Story #352

One sweltering summer day in Boston, an ice cream cone made an impromptu decision that would forever change her fate. Just as the employee was about to place her into the hand of a hungry 3-year-old boy, she thrust herself upward and out of the man’s grip.

“What the …? ” the employee said, scratching his head in confusion. “That ice cream cone just jumped right out of my hand!”

The ice cream cone, having some innate athletic ability, managed to complete a perfect tumblesault in the air and landed, unharmed, in the grass. She dusted some loose rainbow sprinkles off of her cone, and quickly ran off before the employee could scoop her back up.

“I’m free!” She thought happily. “I can do anything I want to! Maybe I’ll go to the zoo.” She took off running down the street, but stopped dead in her tracks when she realized she was starting to melt.

She quickly ducked under the cool shade of a tree and sat there for a while, thinking of what to do next.

“I refuse to melt!” She said emphatically. “I am an ice cream cone, yes, but I will not melt, no matter how hot the day may be.”

– Erin Balsa, Hingham, Massachusetts USA

Story #351

In all my life, I never expected to be diagnosed with cancer. I ate and live a healthy life, until April 2017 when I heard the word,”you have cancer.” Not just breast cancer, an aggressive and rare form of it. Now, I’m between feeling somewhat normal and feeling like I want to die! Then I thank God I’m alive…for myself, my family and most of all, my granddaughter. I love each day as if it were my last, doing everything I can to do something nice for someone. I live life. I enjoy it and thank the Lord above for giving me life in this beautiful world that despite everything that can go wrong and is wrong…I see joy and happiness and they are enough.

– Lily Mondragon, Corpus Christi

Story #350

Det var en gång en man som hette Clas. En solig dag gick clas ut till bondgården. På bondgården hitta clas gris som kostar 50kr. Clas köpte grisen. Clas tog grisen hem till clas, sen byggde clas en liten hage till grisen. Grisen blev nöjd med sin hage. Clas körde sin fyrhjuling till bondgården och köpte mycket grismat, sen körde clas hem och gav grisen lite kvällsmat. Sen gick Clas in i huset och lade sig i sin säng. Slut

– Clas, Kil

Story #349

Hi, my name is Kendon and I am an INFP male suffering with… Well a lot of things. Hear me out, yeah?

I’d say the most prominent suffrage I have has to be depression. The reason is very… Elaborate to say the least. I’d like to say it all happened when I was about 6 years old, so roughly 13 years ago. Young boy, able to walk, talk, dress himself somewhat well enough, feed himself if necessary.

That’s when I started to realize my dad was abusive. VERY much so. Not to mention a deathly toxic alcoholic. He beat me, my mom, and my sister every chance he got and that… Man enjoyed every second. He centered around me and my mom more so. He said my sister wasn’t his and he shouldn’t, and I quote, “Give a shit about some little skank that came from her whore of a mother.” Day in and day out, beating after beating. Belts, knives, kitchen utensils, tree branches. Anything he could get his hand on and lift with some ease, he used to make my mom and I’s life hell.

One day really sticks out for me. I remember the date perfectly. August 9th, 2004. The day he not only threatened to kill every one in the house, himself included, but he also beat me worse than before. He cut me up, beat me down to pulp almost, hung me by my wrists from the banister of the stairs. I can still feel the rope sometimes, digging into my wrists and twisting up the skin, shredding what skin was left.

He got my face pretty good, still a few scars left, and its 13 years later… This continued for three years. Daily. Every time I turned around, I thought that today was the day I die to this man.

Three years later, mom finally got the courage to take action against him and get the divorce. Some kids are sad and THAT causes their depression. Not for me. Thats a breath of fresh air. Oxygen in my lungs. Finally, I could breathe and not be afraid for my life every second of every day.

That was very short lived once we got to her mother’s house.

My grandmother. I wouldn’t even call her that. Much like my father is referred to as sperm donor, she is my mom’s mother. I haven’t called her grandma in a good long while.

However, behind my mother’s back, the abuse continued. A little… Softer than my sperm donor, but still. A new means of torture was introduced. Burning. She’d light a candle, one without a container, just candle, and put it out against my skin. She’d sometimes just hold the lighter to my skin, lit or so heated to the point where it imprinted. She’d purposefully close my body parts in doors and cabinets. Anything with a handle and hinges really. She pushed me into a lawnmower and made me burn a majority of my arm on the engine. It was the usual otherwise, savage beatings behind people’s backs, forcing me worse if I told anybody. To this day, this moment, I have told nobody. Nobody except whoever reads this. On top of everything my grandmother did, I was still forced to go and see my dad every so often. So it was abuse from both parties still. For three more years it continued. Worse yet.

It wasn’t but a year later that I tried ending it… My first suicide attempt. July 19th, 2008. I was 10 and I tried to take a variety of my grandmother’s pills, just to see what would happen. If it would truly end it all… It failed, of course. Attempts after that seemed endless… Cutting myself, threatening to blow my brains out, wanting to leap off my roof or higher, holding my breath till I passed out. Every way you thought of to end it, I undoubtedly tried it.Especially cutting… There’ll be days where I still do it. A few here, a few there. If the days are bad enough though…. I can’t keep track of how many there are. My grandmother and father weren’t the only reason I wanted to do that.

Say hello to the ugliest face of the abuse world… Rape… June 17th, 2009. We went camping with my uncle Ron and his sons, Matthew and Jt. It was them three, me, my mom, my grandmother, and my cousin Brayden. Every one went to sleep, I thought I’d get a good night’s rest…

My tent was broke into, the four of them looming over me… Each taking their turn making that night the one I would dread for years to come… I still do… I’ve only told one other person and even then it wasn’t the whole truth… I couldn’t tell her all of it… I didn’t want to believe it even happened. They tossed me around, different positions, different sizes being pushed where they weren’t supposed to be… Me wishing nothing but for them to kill me afterward. Cover it up as an animal attack or something… That continued for another year behind everybody’s back.

I was 12 when we left my grandmother’s. My mom being able to afford her own place and finding a new man. So that ended contact with my father and that side of the family altogether. That was whenever it was memories finally catching up with an older me.

And the suicide attempts continued. Years of sitting in my room crying myself to sleep. My eyes feeling like they were bleeding cause I never slept. Everytime I closed my eyes all I saw was them looming over me or my father getting ready to beat me or even my grandmother ready to burn me at a moments notice… I had nightmares instead of dreams. Wishes for death instead of praise for life. Wanting it to be over, the pain to stop… Yet too scared to try anymore. The last attempt was a handful a pills and they didn’t even make it to my mouth. I crushed them in my hand, slinging them across the bathroom and screaming, crying out for help and begging for the pain to just go away…

I would continue this story with the various heartbreaks. Girlfriends and small flings that… Really don’t mean much to me, save for two people. But I feel like its not necessary. Some was more physical abuse. Others mental. Most or all emotional, save for the two. Those two wouldn’t have dared lay a finger on me. They cared too much yet… It was the wrong time. We wouldn’t have worked at that time and it made me hopeful for the future for once… That someday, I’d be able to feel that happiness again. On top of sleepless nights, demons screaming at me and telling me i was worthless and I should’ve pulled the trigger or made sure the noose was tighter. Something… It all seemed essentially worthless. Life.. seemed worthless. As if there was nothing there for me anymore. I was hoping that when I got out my parents house that… That’d be it. That would be the time I’d do it… To truly end it all…

It was after I graduated that everything began to change… For the better seemingly… I was scared, jumping into good things and then, after awhile, ruining them… I was so scared that I took no precaution. It was entirely new to me. I felt happiness, truly. I felt it and took it for granted at the same time…

Only then did I realize that happiness doesn’t truly come from one select person. Granted, that one person, no matter the circumstance or relationship between the two of you, will be such a large influence on your life that you want to never let go of them. They’ll make you stupendously happy… However, happiness… Its two vastly different forms.

One, from friends. The truest of friends who are with you no matter the circumstance. The ones that, even through hell and high water, through the hardships you go through or put them through, they have your back no matter what.

The second, and this one took me A WHILE to realize, is from yourself. This one wasn’t fully introduced until here recently. But you can never be truly happy until you quell what demons reside in you and come to terms with your past. Its called the past for a reason… You need to leave it where it lies and continue on with your life. Learn from it and continue to live! Take life in strides rather than steps

Take life in and simply experience it! Breathe in every last atom of Oxygen. See every last inch of Earth. Touch the sky and pierce the heavens! Take life by storm!

Show it that you can’t be stopped, no matter how close you were before…

Show it that… No matter what happened… No matter the pain, the trials, the tribulations… You can make it out. You can make it and be better than you ever were. Better than you ever thought you could be.

You just gotta show it who’s boss is all.

My name, once more, is Kendon. And I hope my story can help some people. No matter how minuscule it may seem. Keep smiling, lovelies. It gets better, I promise.

– Kendon, Lawton

Story #348 – Today’s accident

There he is again, he is everywhere, Today, on all our streets and in every window, at the top of every taller building, looking only halfway down. He is wearing his furniture buttoned up, creased and polished, opening his mouth in creaks, light and food inside, darkness when it closes. Today, his hair smells too fresh, he has just vacuumed it. He’s drawn the curtains across his eyes, always seems to be sleeping, while his brain glows out of its blue glass case, muted. His desires are framed upon his walls, all the resolutions and obsessions, brand names and faces like magnets slipping and sliding. He takes what he wants, stabbing with his fork fingers, collecting with his spoon palms. He breathes in and out without a thought, he accepts everything.

He crosses a road he has crossed many times but collapses before he is on the opposite side. A truck quivers loudly to a stop before his flailing, limpid parts. There are some worried passersby who are worried enough to pause and turn toward the disheveled body. Some come close. Some come closer. There must have been a tornado here, and it has passed through, dropping this house into many pieces. Everyone laughs at the broken house, the bathtub standing embarrassed in the midst of this perfectly designed destruction, growing cracks and filled with fresh dust. The truck driver is relieved, he is laughing with everyone.

There was nothing inside to begin with, just a box to fit into. Everyone knew that, it’s so familiar, so ordinary.

– Suchi Rudra, Texas

Story #347

Gary Radiomac was quite the man. His black mullet, aviator glasses, and manly jawline were all classic trademarks. As for clothes- well, Gary liked to change things up a bit. Sometimes, he would wear his blue and white shirt with white bell-bottoms, accompanied by classic loafers. But when Gary was feeling particularly funky, he would put on his golden jumpsuit and platform shoes, close his office door and blast the full Saturday Night Fever soundtrack for all to hear. Sometimes, his assistant Carol would tell him to keep the volume down, because of a meeting outside. Ha. Gary didn’t listen her. He was the boss, man. Editor of The Daily Man Newspaper since 72´, the year of his birth, nobody told him what to do. He was king. Oh yeah.

– Gary Gerry Radiomac, Perth

Story #346

I am a INTJ male who is currently suffering ego death.

I am realizing that the world around me is fabricated, shattered and torn whole by the loss of my vestige. She left me after 3 years of complete dedication. It has been a month, and my mind is still reeling from the fact I can’t fall asleep next to her again, nor share a laugh, hold her hand, touch feet as we sleep..

Here is my entirety. I am a compulsive liar, so I will tell you fact about me firstly, then elaborate so that way I am avoiding lying to you.

I am 21 Years old. I was born in Concord, NC in 1996, to C. P. and an unknown father. I grew up under the name of Price for 2 years, as my father was abusive, controlling and a drug addict. After several attempts on my mothers life and mine, she fled under witness protection to Kentucky. After a few years, My step-father entered the picture. At the age of six, I had already experienced Alcohol, Homosexual rape, loneliness, and loss. It seems tiny, comparitively in my mind, but I had to watch my childhood pet be put down, and buried. That was my first loss.

In 2004, I moved to Fort Sill, OK. Here I reside currently, and this is where my story takes a darker turn. My life was shook as my parents were still in their 20’s and partying. Booze was an all-time factor in my life, and to this day I can remember the sounds of soldiers fighting outside my window, the sound of glass breaking, and wondering if someone was going to come into my room and hurt me at 2 in the morning.

They did their best to raise me, put me on a pedestal. I came into my academic talents early at this point, throwing myself into school and achieved the top scores of my class, almost exclusively Sciences. I was put in the G&T program, and later advanced to MENSA, and International MENSA.  My parents never let this bar down, and held me to achieving my best, although my talents only went so far.

In 2006, Mother had a breast reduction done by Dr. Nuveen, as per back problems. After 5 grueling days in the living room, we discovered massive internal bleeding. He had left a Artery in the back open, and leaking into her chest cavity. This condition developed into something worse, and due to my childhood knowledge, I to to this day don’t remember what it is. She ended up dying on the table, for a recorded time of 1 Minute, 45 seconds. I was sitting outside the room when this happened. I heard the flatline, and I ran into the bathroom. Too weak to express my anger, too strong to crumple. I sat in that room screaming anguish. I knew what that sound meant, but she came back. I plead with a god I didn’t and don’t believe in then. I’ve only ever done it 3 times in my life. This was the first and only time it was about my mother.

Later, after a troubled high school, drugs, amateur crime, depression and self harm, I developed into the man I am today, who somewhat collectively gathered himself. I moved out at the age of 17, graduated at 18, and got my own place with a roommate in 2014.

2014 was possibly the worst year for me, save for one thing. I met this girl, named Andrea K. We began dating through my friend Dean, who was her cousin. During 8th grade, I flirted with her and then fell asleep and my friend got nudes and spread  them, sadly, so she hated me throughout high school. I got her to listen to my story, and she forgave me. Not the last time that would happen..

Either way, after sacrificing special time with my family and loved ones, my Grandmother passed away at 6:55 in the morning on Nov 4. She was the one who was there when my parents were. She showed me what compassion, knowledge, and what listening can do for someone. She showed me how considering other’s thoughts mattered, and how wise it was to try to understand, even if you don’t want to.

My world crumpled in 2014. She was with me until April 3, 2015. In December I hurt her badly, I broke her little heart. She was weak, and I knew it, and still, the one rule she had was I don’t masturbate. Which, I find biologically necessary but still, I lied to her every day about it.

She left me, and I wanted her back. The want drove my inner self to the walls. I cracked in May, on the 16th, her birthday, and went suicidal. I sliced my wrists 159 times on each arm, up and down for results kids, sideways for punishment. Punishment for my sins. I spent a week faking happiness and rightfulness to my Therapists, who gave me pills to make me robotic, but couldn’t break my inner walls, so I continued my depression. After getting out, it took 2 days for me to start slicing myself again. The anxiety and sin built up underneath my skin caused me to bleed it out. I lost count halfway through the tears, and frenzied myself. I was admitted again, and got out June 6th, 2015 again, and moved into my friends Blakes after finding solace in my parents. 3 months later, they left, and I swallowed close to 1.5 grams of pills. The lethal dose for Trazodone is close to .4. I remember eating those pills out of my puke, wanting to die so badly. I ate every single one, and passed the fuck out. The next day I woke up, puked three times, then went back to sleep, unable to walk. The second day, I woke up and my eyes wouldn’t follow where my brain was telling them to go. I thought I was suffering my sacrifice of not being able to man up and end it. I was going to die a slow death. I remember a golden light telling me to wake up, so I did. I got back up. A couple of days later she texted me again. It started out slow, and I loved it. I had my precious back. My entire world. My galaxy. I do not exist without her in the center..

For that reason, when we got back together Sept. 16, 2015, I dedicated every piece of myself to this girl. Even if I lust for another, I never chase. Even if I look, I do not touch. I can want, but know I shall never have. For the solution to all was her. I found happiness, solitude, gratefulness, a reason to wake up, in her.

We fought quite a lot. I won’t lie, it’s mostly my fault, since I ruined her sense of trust and love, however I will say I took her happiness, I was, am, a selfish person. I make rash decisions, and the internal part of my mind only cares about this vessel of my body wants.

We both found dedication and love in eachother though. I wanted nothing more than waking up next to her every day, and everyday so far this month, as of July 9th, 2017, I have been without.

I sacrificed my parents moving to Maryland in 2015, when we weren’t together, for her. I sacrificed time with my grandmother, for her. I asked her to marry me, for her. I worked, got up, despite my self hate, my desire to lie down and die, to give up every day. She means the world to me, and now that we’re apart, I have lost my drive. I have no desirable skills. I have no wants, no needs, nothing that people want or need, excluding my ability to DM in D&D, that’s the only want. People like me because I get good at my passions. That’s it.

So here I am, again for a third time in my life, suffering loss. It is a feeling I hate. I have a loss of purpose, a loss for reason to sustain myself. I feel like wasting away. To commit suicide, and leave this nonpeaceful life away from me. I do not want to want her and she spurn me, to find another man.

It hurts man.
I’m broken. I have no will anymore. No drive. No purpose. I am ready to give up.
The only reason why I’m venting is to last long enough to visit my family, and on Oct. 4th, when I get back home, I’m going to do it. I’ll have seen my little brother, my mother, my father. I’ll have given him a memory to hold onto, to happiness, and to have held my mother like she held me when I was scared as a child. I’ll have shook my fathers hand as a man.

As a human being, I am stepping over the cliff soon. I cannot wait to fall, and see where I land.

Thank you for listening. You don’t have to draw me a picture.

– Zack, Lawton

Story #345

Chrysanthemum was not a particularly nice cat, despite her mother’s best attempts at raising her. She would scratch and hiss and just generally be unpleasant to be around. The only person who actually liked her was the sweet little kitten that lived next door. Her name was Pansy and she would follow Chrysanthemum around from dawn to dusk, mewing quietly. This annoyed Chrysanthemum greatly, but she put up with Pansy for some unknown reason, allowing her to go everywhere with her. One day, Pansy brought some friends with her. Their names were Basil, Clover and Daffodil, and they too followed Chrysanthemum around all day. Slowly this group grew and grew, until there were nearly fifty kittens following Chrysanthemum around as she went about her business. It was quite a sight to see as she stalked down the street, her band of followers skipping happily behind her. One day they didn’t show up. Puzzled and slightly worried, Chrysanthemum knocked on Pansy door, learning from her mother that today was there first day of school. Chrysanthemum was heartbroken. For days she barricaded herself in her house, refusing to leave for anyone or anything. Eventually she decided what she had to do. She did not leave her house for many more months, and the noise coming from it allowed nobody on her street to get a wink of sleep. Finally, she emerged, revealing what she had been tirelessly working on. A school!

– Coffee M. Ug, Cairo

Story #344

Around two years ago, My father passed away. I felt so sad. I go to tell him. I hope he can give me some support from his heart. But nothing. That time, I think about whether our relationship is close or not. Maybe he worried to date me or text me during that time. Our connection was changed. Now, we still text each other as blessing on some festival or birthday, but we won’t invite to meet again. I don’t know the ending of our relationship, but I know he will not disappear in my heart. T.T

– Mey, Hong Kong

Story #343

All my relatives aren’t all the same but Mara surely is one of a kind. Hard on the outside but soft on the inside, she’s a hard cookie to crack but that’s just one of the reasons why she’s my favourite relative.

Mara’s eyes are the color of dark cocoa edged with a deep forest-green, mixed, from her Samoan and German heritage. When you stare into her eyes, you can feel the warmth of the brown and the seductive green specks dancing around the edges. Her long luscious auburn waves cascade down her back flowing in the air like a butterfly’s drifting wings. With her ripped jeans and Comic t’s, her hipster urban style always makes her look like a rebellious rockstar. She’s like a skyscraper towering over me. A big teddy bear I know I can count on for a warm loving hug.

“ You can’t give up now. Come on Mu! You got this. Keep going. You’re almost there! I’m so proud of you! I knew you could do it.”

The encouraging and motivating sound of Mara’s voice always cheering me on for everything I do. For my netball and touch games, speeches, receiving awards and so on. Encouragement, just one of her many qualities. There’s never a dull moment with Mara either. She always seems to make a boring situation into something boisterous and competitive!

I remember when we were all in the car once and we had just got told off for being too loud and had to be quiet. Mara saw that my brother and I were really bored so she whispered to us and said “ let’s see who can keep a straight face. Who ever makes a sound their out. Okay?” Trying to hold everything in, we all blurted out, laughing!

Besides her encouraging and fun personality, I know I can always talk to Mara when I have problems. She always knows when I’m okay or if I’m not which makes me feel secure to know that I can always trust her. She always sees the bright side of a situation that seems so hopeless.

Mara’s more than a relative, she’s like a big sister to me, my best friend that I know I can always count on. She’s taught and helped me so much that I can’t even explain in words how much she means to me.

I know all relatives are different but Mara surely is one of a kind.

– Filemu, Auckland