The Reality of an Immigrant

Since the beginning of the month, I've been deeply conflicted with myself. A new birthday is coming up, not mine, mind you — mine is in the middle of spring. It's my "immigrant birthday." That date that, every year, brings back so many memories tied to September. Perhaps calling them "negative" wouldn't even be the right way to put it. I could say they're nostalgic, happy, sad, and distant memories all at once.
Distant because they belong to a version of me who no longer fully belongs to me.
A date I can't get out of my head, because it was right then that I made the most selfish choice of my life: immigrating.
Alas, I'd have plenty of stories to tell about what happened to that 22-year-old girl who, out of nowhere, left Italy without any real idea of what she wanted from life, apart from a few romantic aspirations, like finding a boyfriend or exploring her sexuality. Best not to dwell on that too much — maybe I'll talk about it another time — and focus on immigration instead.
To be honest, the first time I emigrated was almost 19 years ago. On November 26, 2007, I emigrated from Cuba to Italy, at the age of 10. My mother was already living there with the man who would become a father to me. Since I was an only child, she obviously wasn't willing to leave me behind, and after 5 years in Italy, she brought me to be with her.
For a 10-year-old girl, I only knew where I didn't want to be. And Cuba wasn't the place I dreamed of staying. I don't know if it was missing my mother, or not having siblings, but deep down I thought home was wherever she was. To be honest, the first years in Italy were hard, and not because of the language. It was a matter of social connections: I suffered bullying, and no matter how hard I tried to fit in, it was never as easy as I had hoped. I did make friends, and today I've kept only 2 of them.
Despite everything, I had no expectations of changing city or home. But I dreamed. I dreamed of being able to live somewhere else, even though realistically it was difficult: I wouldn't have had the resources, neither financial nor material. And besides, where would I have gone? There, at least, I had my parents as a solid base. But something felt very tight — that feeling that you can't connect with people the way you'd like, even though you speak their language, even though you feel Italian by now, not just on paper but in the language itself. I spoke a language I love madly, and yet I wasn't seen as one of them. Or rather, as someone from there.
And so, all of a sudden, the opportunity came up, through a week-long trip, to come to Berlin. I confess I didn't like the city right away, but I found the courage to apply for various job openings, just for the sake of trying. After all, in this life, if you don't throw yourself in, you'll never know how it would have gone, and to my surprise, after an express interview done while I was still there, I got hired at a startup.
Now the important question remained: how long would I stay? I thought I'd stay 3 months, and in the end, in a few days it will be 7 years. I never asked myself whether I was ready to take this big leap. I didn't know English well, and I only knew the basics of German. In the end, after ups and downs, today I'm here. Has Berlin become my home? The answer is yes, physically speaking, while emotionally there are several shades. I've built a stable life, with my partner, a stable job, and friendships that are truer than the ones I had where I lived in Italy. I like the mentality of the people, while the language doesn't feel entirely mine. I still think in Italian.
It would be fine like this, but the reality is that if I go away from Berlin for a week, I already miss it. If I go back to Italy to visit my mother, after two or three days I already want to go back to Berlin. And yet it's this same city that, when the cold seasons begin, I don't tolerate very well. I feel a weight I wouldn't know how to define: whether it's loneliness, nostalgia, or simply that it isn't home. I can't answer.
In Berlin I've met people from different parts of the world, I've opened up my way of thinking, and I've learned to communicate in two other languages. I've lost relationships and built new ones. And yet I don't know whether I can say that people are home. In my head there's still confusion, and a desire to understand what "home" truly represents. Maybe it's a feeling, or a sensation you experience when you find yourself in the right place at the right time? In the end, I think we immigrants have, sooner or later, this same dilemma.
Where is home?

I speak and wrote in four languages.
Ma la gente pensa che se pubblico solo in italiano.
Ich kann nur auf eine Sprache posten.
Y tendría que declarar el uso de AI.
Maybe i should tag Ai, se mi serve, um meine Übersetzung zu korrigieren. Y callar la boca a quien no me cree.

Would love some honest thoughts on this short story I’ve started!

[HIRING] Script Writer for Anime YouTube Channel – Long-Term Role 🎬

Hey! I'm looking for a script writer for my anime channel. This is a long-term position (think years, not just one script), and beginners are welcome.

About the Role

Videos are usually 15–20 minutes, but you're free to choose the length
I'll provide free material, coaching, and training to help you improve
Bonuses are given based on video performance

Pay

$40 per script to start
Rises to $50–60 once you need fewer rewrites and less supervision

What I'm Looking For

A love for anime/manga, or solid knowledge of it
Strong research skills
An understanding of basic storytelling (Hero's Journey, chronological structure, etc.)
Willingness to take feedback, apply it, and grow over time

You don't need to be the best writer. Beginners and experienced writers are both welcome. What matters most is a long-term mindset and a drive to improve.

⚠️ No AI-written scripts. Anything that reads like AI will be rejected.

How to Apply

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I'll send you a trial topic

A messenger walked alone on a path which ran along the side of a great ravine. He had just been appointed and his job was to bring messages back and forth between the two nearby villages. As he strolled down the path, he suddenly came across an old wooden rope bridge leading to the other side of the ravine. It looked quite unstable and he reckoned he should not like to have to cross it. In front of the near end stood a cloaked figure, motionless and somewhat eerie. The messenger chose to continue on without saying a word.

A few days went by and the messenger had passed the bridge several times. Each time, the cloaked figure had been standing there without moving a muscle. On his fifth pass, the messenger’s curiosity got the better of him. He approached the figure tentatively and noticed that he was clean-shaven, which in the moment seemed rather odd. 

‘I have passed many times and you always stand here as if you were carved of stone. What is your business, good sir?’ 

The figure spoke in a low voice with a strange accent which the messenger could not quite place.

‘I stand as warden of this pass. Across this bridge can be found that which you most desire, be it riches, glory, or true love. I invite you to venture across.’

‘But you cannot be serious! Do you not see how the bridge sways in the wind? It even misses several planks! It would be foolish to attempt a crossing!’

The figure did not respond. The messenger, disappointed, continued along his path to the next village.

As the weeks went on, the messenger found himself thinking more and more of the bridge. He was yet unmarried and fancied he may truly find himself a wife on the other side. It seemed far too risky to cross, however, yet still he pondered the words of the figure. Quite soon, all he could think about was whatever lay on the other side of that bridge. He began to hope that perhaps someone would make it possible for him by building proper supports, or really anything which might make it easier. He decided to question the warden again. And so the next time he passed the bridge, he approached the figure once more.

‘My good sir, do you perhaps know of any plans to fix this bridge? I would very much like to cross, but frankly I fear that I may fall through it! Are there any such plans?’ The figure spoke in the same tone as before. ‘I stand as warden of this pass. Across this bridge can be found that which you most desire, be it riches, glory, or true love. I invite you to venture across.’

The messenger began to grow impatient. ‘I understand that, Warden, but is there not a way to make this crossing easier? You see, I am unmarried and I would very much like to find a wife on the other side of this bridge, but I cannot take this risk! It would be foolish!’

The warden did not respond. Annoyed, the messenger left.

Weeks became months, and all the messenger could think of was the bridge. He hardly slept nor ate, and even began to misplace his messages. Endlessly he weighed the risk against the reward, but he remained too afraid to attempt a crossing. This fear gnawed at him until one day, he decided finally that he would take the chance and cross the bridge. As he left one village to go to the other, he grew nervous and began to doubt himself, but his will remained steadfast. He reached the bridge and spoke to the figure once more.

‘My good sir, my mind has been made and I shall now cross this bridge!’ The warden seemed pleased and stepped aside for the man to cross. As he stepped up to the first plank, a wave of terror seized the messenger and he backed away sharply. ‘I cannot, I cannot! I cannot cross this bridge, for if I step wrong I shall fall through and die!’

And with that, he hurried on to his destination. That same day he learned that he was no longer to deliver messages between the usual two villages but between this and another one, a village in the opposite direction.

For several weeks he carried out this new duty, but the thought of the bridge still troubled him. He decided he would return one final time and his mind was bent on attempting a crossing. He obtained a day’s leave and he went in search once more of the bridge. Yet try as he might, he could no longer find the spot at which it had stood. He had taken this road hundreds of times, how could it not be here? For hours he looked, yet he could not for the life of him find the ravine nor the bridge. Woefully he ended his search. Crestfallen he was, and bitter for having missed his chance.

For the rest of his days he never again saw the bridge. His final moments were full of regret, regret for having let this opportunity pass him by. All he could think of was how he had never crossed the bridge.

The thing I never had

should I match the pacing from the first half to the second, rip the first section apart ? or build ontop of the second to match the pacing to the first half ? or any other ideas ?

—-

Unlike humans, sentients universe-wide understood fear. The Hormones flooding their bodies screamed.

“Protect us at all cost”

“Run!”

“Hide!”

“Pray!”

A species who plays with fear, manipulates it, conforms it into recreational fun, shouldn’t exist. 

“Couldn’t exist!”

“Wouldn’t exist!”

“Shan’t ever exist!”

How would they even be able to survive?

Any experiment attempted involving all types of creatures—small—huge—round—skinny, all reacted as one would expect. It’s the same response creature-to-creature. In the face of danger, fight-or-flight is activated. Not stare and laugh. Pull a camera and record. Watch and copy. Ridiculous. Foolish. Insane.

Evolution adapted survival triggers coded into life’s DNA. It’s an ancient reflex. A survival instinct. Even the plants have it.

When aliens accidentally stumbled into Earth’s orbit, the predictive behavioral laws on sentients had clearly been written with the exception of the newly discovered anomalous beings. Discovering humanity changed the laws. It rewrote the rules.

Recent Interactions while analyzing the human race left every member of GEL, the Galacticterial Empire of Leaders, shattered. Earth had become David, the little guy from the bible, but on a galactic scale.

A reality check for the giants of the galaxy—shrinking the highest rulers of the alien council overnight. They saw psychology with a new set of eyes. Millennia of ancient transcripts were now, pretty much… useless. 

Rewriting their science books wouldn’t untangle their brain cells from the knots they so tightly intertwined into. Suffocating, they screamed, “Reality doesn’t exist,” with its last neuron before it finally melted down their throats.

A long awaited respect had been rightfully gained. No. Taken. No. Earned. GIVEN!!! Actually, STOLEN.

On Planet Li, after a galactic meeting of the minds, where each planet had four emissaries representing their planet, Earth only had one. 

One that equaled eight of them!

It didn’t bother her being alone at the table, surrounded by masters of the universe, attempting to intimidate her. It was the first time humanity had ever sat at the table.

What bothered Sheena was how rude they were in how they only invited her and made her team wait in the ship…

Sheena’s a retired, space fleet, Earth commander. Now she’s the commander of, the not-for-profit, PeaceFleet II. They’re a group of dedicated volunteers: teachers, doctors, researchers and an array of other professionals. Great people.

They’d recently started a three month program and were actually stationed there, on Planet Li, when the GEL hacked a video feed from one of the humans tablet’s. 

The most wealthiest, powerful alien in the universe, the king of the kings, King Lii’rk, he stood at the center of a faintly lit gymnasium. A shadow stained his face in a stripe of black war paint.

“I have breached past their inferno wall of defense.” He held a projectable device in the air. “Gather, fellow rulers. Gather around me.” His voice was pretty deep, pretty raspy and really scratchy. His words climbed sliding out of his throat with sharp points. His breath still smelled of beetle-protein-shake and orgwat guts. 

Senator Edrite, a bulky, horned, long-tailed alien, was walking past Commander pHog, a green, bug-eyed alien from the blugrRuhg system, he grabbed the senator by his shoulder. “What is it?” 

Edrite, spun around and nearly tripped because his cape, which swept the floor, became caught under his own boot. He cleared his throat. “No idea, sir. Ahem! I don’t think anyone knows.” His voice cracked. He glanced up and had to take his goggles off. He huffed inside them and wiped the moisture clean. “King Lii’rk was keeping it hush hush,” he said, jamming  his goggles back on his face.

Emperor Zerol, a two-foot-tall alien wearing a one-piece, squeaked, “King, didn’t want any leaks again, like the disaster last time.” He told them as they trailed behind him to the middle of the room.

The rulers huddled together like it was the last down with a second left to go in the fourth, packing the one yard line, behind four points.

The projector displayed a video glowing a blue light across their faces. Their eyes reflected the stream playing from Scout Private Billy Rake’s tablet.

The image collapsed into a list on the screen. 

1. Horror
2. Comedy
3. Romance
4. Science Fiction

King Lii’rk aimed the handheld projector in the air and shook it, the way you would a magic eight ball. “Why the hell won’t it work?” 

Magically, the dead end wall of letters fenced inside the page, transformed and opened into four rows of unique pictures in frames. 

Each row had six images. All of them were different. Dark. All Stories about humans on Earth. About human survival. The covers had undiscovered beasts on them. Species unknown to alien databases.

“Earth is riddled with frightening creatures,”  Edrite shouted, itching his lower back, ripping his armor off and inspecting his skin. “Is there something on me?”

A six-inch-reinforced, ten-foot-tall, hardened, steel door, sometimes mistaken as, General U’phlqk, the next in line to rule, stuck his arm out and pressed the first option.

After a second, the movie started playing. The plot confused them. Especially,  Commander pHog. He didn’t get it at all. The movie was about six humans, who stay in a cabin at a lake, somewhere on Earth. They’re being hunted by a predator, wielding a bladed, steel handed phaser, the length of General U’phlqk’s arm.

But still, the aliens eyes were glued to the hologram.  Emperor Zerol’s limbs were trembling. He tried looking away. He wanted to but couldn’t. They all watched, frozen, squeezed together, like grapes on a vine, holding their breaths. 

The projection showed six humans who became stranded in the woods. It was night. A downpour lowered the visibility. They had no way out. They were trapped with a masked psycho they could never seem to get away from.

General U’phlqk stuck his armor-plated chest out  and crossed his arms. “They keep running extremely fast and the attacker is always walking right behind them.” He said, “if that was me being chased, I would have eliminated the threat immediately.”

The masked attacker’s blade sliced down on the screen.

“Ahhh” screamed General U’phlqk, hopping onto the king and gripping his arm. The king threw the projector on the ground and pressed into General U’phlqk.

Commander pHog snatched the projector off the ground. 

What the aliens couldn’t seem to comprehend, was how there was eight more of those feeds, where alternate humans documented themselves going back. Even though they were all well aware of what happened to the last group before them and the ones before them.

Commander pHog was addicted, the other aliens trailed him as he struggled to get the video playing again. It skipped, flashed, went to a blue screen and flicked back on.

“Wait!” Emperor Zerol grabbed pHog’s arm and stared at the ceiling and clapped three times. Nothing happened. He clapped again. Nothing.

PHog eyed him. “What are you doing?” 

“Trying to make the lights go out.”

“LIGHTS OFF!” Edrite shouted.

The room went completely dark. The only light came off the flickering lamppost in the background of the movie.

The ground vibrated under them. Soothing and soft but between scenes, it started to lightly thump. A tapping sound beneath their feet like something was trying to get their attention. 

A second later, it began to quietly screech, like a bird trapped in the jaws of a pitbull a distance away. It started to rise. A drum beat pounded.

Their chests pumped and synced to it. 

Boomp!

Boomp!

Boomp!

They made fists and held their breath. Their skin went tight. It spiked. The beat kept going. Boomp. The shrieking dropped. The room went pitch-black. Boomp. 

Silence.

BOOMP!!  A loud bang shook the room.

“RUN!!!” Each one of their minds screamed, “CLAW THROUGH THOSE TITANIUM WALLS. NOW! HURRY, GET OUT OF THAT ROOM.”

Emperor Zerol yelled, “RUN!” at the girl on the screen who nearly met the edge of the persistent hockey masked attacker’s metal phaser.

The girl ran into a house.

General U’phlqk shouted, “No! How?” He ran in front of every one. “the masked man with the metal protruding weapon is now somehow hiding behind the door. Why is she stumbling towards it. We have to inform her immediately not to go in there.”

“Stop this live feed right now!” The king commanded. “Alert Professor Sheena before it’s too late.”

A few moments later, Sheena came tumbling into the gym half asleep, wearing Beetlejuice pajamas and blue, stuffed Monsters Inc. slippers . Her hands were lightly shaking. She didn’t know what was going on.

“What.. what is it..? Wha—what… happened on Earth? Is everyone okay?” she stuttered, circling the gym with her eyes.

“Professor Sheena, we have discovered a troubling situation.” The king walked up to her and put a hand on her shoulder as he stared her dead in the eye. His eyes watered. He was shaking. “A human needs your help,” he said, his jaw still bouncing.

“A human on Earth? How?” She asked. She was completely confused. “Why me?”

“Prepare yourself Professor.” King Lii’rk turned to Commander pHog. “unfreeze the live feed.”

The movie started playing. A smile formed on Sheena’s face. Her eyes lit up.

“Professor Sheena?”

“Shhh…” she said. “This is where I fell alseep.” She leaned in closer to the hologram. “Oo, I love this part.”

Just as she said that, the audio burst out of the speaker and exploded through the room. A thunderous bang louder than a spaceship being smashed into a cloud of dust by an asteroid, following right behind it was the piercing shriek of a hyena being brutally attacked by a pride of lions.

The masked individual jumped out of the shadows.

Everybody in the room, except Sheena, screamed. Howled. Screeched. They sounded like a malfunctioned warp-drive imploding in on itself.

The supreme war chief, the high-rulers, the king and the majority of them, dashed out of the room, stumbling and climbing over each other, clawing to be the first one out of the gymnasium as if the last Turbo Man was behind the door. 

A handful remained. 

Astonished. Shocked. Confused. Even scared. They closed in together, packed in tight as the anticipation of the predators blade paused in mid-air. 

They stared at the projection, eyes stretched, hands covering their faces, waiting for the blade to drop.

Sheena didn’t scream. They quickly glanced at her. Switched back and watched the hologram. Looked back at Sheena again, saw her teeth beginning to shine through the crack opening behind her lips. The blade motioned downward. Sheena flushed red as if she just cashed in her first cheque. A smile covered her face.

Her breaths were shallow. Her eyes shot open. She wore an expression of being cornered by a hungry, polar bear but at the same time she was smiling. She gave off pheromones of being scared. although, she was excited. She wasn’t anxious. She was comfortably terrified.

Commander pHog’s green skin turned a pale, milky color. His eyeballs were dry. He faced Sheena. “You really enjoy watching other humans trapped in horrific situations?”

She glanced at pHog, squinted an eye, squished her face and said, “Yeah…” dragging the word. “It’s fun.” She shrugged.

Soon as she walked out. The leaders who ran out, cautiously started tiptoeing back in. Scared the hockey-masked psycho might jump out from behind the door. They were still shaking. General U’phlqk was drenched in sweat. Everyone in the gymnasium stared at the general and immediately clutched into a huddle together.

The king squeezed between the group, dropped his head and said, “We can never psychologically break the mind of a human when their Friday night comfort is watching recreated monstrosities the universe couldn’t dream up in a nightmare.”

From the Morbid and moronic referential Code of life and society

Thursday at work, I had an interaction with a client that left me unbelievably angry.
He walked up and didn’t even greet me. He immediately yelled a number at me. I didn’t understand what he was referring to until he told me that was how many minutes he had been waiting. I tried to explain that we were experiencing longer wait times, but he wasn’t interested. He told me that he normally dealt with his advisor, but that the advisor had left the organization, and then made a comment implying that he now understood why.

He explained that he wanted to redeem his investment. I told him I was happy to help, but that I needed to review the terms and conditions first. When I investigated, I discovered that the investment had renewed into a different product and wasn’t currently redeemable. More importantly, I discovered that the investment hadn’t been set up incorrectly. If I had simply processed what he was asking for, he could have lost hundreds of thousands of dollars.
I went to my supervisor because I knew there was a bigger issue. He agreed and said to reach out to the Senior Supervisor .
When I came back to the client, instead of simply listening, he immediately started yelling numbers at me again and then asked me if I had been “baking a cake.” That comment really bothered me. I don’t know exactly what he intended, but in that moment it felt like a sexist dig at me—as though I was a woman who should be in a kitchen baking a cake instead of doing my job.

Then he told me that, on my own unpaid time, I should go to the DMV and stand in line for hours. Maybe then, he said, I would understand how much of his time I had wasted.

I remember thinking, Who gave you the right to decide how I should spend my own time?

I was at work. I was doing my job. I wasn’t intentionally wasting his time, and I certainly wasn’t asking him to give me his time for free. Yet somehow, because he was frustrated, he felt entitled to punish me with a suggestion about how I should spend my evening.

His time mattered.

But so did mine.

That was the moment it became personal.
I wasn’t wasting his time. I was investigating his problem. I was trying to protect him from losing hundreds of thousands of dollars. I was doing more than simply processing the request he had come in about.
And yet somehow I became the person he decided was beneath him.
He told me he had millions upon millions of dollars and essentially expected that wealth to give him authority over me. I told him the Senior Supervisor had been made aware of the situation and would be contacting him. He continued talking, and eventually I ended the conversation.

Afterward, I was furious.

I felt humiliated, disrespected and angry that someone could speak to another person that way. I looked him up because I wanted to put a face to the person who had just treated me so badly. I found myself imagining horrible things happening to him. I imagined him losing his money, his possessions and everything that makes him feel powerful. I even imagined him suffering and being tortured.

Those thoughts are disturbing to me, but I also recognize that they came from an enormous amount of anger. I don’t actually want to become someone who hurts another person. I want the anger out of my body. I want the feeling of being powerless and degraded to go away.

What I really wish for is not his suffering.

What I really wish for is accountability.

I wish people understood that the person on the other side is a human being. They have a life, feelings, responsibilities and their own difficult days. Their time matters too.

His money doesn’t make his time more valuable than mine.

And his frustration did not give him permission to treat me as though I was less than him.

I know what I did that day. I helped him. I investigated his issue. I caught a problem that could have cost him hundreds of thousands of dollars. I escalated it appropriately. I tried to help.

Being a client doesn’t mean he gets unlimited access to my dignity. His behaviour was his choice.

It does not define my value.

Chapter 3 - The man on the other side

It was close to end of the work day. I had already been working a long 9.5-hour day, with only another 30 minutes left before I could finally go home.

When a man walked in.

The man on the other side of the desk sounded quiet, calm, and reasonable. He explained that he was having trouble with online banking, and I was happy to help. I went through the routine verification process and then began trying to understand exactly where the problem was.

We walked through a few steps together. At one point, he accidentally locked himself out, so I unlocked him and continued helping him troubleshoot the issue.

Everything seemed calm.

Then, in a split second, everything changed.

His voice suddenly became aggressive, and he screamed with all his might:

“Fix it, now cunt!”

The shock of the sudden change made me sit up straighter. I became immediately alert. My heart raced, and I could feel my emotions rising from the bottom up. I was flustered, shaken, and trying to process how someone who had sounded so calm only moments before could suddenly become so hostile.

I told him that the way he had spoken to me was unacceptable and would not be tolerated. I gave him another opportunity to continue the conversation respectfully.

He failed to do so.

He screamed at me again.

At that point, I told him the conversation was over and that I would no longer continue assisting him. I asked him to leave.

I looked down at my hands and realized they were visibly trembling.

That was the part that stayed with me.

How could someone change so quickly?

One moment, he sounded like a completely reasonable man asking for help. The next, he was screaming at me with such anger and contempt. It made me wonder what could cause someone to switch so suddenly and what that kind of uncontrolled anger might look like outside of the public eye.

I warned my coworkers about the interaction.

Then I saw that he had come back and was reaching out for assistance again. I asked one of my male coworkers to assist him, wondering if perhaps he would respond differently to a man.

He didn’t.

My coworker ended the conversation in less than five minutes.

That was when I realized it wasn’t simply that he had been frustrated with me. His behaviour was a pattern of aggression that could be directed at whoever happened to be on the other end.

And that scared me.

It made me think about how little we sometimes know about the people we encounter. Someone can sound perfectly calm and reasonable, and then, without warning, reveal a completely different side of themselves.

I don’t know this man’s life. I don’t know what he is like outside of that interaction, and I don’t know what causes him to react the way he does. But I do know what happened to me in those few minutes.

I was shaken.

For the rest of the night, I couldn’t completely let it go. I kept thinking about how quickly the situation had changed over something as simple as assisting him with a fixable issue.

Maybe that’s what unsettled me the most.

It was a reminder that we never truly know what someone is capable of when we are interacting with them. A voice on the other end can seem harmless, familiar, even gentle—and then suddenly become threatening.

I hope I never encounter that kind of behaviour again.

But I also know that this experience will probably stay somewhere in the back of my mind for a long time. Not because I want to live in fear, but because it reminded me to stay aware, trust my instincts, and remember that I am allowed to end an interaction when someone crosses the line.

Sometimes the mask can come off in an instant.

Chapter 4- Where has social awareness gone

The moment that stayed with me from the grocery store had nothing to do with groceries. It was the moment a woman began placing her items on the conveyor belt beside mine while I was still unloading my cart—and I stood there, unable to say a word.

It had been an ordinary day.

I woke up to the sun shining and the air feeling crisp. I got up, drank my coffee, worked out, and then let myself keep my head in the clouds for a while, watching a few shows and enjoying the quiet.

As the day progressed, my husband got up and we decided to go grocery shopping. We spent the afternoon walking up and down the aisles, picking out everything we needed for the next few weeks.

Eventually, we made our way to the checkout.

We placed our groceries onto the conveyor belt. My husband stood on one side, packing the bags as the cashier rang everything through, while I stood on the opposite side, taking each item out of the buggy and placing it onto the belt.

I was doing what I had done countless times before.

Item after item.

Then I sensed someone beside me.

A woman had lined up behind me, waiting for her turn. I thought nothing of it. This was a normal part of everyday life.

But then something strange happened.

As I continued placing my groceries onto the conveyor belt, she began placing hers down too—right beside mine.

I wasn’t finished.

I stood there completely shocked.

I remember feeling like I couldn’t speak. My thoughts immediately started racing.

Say something.

Ask her to wait.

Stand up for yourself.

Why is she doing this?

But I didn’t say anything.

I just stood there, dumbfounded, trying to understand how someone could simply start putting their groceries onto the belt while I was still using it.

Then another thought crept in.

Maybe I’m wrong.

Maybe I was taking too long.

Maybe this is normal.

But it didn’t feel normal to me.

I continued putting my groceries down and, when I was finished, I deliberately placed the divider between our items.

I didn’t confront her.

I didn’t say anything.

I simply continued with my day.

It wasn’t until we had paid, packed our groceries, and left the store that I finally told my husband what had happened.

And strangely, once I said it out loud, I realized how much it had bothered me.

I kept replaying the moment in my head.

Over and over.

I became upset with myself for not saying anything. I regretted not standing up for myself. I wondered why I had frozen in that moment instead of simply saying, “I’m not finished yet.”

It wasn’t really about the groceries.

It was about feeling like someone had invaded my space and disregarded my turn, and then feeling like I had allowed it to happen because I didn’t speak up.

The more I thought about it, the more I started thinking about society.

Has social awareness disappeared?

Are people becoming so absorbed in their own lives that they don’t notice the people around them anymore?

Sometimes it feels as though people move through the world believing their needs should come first. Maybe it’s entitlement. Maybe it’s distraction. Maybe people are simply so wrapped up in themselves that they don’t realize how their actions affect others.

But I also had to stop myself.

I don’t actually know what was going through that woman’s mind.

Maybe she was impatient.

Maybe she didn’t realize I was still putting groceries down.

Maybe she genuinely didn’t understand that what she was doing was rude.

And maybe that’s part of what bothered me so much—not knowing.

What I do know is that I didn’t like how I felt afterward.

Not because I needed to start an argument, but because I wish I had felt confident enough to calmly say, “I’m still using the belt.”

I can’t control whether other people are socially aware.

I can control how I respond.

And maybe next time, instead of freezing and questioning whether my feelings are justified, I’ll simply speak up.

But it doesn’t change the thought that lingers in my mind: have we become so focused on ourselves that we no longer care about one another? Where has our social awareness gone?

That’s when it all made sense.

I’m tired of it all.

I’m tired of being expected to absorb other people’s anger, entitlement, disrespect, and bad behaviour and then somehow be the one who walks away carrying it.

I’m tired of wondering when karma will catch up with people who hurt others.

I don’t want to wait for karma anymore.

I want to be karma.

The concept of an existential void in Blondie’s world relates to character-based brands from the 2000s and earlier. As a child, I loved the characters that appeared on notebooks, clothing, and merchandise—characters that lacked a backstory. Yet, beyond simply adoring their designs and aesthetics and wanting to know more about them, I felt an existential void stemming from their lack of history or context; they existed solely to sell products. Even with characters that did have series or movies—like Ruby Gloom—I sometimes experienced that same emptiness; I wanted to know more about the characters and their world, but there was hardly any context because the primary goal was selling merchandise. I always longed for greater narrative depth in the commercial characters I liked, and I wanted to reflect that in Blondie. As I’ve mentioned, many of us feel an existential void in her world: we have questions and doubts, and we want to know more, but there is very little context regarding the story. We know, however, that Blondie’s world does have a story—a very complex one—but it simply isn’t something that will be fully revealed in the mini-comics, the production of which is currently on hold. I am the only person working on my projects.

Hello, everyone. I am writing a book but I'm beginning to lose motivation as no one, I mean no one has really checked it out except Claude AI. I am worried that it might not be that interesting. If there's anyone who can help me check it out, I will be grateful.

submitted this for my 8th grd suspense narrative benchmark am I cooked or what
please feedback pls feedbakc!!!!!

Before the Sun Sets

The sun rose up slowly, pulling golden yellow skies over the vast darkness below. Busy adults soon left for work, and naive children played on the field close by. At a nearby church, the 8:00 mass was about to start, while a few people rushed in in hopes of not missing the opening hymn. A kid sat on the wooden pew in the front row, wearing a button up flannel and looking put together. In addition, her father, mother, and brother  sit there, picture perfect; the ideal.

Across the bench, a young girl sits, distant, cold, and unmoving. Her eyes were fixated on the large wooden cross that towered high above the people inside. The idea of unwavering superiority made her question the line that she was never meant to cross.

“Excuse me?” a voice rang through the church. “You can’t be sleeping in here.”

The girl lifted her head slowly, trying not to nod off again. 

“Ah, sorry. I’ll be on my way now.”

“Wait!” the girl grabbed her hand abruptly. 
“Yeah?”

“Would you like to play with me and my friends if you’re not going anywhere?”

She turned around and shook her hand off and agreed, “sure.”

The girl grinned and led her out of the dim church.

Judas loved the sun, and she hated how the church shadowed the warmth. The church masked the light, like a cruel facade. Outside, she felt free, free from the constrictions of the incense that lingered, the walls that cut everyone off from the inevitable.

She spotted a small hill, and a group of girls around her age running around the grass playing tag.

One of them walked over, eagerly to Judas, excitedly greeting her. “Hello! My name is Mary! Eve, isn’t this the girl that always…” she trailed off, covering her mouth with her hand as if she had something to hide.

“If you have something to say, you better say it to my face.”

Mary was significantly taller than Judas, and when she looked down at her, she was even more terrifying.

“Judas, was it? You gonna sell us out before supper or something?” She snickered lowly while someone called everyone over to start the game of tag. She saw Eve’s smirk, but didn’t think much of it.

Judas stared blankly at Mary, who was talking with the other girls. She looked at the sky. Just how long had she been asleep for?

“Hey, let's just call you Jude. Are you fine with that?”

She looked at Eve. She was radiant, like the sun peering through the clouds on a rather dreary day. She liked her. She was nice to her.

“Yeah. I’d like that.” 

“Alright then, Jude! Let’s go!”

They both met the rest of the group on the hill. Mary was mumbling to the other girls under her breath, and Jude knew it was about her. She didn’t seem to mind, though. Mary walked over. 

“Since you're the guest, you should be it, okay?” Mary taunted.

Eve asked, “will you be alright with that, Jude?”
Jude nodded, and with that, the kids began to spread out across the grass. 

“3…2…1…go!” 

Everyone started running, but one girl turned around and was still chatting with someone else. She decided to run for her first, since she was the easiest target.

She ran up to her and reached out to tag her, until she felt herself colliding with something solid. 

“Huh?”

She opened her eyes to a loud commotion. All of a sudden, Mary sat wailing on the ground while the girls stood around and comforted her. Jude stood up in dreadful silence, feeling guilty as the girls eyed her in horror. She wondered why she was indifferent; numb. So much was happening at that moment, and she felt insane because all she could think about was Eve. How would she react? Would she decide not to talk to her anymore? Jude thought of her expression, that warm, radiant face and her sweet smile, crumbling as soon as their eyes met.

The caretaker who was sitting close by rushed over and led Mary to the office. It had only been a day since they’d met, and Jude had already ruined it all.

She took a seat on the bench not far away, just thinking. 

Not long after, she decided to close her eyes. She could only hope that nobody came to see her. She didn’t even want to see Eve. With the guilt on her back, she didn’t think she could face her. She dozed off for God knows how long.

“Jude, I thought you were different. I didn't know you were this childish, to hurt someone over something as small as that. Why would you do this? Why are you like this? I never want to see your face again, let alone at church.”

The sound of footsteps echoed as the yelling continued to ring through her head. 

“Jude?”

Hearing the sound of the familiar voice, She perked up, pulling her from that terrible nightmare.

It seemed that she hadn't been asleep for long, seeing that the sun was beginning to set.

“Eve? Why are you here?”

Eve hesitated. “I wanted to see you before I left.”

“You’re leaving?” Jude’s expression contorted, clearly showing her surprised look.

She held her hand behind her back, standing over Jude who was sitting down on the bench. “Tommorow.”

Jude was pained. She didn't want her to leave, even if they hadn't been friends for long, she still wanted her around. “Will I  ever get to see you again?”

Eve’s back stood against the fading sun. She couldn't see her face, yet she knew she was smiling. Or was she?

“Aren’t you fine here in Bellwood? Everyone knows each other here, and im sure you have a lot of friends here, so why–”

“Why do you care? I know I seem like a saint to you, but I’m not, and I never will be. We met earlier today. You might think that I care for you in your own fairy dreamland, but I pity you. Your parents are such tidy people, and you? You’re a disgrace to them.” 

As soon as she said that, Jude’s smile dropped. It was as if reality had hit her smack in the face. It wasn’t Mary, or Eve, or heck– even her dad. She was hoping for the reality that maybe she would have a shoulder to lean on.

It seems that she had wished for something imperceivable.

“What are you talking about? What have I ever done to you to make you feel this way!”

 “Because you're a–” she stopped abruptly. Her face had a tinge of disgust, but also that of pity. It seemed like she didn’t fully like her, but also cared. “You know what you are.”

“I don’t.”

“I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me.”

Jude said nothing.

“You like me, don't you?”

Her stomach dropped.

“It's disgusting. I've been trying to be nice to you all day, and now I realize I should've just ignored you.” Eve and Jude just stood there in silence, averting each other's gaze.

“Why…why does this always happen…” Jude just stood there, the tears welling up in her eyes as she fought to hold back. “Yeah. I do have a crush on you. Who are you to care? I have nothing to lose. Just as you said, my family hates me and I have no friends.” Jude said, scornfully as she held back her tears.

Eve sneered. “You’re insane.”

She started walking away. The footsteps echoed like cymbals, and her heart was the drums.

The sky was completely dark. Not an ounce of light shown through the night, covered by the thick clouds. A streetlamp illuminated her path back home, but she didn’t want to go. She wanted to sit still and just stop thinking. She wanted to close her eyes once more and just–

“Hey, you’re seriously not going to stay out here all night, are you? You shouldn’t worry your mother.”

Jude stared at her for a second. “I’ll be on my way now.”

They slowly walked away from each other. 

Suddenly, the air felt thicker; heavier, all pressing down on her chest. She wanted more. She was crying, but it didn’t give her the release that she so desperately wanted.

The walk home was surprisingly shorter than she anticipated. It was when she stepped on the front porch did she realize the severity of her situation. 
She heard the crashing of a vase and the yelling inside the household as she appeared.

All of a sudden, the front door slammed open. No doubt her dad was drunk again. This is why she didn’t want to come home.

A face she knew all too well towered over her. The sky was pitch black. Then everything was.

She woke up once more to the feeling of cold, hard porcelain tiles. 

Jude laid there on her bathroom floor, feeling the rough, dried blood on her face and the bruises on her body that seemed like they would never fade. The small window high at the top of the wall in the bathroom was the only source of light. She stood up and stared at her body in the mirror that was covered in huge, purple-yellow blotches. 

She had nobody else to lean on. What was the point if her siblings, mother, father, and Hope no longer cared about her?

The knowledge that humans seek to discover will forever be theory, and we will keep chasing It until the world caves in. Until everything goes still once more, until nothing.

Whether ‘It’ is the desperation to be remembered, or the desperation to be loved, that is something that we will never be able to grasp.

The sun rose above the horizon, leaving the darkness behind, and the light anew. Perhaps, darkness was never meant to be the end. 

The world doesn't end when the sun goes down.

It begins.