Car accident grand ave baldwin ny

[Pokeleaks] Megathread - Pokémon shiny

2023.04.01 21:14 Sogggy_ [Pokeleaks] Megathread - Pokémon shiny

  1. Sprigatito^
  2. Florgato
  3. Meowscarada
  4. Fuecoco^
  5. Crocalor
  6. Skeledirge
  7. Quaxly^
  8. Quaxwell
  9. Quaquaval
  10. Lechonk
  11. Oinkologne (femme) / Oinkologne (mâle)
  12. Dundunsparce
  13. Tarountula
  14. Spidops
  15. Nymble
  16. Lokix
  17. Rellor
  18. Rabsca
  19. Greavard
  20. Pierre de chasse
  21. Flittle
  22. Espartha
  23. Farafarig
  24. Wiglett
  25. Wugtrio
  26. Dondozo
  27. Veluza
  28. Finizen
  29. Palafin (zéro) / Palafin (héros)
  30. Smoliv
  31. Dolliv
  32. Arboliva
  33. Capsakid
  34. Scovillian
  35. Tadbulbe
  36. Bellibolt
  37. Varoom
  38. Revaroom
  39. Orthoworm
  40. Tandemaus
  41. Maushold
  42. Cetoddle
  43. Cetitan
  44. Frigibax
  45. Arctibax
  46. Baxcalibur
  47. Tatsugiri (rose) / Tatsugiri (jaune) / Tatsurigi (Orange)
  48. Cyclizar
  49. Pawmi
  50. Pawmo
  51. Pawmot
  52. Wattrel
  53. Kilowattrel
  54. Bombirdier
  55. Squawkabilly
  56. Flamigo
  57. Klawf
  58. Nacli
  59. Naclstack
  60. Garnacl
  61. Glimmet
  62. Glimmora
  63. Shroodle
  64. Grafaiai
  65. Fidough
  66. Teckel
  67. Maschiff
  68. Mabosstiff
  69. Bramblin
  70. Brambleghast
  71. Gimmighoul*
  72. Gholdengo*
  73. Grande défense (ancien Donphan)
  74. Bonnet brute (Amoongus)
  75. Chocs de sable (Magnemite)
  76. Scream Tail (Jigglypuff)
  77. Crinière flottante (Misdreavus)
  78. Aile fendue (ancienne Volcarone)
  79. Lune rugissante (Salamance)
  80. Iron Treads (Future Donphan)
  81. Teigne du fer (Volcarone)
  82. Mains de fer (Hariyama)
  83. Jugulis de fer (Hydreigon)
  84. Épines de fer (TTar)
  85. Paquet de fer (Delibird)
  86. Fer vaillant (Gallade)
  87. Ting-Lu*
  88. Chien-Pao*
  89. Wo-Chien*
  90. Chi-Yu*
  91. Koraidon*
  92. Moraidon*
  93. Tinkatink
  94. Tinkatuff
  95. Tinkaton
  96. Charcadet
  97. Armarouge
  98. Ceruledge
  99. Toedscool
  100. Toedscruel
  101. Kingambit
  102. Wooper (Paldéen) / Clodsire
  103. Annihilape
  104. Tauros (combat) / Tauros (Combat/Feu) / Tauros (combat/eau)
submitted by Sogggy_ to enfrancais [link] [comments]

2023.04.01 16:59 GasStationJack We don't celebrate AFD at the gas station (ALL THE UPDATES)

April 1st. 1:45 AM
Holy crap, this is nuts!
Okay, try and stay with me here. I’ve only got like fifteen minutes before the next spirit shows up, and I really want to get this all down before it’s too late.
So, just like Jerry--I mean, the spirit, or god, or whatever it was--said: At one in the morning, I got a special visitor at the gas station.
This one didn’t appear in a cloud of fog. There was no crack of lightning or flickering lights. On the hour, I heard that same noise--the mystery chime. Just once this time. One in the morning.
It came in the form of an aura. A blinding white light. If it were outside, you could probably notice it from orbit. But it was contained here in the gas station, and it was coming entirely from the bathroom. I could only see the radiance of it poking out from the space below the door, but I could feel the brightness, like it was burning a piece of my soul. I’m sure if I’d looked directly at it, my eyes would have burned out of my sockets. It was only there for a few seconds. Then, I heard the toilet flush. And the light was no more.
When the bathroom door opened, I was not prepared for who I was about to see. The man--the spirit--who emerged looked young. He was clean shaven, with red hair on top. He wore a tan overcoat on top of a black half-turtleneck. When he saw me, he smirked.
“Rick Astley?” I asked, barely able to contain my surprise.
“No,” he said in a British accent. “I am the spirit of April Fool’s past.”
“Long past?”
“No. Your past. Assuming you are…” he pulled a notepad out of his coat pocket and flipped it open to one of the pages. “...Jack.”
“That’s what the name tag says. May I be so bold as to inquire what business brings you here?”
“Your welfare, Jack.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
The ginger spirit crossed the room, doing an unnecessary dance as he moved. He clapped his hands, shimmied, and then he was standing on the other side of the counter. He reached out to me and said, “Rise, mortal. Walk with me.”
“I’m actually good here.”
He put his hands on the counter and leaned in close, close enough that I could clearly hear him as he whispered, “I’m a spirit. I come from a realm beyond your comprehension. Do you really think I came all the way here to give you the option to say you’re ‘good here’?”
He had a point.
“Okay then,” I said, standing. “How does this work?”
“Take my hand. We are going on a little adventure, to another time and place. We are going somewhere you’ve seen before. And we are going to find the moment you lost faith, the moment you abandoned the magic of the holiday season.”
I took his hand. A spring-loaded buzzer hidden in his palm let out a mechanical whirrr as it simulated a low-voltage electrical shock.
“Got ya!” he laughed. (Not surprisingly, he was the only one laughing.) I waited patiently for him to remove the gimmicky toy, then let him take my hand again. “Alright, now on to business. I want you to think back. Remember the moment you want to forget the most… remember the worst April Fool’s Day of your life.”
“Well, this ought to be fun,” I thought aloud.
Right then, the gas station disappeared. The spirit and I were suspended in nothingness. The world, the universe, and even our bodies had ceased to be… And just as suddenly, it all came crashing back. Only now, we were someplace else.
The walls were wood panels covered in posters and work orders tacked wherever space allowed. A man in the corner sat behind a cheap plastic desk that looked like it had been picked up from the side of the road. He was a heavy set guy, sweating through his button-up shirt despite the box fan blowing air at his face from a couple feet away. It was much more humid in this place. The smell of cigarette smoke wasn’t enough to cover the pungent odor of dead fish that filled the air. Flies buzzed past us as I looked at the spirit. He looked at me and smiled.
“What is this place?” I asked.
“Do not worry,” the spirit said. “Nobody here can see you. They are but shadows; shadows of what has been.”
“Yeah, I get that. But I have no idea where we are.”
“Does this not look familiar to you?” the spirit asked. His inflection made it seem like this was a rhetorical question, but the look in his eyes told me he was desperately hoping I would make the connection soon.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m lost.”
The Rick Astley spirit retrieved his notepad, thumbed through the pages, and stared at something written there. He poked out his bottom lip and furrowed his brow.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
His face shot up. “What? Oh, no, no, nothing’s wrong. It’s just… Are you sure you don’t know this place?”
“Why would I lie?”
“So, you’re positive this isn’t your foster home from when you were in sixth grade?”
I laughed. “Look around. Does this look like a foster home? I think it’s some kind of business.” I walked up to the wall and inspected the work orders that adorned it: tiny, yellowing sheets of paper with information typed onto it in cryptic shorthand. Nothing any average person would understand, except for the stamps on each that said either “closed” or “open.”
“BUS HOUSE. 3 JOB. 2 OUT.” - Closed.
“VIP DEN. 5 JOB. 5 OUT.” - Closed.
“I’m sorry,” the spirit said. “This is actually quite embarrassing. In all the years I’ve been doing this, I’ve never taken someone to the wrong past before. Here, let’s return and start over.”
The phone on the desk rang. We watched as the heavy set man answered it. In a gruff voice, he said, “Yeah? … What the hell does he want? … Okay, send him in.”
The spirit reached for me, but I pulled back. “Wait,” I said. “I want to see where this is going.”
“It’s not a television show, Jack. This is someone’s worst memory. It’s way better than TV.”
Right then, the door opened. I instantly recognized the young man who entered. He wasn’t in sixth grade, but there was absolutely no denying that this was a younger me.
“What the fuck?” I said.
The look on the spirit’s face (or, I guess, Rick Astley’s face) told me that he was genuinely confused by this turn of events.
The younger me appeared to be in his late teens, perhaps early twenties. He had short hair, camo pants, and a black long-sleeved shirt. He must have been sweating his ass off in this weather, but he kept a professional look on his face and approached the man in the corner.
“Mr. Leechman. My name is-”
“I know who you are.” The heavy man leaned back in his chair and managed to look down his nose at the younger me while looking up at him. “You’re Tommy’s kid brother.”
“Yes sir.”
“Look, it’s a damn shame what happened to him. They ever find the guy who hit his car?”
“No sir.”
“Damn shame I tell ya. You know what, they outta make it to where a hit-and-run is an instant death penalty. But you know those pussies in the government would never do something like that. No, that would make too much sense.”
“I suppose so.”
The spirit and I closed in on these shadows from the past.
“Listen,” the heavy guy continued. I could see new sweat forming on his face. “I sent Tommy’s last paycheck to his address.”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
“What is it, then?”
“Before the accident… Tommy, he told me he might be able to get me a job. And, well, with the funeral and everything, money is getting tight. I was wondering, I mean… I know I can’t take on his role right away, but I am a quick learner. I’m not afraid to work hard and get dirty and-”
The heavy man scooted his seat back, scraping it loudly against the floor. “Hold on!” he said. “What exactly did Tommy tell you about this job?”
“I know all about exterminating. Tommy showed me how to use the different poisons. I helped him fumigate our aunt’s condo when she got fleas. I know how to-”
“Listen, Kid,” the heavy man stood up. “I ain’t gonna bullshit you. This job requires a certain skill set, and you ain’t got it.”
“Now wait a second, Tommy said-”
“Tommy’s dead, Kid. It don’t matter what he said.”
The younger me screamed, “IT MATTERS TO ME!”
Silence filled the room. A long, unnatural silence. The two men stood in place, unmoving, unblinking, unspeaking. It felt like the most intense stare down in history. But then I noticed the black fly--swollen and fat--stuck in place in midair right in front of my face. It wasn’t just the scream that brought the moment to a screeching halt. No, time itself had literally stopped.
“Enough!” The spirit screamed the word like it was poison he wanted out of his mouth. “Cut the crap, Jack. How are you doing this? What is this place?”
I poked the suspended fly, but it remained frozen. Something told me that a Mac truck wouldn’t have been able to pull it out of place. The force of time, of what was already written, was not something mortals could ever hope to overcome.
I said the only thing I could think of. “I have no idea what’s going on here. But I can tell you one thing. This never happened.”
“Do you think I’m playing around here?” asked the spirit dressed like 80’s-musician-turned-meme Rick Astley. “I’ll have you know I take this job very seriously.”
“I’m sure you do.”
He ran a hand through his voluminous red hair and took a deep breath. Then, he circled the room twice, stopped, and smiled. “I got it! This isn’t your past at all.”
“Well, yeah. Obvs.”
“No, in a sense, it is. But this isn’t your your past.”
“I don’t follow.”
“There’s a terminus point in the finite curve near the gas station. We must have accidentally fallen through a gap. This is a remainder in a galactic equation that should have been rounded off. I’ve heard of this happening before, but…” The look on my face must have told him he needed to dumb it down just a bit further. “Okay, this isn’t the correct universe. We’re in a version of your past that could have, but never did occur. You see, it might sound complicated to you, but-”
“Nah, I get it. Multiverses are all the rage in movies and television right now. I’ve already had it explained to me a thousand times.”
“Yes, but have you ever had it explained in terms of updog?”
“What’s ‘updog’?”
“Not much! What’s up with you?!” The spirit laughed joyously, then snapped his fingers, bringing the whole scene back to life. The fly buzzed past my face, I watched as it landed in a web in the corner of the ceiling where it promptly tangled itself up before being set upon by a shiny black spider.
“So, we should probably go back home, right? Considering this isn’t even a real memory?”
The spirit held up a finger and repeated my words back to me, “Hold on, hold on. I want to see where this is going.”
The door opened without a knock, and a tough-looking guy took a step into the room. As the younger me turned to face him, I registered the momentary realization on his face. He knew he messed up. He pushed too hard. And now he was about to get bounced. This guy looked like he was no stranger to busting heads. Scars on his face, ears misshapen like he had a history of amateur boxing, hands at his sides clenched into fists… and a deepset scowl that looked like it was the only expression he was capable of making.
“It’s okay, Bruno,” the heavy set man said calmly. “Our guest was just about to leave.”
“We got a problem, Boss.” Bruno’s voice sounded like a bag of rocks. (What does a bag of rocks sound like, you might ask. Well, Bruno’s voice, of course. I don’t know how else to put it. You had to be there. It was deeply unsettling.)
Bruno took a step to the side. The younger me understood without being told. It was time for him (or me?) to leave. He did so without another word. I went ahead and started to follow, but the spirit caught my arm.
“Hold up,” he said.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’ve sat through enough boring childhood memories that I know when something juicy is about to happen, and that’s most certainly not going to be with the young man walking away. He’s a B story, at best. But look at these two! They’re like cartoons! So well-realized! What’s their deal? Who is Bruno? What do they do here?”
The younger me was already out the door. Bruno closed it behind him.
“Shouldn’t we follow… you know… me?”
“Don’t be so selfish,” the spirit said. “After all these countless eons, I deserve to go off the rails just a little, don’t I? As a treat! Just a little treat!”
I didn’t have time to answer before the heavy man began speaking. “What’s the problem?”
Bruno answered, “He’s here.”
“Plane must have landed early. He wants to start the job by sundown.”
“Shit! How many does he need?”
“He’s calling this a seven job. Guzman and Florida are on call. They can get here in ten minutes.”
“What does that bring us to?”
“Five. Six if I go, too. He’s not gonna be happy if we can’t provide him with the team he paid for.”
“You think I don’t know that?! Shit!”
“I got some mercs on their way out of East City, but they won’t be here before day’s end.”
“You know he isn’t a patient man.”
“What about him?” Bruno pointed at the door with his thumb. “Tommy’s kid brother, I mean. With me and Guzman on the team, all we need are warm bodies to pad the numbers. Why not give the kid a shot?”
“He doesn’t know what we do here.”
“Really? You mean Tommy never… You mean he thinks Tommy died in a car accident?”
Drops of sweat were dripping from the boss’s face onto his desk. He closed his eyes and made a pained expression, like someone was crushing him from the inside. “Alright.” With that word, he fell into his chair. “Get the kid back in here. I’ll call Guzman and Florida.”
“What do you want me to tell him?”
“Tell him only what he needs to know.”
The two of them froze in place. Once again, time had stopped.
The spirit let out a wild laugh that morphed into the words, “Ooooh hoo hoo, this is exciting, isn’t it? What do you think is happening? What are mercs? Do you think he meant mercenaries? I genuinely don’t know where this is going! Uncertainty is such a beautiful thing, isn’t it?”
“Well, I am glad you’re enjoying yourself. But I don’t share your sense of curiosity or adventure, and I genuinely don’t see why I have to be here for any of this. How about you stay and keep doing this, and I go back to the gas station?”
“That’s not how it works, Jack. Your mind is powering this entire expedition. Come on, let’s see what happens next.” I didn’t mean to groan as audibly as I did, but the spirit didn’t take offense. He just smiled, retrieved his notepad, and continued, “I’ll make a deal with you. Let’s stick with this thread. The other option is we untangle this time knot and go visit your foster home that year your brothers stole your pants and locked you outside for the day. Remember? The police were called.”
“Why would you-”
“I’ll just write up a report saying we went to the correct memory. The visits to the past are mostly just a formality anyway. The only spirit journey that ever matters is the spirit of April Fools yet to come. I’m only here to familiarize you with the concept. So what do you say? Care to go off page for a little longer?”
I threw up my hands. “I mean, you’re the supernatural entity here. I’m just the schmuck who’s along for the ride.”
“That’s the spirit!” he said with a punch-inviting grin. “Pun intended!” He raised his hand, and with a snap of his finger, the world shifted.
The air was suddenly hotter. The lights dimmer. I shook my head until my bearings returned, slowly, lazily… And then I saw them. Bruno stood near a set of lockers, the younger me sat on a bench next to him. It was a small room, stuffy, like we were underground.
“I know this is a lot to process,” Bruno said.
The younger me didn’t seem phased. “No, I always knew Tommy was into something. He had too much money for an exterminator. I just thought… you know, maybe it was drugs.”
Bruno opened a locker and began pulling out gear: tactical boots, kevlar vest, ammo pouch… “These were his,” he said. “They should fit close enough for one job. Impress the big guy, and we’ll bring you back for the next one.”
“Who is he?”
“Listen, Kid. You gotta get those questions out of your system before you see him. This guy is the real deal, but if he catches a whiff that you’re an amateur, he might call the job on the spot. What you do here tonight is simple, shut the fuck up, follow my lead. I tell you to jump, jump. I tell you to shoot, shoot. I tell you to run…” He pulled an automatic rifle from the locker next. The younger me took it without hesitation.
“Anything else I should know?”
“Someone might try to test you. If anybody tells you that you remind them of someone they knew in the army, that’s code to make sure you’re on the same team. They tell you that, you respond, ‘I need a drink.’ You got that?”
The younger me nodded.
That voice almost made me jump. I’d forgotten the spirit was still here with me.
“Ready for what?” I asked.
“Well, this part feels like filler, doesn't it? Let’s get to the action already, okay?” He pointed at the door behind me.
“It’s your show.”
He reached for the handle, and despite his early proclamation that these were merely shadows of things that once were, he succeeded in interacting with it. It turned. The door swung open. He stepped through, and I followed.
Now, on the other side, we were transported to a different time and place--neither very far from the previous time or place. We were outside now. Mosquitos buzzed in the humid air as the sun set behind a cloudy horizon. There were seven men lined up, standing at attention next to a black SUV. Bruno took one end, the younger me on the other. They were all armed to the teeth. The five in the middle stood tall, battle-worn, confident. Everything about them exaggerated the contrast from me--the runt on the end pretending he knew what he was in for.
They weren’t alone, though. There was another man with them. The big guy himself. He had dark skin and a thick, black beard. A mountain of a man, full of muscle, exuding an air of sheer power. If it came down to a fair fight between him and the seven men at attention, well, I sure wouldn’t bet against him.
When he spoke, the hairs on my neck bristled. “Alright, ladies, I see some new faces here so I’m gonna keep this quick. My name is Benjamin, and I’m not going to carry any of you. Tonight, we have a single target. Weaknesses are standard, which means bullets will do the trick. Stay off the coms unless there’s a surprise. But there won’t be any surprises. Any questions?”
Bruno was the only one who dared speak. “What’s the target look like?”
“Unclear, but we ought to know it when we see it. At last report, it took the appearance of a human: park ranger named Preston Creekbaum. Six two, brown hair, medium build. But that was over twelve hours ago, so the target will not look like that anymore. Any other questions?” There were none. At least, none spoken. “Good. Load up.”
The scene froze in time. “What the fuck is happening?” the spirit asked. There was far less excitement in his voice this time around. “This thread, it… continues for a while. How is that possible? A pocket reality like this should have fallen apart after a few minutes, but the story goes on and on… I can see a long road out in front of us, but it shouldn’t be possible.” For an interdimensional cosmic spirit, he sure sounded rattled by the unknown. (Kinda ironic, really, when you think about it.)
“So, what now?” I asked.
The spirit checked its watch. “We’re actually running out of time.”
“How? How could we possibly be running out of time?”
"I only get an hour with you. I need to finish this up before the Spirit of April Fool’s Day Present gets his turn. And that guy gets pissed when he has to wait.”
“That only raises further questions.”
“Do you mind if we step on the gas a little with this story?” I shrugged. He smiled. “Good. Fast forward mode activated. And do me a favor, keep your eyes open for a hammerfore.”
“What’s a hammerfore?” I asked.
“Driving nails!” he laughed obnoxiously. With a snap of his fingers, we were transported to a clearing in the middle of a tangled forest. The mercs were gathered in a circle around a bloated corpse in a ranger’s uniform.
“That’s the guy, right?” one of the men said.
“STOP!” screamed Benjamin as he ran towards the group. “Get away from it before-”
One of the eyes on the corpse exploded to the sound of a wet pop, and a skinny, pink, serpentine creature--about the size of a garden snake--leapt out of the body. It latched onto Bruno’s face. He screamed and tried to grab the creature, but it was too fast. Bruno fell to his knees as the pink snake burrowed through his skull.
Benjamin shoved one of the mercs out of the way, bellowed “STAY BACK,” then unloaded a magazine of high caliber rifle bullets into Bruno’s dead body, tearing it to shreds. When the gun was empty and the shooting had stopped, the men looked at one another.
One of them ignored the big guy’s previous command and stepped over to the wet, meaty puddle of bones and viscera that had once been Bruno and said, “Holy shit. What was that thi-”
The snake erupted out of the gore with the sound of a loud “SCREEEE!!!” It hit the man who stood too close square in the neck, then disappeared under his skin. His face went ghost-white as blood spurted from the hole, but he didn’t fall down. His eyes glazed over, and he turned to face the others in short, stiff steps.
Benjamin hollered as he loaded a new magazine into his gun, “SHOOT IT! IT’S CONTROLLING HIM! IT’S-” The man with the snake in his neck lifted his rifle and pointed at the other mercs. Shadows of the past or not, I instinctively hit the ground before the next round of bullets began flying.
The sudden silence wasn’t the most unnerving thing that had just happened, but it was up there. When I opened my eyes, I could see bullets trapped in place in mid-air.
“Holy flipping shit,” said the spirit. “This is not what I was expecting.” He checked his watch again. “We’re almost done here, but I gotta see where this ends.”
He snapped his fingers, and we were gone. The muddy earth below me turned hard and cold. The air turned stale. It took me a second longer to realize that we were indoors. I rolled over and got to my feet. This was a small cabin, hardly more than a shed. Benjamin sat near the fireplace, a roaring blaze keeping the cramped room entirely too hot. He held a blade over the flames, the tip glowing red hot.
There was only one other person from this timezone in the room: the younger me. He was covered in blood, but he was breathing. It didn’t take a detective to figure out the rest of the crew wasn’t as lucky. His shoulder wept a steady stream of blood onto the cabin floor until Benjamin pressed the heated blade into place, cauterizing the wound to the sound of a blood-curdling scream.
“Good work today, Kid,” Benjamin said, handing over a flask. The younger me took and drank freely. “Sorry about your crew.”
Eventually, the younger me managed to get out the words, “It’s okay.”
The big guy pulled two cigars from his jacket, leaned over, and lit them in the fire. He clamped the first between his teeth, then handed the other to the wounded kid on the floor. The younger me didn’t hesitate to take the celebratory smoke.
“The thing is,” Benjamin said, pausing to take a puff. “This didn’t turn out the way any of us expected. Men died who didn’t need to. Wasn’t anyone’s fault, really. It was the creature’s fault.” The younger me dropped his cigar and flask, then began to violently cough. His face turned bright red as the coughing became shallower and shallower. He struggled to breathe, fighting the constriction in his neck, but it was no use. He struggled in silence, desperate for air, for one more breath, but none would come. “Yeah, it was the creature’s fault. But I told your boss, I told him what I needed. I needed a seven man crew. I needed seven pros, but he only gave me six. I saw Bruno watching you. His head wasn’t in the game, because he was babysitting when he should have been paying attention. Now, I ain’t sayin’ that’s the reason they’re all dead. I just want you to understand why I can’t let you walk out of this one.”
His words didn’t matter. The young man on the floor couldn’t hear him any more. Benjamin picked up the flask, made sure the top was on, then stuffed it into his pocket. “Sorry, Kid. But it is what it is.”
“Wait a second,” the spirit said loudly. “So… you died?! What the hell?”
Benjamin pulled a cellular phone from his pocket. I took a step closer. Close enough to see the number he dialed, but it was just a saved contact named “HQ.”
“Benjamin,” he said into the receiver. “Password Echo, Alpha-”
He froze with his mouth still open, tongue on his teeth, staring straight ahead.
“Well, this has been interesting, to say the least.” I was getting so tired of this spirit. At least I didn’t have to deal with him for very much longer. “But it’s time for us to get back to your shitty real life as a boring gas station attendant. Shall we?”
He snapped his fingers, but this time nothing happened. The world didn’t vanish. We stayed put. Exactly like I wanted.
“What’s wrong?” I asked in my most innocent voice.
“Nothing,” he lied. “Sometimes, it takes a couple of snaps for it to work,” he lied again.
He snapped, and the world stayed as it was. He could snap again, and again, but as long as I had my wave disruptor on, nothing would ever change. I removed the device from my pocket. The spirit looked at it and laughed. “Nice camera phone,” he said. “But I’m afraid you can’t take any pictures here. These memories are only in your mind. They don’t show up on film and cannot be recorded.”
I adjusted the settings on the disruptor to only cancel out the S wave frequencies. To the spirit, it probably looked like I was texting. He continued to smile at me nervously, until I executed the new routine, causing the memory to resume from right where we left off.
“-Tango-nine-seven-nine-two-Victor.” The spirit jumped as Benjamin resumed talking. The big guy stood and started for the door. “Status report. Target has been neutralized. Local team was compromised. Witnesses terminated. Request immediate evac.” He stepped out into the cold night air and slammed the door shut behind him so hard dust fell from the ceiling.
“This is, unusual, but not unheard of,” the spirit assured me. “I have everything under control.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t think you do.”
Right then, I woke up, gasping for air. Not the me that was standing, talking to the spirit. The me on the ground. I gagged and fought and strained against the poison constricting my muscles. I fought hard against whatever the hell that asshole Benjamin had put in that flask. A morsel of air broke through the floodgates, and that’s when I knew I wasn’t about to die. I tried to scream, but it wasn’t time for that yet. My heart pounded and my lungs begged; every part of me wanted nothing more than to stay alive. It was nothing but luck and sheer force of will that saved me that day, as I struggled against death long enough to take another breath. And then another.
The spirit shouted, “Holy fuck! You survived!”
“Of course I survived,” I said. “How else would I have been alive for us to meet?”
The spirit shook his head, like he thought I just wasn’t getting it. “But this didn’t happen! This is an alternate timeline, one where you never worked at the gas station, but instead became a monster hunter or something. It’s not like-”
This time, when the words froze midsentence, it wasn’t from any kind of magic or parascience. It was because I rolled up my sleeve to show the spirit how wrong he was. The gears turned quickly once he saw the old scar on my shoulder. The burn from when Benjamin cauterized my wound all those years ago. The spirit couldn’t have known exactly what was happening, but he was smart enough to try and run.
He went for the cabin door. I stayed close behind. We passed through together, and into another scene from my memory.
It was only four years later, but I had gone from a young man to a world-weary soldier. I was sitting in the recruitment office of The Institute. The commander stood behind the egghead scientists. They’d listened to my entire story without judgment--the reason for my medical discharge. And they told me something I’d never heard before. They believed me. And they wanted to help me.
The spirit hooked a right and went for the closest door. If this were really The Institute, it would have led to a balcony overseeing the compound’s hundred acre grounds, but it wasn’t. Instead, it took us to another memory:
A classroom. Only two people in this memory. My commander pointed at the picture on the projection that took up the entire wall. It was a photo of a young man sitting behind a cash register.
“Jack Townsend,” my commander said. “You’ll find his dossier to be interesting reading. You need to study him. Imitate. Do what he does, live how he lives, think how he thinks. The spirits must believe that you are him.”
The spirit spun on his heels. There were no other exits in this room. I had him cornered. It was time to go on the offensive.
I wrapped my fingers into the silver-plated knuckles and delivered a clean haymaker across his temple. If the spirit had been human, it would have put him in a coma at the least. Thank God the nerds were right; silver was enough to put him down. He moaned up at me from the floor, telling me that he wouldn’t be a problem any more.
Good, I thought to myself. I have a lot more work left to do tonight.
I reset the disruptor to the preprogrammed settings. Next stop, April Fool’s Day. One year ago. I grabbed the spirit by his leg and dragged him back through the doorway.
We were transported to the special species containment unit in the sub-basement of the Liscov Institute. There were two other people in this negatively-charged Ferriday cage built from nonmagnetic titanium and silver. They couldn’t see us, but they knew we were here.
My commander looked at the me from one year ago, then nodded. The old me programmed the disruptor with our exact coordinates. I’d been studying the tech for the greater part of the last decade, and was intimately familiar with all of its settings.
“Now,” my commander said, “explain this to me again.”
“In one year’s time,” the old me elaborated, “I’ll return to this point in the timeline and drop off the anomaly. It will remain trapped inside these walls for exactly one year. After the temporal energy has worn off, we open the cage, and he is powerless to escape.”
The spirit sat up. “What?! No, you can’t leave me here for an entire year! I’ll go mad with boredom!”
“I'm sorry,” I lied.
“Wait!” he shouted, tears in his eyes. “At least let me have a henway before you go!”
“What’s a henway?” I asked.
He laughed maniacally and answered, “About three pounds!”
I pressed the button on my device, transferring me back to the original timeline.
Anyway, I’m sorry. I know that was a slog to read, but part of my job infiltrating this place was acting just like Jack, and for some reason Jack writes down every single thing that happens to him in this stupid laptop. I had to keep up appearances, didn’t I?
Oh, I just heard that weird chime again. Twice this time. 2:00 already. I guess that means I gotta go.
Like I said… this is nuts!
April 1st, 2:10 AM
I’m just going to go ahead and say it: That was fun.
It’s not every day a decade-long plan to apprehend multi-dimensional anomalies pans out so successfully. In fact, it was such a success, I don’t even need to continue writing. I’m done. So why do I continue? I suppose this is my victory lap. Or maybe I spent so much time trying to get inside of Jack’s head that I felt a certain sense of duty to finish his blog entry.
Don’t worry, by the way. If you actually liked that guy for some reason, he’s still alive. He’s just tied up and gagged in the storage room, which is a lot more than I can say for the spirit of April Fool’s Day Present.
She appeared right on time, wearing a dress made of red and yellow flowers. She didn’t try for the same grand entrance as her predecessor. And if it weren’t for the fact that her head was actually that of a white deer’s skull-complete with empty eye sockets and a missing lower jaw--I would have categorized her entrance as being perfectly ordinary.
I don’t know how she talked with that setup, but she managed just fine. I let her go through the same movements as the other anomalies. The whole, “You don’t look like I was expecting,” was starting to get really old, but whatever. She eventually got to the point, took my hand, and told me we were going on a journey to see the ones I cared about most on this April Fool’s Day. She thought that meant we’d arrive at Jack’s home, where his sick roommate was adorning the house with birthday decorations and burning a cake (yeah, I read the whole file). But instead, we went to exactly where the ones I cared about the most--my brothers in arms at The Institute--were waiting.
We arrived inside the containment field in the sub-basement of the institute. The spirit didn’t even get another word out before the shackles went into place. As the guards took her away for processing and testing, I approached my commander.
He smiled at me and asked, “Did you get what you were after?”
“Benjamin’s passcode: Echo, alpha, tango, nine, seven, nine, two, victor.”
“Excellent work.”
Together, we approached the Ferriday cage. I scanned my fingerprint on the monitor, opening the cage for the first time in one year. We found him slumped in the corner, muttering to himself over and over… “Never gonna give you up…” etc. etc.
Alright boys and girls, that’s about the last you’ll ever hear from me. If we never see each other again, it will be too soon. Remember, watch your back and never trust anyone.
-Special Agent Brick Roscoe,
Liscov Institute for Societal Advancement
April 1st, 2:58 AM
Hey guys. It’s Jack here. The real Jack, I mean.
Yeah, I just finished reading all of that crap the other guy wrote. I hope none of you fell for it. His attempts at imitating me were embarrassing, to say the least. I mean, voice like a bag of rocks? What does that even mean?
I digress…
Mr. Roscoe jumped me last night and stuffed me in the closet with nothing to keep myself occupied except a bunch of audiobooks. I’m not entirely upset that I missed the spirits, but I’d be lying if I said the agent’s account didn’t make me feel sorry for the poor ghosts.
Oh shit, that means I’ve got to explain to the next one why their friends are MIA. Crap. This really is the stupidest day of the entire year, isn’t it? God I wish I could have stayed home.
Oh great. I just heard three chimes.
Wish me luck.
April 1st, 3:30 AM
They were actually pretty cool about it. But I had to fill out some paperwork--an incident report or something. Then they gave me a voucher for two free spirit journeys in the future, which I am almost positive I won’t use. The spirit of April Fool’s Yet to Come did show me the future, though, and it was exactly what I expected.
Death and destruction, wanton violence, polar ice caps melting, all the puppies dying, Brendan Fraser getting his Oscar revoked… you know, the worst of the worst, and it’s all somehow going to be my fault.
I asked the spirit (who, by the way, looked nothing like the grim reaper--no, it actually took the form of a little girl in a sun dress carrying a six-foot scythe) if these images were the shadows of things that will be, or if they were the shadows of things that only may be.
The spirit actually gave me an answer.
“The future isn’t set in stone. It can be avoided, but doing so will require either a lot of luck, or a lot of snoo.”
I’d learned long ago that luck wasn’t something one could ever count on, but I was a little confused by her statement.
“What’s ‘snoo’?” I asked.
“Oh, not much. What’s new with you?”

Anyway, happy April Fool’s Day, y'all.
submitted by GasStationJack to TFTGS [link] [comments]

2023.04.01 16:48 Ready-Bat-8824 March 2023 Recap of Hilaria’s IG = 12 Posts or “New Spin”

March 2023 Recap of Hilaria’s IG = 12 Posts or “New Spin”
One year and five months after Alec killed Halyna Hutchins on the cursed set of Rust, Hillary Lynn “I am a white girl” Hayward-Thomas Baldwin has finally been made to pump the brakes on her vehicle of child exploitation Instagram account.
Alec made 14 IG grid posts in March (because Peepaw cannot figure out Stories) and Hillary posted on her IG 12 times in March as compared to:
· 159 times in January 2023
· 35 times in February 2023 (and 565 times in February 2022)
· 118 times in March 2022
Generally speaking, Alec and Hillary seem to be finally heeding the PR advice they’re paying an arm and a leg for. Molly McPherson, a fantastic PR guru who has posted about the Baldwins in the past recommends that in a PR crisis, people need to “designate a leader to oversee the crisis and a communicator to manage it,” and that can be the same person. Well, since December 2020, Hillary has been overseeing first her fake heritage crisis then Alec’s Rust crisis and also communicating about both directly and indirectly. The word “bungle” sums it all up neatly.
For reference, these are the images from January that Hillary and Alec are trying to make the public forget in their carefully curated “less is more” approach to IG:
Never forget sewer bro and \"you're hurting me!\" 1/20/23

A prize. 2/20/23
Even though Hillary only posted 12 times, tons happened in March because these people are chaos magnets:
  • After a messy, messy start to the new year, Hilz is now trying to course correct after her wildly inappropriate Hilaria the Martyr performances in her statement sweatshirts.
  • Post 1: Grid post (meaning meant to last and stay on her IG page instead of disappearing like stories) - a video of Rafael (7) and Edu (2) cuddling cuz who doesn’t like cute little kids cuddling? Well, only 9K of Hillary’s fans liked the video, or .009% of her devoted followers, so there’s that.
Sweet, but not generating the engagement Mami is looking for.
  • Narrative she’s reframing: Rafa seems deeply sad in the stream of pictures his parents post about him.
  • New spin: Rafa is HAPPY and well-adjusted.
  • Post 2: Hillary reposts a Washington Post article about toxic impact of social media on teens. She adds a typical word salad caption with too much text in tiny font but also includes a poll to see what her followers think: should she a) hold the “trolls” accountable or b) ignore them? She’s posted like this before, so it was easy to dismiss, but an interesting twist happened two weeks later (more on this below).
She's not \"torn,\" she would love nothing more than to doxx folks who criticize her.
  • Narrative she’s reframing: She’s a problematic, entitled, cultural appropriator who faked a whole ethnicity to jazz up her brand. Such as it was.
  • New spin: "Hilaria" is a victim of jealous boolies and trolls who lust after Alec Baldwin (I refer you to the image above from Feb. 20th).
  • Alec attends the Roundabout Theater Company’s Gala without Hillary. It must be nice to be on the Board of Directors of a not-for-profit organization purely out of the goodness of your heart.
2023, 2020, 2018 (L to R).
  • Ireland had a “Baby’s First Strip Club” themed baby shower in LA – no likes from step-abuela.
  • Hillary was seen in the wild by an intrepid pepino talking on the phone about her “demographic” – something is brewing, apparently. My guess is some sort of exposé (interview? short reality series?) about how she's been "cancelled" which will prominently feature her own recordings of the paps and IG comments on her public accounts.
God forbid she trip in these goofy slippers while holding that innocent baby.
I appreciate how the cleavage is more pronounced in the painting.
  • Alec posted about Robert Blake’s death, oblivious to the irony. That same day his lawyers declare that the gun he shot Halyna with is now “destroyed.” It’s not.
  • Alec and Hillary were photographed by the BackGrid paps they have on speed dial and idk what is most distressing: Hillary’s hideous poop-colored leggingos (origin story of the word here), Alec’s sad loafers, or the nanny that has to listen to him talk endlessly as they walk the babies to sell the involved dad narrative.
Bless the nannies.

So much money, so little shoe savvy.
  • Remember Hillary’s repost of the Washington Post article on cyberbullying? Well, Hillary follows Brianna M., a messy IG #vanlife influencer who hired a digital forensics expert to uncover the real identities of people who criticized her on a Reddit sub about her and then doxxed them on her IG page in early March. Right around this time, Hilz got the idea to float the “ignore them or hold them accountable” poll. Then Hillary commented on Brianna’s post about how she is naming names:
Hillary's comment on Brianna's post (3/8/23).
  • As Hillary was furiously scribbling her notes, en español, one assumes, IG took down Brianna’s page for a week (!) due to the flood of reports about the doxxing. Maybe Hilz should rethink the brave queen’s approach.
  • Post 3: Two weeks after her first two posts, Hilz posted a hallway selfie with Ilaria and ML captioned “checking in” and “we love you all.”
If you take a hallway selfie but you're not wearing shiny leggings, did it even happen?
  • Narrative she’s reframing: Hillary is famous for her thirst trap pix in NYC’s ugliest hallway with her shiny leggings, leg-elongating filters, and giant ring front and center.
  • New spin: Hilz is a super mami always surrounded by her babies and she’s now in her jeans era with no ring bc she's so relatable.
  • Alec is sued AGAIN, this time for a car accident in LA in 2021. Cuando llueve, diluvia. The fact that this lawsuit came on the same day as the Oscars ceremony had a nice karmic symmetry, IMO.
  • Post 4: Hillary doesn’t compose word salads for just anybody, she has to be deeply inspired (otherwise it’s just rows of emojis) and nothing, nada, inspires her more than the place she frequents five days a week – Physique57. But…she has seven kids, you say? Pfffft, priorities. A skinny mami is a happy mami, as they say in España, Massachusetts.
Can't imagine why they haven't snapped her up as a celebrity [adjacent] spokesperson.
  • Narrative she’s reframing: She used sex-selection and surrogacy during a global pandemic to have two girl babies.
  • New spin: ML is a girl but she’s not a “girly girl” like Carmen with heavy makeup and sexualized clothing at age 9, y’know, totally healthy, normal stuff. ML is a “quirky girl.” Stay tuned for Ilaria’s assigned role.
  • Post 6: Four oldest kids in St. Paddy’s Day gear with the ubiquitous pile of folded blankets in the background.
Their true heritage, no matter how many times mami calls them \"Baldwinitos.\"
  • Narrative she’s reframing: The kids are constantly on their iPads, mostly while eating, when they’re not in school.
  • New spin: Wholesome kid content (but then maybe she should rethink posting pic where they all look miserable).
  • Post 7: Grid post of a video of Ilaria for her six-month birthday with Cirque du Soleil’s song “Alegría” playing over it. 18.8K of Hillary’s adoring fans like the image or .02% of her fan base (not 2%).
This mami celebrates her baby with sharp as hell nails, eyelash extensions, lip filler, extra-strength filter, and oh yes, the baby is in the shot, too.
  • Narrative she’s reframing: She uses Ila as a prop baby/human shield.
  • New spin: Ila and all the many cats and people in the Baldwin household are deliriously happy and all about “alegría, alegría” (I’m convinced Hilz just likes using accent marks).
  • Posts 8 & 9: Two stores of ML as “La Vikinga” – an alter ego Hillary has created for this two-year-old child.
The \"little\" is covered by the \"-itos\" (which should be \"-citos\") - she really doesn't get how this works at all.
  • Narrative she’s trying to rewrite: Hillary jacks up the diminutive in the language of her appropriated cultura. It would be “Baldwincitos” for the love of your tofu and fly paella, Hillary.
  • New spin: Still working on that one.
  • Post 11: Hilz posts a story of Alec reading a “Where’s Waldo” book to Rafa complete with a picture of Super Mami artfully included in the frame along with a dream catcher to show she’s an equal-opportunity cultural appropriator.
That's...quite the filter. Alec's hand is as smooth as a baby's bum.
  • Narrative she’s reframing: 1) The Baldwin kids have a parent who reads them wildly inappropriate books and 2) Alec only interacts with the kids on pap walks.
  • New spin: At least one parent can pick an age-appropriate book and Rafa is HAPPY, dammit.
  • In Rust news, David Halls, first AD of the production, was convicted on his plea deal and got a 6-month suspended sentence with unsupervised probation, a $500 fine, 24 hours of community service, and must attend a firearms safety class. Alec is throwing money at his attorneys faster than they can catch it to avoid any whiff of culpability. “Not guilty” or bust.
  • Post 12: Hillary and Alec in the elevator (where else?) to commemorate the day Alec proposed 11 years ago.
At least he chose the less busted loafers for this \"celebration.\"
  • Narrative she’s reframing: She wears statement sweatshirts and yells at the press to “leaf my fumilly in peas” while calling them over to listen to her.
  • New spin: Hilaria the Relatable in her $$ ripped jeans is so happy she won the Peepaw Prize.
  • Let’s revisit that ill-fated engagement for a sec: Hillary said the following in an exclusive interview with the Daily Mail’s Daily Front Row (7/5/12): “’He brought me to Montauk, out by the lighthouse. He’s not great at keeping secrets from me, which is a very good thing. He told me earlier that he was going to propose. We’re very organized,” she told the website. “He kept asking me if I knew where we were driving. I said, ‘No, I’ve never been past Gurney’s Inn!’ When we got there, he said, ‘This is the closest I could get you to Spain’… since my family is still there.”
  • When the person telling this story calls herself “Hilaria,” speaks English with a heavy (if inconsistent) Spanish accent, calls herself “a Spanish yoga teacher” and gives an interview to the Spanish newspaper El País wherein she is described as a “mallorquina” – well, there were many, many, many ways for the dumb public and even dumber reporters to have made a giant leap and think this senorita was from España. Crazy, no?
  • Finally, to take a page from Alec’s book: In Memorium, Witches Anonymous - but I'm here to recap any episodes if it gets resurrected!
Gone too soon, but also, not soon enough.
submitted by Ready-Bat-8824 to HilariaBaldwin [link] [comments]

2023.04.01 06:52 Triskan Il y'a trois semaines, une supernova s'est pendue. Reddit, tu fais un peu partie de l'histoire.

Il y'a trois semaines, une supernova s'est pendue. Reddit, tu fais un peu partie de l'histoire.
Prélude :
Bon, préparez-vous, ça va être long.
Il y’a trois semaines, celle qui était devenue la personne la plus importante de ma vie s’est pendue.
Je vais vous raconter notre histoire.
Oui, vous êtes prévenus dès le début, ce n’est pas une histoire qui se termine bien.
Néanmoins, plusieurs détails importants avant de commencer :
Déjà, vu la longueur du truc, je doute que beaucoup aillent jusqu’au bout. Mais je fais avant tout ça pour moi et graver notre histoire quelque part. Et comme ceux qui vont se plonger dans le récit le découvriront par la suite, Reddit est tout à fait approprié pour ça.
Deuxièmement, ce texte à initialement été écrit à la demande de ma « meilleure amie d’adolescence qui vit désormais aux Etats-Unis et avec qui j’ai trop peu de contacts, bien qu'ils soient à chaque fois pertinents. »
On en a tous une comme ça.
C’est important à préciser pour comprendre la forme du récit : dans celui-ci, je m’adresse à une amie qui m’a demandé de lui raconter toute l’histoire depuis le début.
Si je voulais vraiment faire un truc ultra méta, je pourrais même rajouter ses remarques au fil des blocs de texte que je lui ai envoyés au cours des deux derniers jours… mais non, faut pas exagérer non plus.
Troisièmement, je me mets totalement à nu dans ce texte. J’expose mes vulnérabilités, mes défauts, mes rêves, mes aspirations et qui je suis en profondeur. Soyez indulgents avec moi. Certes, je me prétends sincèrement auteur, je n’en gagne pas forcément ma vie mais j’essaie... Ceci-dit, je n’ai pas essayé de faire de la grande prose dans ce texte, c’est écrit spontanément, avec les tripes. Soyez indulgents à ce niveau-là aussi.
Ah, petit détail aussi… j’ai essayé de les limiter, mais j’utilise beaucoup d’anglais dans le texte. Et déso pas déso. Je m’adresse à une amie mariée à un Américain et qui vit aux US, je suis traducteur FR-ENG, j’aime cette langue, et c’était un sujet de délire avec… avec elle.
So just roll with it.
Vous verrez qu’au bout d’un moment (mais pas tout de suite, soyez patients, laissez l’histoire s’écrire), il est question de posts Reddit, Instagram ou Facebook dans l’histoire.
Les posts Reddit sont les miens et je n’ai aucun problème à les partager.
Certains des posts FB et Insta sont les miens, et eux non plus, ça ne me dérange absolument pas de les partager.
Mais beaucoup d’entre eux sont les siens… Et même si elle ne m’en voudrait pas et que j’ai envie de crier et partager qui elle était à tout le monde, je ne veux pas que ses profils soientt inondé de bots et de trolls.
Quand je le pourrais, je partagerai un lien vers l’image et rajouterai la légende qui l’accompagne s’il y’en à une mais si je ne peux pas, je me contenterai de les décrire.
Néanmoins, si vous souhaitez réellement avoir accès à son profil (ce qui peut être nécessaire à certaines étapes du récit), contactez-moi par MP et ça devrait le faire.
Pour rebondir là-dessus, j’imagine que mettre des visages sur les personnages principaux peut aider. Alors autant vous montrer nos gueules dès maintenant.
Voici mon profil Insta, c’est nous sur ma photo de profil :
Ah, et en parlant de ça…
Je n’ai pas envie de masquer mon nom ou d’utiliser mon pseudo dans le récit.
Mon prénom c’est Aman et c’est celui que j’utiliserai pour parler de moi.
Elle, ce sera tout simplement M.
Quant aux autres personnages, vous découvrirez par vous-mêmes.
Voilà, je pense qu’avec tout ça, vous êtes armés pour vous plonger dans cette histoire à la fois belle, triste et pathétique.
Ça va clairement déborder dans les commentaires, j’ai le texte word sous les yeux, on en est à près de 14.000 mots pré-relecture du premier jet écrit spontanément avec les tripes.
Mais je vais essayer de structurer tout ça au mieux…
Bref, assez tergiversé… en avant.

Prologue :
Bon, allez, chose promise, chose due, it's time to tell you a story.
Je l'ai plusieurs fois racontée à l'oral... quoique jamais en entier comme je vais sans doute le faire à présent parce qu'il faut vraiment que je remonte au tout début pour que tu comprennes... mais ça va être la première fois à l'écrit.
Je sais pas trop ce que ça va donner… on va bien voir.

Chapitre 1 – La Rencontre.
J'ai rencontré M. en août 2020.
A un barbeuc chez un pote en commun.
À cette époque, avec un petit groupe de potes (dont cet ami en commun faisait partie), on organisait une microteuf/gros calage pour une petite trentaine de personnes au bord d'une rivière, toute la nuit, avec du gros son, des lights et… de quoi s’amuser.
Ce barbeuc était entre autres l'occasion de finaliser l'organisation vu que la soirée allait avoir lieu dans deux jours.
C'est donc là que mes yeux se sont posés sur elle.
Et oui, je dois reconnaître que ça a été le coup de foudre... ou au moins le gros crush immédiat.
Il va bien falloir la présenter au bout d’un moment ? Comment faire ça ?
Allez, autant te la décrire dans les grandes lignes dès maintenant. Les détails s'ajouteront organiquement au fil de la narration... ou pas, j'en sais rien, on verra.
M... ma petite supernova d'amour de mes couilles que je déteste presque autant que je l'aime...
Bordel, comment la décrire ?
Elle avait 29 ans au moment de son départ. Pratiquement 27 lorsque je l'ai rencontrée.
Je sais, c'est on ne peut plus attendu de la part d'un mec amoureux, mais ce qui frappe le plus chez elle, c'est son énergie... c'était une boule de vie et d'hyperactivité contagieuse...
… dans ses bons jours.
Parce qu'elle était bipolaire et alternait entre phases d'humeur extrêmes : de cette pipelette incapable de s'arrêter de parler, l'âme de la soirée, à des phases d'intenses dépression, de silence et, en effet, de pulsions suicidaires.
Mais là, je te spoile un peu, tout ça je ne le savais pas à l'époque et autant que tu la découvres en même temps que moi.
Et pour être honnête, je l'ai très peu connue dans ses phases dépressives... elle le disait elle-même, elle était bien quand elle était avec moi. J'étais son roc, son océan...
(Ah, petite parenthèse pour vous qui lisez ça sur Reddit… mon prénom veut dire « eau » en berbère, et c’est devenu au fil des ans une private joke avec les potes… j’en joue beaucoup et je dois admettre que la symbolique de l’eau me correspond beaucoup… et puis j’aime nager et je suis Poisson… ouais, je cumule… Bref…)
Et même si elle présentait souvent un masque au monde, je pense pouvoir affirmer avec certitude que lorsqu'elle était avec moi, j'avais droit à la vraie M.
Mais encore une fois, je m'avance un peu trop dans le récit...
A ce premier barbeuc, lorsqu'on s'est rencontrés, j'étais loin de savoir tout ça d'elle.
Au-delà de son énergie et de sa voix, ce que j'ai appris d'elle ce soir-là c'est qu'elle était interne en médecine, spécialisée en radiologie, mais qu'elle avait aussi un master en psychiatrie et qu'elle écrivait une thèse sur un traitement pour la prostate.
Mais aussi qu'elle était danseuse classique, qu'elle adorait la montagne et l'alpinisme et qu'elle avait tenté de faire le Mont Blanc à plusieurs reprises.
Puis, au détour d'une conversation "Ah, et j'ai publié un livre d'anticipation il y'a quelques mois."
Ah ouais, d'accord, rien que ça... Tu peux imaginer comment l’écrivain fan de SF en moi à réagit à une pareille annonce.
Bon, c'était chez une toute petite maison d'édition et elle n'a pas dû vendre plus d'une dizaine d'exemplaires mais quand même...
Oui, car c'était aussi une grande littéraire.
L'un des autres sujets sur lesquels on a beaucoup sympathisé dans les mois qui ont suivi, c'était les étoiles, rêver à l'immensité de l'univers ou à la conquête spatiale. C'étaient des thèmes qui nous fascinaient tous les deux et nos conversations ensemble dérivaient souvent vers des visions de l'avenir.
Mais au fond, elle était très sombre sa vision de l'avenir.
Son roman est un roman d'anticipation qui se déroule dans quelques dizaines d'années, et le futur qu'elle y dépeint est particulièrement pessimiste... je peux comprendre que, d’une certaine manière, elle ne voulait pas vivre dans un monde pareil si c'est comme ça qu'elle voyait l’avenir.
Tiens, d’ailleurs… avec une de mes meilleures potes, qui était aussi très proche d'elle, on rêve d'adapter son livre en film un jour. Appelons celle-ci W. car elle réapparaitra dans le récit.
Mais bref... revenons-en et concluons-en avec ce barbeuc.
La soirée s'est passée, bon feeling, bon gros crush de ma part, si ce n’est déjà bien plus, et il était question qu'elle vienne à cette fameuse petite teuf à la rivière deux jours plus tard, mais elle n'était pas sûre de pouvoir avec le boulot...
Let's flashforward a bit.
C’est le jour de la teuf. Moi et plusieurs potes passons la journée à la rivière. Finalement on pose le matos, on commence à s'enjailler et dans l'aprèm, elle finit par débarquer...
Trop cool, j'étais grave refait...
Et ça a été une putain de nuit...
Pour la petite anecdote, ma photo de profil actuelle a été prise le lendemain de cette soirée, alors que nous avions fait nuit blanche à taper du pied, discuter et délirer toute la nuit... et bien sûr nous n'étions absolument pas sobres... et je parle pas forcément d'alcool.
Est-ce que je m'étends plus longtemps sur cette nuit ?
Ouais… vite-fait quand même.
M. et moi avons continuer de grave sympathiser, le feeling était vraiment insane entre nous, c'était indéniable... Mais... mais... j'ai aussi appris qu'une petite dizaine de jours plus tôt à peine, elle avait rencontré un mec sur Tinder avec qui ça se passait super bien...
Et merde...
Mais rien à foutre, j'étais trop bien avec cette nana, elle m'a fait rêver et tourner la tête comme pas possible cette nuit-là... et on a bien évidemment gardé contact.

Chapitre 2 : La Chute.
La Chute qui dure deux ans.
Août 2020 - Juin 2022.
La partie la plus cheesy et la plus attendue du récit, l'histoire universelle d'un gars qui tombe amoureux... et réciproquement, même si... shh, spoilers.
Il ne s'est jamais vraiment passé grand-chose de purement physique entre nous. Oh, il y'a eu les quelques papouilles, les bisous furtifs volés çà et là, les gros câlins silencieux, les longs échanges de regard, les flirts et torpilles à double-sens, les non-dits et les "est-ce que ?", les tensions et les passions...
Mais D., son chéri était là, et même si je les ai rarement vus ensemble (il n'était jamais vraiment là lorsqu’on se voyait), son ombre planait. Les choses n'ont jamais pu se concrétiser... et la tension grandissait...
Il y'a quand même eux deux reprises où c'est pas passé loin... où ça a été du (et je paraphrase à peine) : "Euuuh, je crois que je viens de redevenir célibataire, tu veux pas venir dormir chez moi ce soir ?"
Pour la deuxième, ça n'a pas pu se faire car la mère de D. est décédée dans la journée... pas le meilleur timing, oui, en effet... et cet évènement, survenu au printemps dernier, à une certaine importance pour la suite...
Bref, pour faire simple, pendant deux ans, ça a été la chute amoureuse absolue.
On se voyait assez régulièrement, on échangeait énormément de messages, et lorsqu'on discutait, c'était le feu.
J'étais trop bien avec elle... et elle aussi, et ce n'est pas quelque chose dont j'ai à me convaincre, elle le verbalisait et sa mère m'a encore reconfirmé qu'elle parlait tellement de moi... mais, encore une fois, n'allons pas trop vite.
D. et moi avons pratiquement le même anniversaire (23 et 24 février) et elle nous appelait les deux hommes de sa vie, ses deux Poissons avec qui elle s'entendait trop bien et qui la rendaient heureuse.
Lui, grand randonneur et alpiniste faisait écho à la facette sportive de sa personnalité, à son amour de la montagne. Ils ont essayé de faire le Mont Blanc ensemble même s'ils n'ont pas atteint le sommet (si j’ai bien compris).
Et moi c'était la littérature, les étoiles, l'écriture, l'avenir... mais aussi le lâcher-prise, la fête, la danse et la légèreté, contrairement à D. qui est un gars assez rigide.
Et puis elle voulait me faire traduire son roman en anglais pour l'envoyer à Ridley Scott qui est apparemment propriétaire d’un vignoble voisin des parents de D.... mais ça ne s'est jamais fait, au final...
Je suis d'ailleurs assez triste de n’avoir jamais réellement discuté de son bouquin avec elle, à part vite fait ça et là... mais dedans, elle dépeint une vision très sombre de l'avenir d’ici quelques dizaines d'années... Sécheresse, guerres bactériologiques, mafias et gouvernements exploitant des vagues de migrants à leurs propres fins, corruption... un bon gros monde pré-apocalyptique... qui se termine par un voyage à l'arrache sur Mars qui détruit complètement sa personnage principale : une jeune médecin s'étant retrouvé embarquée dans tout un engrenage industriel dans la course à Mars entre institutions moribondes... de fil en aiguille, la nana se retrouve malgré elle mascotte de l'expédition et est physiquement et mentalement complètement ravagée à son retour...
Ouais, joyeux tout ça...
Oh, je pourrais partager beaucoup de petits détails pour meubler le récit…
Tiens, je peux mentionner la lampe de chevet pétaradante et aveuglante (toute à son image) qu'elle m'a offert pour mon annif de 2021 et dont je me sers malheureusement très peu.
Puis en 2022, ça a été une bande-dessinée d'anticipation "Le Dernier Livre" que je n'ai toujours pas lue... oui, aussi surprenant que cela puisse paraître... et maintenant je me la garde pour le bon jour, ce sera probablement une lecture très cathartique lorsque je serais prêt.
Important à mentionner aussi, mais j’ai bossé pour sa mère. Celle-ci héberge chez elle des personnes en fin de vie et elle devait s’absenter une journée pour amener son plus jeune fils (le frère de M. donc), à un tournoi de boxe. Elle m’avait donc engagé pour la journée.Journée que j’ai donc passé dans sa maison d’enfance, sa chambre, les photos d’elle sur les murs… et ça je crois que je suis l’une des très rares personnes à y avoir eu accès.
Et en plus de ça, je me suis super bien entendu avec sa mère.
Bref... je ne vais pas non plus lister toutes nos interactions. Certaines ne sont qu’à nous.
Au final, il suffit de dire que pendant ces deux ans, ça a été le feu entre nous. Spirituellement, intellectuellement, émotionnellement, créativement... mais non, jamais physiquement... quoique, on a eu nos moments intenses, allongés toutes les deux côte-à-côte, à balle de gaz hilarant (son petit kiff perso), à échanger de longs regards par exemple... un exemple parmi beaucoup d'autres...
Et puis elle me disait que physiquement, j'étais beaucoup plus son genre que D.
Elle m'a une fois balancé un : "Eh, moi je suis avec un gringalet plus petit que moi alors que mon genre de mec, c'est plutôt Jason Momoa et les mecs plus en chair comme toi."
Mais, encore et toujours, l'ombre de D. planait sur nous et les choses en sont restées là.
Tiens, au passage, je peux aussi mentionner que c'est elle qui m'a trouvé mon job d'été en 2022, une petite annonce qu'elle m'a fait passer, et elle avait très bien vu... elle me connaissait tellement bien...
Anyways… nous arrivons tranquillement à Juin 2022... l'été dernier...
Elle s'apprêtait à avoir un mois très chargé.
Dans un premier temps, elle devait passer trois jours à New-York pour présenter une série d'articles sur lesquels elle avait bossés à un symposium de médecine... Oui, je t'ai dit que c'était une putain de supernova en termes de brillance ?
On a d'ailleurs un peu bossé sur son anglais ensemble pour le symposium, mais ça aussi ça ne s'est pas vraiment fait... et je réalise maintenant que c'était aussi parce qu'à cette période, elle savait très bien que si elle passait du temps vraiment seule avec moi, les choses franchiraient un pas et elle ne pouvait pas faire ça à D.
Elle était loyale, et il souffrait de la perte de sa mère, elle tenait à être là pour lui...
Et en parlant de lui...
Suite à ses trois jours à New-York, elle allait s'envoler pour la Norvège, y rejoindre D. et passer trois semaines à randonner avec lui à travers le pays.
Je l'ai vue les deux jours d'affilée avant son départ pour New-York.
Le première aprèm, je lui ai offert un bouquin. Un bouquin de SF que j'ai adoré et que j’essaie de faire lire à tout le monde... Et ici je peux mentionner son "Oh, mais tu sais que m'offrir un livre c'est l'un des chemins les plus rapides vers mon cœur, Aman."
Le lendemain, on a pris un rapide café à la gare, avant qu'elle ne prenne le train (pour Paris et l'avion qui l'amènerait à NY) et là on a surtout discuté du projet de websérie que j'ai avec un de mes groupes d'amis.
Ça a évolué depuis mais il s'agissait à l'époque d'une histoire se déroulant dans un hôpital psychiatrique bien shtarbé et avec un gros twist SF vers la fin... et vu son master en psychiatrie et ses connaissances sur le sujet, on en discutait pas mal ensemble et on tenait vraiment à l'avoir en tant que consultante sur le scénario.
Enfin bref... je l'ai accompagnée sur le quai, j'ai porté son sac jusqu'à son siège, et on s'est fait un câlin d'au-revoir un peu précipité avant que les portes ne se referment.
Et elle est partie pour New-York.
Vu comment les choses ont évolué par la suite, on n’a malheureusement pas vraiment eu l'occasion de discuter de sa performance là-bas mais je sais qu'elle a été brillante et qu'elle leur en a mis plein la vue, c'est évident.
Puis après ses trois jours à New-York, direction la Norvège et D. pendant trois semaines.
Tu peux d'ailleurs voir les photos de leur treck sur son Insta ou sa page Facebook... Je t'envoie d'ailleurs le lien de celle-ci, son Insta et son FB auront de l'importance pour le prochain chapitre. (Mais pas pour toi Reddit… Ou MP).
Elle était donc là, à vivre sa rando de rêve avec son chéri pendant que moi j'observais ça à bader "seul" chez moi...
Jusqu'à tout récemment, je t'aurais même dit que la première semaine de son voyage en Norvège a été la semaine la plus difficile de ma vie... j'étais pas bien... je me suis mis à marcher des heures en plein cagnard, j'ai pété jusqu'à un lac à l'autre bout de la ville pour y piquer une tête, j'ai tombé deux bouteilles de rhum dans la semaine, fumé comme un pompier...
Bref... pas bien quoi...
Et au terme de sa première semaine en Norvège, je n'ai plus été capable de résister... il fallait que ça sorte...
La longue tirade enflammée à fusé... la déclaration claire, belle et n'offrant aucun retour en arrière, coupant court à toutes les ambiguïtés et les non-dits.
Et on va clore le chapitre là-dessus car à présent nous entamons une nouvelle étape du récit.

Chapitre 3 : La Déclaration.
À partir de là, va falloir s'accrocher, ça va commencer à devenir... bordélique...
Si je le pouvais, je t'enverrai des copiers/collers de ma conversation avec elle... mais comme tu le découvriras par la suite, j'ai tout supprimé sur un coup de tête en novembre, et je n'ai plus accès qu'à nos derniers échanges... Oui, c'est quelque chose que je regrette énormément, mais j'ai demandé à sa mère d'accéder à son téléphone ou son ordi prochainement, pour essayer de récupérer tout ça, parce qu’il y’a des choses précieuses là-dedans qui seraient perdues à jamais autrement.
Enfin bref...
Revenons-en à son trip en Norvège pendant que moi je badais salement à la voir vivre sa meilleure vie depuis chez moi...
Suite à ma déclaration, pendant les deux semaines qui lui restaient en Norvège, on a eu quelques brefs échanges mais pas plus que ça.
Je lui ai dit de profiter à fond et de ne pas s'occuper de moi, que maintenant que c'était sorti ça allait mieux, qu'on parlerait à l'occase, que tout irait bien... ce genre de choses quoi... Elle m’a entre autres dit qu’elle m’avait acheté un cadeau, mais elle n’a jamais eu l’occasion de me l’offrir celui-là, il doit toujours trainer dans ses affaires…
Puis la mi-juin est arrivée et elle est rentrée chez elle.
Et c'est là que nous avons eu plusieurs échanges par message qui s'avéreront clés pour la suite et que je vais tenter de te retranscrire / paraphraser.
Elle : "Hey, y'a moyen qu'on se voit ?"
Moi : "Si c'est ce que tu veux, mais moi j'ai besoin d'une réponse… ou de son contraire... il faut que tu me dises une chose, ou son inverse, mais qu'on mette çà au clair."
Elle : "Je pense que je comprends. Mais il faut que tu comprennes qu'avec D., on parle déjà de bébés et d'acheter une maison. Mais tu es mon ami le plus précieux et je veux continuer de vivre des moments émotionnels et intellectuels forts avec toi."
Suite à quoi je suis parti dans une nouvelle longue tirade enflammée. Peut-être la plus importante de toutes et celle que j'aimerais beaucoup retrouver et relire un jour.
Je lui ai dit que je ne la croyais pas (en listant plusieurs de tous ces moments intenses qu'on avait vécus ensemble), qu'elle ne trouverait personne d'autre qui lui écrirait les mots que je lui écrivais et tout un tas de conneries du genre.
Bon, non, en vrai je fais style, mais c'était une très belle tirade. Oui, je me jette des fleurs mais putain qu'elle était écrite avec les tripes, sans réfléchir, bouillonnant de passion à en crever. Et je sais que j'ai tiré droit dans son cœur avec mes mots. Je le sentais déjà à l'époque mais maintenant, je n'ai plus de doutes.
Et il y'a un passage que je pense clé dans cette diatribe, et même si je n'ai plus accès à la conversation, je me souviens exactement (ou presque...) de mes mots, alors autant les citer directement :
"Bon courage pour trouver quelqu'un qui t'enverra des tirades aussi enflammées que moi.
Eh, au moins on continue de faire vivre le genre épistolaire, c'est malheureusement un style en perdition.
Bouyaaah, c'est qui le Choderlos de Laclos des temps modernes ?"
Et ça... ces paroles là... eh bah je pense qu'elle les a pris au mot et en plein cœur, comme la suite de notre relation te le prouvera...
Toute cette tirade s'est achevée par un (et là je sais que je me souviens des mots exacts) :
"Bon, en vrai là je fais le pitre, mais ce serait bien qu'on se voit un de ces jours, je pense qu'une petite conversation pourrait apaiser beaucoup de choses."
Elle : "Je préfère que l'on prenne nos distances pendant un moment."
Moi :"Je comprends. Je pense qu'une petite conversation de vive voix aurait vraiment pu apaiser les choses mais vu mon comportement, je ne peux pas te reprocher ça. Bonne continuation."
Et ça s'est arrêté là... pour l'instant... et a première vue...
Car quelques jours plus tard, elle publiait ceci sur FB et Insta :
Exactement les mots que j'avais besoin d'entendre et qui auraient apaisé les choses... Elle lisait tellement bien en moi... c’était ça que j’avais besoin d’entendre : que oui, il y'avait ne serait-ce qu'une petite étincelle pour moi mais que dans cette vie, c'était D. qu'elle choisissait...
Et pendant des mois, et elle le savait, tout ce dont j'avais besoin c'est qu'elle me dise ça en face et ça l'aurait fait... mais elle refusait... mais bref, encore une fois, je vais trop vite.
Le lendemain de cette image, elle postait ceci, m'étant également plus que probablement adressé :
Le baiser dans la pierre, là aussi il y'a une charge symbolique ultra forte.
Aujourd'hui je sais que tout ça m'était bel et bien adressé mais à l'époque j'en doutais, je n'en étais pas sûr.
Bien sûr que je me demandais si je me racontais des histoires, si tout ça c'était dans ma tête. Mais j'ai néanmoins tiré beaucoup de force de ces "messages" cryptiques.
L'été a tout de même été émotionnellement compliqué pour moi.
Limite j'ai envie d'en rire aujourd'hui tellement la simple peine de cœur que c'était reste infiniment préférable à ce que je traverse maintenant... m'enfin bref...
Ah, petit détail important aussi avant que j'oublie (même si j'aurais dû caser ça plus haut) : à cette période, j'avais arrêté de fumer et je m’étais remis intensément à la natation. Et je lui avais glissé quelque part dans la tirade "Tu me donnes envie d'être la meilleure version de moi-même, regarde, tu m'as remis au sport, j'ai pris un abonnement à la piscine, et j'ai arrêté de fumer grâce à toi !"
Mais revenons-en à après ce terrible : "Je préfère que l’on prenne nos distances pendant un moment."
Quelques temps plus tard, c'est sur Facebook qu'elle a posté des petites choses qui m'ont fait tiquer.
Pour Reddit : elle a adopté un chien, et a posté une photo de lui, accompagnée de cette légende :
« À tous ceux qui disent que la polygamie c'est contre nature... Et bien je viens de découvrir que je peux tomber amoureuse deux fois. D. est mon premier amour... Et je viens d'avoir un coup de foudre pour ce petit gars-là XD #SPA
Encore une fois, maintenant je sais avec certitude que c'était bel et bien le message qu'elle essayait de me faire passer, mais sur le coup j'ai vrillé en voyant son délire sur la polygamie et tomber amoureuse deux fois... bien sûr que ça m'était adressé, qu'elle me le disait comme elle le pouvait... mais moi j'ai vrillé...
Et donc oui, vers juillet, peu après qu'elle ait mis ces "distances", elle a adopté un petit chien traumatisé et fragile dont elle était apparemment folle d'amour (et avec la longe duquel elle s’est pendue).
Je suis convaincu qu'elle l'a pris pour compenser le manque d'affection que mon "éloignement" (qu'elle s’infligeait elle-même) avec causé dans sa vie...
Enfin bref… il y’a eu ça, cette torpille sur le polyamour, mais ce n'était pas la seule de ses publications sur FB m'ayant fait me poser des questions...
Il y’en a eu deux autres, datant de la même période, m'étaient aussi adressées (mais flemme de vous les link, Reddit, désolé, elles sont plus anecdotiques).
Et puis... et puis il y'a eu l'image qui m'a vraiment fait vriller / ouvrir les yeux et commencer à sérieusement cesser de douter...
This one :
Datant du 16 août.
Mais celle-là, il va falloir un peu / beaucoup de contexte...
Et je sais que j'ai souvent répété ça, mais là c'est vraiment l'un des moments fondamentaux de ce qu'a été notre relation par la suite.
Alors autant essayer de faire les choses bien et de raconter ça par étape.
Pour commencer, il faut savoir que je traine beaucoup sur Reddit (oui, Reddit, c’est là que tu apparais dans l’histoire). Je suis très actif là-bas. J'ai toujours traité le site comme une sorte de journal intime / jardin secret / défouloir moderne en plus de l’incroyable forum et lieu de conversation avec des inconnus que ça peut-être.
Deuxième élément important : à cette période, j'étais parti passer quelques semaines en famille dans les Pyrénées. Et à cette période se déroulaient également les championnats européens multisports. Des sortes de Jeux Olympiques européens quoi.
Et, dans l'enjaillement familial (et parce que je dois avouer avoir un petit faible pour ce genre d'évents), je suivais ça assidument et j'en discutais pas mal sur Reddit.
Et entre autres, je parlais beaucoup de mon crush sur une belle nageuse blonde de l'est. Oui, j'ai toujours eu un petit faible pour les jolies blondes, et elle le savait très bien... et j'en jouais, à la teaser dans certains posts "Oui, j'ai un petit penchant pour les blondes, mais c'est d'une métis ravenair aux yeux noirs dont je suis tombé amoureux."
Même si tout ça dominait mon fil à cette période, je parlais (encore heureux) évidemment d'autres choses...
Et finalement, j'ai partagé un post Reddit sur ma page Facebook :
Et là, vraiment dans la foulée (regarde les dates), elle a partagé l'image dont je te parlais.
Elle ne connaissait pas du tout (je pense) l'existence de Reddit et a été intriguée par mon post, a fouillé un peu, a retrouvé mon profil (c'est pas dur, hein, tu tapes Reddit Triskan sur Google et paf), a vu ce dont je parlais et a vu une mine d’or d’informations sur moi et une occasion rêvée de m'envoyer un "message" qui me ferait poser des questions.
Mais j'ai pas fait le rapprochement tout de suite... comme tu peux le voir, tout ça date du 16 août mais ce n'est que plusieurs jours plus tard, de retour de mon séjour en famille (et alors que j'étais en teuf et perché) que j'ai eu l'illumination et fait le rapprochement.
Alors... même si une partie de moi était convaincu que ce message m'était adressé et faisait écho à ce dont je parlais sur Reddit à cette période, le reste de mon être était rongé par les doutes. "Mais non, ça ne t’est pas adressé, tu te fais tellement des films de malade mec, c'est juste une coïncidence".
Mais quand même... le doute et les questionnements (et la certitude, vraiment) étaient là...
Moi, sur Reddit, j'ai rédigé un bref message du genre "Eeeh, mais c'est privé le compte Reddit, non mais oh, c'est hyper intrusif ce que tu fais ! Nan, je plaisante, t'es la bienvenue ma chérie et tu le seras toujours."
Et à partir de là a commencé une étrange danse pour moi sur Reddit... car j'étais désormais convaincu qu'elle lisait tout ce que j'y écrivais et ça rendait les choses étranges et excitantes à la fois...
Je glissais tellement de petites piques et de flirt plus ou moins dissimulés dans ce que j'y écrivais.
Mais patience, parce que tout ça constituera le cœur du chapitre 6.
Pour l'heure, achevons celui-ci avec la triste fin du mois d'août.

La suite en commentaires.
submitted by Triskan to france [link] [comments]

2023.04.01 04:57 Dry-Bad5659 Hit by an e-scooter while delivering by bike in Brooklyn, NY - Still completed delivery

*Edit: It was more like a motor bike than an e-scooter. *
Full disclosure: I am a 5’ 11’’ female yogi with an invincibility complex, still learning my limits.
Just thought I would vent this incident and see what others have to say!
It has been a slow last few days in Brooklyn, but I have been walking and housesitting dogs in the neighborhood which has made up for the loss, sort of. Today between dog visits I took a few UberEats deliveries by bike (no electricity, pure leg power).
The accident happened when I was on a Poke bowl order which was taking me back to my neighborhood. It was rush hour and I crossed over Flatbush Ave, which is no good place for bike riders in such a heavy traffic (lesson learned).
I had just turned onto a cross street of Flatbush onto the bike lane when, in a split second, I had hit the ground and saw my bike being dragged down the road by an e-scooter. I screamed for them to stop, bewildered, thinking they were going to just keep driving to evade any repercussions.
The scooter driver eventually stopped about 30 feet down the road with my bike still attached. At this point traffic came to a complete stop and e- scooter rider started yelling in my direction, seemingly as if he were accusing me of something. It turns out he was laying the blame on a U-Haul truck which supposedly veered into the bike lane causing the e-scooter to decide to crash into me to avoid being hit himself.
Interesting choice, but also why keep driving afterwards?
I was up and able to recover my bike which miraculously came away unscathed. I felt pain in my bum and legs and noticed a slight scrape on my palm. I will wait to see how my injuries may progress.
The U-Haul driver pulled over slightly but was still blocking traffic and people in the cars were yelling at the e-scooter driver that they saw him hit me and that he was at fault. The scooter driver started making a phone call and led me to believe he was calling the police. Some plastic part of his scooter was dislodged and he was upset. People were starting to get mad that traffic was blocked and told me to tell the uhaul truck to pull over more. They all were saying that there were cameras that would reveal who was at fault.
When I asked the uhaul driver to pull over more she told me she had to bring back the truck and sped off. At this point I took a snap of the plates and carried on discussing with the scooter driver.
I then called the person I was going to deliver food to, and told her I was going to be late because of being hit! She said take your time! I thought that the police were taking too long so I walked to the precinct which was one block away. I told the scooter driver “you live and you learn” and walked off assuming he would be gone within seconds. He did ask me if I was all right at least.
Upon reaching the precinct, the officer assessed that I was still in one piece and remained non-chalet throughout the short discussion. Yada yada yada he said they got no such call from the e-scooter driver, and told me to report back tomorrow if I am terribly injured to file a report.
I chatted with support to let them know I was hit, would be late, and 10 minutes later I delivered the food! The customer changed her tip from 50 cents to $4, totaling $11.04 for perseverance through 42 minutes and a near death experience!
I’d like to hear others’ reactions to this incident.
Should I pursue charges with the uhaul driver? They should not have just left. The e-scooter driver had no plates and will probably never be identified. I am dog sitting atm 6 hours after the crash and now that I am more relaxed I am starting to feel heavy pain in my back and legs. Head even physically spins at times… I have health insurance but what about the lost income if I can’t work? Any chance of a settlement from U-haul insurance? Should I just count my blessing and move on?
It’s dangerous out here in NYC, and in the end I am all alone but I can still walk and ride for now. I got hit by a motor bike which dragged my (non-motorized) bike 30 feet leaving me behind on the ground, with a sore back and palm. Still delivered the food for less than minimum wage. Should I try to pursue charges with the uhaul driver for lost income, if my injuries progress, and if I can get camera footage?
submitted by Dry-Bad5659 to UberEatsDrivers [link] [comments]