worse than a bruised ego.
Something gurgled in the darkness.
My blood froze. I halted, my heart hammering a tattoo against my ribs. Holding my breath, I strained my senses, eyes peering into the graying murk, searching for the source of the sound.
It came again, a wretched retching, like an animal choking on its own vomit. Hacking, gurgling, bubbling wetness bursting through strained vocal chords, a sound of fading vitality. It was coming from near the door, just outside the meager halo of light slipping through the hole.
A wet line smeared across the back of my neck. A yelp escaped my lips before I realized it was just a cord dangling from the ceiling.
At my yelp, the gurgling paused.
A heavy hush fell over the place, the quietude of the hunted.
I could faintly make out echoes emanating from the stairwell, only a few feet behind me.
The gurgling continued, sucking at the thick air. It began to drag itself forward through the fungus covered floor— a slow, steady, rhythmic drag against the concrete.
FPOOSH.
A geyser of spores bloomed, mingling with swirls of dust in the meager light. The creature, or whatever it was, did not slow its approach. Out of the darkness, a form began to shape— a silhouette clawing its way toward me.
FPOOSH.
I could see this eruption envelop the mass on the floor. One hand appeared, then another. Its fingers scrabbled over the concrete, searching for any purchase to grip. They flexed, heaving the thing even closer.
A mop of curly hair appeared between the hands. A body, face down. It pulled itself closer, into another fungal growth, grinding its face through the rough concrete.
FPOOSH.
A knife protruded from its back. The handle jutted upward, a grim totem amidst the grime and gore. I shuddered, involuntarily taking a step closer to the stairwell.
It looked up at me.
Or rather, Josh looked up at me.
I stared back, mouth agape.
His face was nearly sanded off from the concrete. His nose took the worst of it, ground down to the bone, leaving only two sucking, gurgling holes between his eyes. His cheeks were a mangled mess of blood and rocks, viscous red flowing freely to the tip of his chin before dribbling off. The chunks of meat hanging where lips should have been flapped against his teeth with every jerky motion, tethered to his face by all too little strands of flesh. Beneath them, his teeth showed bright red and white in a perpetual grimacing smile.
"Josh?" I managed to whisper, my voice a frightened squeak.
Josh opened his mouth as if to respond, ripping both cheeks in half. He hacked, gurgling, spitting up blood that came from deep within his torso. He slowly cocked his head to the side, but instead of stopping at a slant, he kept twisting his neck until bones started to crack and his head dangled upside down.
His mangled, upside down head swung limply as he pulled himself to his knees, his neck like jelly. He wasn't wearing the same clothes he was wearing earlier tonight— no, he was wearing clothes from the night Annabeth first cheated on him with me. He was at a Villanova game, supporting his favorite team since birth. Annabeth knew he would be gone for the weekend, so we took our chance. I was still at her place when he came back, wearing his Collin Gillespie jersey and reeking of beer.
Now in front of me, his prized jersey was in tatters, torn to ribbons by the concrete. He groaned, shuffling and reaching for me with bloody fingers.
I bolted into the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. I pushed myself faster and faster until the door to floor 9 loomed to my side. I didn't pause for a moment, pushed forward by the gurgling echoes reverberating from below.
My thighs, weak from the frantic climb, begged for a break. I wobbled into the hallway, painfully tip-toeing through the fungus. The door to 901 beckoned ahead, hanging open like it had been awaiting my hasty return.
I stumbled over the threshold when Annabeth's singing filled the room. "Oh, Donovan!"
I froze.
Outlined against the window was a two-headed beast. One face belonged to Annabeth, the other to Ellie. The creature swayed, an obscene dance of bare, fused flesh. It wore no clothes, as if to mock God himself. It had two sets of everything— eight appendages total, like a humanoid arachnid. Annabeth's breasts, now side by side with Ellie's, put Ellie to shame, even now.
Annabeth crooned again, "Oh, Donovan!" each syllable laced with acid and honey. The sound made my skin crawl as it floated through the silent room.
"You always did want more, didn't you Donovan?" Ellie sneered, a harsh grin splitting her face.
Annabeth spat, "More than Ellie could give. More than anyone could give."
The thing dropped to the floor with a thud. All eight limbs moved in unison as it crawled.
"Isn't this what you wanted? Both of us at the same time?" Their voices tumbled over each other, mouths moving in synchrony. Together, their laughter filled the hollow room. "Don't you like the thrill, Donovan? Don't you like playing with fire?"
The thing scurried at me, jumping over fungal growths with powerful leaps. The sudden movement broke my paralyzation, spurring my legs to action. I darted into the closet and through the stairwell door, into the gurgling echoes.
Back down the stairwell I ran, the two headed beast in pursuit. Both girls snarled, hindered by their conjoined size in the narrow passageway. Their struggle echoed through the stairwell, mixing with the gurgling. I fled further down, needing to put distance between that thing and me.
I stopped dead in my tracks between floors 2 and 3.
Josh was there, leaning against the wall with the knife removed from his back, now grasped tightly in his hand. I staggered back up the stairs, instinctively retreating, narrowly avoiding the blade as he lunged at me.
Glancing up, I caught a flash of pale skin bearing down on me, cutting off my escape. My only way out was the door to floor 3. I charged through the closet, leaving the echoes behind me.
Floor 3 was empty— no walls, only fungus and windows. The atrium loomed to my left, a pie shaped hole missing from the floor and ceiling. I backed away from the door, eyeing the dangling cords hanging in the atrium.
Maybe... Just maybe....
Josh stumbled from the stairwell, filling the air with his wet slurping. Annabeth and Ellie followed, scrambling toward me.
I didn't have time to think.
I jumped, grasping at the dangling wires, praying they would hold my weight.
Time stuttered, hanging suspended like an icicle on a winter's morning. The world spun in a dizzying blur as I twisted, fingers stretching for a grip. Panic clawed its icy fingers up my spine, but it was the surprise that struck me most. The simple disbelief that this was happening.
A wire found its way into my hand, snapping without slowing my fall.
The wind whooshed past, ripping the breath from my lungs. Above me, the third floor retreated, its grimy concrete replaced by a view of the atrium's ceiling, wires swinging back and forth from my desperate escape.
Then came the sensation of falling. It's a feeling that strikes a primal chord, an orchestra of fear and adrenaline that means the end of a life. My stomach lurched, free-falling alongside me, while the rest of my body seemed to hover in a state of disbelief.
The impact came as both a shock and an inevitability. There was a moment of sheer, undiluted pain, a soundless scream reverberating through my very bones. It felt like being shattered from the inside out, an explosion of agony that started from my back and radiated outwards. An iron-hot spike of pain shot through me, and then, a chilling void as everything below my waist slipped into a terrifying numbness.
The echo of my body's collision rang in my ears as the world spun into a disorienting whirl of blurs, shadows, and pain. The cold concrete beneath me felt real, solid, a chilling contrast to the sudden loss of sensation in my legs.
In the throbbing silence that followed, I understood. I had fallen. I was broken. I lay sprawled on the atrium floor, gasping, the world tilting dangerously in my vision.
Annabeth and Ellie emerged from the staircase, scrambling across the atrium floor. Red and blue police lights filtered through the tower’s windows, making shadows dance between the monster's eight limbs. Josh wasn't far behind, still clutching onto the bloody knife, head rolling upside down between his shoulders.
"Police, we're coming in!" a familiar nasally voice shouted.
The moment officers stepped foot in the tower, the monsters vanished in a spray of spores.
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Hey folks, I wanted to take some time to breakdown how out of character Clark has been in the last few episodes. While there are a few sound bites that have discussed over and over again, I wanted to break it down completely, or as completely as possible. While we will continue to have conversations on the sub about how poorly the women have been written as of late, it is just as important to discuss how poorly the men have been written as well because it is just as much part of the equation. I think these conversations are important. The more we have these conversations here and elsewhere on social media, the more likely we are to get the show we love back instead of whatever Lana-ville fever dream seems to be happening as of late.
The Lack of Focus on Lois from Clark
I think the biggest thing that has ruffled everyone’s feathers is Clark’s return from Bizarro world, only to completely gloss over the fact that Lois had been on her own for over a month. To add insult to injury on this one, Clark had just promised Lois he was her for her and never going anywhere as Lois worked through her abandonment issues.
In addition, Clark seemed to be completely okay leaving Lois to fight his battles with Lana. It seemed completely out of character that Clark did not intervene and tell Lana that it was not alright to yell at Lois for keeping his secret. A secret that Lois has really carried the burnt of the burden for years and a secret that keep his family safe. Given what we have seen before that is pretty out of character for Clark.
When you look at Clark before 2x11, this is pretty much a completely different character from what we had seen prior. In 1x08, when Lois and Clark are on the phone, talking about John Henry’s daughter, Natalie, Clark offers to come home and talk to Lois about it. In the initial watch of the episode, it was easy to initially read Clark as jealous, only to find that he was concerned and protective, knowing Lois was going to have some big emotions about a child names Natalie. So, the takeaway here, is that Clark was instantly ready to step away from what he was doing as Superman to make sure his wife was alright. That was a big priority, of Clark’s. In addition, throughout that episode, we see Clark overprotective of Lois, almost to a fault. He is against her talking to John Henry, etc, all because he know how hard all of this would be for her. Clark is a little bit paternalistic and sometimes we see that with Lois, but ultimately Clark being protective in this particular instance worked well for me. If Clark was never willing to let Lois do things because they could hurt, it would be different, but he knew how much pain there was there and wanted so desperately to protect her and it was a good take.
In 1x04, we see this in a couple of different ways. When Lois was headed to the mines to confront Edge, Clark was more than willing to prioritize Lois and go with her even though she does not need it. Towards the end of the episode, when Lois and Clark get into an argument because Clark missed the townhall, Clark rectified this with the barn date.
In 2x01, when Lois was dealing with her emotions over Natalie, Clark so desperately wanted to figure out how to help Lois. While it included an argument before they got to a resolution, there was a theme of Clark really being genially distraught over not being able to help Lois out. The episode kept coming back to this over and over again.
Finally, in 1x06, when Lois tells Clark she was almost killed in the mines, and then Lois sort just rushes right past that fact, Clark actually backs the conversation up to talk about that fact.
Overall, the characterization leading up to 2x11 was that Clark was always there for Lois. He is emotionally available, and rightfully concerned about his wife. Suddenly, Clark does not seem to really care that Lois had been gone for a month, or that she become the scape goat for Lana’s anger. It is completely out of character from the Clark Kent we all know and fell in love with. It is so odd, after the prior characterization that he would just gloss over this.
Clark being Emotionally vulnerable
I think one thing I really loved about this show was Clark’s ability to be emotionally vulnerable. I actually wrote an entire theory about it here. It is not just that Clark is emotionally vulnerable, but he also that he was able to seek comfort in Lois. I thought that was a really strong depiction of masculinity, that Clark was able to recognize when he needed to turn to Lois for support.
There are a few examples, I really love, but I think one of the best times we see this in 1x05. 1x05 is widely considered one of the weaker season one episodes but it had it’s moments. I think what really worked was this small moment after Derek Powell’s death where Clark lays his head in Lois’s lap as they debrief and sort of comfort each other after what happened. What has particularly well done about this was the fact that Kyle was also dealing with the trauma from the fire and instead of turning to Lana for support, ultimately headed to the bars. It was a great contrast on who the different couple support each other and find comfort in each other. This was really the height of the Cushings being powerful foils to the Lane-Kent family.
My second favorite moment where we see Clark leaning on Lois is in 1x12. In one of the final scenes, Clark is sitting at the kitchen table and Lois us behind him, with her arms around him while they debrief with Sam. Clark is sitting at the table, just quietly holding Lois’s hand and there is this general sense that Clark is still really not okay in the moment. Like he is still totally and completely shook after the Eradication and he is leaning on Lois in that moment for support. As much as I love the family reunification scene, I may actually love this quiet moment of comfort even more.
I think finally, my third favorite moment where we see Clark seeing this comfort is in 1x14 after Jordan has been taken and Clark returns back to the DoD to tell Lois. Lois is upset, looking for action, but Clark needs this moment to just hold his wife while he deals with his emotions. I thought that was such a great moment. We have this moment where Superman, in the super suit, is crying. That is a powerful depiction of male vulnerability in media.
There are even more examples, that moment where Lois’s hold Clark after Martha’s funeral. The moments in 2x03 when Lois comforts Clark through the Bizarro emotions. There are so, so many moments like this.
Now though, I thought it odd that after Clark returns from having is powers sucked in 2x12, he did not seek that support from Lois. Sure, they were sitting next to each other, but it was incredibly odd that Lois and Clark were not holding hands or some other form of physical touch in that moment. That Clark was not seeking out that physical comfort and connection that we have seen in the past. I do want to make a note that Lois exists to be more than just someone that comforts Clark, but I think seeing Clark reach out and be vulnerable was so important to his characterization in a world of hyper masculine action stars. Allowing these vulnerable depictions of men is important.
Clark’s Love, respect, and Awe of Lois
I think one thing that was very consistent throughout the first season is that Clark was just so completely and total in love with Lois. There was this sense that he was the luckiest man alive because Lois Lane chose him.
I think we see this in little ways, like in 1x03 when Clark buys Lois flowers just because he knows she likes him, and she reminded him of the time he spent two weeks on flowers for listening in. There is the time in 1x05 when Clark put together Lois’s office for her, because of course the world’s most famous journalist needs a home office. Or the time in 1x07, when Clark tells Lois she is “really good at this” with this sappy adorable grin on his face. Still in awe of how amazing his wife is after nearly 20 years of marriage. The entire flashback episode in 1x11 was pretty much a love letter from Clark to Lois. In 2x05 Clark is more than happy to pick up the dry cleaning and excited to see Lois in the dress for the quinceanera. Not to mention that kiss at 2x05 after Lana’s toast, that felt like a promise in the best possible way.
There was something so important about that this, that Clark was so completely in love and dedicated to his wife. There was this great modern depiction where Lois never felt like a burden or an obligation. No jokes about needing to get back to the ol’ ball and chain. No jokes about his wife being a nag. Just a very sincere and deep love for his wife and his sons. There was this major theme in season one, and ultimately a big part of the emotional climax in season one, that Clark will fight tooth and nail to get back to his family. No matter what the world throws at him, no matter how bad things are, Clark needs his family.
Suddenly, this all seems to have vanished. Suddenly, Clark seemed annoyed when Lois mentions he needs to take the boys to school first in 2x12. It is hard to explain, but there seems to have been this general theme in the last couple of episodes where Clark’s family feels like a burden or an annoyance to Clark in a way that was no depicted before. This idea that Clark just wants to be home, with his wife and family, seems to have gone away. That love and intimacy that was such a driver to Clark’s character seems so gone. It is hard not to feel like the writers have regressed to these horrid misunderstanding about Superman where he should not prioritize his family because he needs to be a hero 24/7, even though a major theme in the first season was why that was not a good idea. Clark’s support from his family, Clark’s love for his family is literally the reason he can be Superman.
Lois and Clark as a Team
I think one thing we saw through out season one and into season two is that Lois and Clark were this unified front that made decisions as a team. In the pilot, we see Lois and Clark disagree on telling the boys Clark was Superman, but ultimately, they both agreed on the decision. The same with moving to Smallville. While Clark asked Lois, he did it in a way she could have absolutely said no. They were in the kitchen and had not mentioned or discussed it with anyone else. In 1x07, when Clark thinks it is time to bring the boys into everything that is happening, he brings it up with Lois but respects her initial decision to keep them in the dark. Even as late as 2x07, I think it made a lot of sense that Clark respected what Lois had repeated back about X-K and did not let Jonathan sort of railroad over Lois. There had been this constant and consistent theme that Lois and Clark were this team and worked hard to present this unified front when it came to both parenting and other decisions.
I think what actually rubbed me the wrong way about Clark’s characterization was the fact that he brought Tal-Rho home without first talking to Lois. Lois was now sort of pushed into accepting whatever was going to happen with Tal-Rho. I think pervious iterations of Clark would have absolutely discussed with Lois before. I think there is an argument that there was not enough time, etc. but this is also the same episode that though that focusing on Sarah’s music career and doing Lana flashbacks were important. So, I am going to say, no, the writers made a decision to have Clark force a big decision on Lois without giving her the space to digest. Suddenly, this respect to talk through decisions with Lois seems to have vanished.
Being Emotionally there and vulnerable for his Sons
One of the major themes in the first season was Clark being vulnerable for his sons. That was Martha’s advice in the last conversation Martha and Clark had before she died. This was also a big part of Clark’s character growth in the first season. We see these examples early on with Clark trying and sort of failing to reach out to his sons. We have Jordan’s football arc in 1x03, we have the box in 1x05 and then finally we get this big moment of success and breakthrough with Jordan in 1x06 in the broken trusts speech. We also just see these moments of being a loving father throughout the first season. We see Clark hugging his sons after the bonfire incident. We see Clark taking Jordan’s heat vision in 1x06. We see Clark guiding Jordan through the kryptonite sickness in 1x09, which this stellar hug.
Now though, in the last few episodes, we have seen Clark morph into this more authoritarian father that seems more annoyed than his sons then anything. While we do have this moment where Clark backs up to tell Jonathan that he loves him which I appreciate and want to give the show credit for, for at least getting a bear minimum, the vast majority of Clark’s interactions with the boys in the last couple of episodes has just been Lois sort of shuffling the kids away so Clark does not have to deal with them.
This is so counter to Clark’s character who had previously been so deeply committed to being a father, and being there for his boys. Who had embraced parenting for better or for worse and really in equal partnership with Lois. Now, we have shifted to this version of Clark that seems okay with going out to save the world while Lois stays home and minds the kids. While this show always had a slight undercurrent with that, with how their lives were in Metropolis, it was balanced out by the fact that Clark was making this really good faith effort in Smallville. We have this moment in 1x06 where Lois asks Clark to focus in the boys, and there was no discussion around this. There was actually a great contrast with the Cushings, back when they were allowed to be proper foils, where Lana and Kyle had to have this whole discussion about Lana’s job, and Kyle feeling all emasculated because Lana got this job over Kyle. It really told this great story about how Lois and Clark had this great modern relationship where Clark was able to step up and be a parent.
Even as late as 2x04 and 2x06, Clark is just taking parenting and fatherhood on without a conversation, without instructions. In 2x04 he is at the breakfast table with his sons, and there is this moment in the Bizarro vision where Jonathan is saying something silly and teenage, and Clark is sort of soaking in this joy of having teenagers that can sometimes be goofy. Or in 2x06 where Clark is excited about Jonathan’s starting football position as he packs school lunches and hustles them into the car. It is only when we get to 2x12 that Clark seems burdened by having to drive the boys to school as Lois seems to have to usher him out the door. This was a small thing, but it was still disappointing to see this reversal.
Why does this Matter
I think one thing I have always defended this show for doing was showing this non-toxic, positive portrayals of men and masculinity. While passing the Bechdel test matters, while properly writing women matters, the impact almost completely goes to nil if men are not well written in conjunction. I think, I have always been able to give this show a pass on not always focusing on Lois’s writing or journalism because ultimately, the men were written well in a way that was a net positive.
While it is important to have stories that represent women, and people of color and queer people, Superman is traditional a story about a white, male cis-gendered protagonist. So, I think knowing this, my expectations and the core competency of this show has always been that this show needs to land these positive portrayals of men and masculinity and as explained above, this show generally got it right with both Clark and the boys up until 2x11. Given what this property is, it makes sense that this is a story that primarily focuses on well written depictions of men and arguably, I think it makes sense that this show focuses on well written depictions for men versus badly written depictions of women. The issue is that the show has done neither as of late. Obviously my preferred choice would just be well written men and women.
I think there potentially a case where Lois and Clark had one boy and one girl instead of two sons, and that would have been cool, but honestly, I think there is something to be said about a show that has two positive depictions of teenage boys that know to respect boundaries, that have this vulnerable, positive relationship with their father. That have this loving relationship with each other. This is not something we see a lot of on TV and this is important, just as much as writing women well, just as well as representing other marginalized groups.
So, finally, what are the consequences when media gives us these depictions of men that lean into topes around toxic masculinity and misogyny. First off, women suffer, we always suffer. As I will keep explaining, when our media embraces these things, it makes the real lives of women harder at work and at home.
But, men suffer as well. When media does not allow men to be vulnerable, when media pushes this hypermasculine tropes of toxic masculinity, men suffer in their relationships, they suffer with their mental health, they suffer with their sexuality. I am in no way a professor on gender studies, but I truly believe that sexism harms everyone in our society. While not necessarily equally, I do not believe there has ever been a true net positive for anyone, even if some are benefiting, they are still harmed in equal measure.
Look, Superman and Lois is not irredeemable, nor it is the only piece of media around, but there was something very special about seeing Clark Kent depicted the way he had been depicted in prior episodes. I feel like how this show depicted men and boys was important in a way that does not get discussed often. I feel like how this show depicted men and boys was unique and really positive to our society and cultural. I think up until the more recent episodes, the writers seemed to take their responsibility for positive depictions of male characters seriously. There seems to have been a divergence as of late and I really hope the show can correct course and return to the Clark we know and love.

Obviously I think most of us would agree that season 1 was indefinitely better than its succesor. If I had to be honest though I still found it enjoyable. I thought the 2nd season would be longer than eight episodes so I was pretty shocked to find out that it ended there. I feel like if there were more episodes they could've elaborated a lot on key parts. This leads me to say...
I feel like there's just so much stuff skipped over, we saw like none of Billy's work this season, and the romance with Marisol kinda works but the cheesy flashbacks and the terrible organization of the plot for them made it worse. Did anybody really need an episode of Billy spending his whole day in Mexico with Marisol for a Quinceanera just so we could find out a tad bit more about Gabriel and Marisol's back stories? I didn't I wouldve been content with just knowing they had went there. Just a waste. The Wyatt and Brittaney romance was unnecessary and just seemed to be more for a weird factor than anything.
Let us not forget Julio who actually could've been a way better storyline if JT's past was revealed earlier it would've been more impactful, and could've been used to strengthen the plot. They just didn't nail these plot lines down to be shown within eight episodes.
Positives I would say is I actually enjoyed their conspiracy plot with Wyatt, Danny, Pete, Roman, etc. But they didn't make good use of the political aspect unfortunately. It was interesting but felt like adding politics isn't the greatest to a show which is heavily centered around the law if you aren't gonna explore it (unless you happen to be The Wire, which albeit is probably the best show ever, adds politics and uses it well in the show) which I would hope is going to be done more in season 3 now that Marisol is Mayor and Gabriel will have access to the ports.
Another positive was Patty's character she's a great actor and got even better this season even though she didn't have the biggest part to play. The last positive I can say is that the show at least seems to be set up for something bigger in season 3 with the duo of Marisol and Gabriel vs Billy and his paralegal team. Overall I'd probably watch season 2 again ... one more time right before season 3 just for a refresher lol.

This post is a result of what has happened approximately in the last 13 years (the span of time that i can recall). This is going to be very long. If you're going to attempt to read this: get a sandwich, juice/water and take a seat. As you can tell, this is a throwaway account and 625 is a lilo and stitch reference. Overall, what i am going to say would be pejorative towards my reputation and the language and topics being discussed is not very light heart-ed
I am a Hispanic born in the USA. I was born in a hospital on a university campus. Typing typing this as songs from the 90s are surfacing around. Third Eye Blind, Smash Mouth, Less Than Jake. 80s hits that were merely a decade old during that time. The first subject i would like to touch on is elementary school as it seems it pops up in my head first in this chronological
elementary school was an isolating time for me. I was trapped in four rooms during elementary school. Sp ed, Speech, ESOL, and the normal class. (i originally typed regular classes but changed my typing to normal classes). (another out of page note: watched a dove's men commercial about men's wives surprising them that they're pregnant). I was picked at for my voice and how i couldn't speak English well. I was also picked at for my voice and how i couldn't speak Spanish well. What i remembered most was this kid who picked on me for wearing poor clothes and didn't like how i was not white. In the forth grade i moved to a different school. I transition i seem not to empathize with all too well. I was out and in with the new crowd. I remember my 4th grade teacher being pretty hip and young and would put 80s music on. I also remember that there was a Hispanic boy that would always pick on me. Him and i would get into fights that he brought me into tears. I also remember the Spanish teacher would hark on me and pick on me a bit because i don't know or speak much Spanish. I would remember my love for pokemon would grow as me and some students would play and trade figurines outside during recess. 5th grade i would move to another school for the closest proximity of the reason why i moved in the first place: parents getting a bigger house. It was fine, i was still picked on because of speech and my ethnicity but i seem to grew numb of it by the end of my elementary years. Speaking of house: home life.
Home life was a mixed bag. It was Hispanic culture (which by the way: i hate) and rooted conservative values. My mom was religious and my dad i think seemed indifferent. Yet.. i was the second child. My uncle married my mom first and had his first son and then my dad took over and had me first, they're all separate but with conditions. So technically my big bro would be my cousin, but he sees me as his little bro nonetheless. My mom would always take me to her friends children's parties, quinceaneras or whatever the occassion may be. Yet i was not to be a child in those parties. I was to be an obedient model. Any horseplay or a bit of roughhousing is an automatic compliment to my mom and punishment (beatings) from my father. Speaking of my father, he was just as a mixed bag. The only thing that stood out between him and i during childhood is the many time he molested me. At points, i would take his desires to molest me for my own gain. Whenever i don't want to be beaten, into the bedroom. When everyone was grounded and couldn't play the ps1.. into the bedroom and my brothers asked me "how did you persuade him to give us back the ps1?" and ill tell them "it's my own private things with him" and by then they wouldn't question it further, woohoo we got the ps1 back.
Lets touch with middle school. Middle school was an odd transition. Let's get into the parts you redditors deem interesting and what i don't want to touch base with too much. I basically went from a mumble inducing kid to a poor mans emo. Sharpie for black nails, yada yada. Yet during that time, i was getting into the internet a lot. The website i would invest most of my middle school and some of my high school time into was Gaiaonline. Somehow someway i made into a clique and we just had our time together. We all got online, meet up in the gaia towns and just talked about stuff. Yet.. i remember a couple of folks that were... eccentric. I don't want to giveaway usernames that has probably been defunct for almost a decade now but... they basically gave me the disposition to become neurotic. I would get into these half heart relationships to rip them off from gold (gaia's currency) and used it for my own gain and gave little to no fucks about them. I finally got bored and moved on to 4chan. plus i became too neurotic , it manifested into my middle school that i was put in a mental hospital. throughout middle school overall i became depressed. so much so i was put in a social skills class with a bit of a neurotic instructor and her assistant. She made me cried on certain occasions but i guess she did it for her best interest. I had girlfriends but my neurotic ways got in the way of them and one of them dumped me to be with her girlfriend. yada yada
high school was high school except for juniosenior year. I went....
no no. stop... you know what i really want to talk about? my morality. People have deemed me a sociopath. I think i am. I dont think i could function in this society any longer. Dylann Roof inspired me to write out this. Because.. let's face it.. i have an identity issue since elementary school. I hate being hispanic, i hate being in this threatening looking body. I hate my eyes, how i look ... i fucking hate it. I believe being white would be the best for me because it's neutral. If i was white i would be completely indifferent towards other races. I hate hispanic culture so much. I am self racist... hispanic people who are bullshitters, ignorant and don't care about the regards of others, simply for their gain. I hate illegal aliens the most. all they want to do is border hop, get their shitty Mcdonalds job, claim their benefits and send the money back to their home country. All of them should be deported back. Men women and children, the illegals and not the honest, legal citizens who are law abiding and contribute to the productivity of the country. Fuck Bernie Sanders and fuck minimum wage. the stupid illegal alien that only taps away on their phone and talk about what other jobs they could easily bullshit and make their money a bit more easier with, i am paid the same amount to them.
you're an anchor baby, you're an anchor baby throwaway number 625... you're the result of your parents claiming their benefits by staying here. i hate my identity i hate my identity. i am the enemy. Yet i don't believe in white pride or supremacy. Dylann Roof is a terrorist as ISIS kills people in mosques in which people that their ethnicity is deemed "inferior" are killed .
my father is a racist and so is my mom and uncle. they would yell out "lazy niggers" or "that dumb nigger" ... "obama that nigger with his obamacare cut and destroyed the 40 hr a week status quo". sometimes at work when i see those black workers goof around or also tapping away on their phones, the thoughts "lazy nigger" and whispering under my breath "lazy nigger" automatically comes out with no remorse. i try to feel remorse but i can't. I want to feel indifferent. I hate my identity. I want things to be normal... I want my life to end like a machine shutting off with no harm.
I don't belong here according to my friend...
I shouldn't have been born. I was the wrong sperm.
I'm afraid my financial aid would never come and i would only result back into my crappy work life overall. i hate being hispanic i hate being hispanic. I wish my parents would get a child that could speak spanish and could relate and do stuff for them. i'm afraid to be institutionalized again. I deleted "To Pimp A Butterfly" and won't listen to rap anymore. I want my identity to be gone. I want a society where everything is grey. we're all the same. we're all one people. no culture, no hatred. nothing to be said otherwise. I'm going out and vote for Rand Paul. Rand makes sense while Bernie Sanders would be a pejorative pawn that would make things fall faster. I should have been dead in my friend's ideal, Darwinist, eugenic, libertarian society. I want to fade into forever and not seen as a person, but a result of production overall... I'm envious of my friend. He was a product of nothing. he was birth into the earth by parents who loved. People who even mistakenly get a child through poor execution (condoms breaking ect) was a result of love none the less.. my friend is white and i am envious. I want to bang my head until i bleed. black star and black stars. radiohead...
black churchgoers shouldn't have been killed. I hate the american flag and i also hate the confederate flag. i want black culture to die . i want white supremacy to die. i want Hispanic values and their perceptions and their false indulgences to die out. eastern Asian racism should also die out because i'm surprised they weren't compared to Nazis. Japanese people are the Asian equivalent of Nazis. No wonder they joined Hitler. I want everything to die out and to have a mute culture, mute living and everything to be isolated. i want to be isolated. i want my identity to be erased.

Sorry for the long message that follows. I couldn't find a way to express this in less words.
I met my wife when we were both very young. I was 17 and she was 15. She lived in South America and was visiting the US on her quinceanera (15th birthday celebration).
I was drawn to her because she was beautiful, close with her family, very loyal, and I felt like I could talk to her and be open about philosophy and stuff. We kept in touch in a long-distance relationship, and I visited her in South America 5 times. We were getting older, she was 18 and I was 20 we decided to get married because it was the only way we could be together.
A bit about me -- I’m kind of a unique/weird guy. In Kindergarten, my teacher used to say “He’s a dreamer” meaning that I’d daydream a lot and not pay attention. They tested me for gifted and I was lucky enough to get into that program and also into a magnet high school and an honors program in college. I was always into philosophy growing up - things that wouldn’t be considered cool by most kids. With my wife, I could talk openly about whatever I was reading and she accepted me.
Fast forward to today, and I’m in my early 30’s and own my own successful business. I work from my home most days -- either programming or meeting with employees via skype. I own adult websites. When I got into this line of work, I was 19. My wife didn’t have a big problem with it then, and it allowed me to have enough money to support her through various schools for careers that haven’t panned out. I was even able to buy her parents a house nearby ($400k+) so that she would have family around.
I work really hard and am often stressing about something business related. I also don’t have good separation between work and personal life, but I figure that’s the cost of being in the top 1% income of America. I also have been told I have low emotional intelligence and am very introverted. I try to make time to spend with her, and I take my wife out to restaurants for lunch and dinner most days of the week. I also try to spend at least 1 or 2 hours with her in the evenings, either watching TV, walking the dog, or playing a video game together.
I have a few big problems that make her hard to live with:
First, we fight and argue about 10 days out of every month. I keep a journal, and if I feel my blood pressure rising over something I write down that we had a fight. Generally, I’m a mellow guy who doesn’t yell or get angry at much. When she argues with me, she becomes very irrational. Once, I said to her “I don’t want to argue anymore, I’m gonna go. ”. She said, “I’m not arguing”. I said, “OK, can you at least agree with me that we’re arguing about whether we’re arguing?” She continued to repeat “I’m not arguing, you are arguing.” Once, my mother was in the hospital from a brain aneurism. I thought she was going to die. My wife and I had a fight that week because she thought I invited her across country to spend time with her and had her feelings hurt that I was more focused on my family than her. The fight was bad enough that she took off her wedding ring and left it with me before flying back across country while I stayed by my mom.
Second, Also, she cries all the time. She cried the day she arrived in the states. The excuse was that she was leaving behind her family, friends, and all she knew and I wasn’t supposed to take it personally. But, the crying continued. She cries at least 2 days a week, sometimes 3 or 4. When we don’t agree on something, it’s a safe bet that she’s going to cry and become difficult to talk to. I’ve gotten to the point where I just look away and don’t want to deal with her when she cries. Lately she hasn’t, but when she cried she used to say things like “I hate you. You’ve ruined my life.”
Second, I have a hard time connecting with her on an intellectual level. When I’m trying to talk about something that’s on my mind (some philosophy or observation on life or whatever), I find it very hard not to be patronizing and say questions like “do you understand me? should i explain it differently?” It’s hard, because a lot of times she will fall asleep when I’m talking or just say “uh-huh”. I might be a pretty boring guy, but I’d appreciate a simple, “Honey I don’t really want to talk about computer programming, how about . . . ”.
Third, she would complain when I invite my business partner over to work hard on website design. I felt like our house is big enough and in a really nice location, and it’s a perk to get to work from there. Many times when he would be over, I would be upstairs arguing with my wife. Then, when he leaves, my wife and I would argue and I’d be telling her she should support me working. The arguments would get heated and quite often she’d throw objects at me (keys, cell phones, desk paperweights, etc.
Fourth, she periodically blows up about my line of work. She has said she has no reason to think I’m cheating on her, but the fact that I have access to many women who would consider sleeping with the owner of the site to get ahead scares her. I ask her what I’m supposed to do about it. She’s asked that I never have the content on my screen, but I told her that doesn’t make sense. Nobody could own a strip club and never walk into their own establishment. I invite my wife to all business events, and no performers have my contact info -- there are managers below me who deal with performers. Then, a few days after the blow-up, she’ll come around and say she understands and she supports it. I did offer to quit and sell everything once, but I told her I’m not going to work a “normal job”. I’ve worked 60 hour weeks for 10 years to get where I am, so if I quit we’re retiring somewhere cheap like Costa Rica. I’m not sure if I could follow through with it though, cause I’m terrified of being stuck with her in Costa Rica and not having my company anymore if I decide I can’t be with her.
Fifth, I am starting to want kids more as I get older, but I’m very scared to have them with her. I’m afraid they will be highly emotional cry-babies and my wife and I will continue to fight 10 days per month which would be a horrible environment for children. We said we’d have kids if we can go 1 year without the disfunction we currently experience.
Sixth, she hasn't done well at any careers she's tried, and is unhappy as a housewife. This causes her to have a very low self esteem. When we first got married, she went to school to do nails (manicure/pedicure stuff). She didn’t like that, so no big deal, I didn’t need her to work. Then she went to college for a bachelors in business. We would fight if I tried helping her with school work, so I just let her do it on her own. She didn't get any good jobs from that, and she took jobs as a front-desk secretary. I told her those jobs are a waste of time and she should volunteer her time instead of stressing over a near-minimum wage job that doesn't make her happy. She'd work for a few weeks, but her pay-check compared to what we make from my business really made it feel like a waste of time. Then she took school about how to be a yoga/fitness instructor. After a few years of trying, she got a job teaching fitness classes. This became stressful for her because her boss kept critiquing her, so she quit to become a full-time housewife (again). The career stuff doesn’t really bother me, but I feel it speaks to her character that none of those attempts have panned out. I’d be happiest if she was a happy housewife and did rewarding volunteer work, but if she needed to work to be happy that would be fine too.
I could go on with complaints, but this list is getting long. Here are some things we’ve been trying to do to fix things:
We’ve been seeing therapists/psychologists for a few years. Usually, we start to go for couples therapy but then she starts crying so they say “I need to see you alone”. She gets prescribed an anti-depressant which dramatically fixes all the problems (except the intellectual connection). Then, she’ll stop taking the anti-depressants and the fighting/throwing things is back. After a few years of no progress, I decided to start seeing a shrink myself. That’s where I got the idea that I have a low EQ, that I over-optimize things in life, and don’t relax and enjoy that I’ve “made it” enough. Generally though, I don’t think I’m suffering from anywhere near as bad of psychological problems as my wife is and I don’t think I’m dysfunctional like she is.
6 months ago, we decided that we’d split up if things don’t get better. She started to take anti-depressants again, but a low dose this time. It didn’t stop us from arguing/fighting, but we did go 6 months without any physical violence (her punching me or throwing things at me). A week ago, she decided that the psychologists weren’t helping and stopped seeing them and stopped taking anti-depressants.
Since we gave it 6 more months and my shrink didn’t tell me anything major that I’m doing to cause this, I am really thinking it’s time to call it quits.
If I date again, I think I should find a smart woman who is more emotionally stable and doesn’t feel threatened by my work. . . somebody who I respect as an intellectual and who can call me out on my bullshit and help me to grow as well. Looks don’t seem that important to me right now -- just health and brains and not ugly.
I look forward to hearing some advice on this. Divorce is very scary, but I feel like it’s my only option if I don’t want to be dealing with a mentally unstable person for the rest of my life. I know I'll be able to find plenty of gold-diggers, but I'm not sure if I'll be able to find a woman that I'd be happy with.
TLDR; I feel wife is mentally unstable and my only option after 12 years is divorce. If I stay with her, I can never have children and will be lonely as an old man.

Sorry for the long message that follows. I couldn't find a way to express this in less words.
I met my wife when we were both very young. I was 17 and she was 15. She lived in South America and was visiting the US on her quinceanera (15th birthday celebration).
I was drawn to her because she was beautiful, close with her family, very loyal, and I felt like I could talk to her and be open about philosophy and stuff. We kept in touch in a long-distance relationship, and I visited her in South America 5 times. We were getting older, she was 18 and I was 20 we decided to get married because it was the only way we could be together.
A bit about me -- I’m kind of a unique/weird guy. In Kindergarten, my teacher used to say “He’s a dreamer” meaning that I’d daydream a lot and not pay attention. They tested me for gifted and I was lucky enough to get into that program and also into a magnet high school and an honors program in college. I was always into philosophy growing up - things that wouldn’t be considered cool by most kids. With my wife, I could talk openly about whatever I was reading and she accepted me.
Fast forward to today, and I’m in my early 30’s and own my own successful business. I work from my home most days -- either programming or meeting with employees via skype. I own adult websites. When I got into this line of work, I was 19. My wife didn’t have a big problem with it then, and it allowed me to have enough money to support her through various schools for careers that haven’t panned out. I was even able to buy her parents a house nearby ($400k+) so that she would have family around.
I work really hard and am often stressing about something business related. I also don’t have good separation between work and personal life, but I figure that’s the cost of being in the top 1% income of America. I also have been told I have low emotional intelligence and am very introverted. I try to make time to spend with her, and I take my wife out to restaurants for lunch and dinner most days of the week. I also try to spend at least 1 or 2 hours with her in the evenings, either watching TV, walking the dog, or playing a video game together.
I have a few big problems that make her hard to live with:
First, we fight and argue about 10 days out of every month. I keep a journal, and if I feel my blood pressure rising over something I write down that we had a fight. Generally, I’m a mellow guy who doesn’t yell or get angry at much. When she argues with me, she becomes very irrational. Once, I said to her “I don’t want to argue anymore, I’m gonna go. ”. She said, “I’m not arguing”. I said, “OK, can you at least agree with me that we’re arguing about whether we’re arguing?” She continued to repeat “I’m not arguing, you are arguing.” Once, my mother was in the hospital from a brain aneurism. I thought she was going to die. My wife and I had a fight that week because she thought I invited her across country to spend time with her and had her feelings hurt that I was more focused on my family than her. The fight was bad enough that she took off her wedding ring and left it with me before flying back across country while I stayed by my mom.
Second, Also, she cries all the time. She cried the day she arrived in the states. The excuse was that she was leaving behind her family, friends, and all she knew and I wasn’t supposed to take it personally. But, the crying continued. She cries at least 2 days a week, sometimes 3 or 4. When we don’t agree on something, it’s a safe bet that she’s going to cry and become difficult to talk to. I’ve gotten to the point where I just look away and don’t want to deal with her when she cries. Lately she hasn’t, but when she cried she used to say things like “I hate you. You’ve ruined my life.”
Second, I have a hard time connecting with her on an intellectual level. When I’m trying to talk about something that’s on my mind (some philosophy or observation on life or whatever), I find it very hard not to be patronizing and say questions like “do you understand me? should i explain it differently?” It’s hard, because a lot of times she will fall asleep when I’m talking or just say “uh-huh”. I might be a pretty boring guy, but I’d appreciate a simple, “Honey I don’t really want to talk about computer programming, how about . . . ”.
Third, she would complain when I invite my business partner over to work hard on website design. I felt like our house is big enough and in a really nice location, and it’s a perk to get to work from there. Many times when he would be over, I would be upstairs arguing with my wife. Then, when he leaves, my wife and I would argue and I’d be telling her she should support me working. The arguments would get heated and quite often she’d throw objects at me (keys, cell phones, desk paperweights, etc.
Fourth, she periodically blows up about my line of work. She has said she has no reason to think I’m cheating on her, but the fact that I have access to many women who would consider sleeping with the owner of the site to get ahead scares her. I ask her what I’m supposed to do about it. She’s asked that I never have the content on my screen, but I told her that doesn’t make sense. Nobody could own a strip club and never walk into their own establishment. I invite my wife to all business events, and no performers have my contact info -- there are managers below me who deal with performers. Then, a few days after the blow-up, she’ll come around and say she understands and she supports it. I did offer to quit and sell everything once, but I told her I’m not going to work a “normal job”. I’ve worked 60 hour weeks for 10 years to get where I am, so if I quit we’re retiring somewhere cheap like Costa Rica. I’m not sure if I could follow through with it though, cause I’m terrified of being stuck with her in Costa Rica and not having my company anymore if I decide I can’t be with her.
Fifth, I am starting to want kids more as I get older, but I’m very scared to have them with her. I’m afraid they will be highly emotional cry-babies and my wife and I will continue to fight 10 days per month which would be a horrible environment for children. We said we’d have kids if we can go 1 year without the disfunction we currently experience.
Sixth, she hasn't done well at any careers she's tried, and is unhappy as a housewife. This causes her to have a very low self esteem. When we first got married, she went to school to do nails (manicure/pedicure stuff). She didn’t like that, so no big deal, I didn’t need her to work. Then she went to college for a bachelors in business. We would fight if I tried helping her with school work, so I just let her do it on her own. She didn't get any good jobs from that, and she took jobs as a front-desk secretary. I told her those jobs are a waste of time and she should volunteer her time instead of stressing over a near-minimum wage job that doesn't make her happy. She'd work for a few weeks, but her pay-check compared to what we make from my business really made it feel like a waste of time. Then she took school about how to be a yoga/fitness instructor. After a few years of trying, she got a job teaching fitness classes. This became stressful for her because her boss kept critiquing her, so she quit to become a full-time housewife (again). The career stuff doesn’t really bother me, but I feel it speaks to her character that none of those attempts have panned out. I’d be happiest if she was a happy housewife and did rewarding volunteer work, but if she needed to work to be happy that would be fine too.
I could go on with complaints, but this list is getting long. Here are some things we’ve been trying to do to fix things:
We’ve been seeing therapists/psychologists for a few years. Usually, we start to go for couples therapy but then she starts crying so they say “I need to see you alone”. She gets prescribed an anti-depressant which dramatically fixes all the problems (except the intellectual connection). Then, she’ll stop taking the anti-depressants and the fighting/throwing things is back. After a few years of no progress, I decided to start seeing a shrink myself. That’s where I got the idea that I have a low EQ, that I over-optimize things in life, and don’t relax and enjoy that I’ve “made it” enough. Generally though, I don’t think I’m suffering from anywhere near as bad of psychological problems as my wife is and I don’t think I’m dysfunctional like she is.
6 months ago, we decided that we’d split up if things don’t get better. She started to take anti-depressants again, but a low dose this time. It didn’t stop us from arguing/fighting, but we did go 6 months without any physical violence (her punching me or throwing things at me). A week ago, she decided that the psychologists weren’t helping and stopped seeing them and stopped taking anti-depressants.
Since we gave it 6 more months and my shrink didn’t tell me anything major that I’m doing to cause this, I am really thinking it’s time to call it quits.
I look forward to hearing some advice on this. Divorce is very scary, but I feel like it’s my only option if I don’t want to be dealing with a mentally unstable person for the rest of my life.
TLDR; I feel wife is mentally unstable and my only option after 12 years is divorce. If I stay with her, I can never have children and will be lonely as an old man.