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Publisher: Mondo Basquete

Biography: NBA, Euroliga, NBB,NCAA, Seleções e Curiosidades.

Actors: Bill Pullman, Anne Hathaway; 126Minutes; Directed by: Todd Haynes; Release Date: 2019; User Ratings: 7,8 of 10 stars; A corporate defense attorney takes on an environmental lawsuit against a chemical company that exposes a lengthy history of pollution.
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The head of this cod reminds me of the head on a snake head. I'm going to go with a classic: All The President's Men. Dark water was about to be toe! lmao Thankful you're safe.

1 1 Posted by 23 days ago 1 comment 100% Upvoted Log in or sign up to leave a comment log in sign up Sort by level 1 Original Poster 1 point · 23 days ago High quality 1080p Watch - Watch Dark Waters 2019 online free full movie android ios iphone ipad Available for free streaming Watch Dark Waters 2019 online free full movie android ios iphone ipad Full movies download u/Loud_Sorbet Karma 1 Cake day January 16, 2020 help Reddit App Reddit coins Reddit premium Reddit gifts Communities Top Posts Topics about careers press advertise blog Terms Content policy Privacy policy Mod policy Reddit Inc © 2020. All rights reserved.

It was the summer of 2016 and I had just married my long time girlfriend. Over the course of our 12 year relationship we had travelled to the mountains several times in both summer and winter for camping but also to stay in nice mountain hotels and snowboard the slopes. Naturally, we both agreed this was how we wanted to spend the first few weeks of our marriage. We booked a 20 day stay at a mountainside campground on the other side of the country. We also decided to bring our dogs with us as they too love being outdoors and we generally bring them camping anyway. After two days of road tripping we had arrived, quickly set-up and settled in for a good long stay on the mountain. It was beautiful. A couple of days into our trip and we had already met a bunch of fellow campers. We are very experienced campers so we generally attract a lot of attention from novice campers asking for tools or supplies as they see we are well set up. We are usually more than happy to help people get situated if they need matches, cream or sugar, or help setting up their equipment. It was day four or five when “she” first made her presence known to us. I will refer to this person as “she” or “her” as we never learned her name. We were sitting down under the shade of the large pine tree at the edge of our site, drinking beers and playing cards when she seemingly appeared out of no where. She was just suddenly right there! “Can I pet your dog?, ” she said. Even my dogs didn’t see her approach as the very sound of her voice triggered them into a startled frenzy. As the dogs were worked up already, I politely told her no. Then she just stood there, at the edge of our site. Didn’t say a word. Just stood there sort of existing but not really doing anything. She wasn’t exactly staring at us or looking at anything in particular. I asked her if she needed anything and she said no. After a few minutes she walked off. I work with people with brain injuries so I’ve had my fair share of experiences with unusual behaviours including people with poor social skills so I wasn’t about to write this person off as creepy just yet, but she had my attention. I casually watched her walk off and enter a campsite across the path and a few sites down from ours. There was already a small tent setup in the site, but she proceeded to pull an even smaller single person tent from her backpack and began setting it up. The day prior we saw two young girls set up the other tent and were clearly the occupants of the site. There was no further interaction with “her” that day although we did notice that the owners of the other tent on the site were not around at all that day and we didn’t see them return that night. Well, the next morning I am walking to the camp showers to clean up for the day. As I walk past her site, I see she is sitting in her little tent reading a book. The door to the tent is open. I pay no attention and keep on my way to take my shower. When I’m done my shower and walking back I notice her tent is now closed but it’s jiggling about so I know someone is in there. Then she made her presence known in a big way. Just as I am approaching her site on the way to mine, she unzips her tent and I immediately see that she is completely nude. She then positions herself just inside the tent at the door and lets out this over the top full body stretch and held her arms way up the sky while pushing her chest forward like it was some kind of mating ritual designed just for me. While she does this she lets out what I only describe as an exotic moan. It was pretty obvious she was putting on a show for me. I continue on my way to my site and tell my wife about the display I had just been witness too. We both laughed it off and moved on with our plans to day hike a good trail to a waterfall. The trailhead for this hike was accessible from the campgrounds so we didn’t have to drive to get there. We just walked the additional two kilometres to the trail. We walked at a good pace so when we got to the trail we decided to stop for a few minutes and take some photos of the surrounding mountains before heading into the thicker bush. After sitting there for maybe five minutes while my wife is taking pictures, “she” emerges from the trail that leads towards the campground. At first I thought, ok coincidence, she’s staying here and this is a pretty common trail. But then she sees that I see her and she stops dead in her tracks and just stands there. Same demeanour as our first encounter. Just standing, not doing anything in particular but also sending creep vibes our way. This was the first time I said to my wife, “I think we have a stalker! ” Confused, my wife then looks to where I’m looking and is immediately a little creeped out. Once again I think, whatever maybe she’s just hiking the trail no big deal. So we continue on the trail at a good pace and she maintains a consistent distance behind us. Our dogs at this point are a little distracted by her and our youngest dog keeps turning around to watch her. I got a little fed up with the dog constantly stopping to look back so I decided we will stop for some water and let this woman pass. Well what does she do, but fucking stop walking when we stop and once again just stands there. Ok so now we are genuinely concerned because this is approaching horror / suspense movie creep level and I start to wonder what this girls intentions are. Standing motionless at that distance and refusing to pass us just ramped up the oh shit factor to about nine. So my wife and I agree to just giver and cut the hike short by taking the shorter loop which was only another half kilometre ahead, and head back to our camp. We managed to get some distance between us by jogging every time we would make a turn and she was out of sight. We didn’t see her again until later that night. That night my wife decided to take an evening shower at the camp showers. When she returned to our camp she tells me our stalker was in the bathrooms also taking a shower. This time however she was with two other girls and appeared to be getting ready for a night at the club. There is a nearby ski town that has a few night clubs and bars so it was reasonable to see the girls getting ready for a night out. The two girls she was with were the two we saw previously set up at her site. My wife explains that she quickly picked up on the fact that the two girls and our stalker friend were not well known to each other. It was clear that the two girls were close friends with plans to go out partying, and our stalker was making an attempt to be friends and sort of invited herself to join them in their night out. Now we know the ski town well, and the girls kept reinforcing that they were meeting at a specific restaurant before going to the bar. It was currently 10:30pm and we know the restaurant they were telling her to go to was closed at 10:00pm. They were lying to her about their plans. The stalker kept asking them too, “are you sure this place, are you sure? ” They convinced her, and she then left to her tent to finish getting ready while the two friends stayed in the bathroom to finish their makeup. My wife went on to explain how after “she” left the two friends were mocking and making fun of our stalker. They were young 20 something’s acting like little girls in elementary school. My wife has no time for that, creepy stalker or not she had to say something to the girls for their behaviour. My wife calls them out on their behaviour. Well, putting all the caddy bitch bullying aside, the girls explained to my wife that the stalker girl had set up her tent on their site when they were staying with a friend in the ski town. When they returned they found her living at their site without invitation. She had just taken it upon herself to take a little corner of their site without knowing them at all. The girls said they were upset with her and trying to make her feel uncomfortable so she would leave, but she wouldn’t leave. Of course my wife asked them why they didn’t just report her to the park warden. The excuse they gave was they were leaving the next day and didn’t want to make a huge deal out it. So whatever happened between them and the fake late dinner plans and clubbing is unknown to us. About 3:00am that same night we are all awoken to a blood curdling scream right outside our camper. At first I was like “holy shit that must be a wild animal. ” My wife is trembling, dogs barking, and I am startled but curious. I peel back the window cover to see “her, ” standing motionless on the path outside our trailer. I had the window cover down maybe 8-10 centimetres when she appears to make direct eye contact with me. My heart rate is jacked. What the actual fuck. After gazing in my general direction for what seemed like an eternity, she calmly turns around and walks to her tent. I go make sure our trailer is locked. After a good hour, and a stiff whiskey we manage to get back to sleep. So the next day is a Friday we have friends from a nearby major city coming up the mountains to spend the weekend with us. We haven’t seen them in a while so we are excited for a couple days together. Well they are not at our site for 15 minutes, and as they are setting up their tent, “she” mysteriously appears out of nowhere yet again. Like bam there she is, but now this time she is actually in our site. I hadn’t had a chance to tell our friends about her before she arrived so they were a little more friendly then I was. She asks me once again if she can pet my dog, who during all of this is barking at her. I think I said something like “she isn’t being very friendly towards you right now so I would prefer if you didn’t. ” She didn’t pet my dog but she also just stood there starting at me like she was considering how she would dismember my limbs. “She” then notices our friends tent brand as he is still setting it up and comments on how it’s the same model as hers although a larger sleeping capacity. My buddy has picked up on the creep vibes and my general displeasure with her presence so just gives her the, “oh ya cool, ” and keeps setting it up. Well she starts grabbing at the tent pegs and picks up the hammer and says she will help him set it up cause she has experience with it. My buddy declines and asks for his tools back. Cue the fucking psychopath stare down but this time she has a hammer in hand, adding to the oh shit factor. She literally just drops everything right there and runs off. I go on to explain the last few days to our friends and they agree we need to keep an eye on her. So by this time the two girl friends who’s site she had hijacked were packed up and gone. It’s now Friday night and we’ve been drinking all day so we’re feeling pretty good. It’s maybe about 11:00pm when “she” walks over to our site again. She says, “Hey, you guys seem to have a lot of extra room with the tent and the camper, do you think I could stay with you guys tonight? We could have a lot of fun in there together. ” My buddy is feeling pretty good from all the day beers so he’s pretty forward when he reply’s, “ Did you just propose a gang bang to us? ” Now this whole time I’m just sitting in my camp chair with my whiskey taking this all in. She wasn’t really taking notice to me at all so far. Then, she smiles, turns her head and looks directly down at me and says, “I like your friend! ” She then turns around and walks away into the darkness of the night towards the forest. What! The! Fuck! We are all now terrified she is going to return. I decided right then and there if we see her again in a creepy fashion I am calling the park warden. This is getting silly. Well the night is winding down so we all decide to walk together to the bathrooms to clean up for bed. My wife pulls on my hoodie and says, “! ” I look over to see that the site she was setup on is completely destroyed. Shit everywhere. Just stuff, garbage, clothing, food. Everywhere. I thought ok this is weird, could this have been a bear. No we would have heard it. I then notice that the tent is gone. She is gone and left the site a complete mess. As luck would have it the park patrol was completing their fire rounds and were at the messed up site when we were returning from the bathrooms. We told them there was a girl staying on her who was acting erratic and we suspected she was squatting on the site based on our conversation with the two girls from earlier in the week. We didn’t see her again for the rest of our trip until the last full day. There is a great little lookout point not far from our site which has amazing views of the river and valley below and it was a perfect evening to see the sunset behind the mountains! It was a lovely final send off to an otherwise beautiful honeymoon. Just when we thought we were done with “her” she emerged once again from seemingly nowhere. We were sitting on a couple chairs that are bolted in place at the viewpoint, taking pictures of the valley below. As my wife is looking throw the camera viewfinder she picks up on the woman in the distance. She is standing the in woods a little ways down mountain towards the valley. Watching us! As her final act, she walked up the mountainside, and sat right beside us on a boulder that was beside the chairs. She says nothing. Just sits there. My wife has the brilliant idea of asking me to take one last picture of the scenery and she gives me a little wink. I pick up on her idea right away and I position myself so this woman is going to be in the picture. My wife wanted this lady’s photo in the event something bad happens with her before we can leave the area. We took our final looks out at the beautiful scenery and headed to our camp for the night. We didn’t see or hear from “her” again. Upon reflection we agreed this woman had some serious mental health issues obviously. She had zero social skills, and we did witness her attempt to make friends with those two girls that shafted her in a terrible way. That being said, she did things way beyond the realm of acceptable social awkwardness. There were moments I though she would pull out a knife and kill us all where we stood. More than that, the stalking, the midnight screaming and running off into the woods at night was terrifying to us and I feel a story worthy of this sub. I do have the photo on a thumb drive somewhere and will see about uploading a pixelated photo if it’s appropriate. To anyone else the picture just looks like a person is sitting in the shot. But to us, it’s a reminder of our wild adventure and start of our amazing marriage. To our honeymoon Not Meet ever again!

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Watch full dark waters book. Watch full dark waters free. Watch full dark waters lyrics. Watch Full dark waters. Part II The light came three more times before spring rolled over, all of which happened when Sasha and I were home together. It seemed to get easier every time. Even the dog seemed to gather it was just a new routine of ours. As May came to a close, we started to discuss the next “manifestation” of the spirit more. Dan and Lucy called it ‘the bear chase, ’ and described it with pretty frightening language. Sasha wanted to take it seriously, and deep down, I felt the same. Even so, over the last weeks, I’d found a state of relative peace by disregarding the imminence of this ‘bear chase. ’ I had no explanation for the spring lights, but I just didn’t have the bandwidth to embrace a separate and unrelated mystical phenomenon as real without seeing it first. I’m just not wired that way. As mentioned earlier, Sasha worked from home most days, so one evening in late May we opened up Dan and Lucy’s handwritten suggestions on how to deal with ‘the bear chase, ’ reviewed them, and developed a bit of a protocol for if this were to happen while she’s here alone. What follows are excerpts from what Dan and Lucy wrote about this particular “manifestation” of the spirit: You’ll almost always hear the naked man screaming before seeing him. First step: visually locate the man, he will be running directly for whichever of you is closest to him when he manifests… He has about a 40-yard lead on the bear at all times, and they have the same jogging speed so distance between them only shrinks when the man’s stopped at the obstruction between you and him… Second step: after locating him, find structure to put between yourself and the man. He cannot open doors or gates, cannot break through rigid materials (glass, wood), or climb over vertical objects 3-4 feet or higher. The fence around your yard and house is more than sufficient. If you’re outside this fence when it starts and cannot make it back, crawl under or jump over any of the cattle fences in the pasture or around your property. He cannot cross these, if they’re properly maintained at livestock-fence ratings… If possible, getting in a vehicle is a good option… Once there is an obstruction between you and him, he will stop running, get as close to you as possible, cry and plead, but the bear will get him. He wants to hurt you, no matter how sincere his desperation and terror seem… The bear cannot hurt or touch you or other animals, the bear is your friend… The naked man can hurt you if he comes into contact. We strongly suggest shooting the man, if possible. Allowing him to get close is very unsafe. It may seem strange at first, but after watching him get devoured a few times, you will find it is the most efficient method. He dies like any man would from a gunshot. Kill or incapacitate him with a firearm, and the bear will drag him away… Sasha and I’d already read it 100 times and it still made us shake our heads in disbelief. I don’t think any reasonably-minded person would open Dan and Lucy’s hard-copy of guidelines and think it anything more than a manic screed of nonsense, let alone lend it credence. That being said, even the prospect of this craziness coming to fruition while Sasha was here alone made it palatable to temporarily engage this babble with legit sincerity. Plus, developing real-life plans made both of us feel better. I mean we had general protocols we’d discussed for what to do when a black bear, grizzly bear, wolves, bull moose, mountain lion, or pack of coyotes came around, why not this crazy shit as well? I absolutely refused to allow even the suggestion of shooting some guy who ran onto our property trying to escape a bear. First of all, I still wasn’t 100% convinced any of this shit was real. Second, our property is adjacent to a National Forest, with the closest trails only a mile up the mountain from our property; trail systems used by literally tens of thousands of hikers, campers, mountaineers, climbers, horseback riders, wildlife photographers, hunters, anglers and others throughout the season. Furthermore, there are actual grizzly bears and black bears in this area. Thus, there's a real-life possibility, albeit slim, that an actual person could end up getting chased by an actual bear onto our property. I wasn’t going to institute some kill order on strangers getting pursued by predators, that’s just… fuckin insane. I’d taught Sasha to shoot a few different firearms. She was decent with shotguns and pretty good with the. 22 rifle. We agreed that for the rest of the summer, no listening to music while outside so we can hear, and if this ridiculous event actually came to pass when she was outside and home alone, she’d make sure she and the dog were inside the fence, but to leave the dog if it came down to it. Once inside the fence, lock herself inside the house, grab the. 22 rifle, and wait until the bear got the dude. Dan and Lucy came by at least once a week to drop off fresh baked bread or an extra tool they had lying around. As much stress, confusion, and frustration as their narrative of hauntings had brought me, it was undeniable that they were, otherwise, absolutely amazing neighbors. Dan was pretty busy running an active livestock operation with only seasonal help, and I worked a 9-5, but Sasha started joining Lucy on her afternoon walks up our road into the National Forest. They’d bring Dash along as they’d look for mushrooms, birds, flowers, and just talk about life. Lucy told Sasha about her and Dan’s three grown children (two sons and a daughter), and the challenges of raising children around these “things. ” While Sasha works remotely, she has to go into her firm in Jackson Hole for usually about a week every quarter, and this summer it would be the first week of June. We moved to the Idaho side of the Tetons from Jackson after living there for a couple years, leaving behind a great crew of friends. Not having many many people our age in the area was one of the hardest parts of living out here, so Sash left Friday evening to enjoy the weekend with friends. I was psyched for some solo time, and to get some work done around the land, particularly clearing out the decade’s worth of debris build-up in the creek bed. Saturday I woke up, fed the dog, crushed some coffee and breakfast, and made a sandwich for lunch. I started loading the wheelbarrow with a shovel, rake, pickaxe, rock bar, and Sasha called me to check in and say good morning. As we were saying goodbye, she said “babe, don’t forget. ” – “Forget what? ” I asked. “Don’t forget the plan. Seriously Harry, that ‘bear chase’ plan we made doesn’t just apply to me, alright? That’s not fair. Promise you’ll have a rifle with you today and not listen to music, so you can hear while you’re working. ” Christ almighty, I thought. “I promise babe, I’d have brought one anyway, the real bears of the world are all woken up now, and must be pretty dang hungry after their winter naps! ” I opened up the gun safe, reached for my 30-06 hunting rifle, but stopped as my hand passed by the barrel of the 5. 56 carbine I’d built. They don’t let you keep your service weapon when you “retire” from the infantry, but at that time I’d have gladly opted to keep my rifle in exchange for the “honorable discharge” written in fancy letters at the top of my DD 256 certificate. I felt naked without it. I felt alone without it. I made it a week into civilian life before I started building a rifle that was as close as possible to the M4 I rucked around Afghanistan. Besides lacking a full-auto rate-of-fire option, it ended up amazingly similar. Same grip, optics, sites, stock, rail, barrel, sling, all that shit. Only real cosmetic difference was how god damn clean this rifle was. It’s crazy how pristine a rifle stays when you’re not living outside in the dusty mountains and using it as a third arm. I turned it over in my hands and felt the old familiar weight. For me, just holding the damn thing is like smelling your grandparents’ house or somethin, just a deep familiarity. I guess it’s my safety blanket. Why not, I thought. I grabbed one of its mags, and walked out to the wheelbarrow and dropped it on top of the tools, even telling it out loud “you need a few scratches, darlin. Adds character! ” Dash and I spent the next five hours dredging the stream channel of logs, branches, clumps of leaves and roots, and rocks that’d clogged up over the last decade. The spring run-off made the water ice cold, but it was a pretty hot day, so it was satisfying work, and the dog was happier than a pig in the mud, playing in the water and chasing grasshoppers. Around 2pm I walked up the hillside from the stream to a rock outcropping in the sun, where I sat and chugged water and wolfed down my sandwich. Dash laid at my feet as I was plucking small clumps of dried mud from his paws when, all the sudden, he shot up to a full standing position, startling the hell out of me, and looked to the southeast, toward the tree line and boundary with the National Forest. I looked as well, but didn’t see anything. I can’t deny, my first thought was: naked bear dude? Nope, no naked bear dude to be seen, or heard. I sat there a while staring at the tree line, straining my senses, but all I could hear was the stream competing with the symphonic cadence of crickets. I stood up and Dash looked up at me, and I grabbed a stick from the grass, held it down to where it almost touched his nose, smiled at him, then threw it down the slope in the meadow toward where I’d left the wheelbarrow on the bank of the stream. He didn’t move. Didn’t even follow the stick through the air with his eyes. He just held his gaze locked on me, then looked back to the tree line. At that moment, adrenaline surged into my hands and face. Now, I’ve had this dog at my side for six years. He’s a full-on, incurable, pathological fetch junkie. Never, and I mean not one solitary time, has he ever been in the vicinity of a thrown-object and not chased after it. He can be fast asleep in a yard, someone throws something quietly, and some primal instinct shoots a signal to his brain that there is something to fetch. So him not fetching means he’s either extremely sick, or something else of profound significance to his little dog brain gripped his attention. I looked back at the tree line. “What is it buddy? ” Dash looked to me briefly, then back at the forest, and began to lower his head while keeping his eyes level. That’s his cue that there’s something sketchy to pay attention to, and this time I did. I was almost running down the hill toward the wheelbarrow on the bank of the stream where my rifle was, yelling for Dash to follow me. He beat me to the stream, and fell back into his “what the fuck is over there” posture with an unbreaking gaze on the southeast. The second I touched the grip of the rifle, muscle memory activated: I threw the sling over my shoulder, slammed the magazine into the magwell, yanked the charging handle back, and thumbed the safety off as I brought the scope to my eye in one old familiar motion. I scanned the entire tree line, listening as closely as I could. Then, the crickets stopped… Not all the crickets in the valley, but I mean like… 95% of the crickets within earshot immediately went silent. I’m not sure I’d ever heard that happen before. Frogs, when you walk too close to a pond at night, sure, they’ll shut up quick, but crickets? In the heat of the day? Never heard that. Then I heard it, a man yelling. It was coming generally from the east-southeast. No discernible words, but holy shit was there a discernible tone: panic. My heart rate spiked immediately; my face went numb with adrenaline. I was walking backwards with my rifle shouldered, yelling at Dash to follow me. The stream ran another 35 yards or so in the direction I was moving before it ran into a big culvert, under my driveway, and out into the pasture on the other side. I had just seriously beefed up all the cattle fencing along the driveway, and getting on the other side of that fence was my objective. For a split second—‘Congrats, Dan, you’ve got me dancing through more of your spirit-warding pageantry’—ran through my mind, but that was interrupted by the first audible word that punched its way out of the stentorian of panicked yelling: “Help! ” I was in a slight depression along the stream, so the meadow to the southeast was obscured by the rise, but I knew that’s where it was coming from. I was maybe 20 yards from the fence line now and Dash still hadn’t moved, barking in the direction of the yelling—legs splayed out, head low, and teeth barred like a damn coyote. I added a lot of volume and some snarl into one more “Dash, COME ”, and he turned around and booked it after me. I turned a second later and sprinted toward the fence line. As we reached the little rise leading up to the driveway, I looked over my shoulder and saw, for a split second, what looked like a naked man waving his hands above his head, and it felt like my gut hit the back of my throat. I slung my rifle across my back, picked up Dash, and dropped him over the fence onto the driveway. I planted my foot near the middle strand along a T-post, and hoisted myself over. I stumbled as I landed, but caught myself with a palm in the gravel, pulled my rifle around, spun and brought the scope to my eye. I let out an audible gasp as I beheld what was filling the reticle of my optic. It was a naked man running through the field, and down the slope of the meadow toward the opposite bank of the stream where I’d left the wheelbarrow. He looked a bit older than me, maybe 38 or 40 years old, had a splotchy short beard and short, unkempt hair of the same sandy brown. His bare feet were bleeding, and his tallywacker—as Dan had promised—was flappin around for the world to see. He was looking straight at me, through the scope and directly into my eye. He looked terrified, desperate, exhausted, almost defeated. I could hear him more clearly now; “Help! Please wait! Help! Help me please, please it’s going to kill me, sir please, PLEASE. ” Holy shit, I couldn’t fuckin believe it. This was it. Dash was going absolutely ballistic, snarling and barking like a fiend. Then I saw the bear behind him. I glassed it, and it looked, all things considered, like any of the many, many black bears I’d seen before. It was certainly a nice size, around 400lbs, male, but nothing nightmarish or unnatural, other than it not charging as fast as I know black bears are capable. I switched back to the man, who was now about to splash through the creek, switching his gaze from me, over his shoulder to the bear, then back again. I could see he was crying. “Please sir, ple-he-ease don’t leave me to die, please help! Help me! Please! ” My internal dialogue was a manic frenzy: I should shoot the bear, shoot the bear, just shoot the fuckin bear man, Dan never said not to, what if this is a real, what if this is a fuckin coincidence and I’m gonna let someone get mauled? The man was about to emerge from the stream between me and the wheelbarrow, and the bear was gonna drop into a nice spot for me to get a clean shot at its vitals. That’s when I thought of something… There’s a wheelbarrow full of sharp, 5-foot tools directly ahead of the man. If I was being chased by a bear, I’d fuckin B-line for one of those tools, no question at all. There’s a shovel, a pickaxe, and a god damn rock bar directly ahead of him. I started screaming right back to the man: “Grab the shovel! Grab the rock bar! Dude grab the rock bar or the pickaxe and defend yourself! Dude get one! It’s a black bear, you’re supposed to fight back! If you hit it with a shovel it’ll back off, hit it, fight back! ” He was close enough to hear every word I said, but he didn’t break his pleading. He didn’t stop to listen to me. He was almost at the wheelbarrow. “DUDE GRAB THAT SHOVEL AND FIGHT, FIGHT BACK DUDE, FIGHT?! ” He ran right past it. He ran right past the wheelbarrow full of things to defend himself with. “Du… dude… what the fuck man. ” I felt tears welling in my eyes. Dash was snarling. The man was maybe 25 yards off now, and still pleading and crying. “Sir please save me, p-please sir please just help me, h-help me sir, please! ” I couldn’t talk, I could barely breath. An abridged version of my old combat-panic mantra kicked in: “deep breath, you need to move, deep breath, you need to move. ” I grabbed Dash by his collar and started hauling him up the driveway. I kept yelling at the man as I went: “Dude… Why not fight it. Why did you not fight it?! ” I wanted a human answer out of him. I wanted some kind of human fucking response, any kind of phrase or sentence that was even remotely responsive to what I was saying. Everything he was babbling was just so repetitive, and at this point, it was actually strange for him to not respond at all, even if he was terrified and in shock. I thought of trying something else, and yelled out to him over his pleading as he was about 10 yards away now, approaching the slope up to the driveway and starting to slow down: “Sir, tell me your name and I’ll pull you over the fence. Sir, tell me your fucking name and I’ll kill the bear. Tell me your fucking name, sir! ” He didn’t stop his pleading and weeping. He didn’t even register I was talking. It was… unnatural. It’s like he had a script. I expected him to at least shut up for a second when I spoke, but he didn’t. He began coming up the rise to the fence line, he was only a few feet from me now, I had my rifle trained right on his sternum. Dash was barking less, but was growling and keeping his eyes on the man as he adjusted the course of his flight diagonally up the slope to continue following us as I moved up the driveway. We were all so close now I could tell what the dog was looking at, and he didn’t even register the bear was there, only the guy. As the guy got to the fence I screamed at Dash to heel behind me, which he did. The man grasped the top-strand of the fence with both hands between the barbs, and was looking at me while openly weeping like a child, barely getting coherent words out. I was, for whatever reason, still talking to him. “Dude I’ll kill that bear if you say your name. Just say your name dude! ” I even made a flamboyant display of moving to his right and aiming at the bear, while maintaining eye contact with him: “Tell me your fucking name and I’ll kill it, say ANY PERSON’S NAME AND I’LL KILL IT DUDE. " It’s like he couldn’t even hear me. “Please sir, p-p-please help me over the fence, please don’t let me die like this, please! ” I was still screaming at him over his babbling when the bear reached him. The bear rose up on its hind legs right behind where the man was standing and sunk its claws into his right shoulder, immediately cutting into him like razors, opening deep white gashes in his skin and muscle I watched quickly fill with blood. At the same time, the bear clamped its jaws down on the space between the neck and collar bone on his left side. I saw the mans eyes go wide with pure childlike horror, before the bear pulled him back. The man fell onto his butt in a sitting position, and began grabbing up at the bears face trying to wrench his jaws free. A bright, crimson braid of blood was streaming from the bite between his neck and collar bone, pouring down his chest and stomach into his pubic hair. His screaming took on a new and much higher pitch. I’d heard it before. It was the jittery, panicked screaming of absolute, life-changing pain. The bear tried dragging him backwards at that awkward angle, but released its bite. The man desperately rolled forward onto his hands and knees, his mouth wide, crying again in slow, defeated sobs. As he started to crawl toward me, the bear ripped its claw through the man’s shoulder blade, turning the man’s right side toward the sky, then bit down into the exposed, pale flesh, right at the base of the man’s rib cage. The bear shook its head, and I could hear ribs cracking as I watched the man’s eyes squeeze shut, fists clench, and pain wince through his entire body like an electric shock. With its jaws still clamped on the man’s lower rib cage and stomach, it put a dinner-plate sized claw on each side of its large head, as though to brace itself—one on the man’s chest, and one on his hip—then pulled with ferocious strength. I could see the lower portion of the rib cage splinter like wood as it began flipping outward, and below the cap of pale stomach skin in the bear’s mouth, followed glistening strands of intestines that coiled from the man’s trunk, making it look like a grotesque jellyfish. The man’s eyes rolled back in his head momentarily as he let out a guttural moan, then he looked down at his new wound, and his eyes-widened in shock as he began gasping as though he’d just jumped into a cold lake. The bear released the mouth full of skin, rib-splinters and guts, and with its claws yanked the man onto his back. The bear then looked down at the man almost curiously, who looked up into its feral eyes and let out a scream louder than any thus far, just as the bear clamped its jaws down on the his face; each jaw seeming to reach all the way to the man’s ears, abruptly muffling the man’s scream like a pillow. The man fanatically kicked his legs, pounding and clawing at the beast’s jet-black fur on its massive shoulders, then the bear started shaking the man’s head violently from side to side. I heard it then… a deep, wet crack of the man’s neck. The man’s right leg shot out straight away from him, toes in-point like a ballerina, as his nerves fired their last salvo, then every muscle in his body went limp. The bear let the man’s head drop, licked a couple times at the blood that’d started to leak out of the man’s ears, then looked up at me, and sauntered 3-4 steps toward the fence. I was shocked, I shuffled backwards, almost tripping over myself, and swung the rifle up to level it straight at the bear’s head. I was about to scream, but then I saw Dash pass by me, taking a few steps toward the fence. Then I realized the bear wasn’t looking at me, it was looking at Dash. I was about to pull the trigger and scream at Dash at the same second, when I noticed Dash’s tail was wagging. I hesitated. Then, I swear on my life and soul, I watched the bear nod at my fucking dog. Yes, nod. It was subtle, but it was a fucking nod, unmistakable, the likes of which you’d give someone passing on a sidewalk. Dash just stared back at the bear and seemingly responded by a momentary increased-tail-wagging speed. The bear looked up at me for a half second, slowly turned around, walked back to the man, clamped it’s jaws down on the man’s upper arm and began dragging the ravaged corpse away. The thick strand of the man’s innards trailed behind him, which I couldn’t take my eyes off as it snagged on clumps of grass, picking up flecks of gravel and dirt as the bear dragged him away. I was entranced by it. I broke my gaze away when I realized Dash was licking my hand. I also realized tears were pouring down my cheeks, and that I’d dropped my rifle to dangle by the shoulder-sling under my arm. I deliberately took in a deep breath, which immediately became a reflexive and desperate gasp for air, as I (or my brain) realized I hadn’t inhaled in far too long. I put my hand on my chest and got my breathing under control. My mouth tasted like vomit. Had I puked? No. Maybe? I don’t think so. What the fuck. I took a knee and put my arms around Dash, who just wagged his plume of a golden retriever tail and licked my face. That really brought me back down to earth. I thought back on the whole experience and scooted back to take Dash’s head in my hands and look him in the eye. Didn’t expect to, but I just wheezed the question out anyway: “Dash, buddy, did you just fuckin communicate with that bear? ” Not sure what I expected there. Dash just remained a normal-ass, slightly out of breath dog. What was shocking is how normal he seemed though. How… relieved. He seemed exactly as he had on the five occasions this spring when we’d start a fire and the light in the pond would disappear. I walked up to the house and collapsed under one of the hose spigots, where I must’ve chugged a gallon of water. I spent the rest of the day in a haze, but it was a familiar haze… felt just like I had before, after getting in a gun fight after having been awake for 35 hours. Full on battle fatigue. That evening I sat on the porch with a beer and called Sasha. I lied to her. Told her I had a fine day, and was super tired. I didn’t want her to cancel her work week, which she would, in order to come back here. Decided I’d tell her when she got back Friday. I sat on that porch for a while, drinkin and thinkin. I came to two conclusions… First, this shit was real. Real as anything else in this life. Second, I could never, under any circumstances, let Sasha deal with that ‘bear chase’ shit alone. Couldn’t concentrate at work on Monday at all. Got a bit easier Tuesday, and even easier Wednesday. By Thursday, I actually felt half-decent. Definitely a bit emotionally removed and maybe still in a bit of shock. I mean, shit… my entire grasp on the order of the natural world had just been sodomized by a deceptively murderous naked demon man, and a noncorporeal black bear—a bear I’d spent a lot of time thinking about, and concluded internally to be “actually pretty chill. ” Thus, I considered my continuous state of emotional confusion justified, but I was still taking it all in relative stride. I cashed in on one of my vacation days Friday, so I could be home when Sash got back in the afternoon, and to start on the sun/rain shed we were going to build for some sheep Dan and Lucy were going to turn out on our pastures, to eat down the grass. We’d decided to put it up in the woods above the house, between some trees where the sheep would spend the heat of the day anyway. Dan had dropped off most of the materials the week before, which we’d trucked up to the building site. Friday morning, I filled the wheelbarrow with tools, my rifle, got the dog, and walked up there to get to work. Around 10am I was on a ladder, screwing a truss in place when I saw Dash stand up slowly from where he was lying near the tarped-over pile of lumber. I didn’t even have to think about it this time, I was down and putting the rifle sling over my shoulder in 5-seconds flat, following the dog’s gaze and listening for yelling. Didn’t hear anything, I looked back to the dog: “What do you hear bud? ” He was in his “what the fuck” posture, and so I figured screw this, we’re goin into full proactive defense mode, and began taking fast strides down the hill toward the gate into our fenced yard, calling after Dash to follow me. We were near the fence gate when Dash froze, lowered his head, and let out a low growl toward the eastern property boundary. Then I heard it. A man yelling in a deep voice. My heart rate got some skip in its step, to be sure, but I kept my head this time. I went over, grabbed Dash by the collar, and hauled him through the gate, shutting it behind me. I ran up to the house where I could get a better view of the forest along the eastern property line, and didn’t even have to use my scope to see a commotion, then a naked man bust out of the forest, waving his arms, and screaming for help. I looked up at the sky, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. As I exhaled, I was almost surprised by the emotion overtaking me. Rage. Rage ushered out the panic, so I welcomed it. I was furious. I hated this man, this “spirit, ” this land, the prospect of Sasha being in danger here, all of it. The world started to go red. I took some deep breaths and got a grip, and scoped the scene. Just like before. Crying, begging, waving his hands, dick flapping around, same guy, same haircut, same shit. The allure of the man’s act seemed to have washed away though. As I walked to the corner of the fence, I realized I wanted him, or it, to feel real fear, real anger. I wanted to actually hurt whatever was really behind that terrified face. Watching him come at me, the manipulative and cruel nature of this whole “help me” act just floored me. Never before had I felt how I did in that moment. I wanted to cause deep, real, authentic pain to... whatever or whoever the ventriloquist of this repulsive spectacle was. I needed another close look at the guy. I wanted to see if I could get anything else out of the spirit underneath. I wanted to bully it, torture it. He was about 45 yards off, and I tried to keep my cool and block out his weeping as he came jogging through the meadow to the spot in the fence I’d picked. I needed to see his real self, without touching him. I wanted to see the spirit. What could I say to get that, what could I do? He was about 10 feet away and started slowing down, sucking in air. His fingers laced around the chainlinks in the fence as he pressed his face between his hands, weeping and begging. What did this thing want? Why engage in all this fuckery only for the people who live here? No idea why I did what I did next, but it popped into my head and I only had about 7-8 seconds before the bear got here, so I just went with it… I lowered the barrel of my rifle. I stepped to the guy, getting about 12 inches from his face. I looked at him square in the eye, leaned my face in, and said very clearly: “this land is mine now, I took it from you, and you’ll never, ever get it back. ” Then I spit on his feet, looked back into his eyes, and I mustered up the most ridiculous, provocative, shit-eating grin of a smile I could possibly summon. With surprising abruptness, his whole demeanor changed. The desperation, sadness, and misery left his face. All of the terror and dread that had twisted his features left as though it was a mask getting yanked off his face. His expression was that of pure, emotional agnosticism. He then looked past me, and gazed to the west. The bear was maybe 15 feet behind him, starting to check his speed and get ready to attack. I watched the man’s forehead wrinkle slightly, he looked almost confused, or curious. Then, it appeared something had registered to him, like he realized something, like he had just woken up and finally recognized where he was. He looked back into my eyes with what looked almost like urgency flushed into his features, then I saw it: a subtle flicker of anger came across his face. And I shot him. I put a bullet right into his left tear duct, maybe 2 seconds before the bear was going to rip him off the fence. His head snapped back, his fingers slackened around the chainlinks, and a cloud of pink mist, skull fragments and brain matter haloed his entire upper body as it all caught the mid-morning sunlight. His head lolled back toward me. His left eye and the bridge of his nose were a total fuckin mess, while his right eye looked to have almost popped all the way out, but found a bit of purchase right before committing. His jaw worked up and down as the last electricity in his synapses sputtered out, blood pouring out of his mouth, and he crumpled. The bear looked from the naked corpse, up into my eyes. The man’s blood and grey matter were flecked into the fur around those wild, predator eyes. I held its gaze, then it looked past me, to the dog. I looked over at Dash as well, then back at the bear. Just like before, the bear… nodded to my dog, looked back up at me briefly, then dug its jaws into the corpse’s shin and calf, and dragged it off into the meadow. Sasha got home, and I told her everything. Every last detail, except for what I’d said to the man that morning before I shot him. Not sure why, but I felt that was between he and I. She understood why I didn’t tell her about the first encounter, but demanded I never do that again, which I promised. We took the dog and walked through the entire first encounter like it was a movie scene, and then the second, where there were still brains and blood outside our fence line, evincing the crescendo of this morning’s encounter. Sash called Lucy, so she and Dan both came over, so I had to go through it all over again. They both said it sounded pretty standard. When I asked about the bear nodding to the dog, they said they’d had a few encounters with the naked man when they had horses nearby, who got terribly spooked by the man, and when the bear arrived, it did something very similar, which had an immediate calming effect on the animals. Lucy said “I think the bear is here to bring balance. Equilibrium. If the dark spirit gets a chance with the man, a good spirit gets a chance with the bear. ” Over the course of the rest of the summer, it happened three more times. The next was almost a full month later, on a Sunday in early July. I was in the shower, and Sasha was in the garden. I heard her come running into the house, yelling for me. I busted out, as naked as the demon bastard I assumed—from Sasha’s tone—was currently trouncing through my meadow in all his panicked, frenzied glory. I barked at her to make sure the gates were all shut. “Babe, obviously I already did that” she said, looking at me like a little toddler. God damn she’s solid. I grabbed my "safety blanket" out of the gun safe, ran outside, spotted him coming at us from near the pond, braced my rifle on one of the porch pillars, and waited for him to turn toward the house. When he did, I put a bullet into the top of his chest plate, right where it parts below the neck. He crumpled like a sack of potatoes. God I love this rifle. We watched the bear stare up at us for a moment (or, maybe at our dog), then turn and drag the corpse away. Sasha was mesmerized, and asked all about what happens if he gets any closer, and we went all through the first two encounters again. The fourth time was about three and a half weeks later, early August, and… I wasn’t there for it. I came home from work that evening, and saw Dan and Lucy’s truck in the driveway, which wasn’t unusual. When I walked up and went through the gate into our yard, they were all on the porch; Dan, Lucy, Sasha, and Dash. I could tell from the vibe that something was strange. Sasha had a half guilty half satisfied look on her face, and Dan and Lucy wore similar expressions. “Uhh… what’s goin on guys? ” I asked. Sasha stood up and said “I did it. I killed the naked man. It happened around lunch time. ” I immediately launched into her: “Sash what the hell, why didn’t you tell me!? ” She put a finger up and said “Babe, don’t even start, you didn’t tell me for a damn week after your first encounter, I just wanted to let you finish the work day without panicking, alright? ” She had a point. Turns out, it was a lot like my second encounter, but she was already in the yard. It was a gusty day, so the trees were rustling pretty loud. She said her and Dash heard the man pretty much at the same time. She threw Dash inside, grabbed the. 22 rifle, set up in a comfortable shooting position on the outdoor dinner table, and waited for him to get to our fence. When he did, she said she shot him “right in the forehead” as soon as he slowed down. She was proud, and… so was I. Dan and Lucy poured praise on her composure and decision-making, and, for the 100th time I’d heard it that summer, said: “Getting behind that fence, that’s what’s important. ” They really were like weird old grandparents. The fifth and final time was a late-August evening. Sasha was inside, and I was out in the meadow, coming back from a short post-work hike up the mountain into the National Forest. I was about to the pond with Dash, and he froze. I’d grown to trust his instincts more than ever before, so I looked to where he was lookin, didn’t see anything, and started jogging toward the gate in the fence around the yard. I heard the man’s screaming start when I was about 20 yards away, and had to double back to grab Dash’s collar to get him to come along (he really wanted to fight that naked bastard). I got through the gate, closed it behind me, ran into the yard a bit to look around a cottonwood tree so I could confirm the front gate was also closed, then turned to watch the now awkwardly familiar song & dance of the naked man. I had gone hiking with my. 44 revolver, which was holstered on my belt, next to a can of bear spray. I knew it was, but as I walked toward the south fence where I figured the naked man and I’d have our little one-on-one, I thumbed open the cylinder, made sure it was fully loaded and that the shells were flush, and snapped it closed again. Dash went into a frenzy as he got closer, and Sasha ran out the kitchen onto the porch, wide-eyed, “Harry what is it!? ” I waved at her, then pointed out to the man: “He showed up right when I got back to the property, it’s all good, we’re all good. " She came down and stood about 20 feet behind me, with Dash between her legs, holding him by the collar. I looked back at her and we exchanged nervous grins, then she said “ever expect to be dispatching naked ghosts before supper babe? ” We both laughed. “Who’d a thunk it” I replied. He was getting close. No matter how much levity Sash and I tried to employ to round out the edges of this disturbing ritual, his screaming and pleading still made my heart race. I hated him. More like I hated whatever was beneath and controlling this pitiful, infuriatingly-repetitive spectacle. I got that urge again, to bully him, bully it. To actually hurt whatever was actually in there. He slowed down, got to the fence, laced his fingers through the chainlink and pressed his face between his hands. I ignored his pleas and walked up close. Sasha yelled from behind me “Babe stop! Shoot him! ” I forced a smile at the man, “hey bud. I know you’re in there. I gotta tell you somthin” I leaned in. “This land is mine now. I took it from you. ” Like the first time I spoke to him in that tone, his reaction was shocking and immediate. His facial features underwent a complete and utter purge of all discernible emotion. He looked to his left, blankly staring out to the west. I looked back at Sasha. Her jaw was dropped, looking at me in disbelief. I looked back at him and saw that inkling of recognition and awareness creep back into the man’s face. He looked back at me with urgent confusion. The bear was no more than 15 feet behind him. Then I saw it, a subtle recognition, followed immediately by a flicker of anger in his eyes. Then I put a bullet in his forehead. He dropped so hard and so fast his knees smashed into his jaw, shattering his two front teeth, then he splayed out backwards, arms limp and flailing up over his head, dead as a doornail, with what looked like gallons of blood gushing from his nose and ears. Sheesh,. 44 sure is a big ol slug. Sasha let go of Dash, and slowly walked up to my side. The bear had broken its charge and come to a full stop, looking down at the dead, naked man. Then it picked its big head up to look at Dash, who wagged his tail in salutation, and nodded. Sasha and I were immediately overcome with the exact same sensation we got in the spring when the light goes away after we start a fire. An indescribable somatic and emotional sensation of exquisite relief. The bear looked up at me, and in that brief gaze, I saw, or I felt only one thing: a warning. It looked down, scooped up the man’s forearm in its jaws, and dragged him off into the evening sun. Sash and I reached for each other’s hand in the same moment, and a gust of wind blew, carrying with it a twisting group of leaves from the cottonwood tree above us. The first yellow leaves of the season.

Watch full dark waters youtube. Watch Full Dark water damage. Watch full dark waters 2017. Watch full dark waters video. Watch Full Dark watershed. Watch full dark waters band. Watch full dark waters full. Watch full dark waters 2016. Watch full dark waters online. A plus for the filmmaker is that he used the entire screen to tell his story(not really a good thing for someone who likes sitting close the screen but. br> I got more of a tv show vibe from this movie rather than a movie. It was long with a lot to say and it moved from scene to scene like I was binge watching something on Netflix.
It's biggest crime was that it was boring due to the feeling that the movie was never going to end. A bit ironic as the purpose of the movie was about a man who kept fighting a uphill battle on a steep road.
Mark Rufflo was that man, but his quiet warrior persona, though very amusing at times that needed it was overall lackluster. Not enough pep in the step.
Tim Robbins gives a speech in the film that they give oscars for and though I felt the passion, the way it was film was very low key and it lost something as I watched it.
Overall, I like it. I like what it gave to me I like what I got from it, but it was a little bland in delivery.

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Amazing channel im a brand new sub. Watch Full Dark water resources. Okay that last shot with the key thing had me anxious and now im scared. Watch full dark waters season. Mark is 100% correct! Too many corporations out there that poison us on a daily basis, and they know it. I was poisoned by Dow, and they are still getting away with it to this day. When corporations run your government, and in the US they do, the chances of you getting any help is slim to none. It's a never ending nightmare! Thank you to both you and Mark, by telling the truth.

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I will sue them. Nobody: Town Elder James: ACTUALLY. Watch Full dark water. Watch full dark waters game. My wife tells me she’s cheating on me about halfway through dinner. I work my way through the potatoes, the beans, and most of the meat before replying. “Who? ” “That doesn’t matter. ” It very much does matter, I think. I imagine a 6’4, muscular, chiselled Greek God of a man fucking my wife. I think about the way he holds her – is he gentle? rough? – and the noises she makes for him – is she quiet? does she scream for him? “Michael. ” I’m working on the last of the chicken at this point, wondering if she’s ever fucked both of us in the same day- “ Michael. Listen to me. I want a divorce. ” I watch her for a while, her jaw, the hollow of her neck: “Is he better? ” “What? ” “Is he better than me? ” She purses her lips. I think she’s going to tell me that he’s just different, that she’s sorry it had to be like this and that she still loves me, really, deep down, that it was a mistake and no-one could be better than me, but instead she replies. “Yes, Michael. He’s better than you. ” She tells me that she’s staying in the house until she finds a place to rent whilst we sort this out. I say that maybe I should have the bed, and she tells me that, trust me, you don’t. “In our bed? ” “Sleep on the couch, Michael. ” And so that’s where I find myself, working my way through a bottle of expensive Scotch I’d saved for a special day, and browsing the internet. My browsing is aimless, filthy, meandering – I lurch from website to website going nowhere. That is, until I see an ad. YOURFACEYOURPORN Do you want to live out your most disgusting, most depraved fantasies? Do you want to see yourself do it? Using state-of-the-art deepfake technology we’re able to show you what your deepest desires actually look like. See them played out across the screen – the things you’ve only spoken of in whispers, that you’ve never even admitted to yourself. Take control of your life. Be the best version of yourself you can be. This is your face, your porn, your reality. I’m in a fuck it sort of mood, more than a little drunk, and I think that this might be the best way to get back at her. I don’t even have to leave the comfort of my home, and I can see what I’d look like doing whatever I want. All those things I never told her, the things she’d never do – I can see it. The ad is blank aside from the text on the white screen, that, and a tacky gif of red lips blowing a kiss, before running their tongue along their teeth. I watch the mouth on the ad blow kiss after lurid kiss at me, and start to feel convinced. They’ll superimpose my face, convincingly into any situation, and I’ll watch myself carry out my darkest, deepest desires. There are different packages: celebrity, fetish, slice-of-life, narrative, and on and on - but one in particular catches my eye: “Surprise me. ” And so, squinting so that I can read the numbers on my credit card, I subscribe. I fill out a quick form, what I’m into, my kinks, my age, name, that sort of thing. It then requires me to take a video of my face from different angles, then makes me cycle through a few basic facial expressions, takes a sample of my voice saying a few basic sentences. Not long after, I pass out. I awake to a vicious hangover, and a notification on my phone. An email containing the first video. it’s really me! or at least, it looks exactly like me. it’s night, and fake-me seems to be followed by a camera. fake-me spends the evening going into various shops around town and buying tape, and an apple from each store. he seems to make the cashiers nervous, and one girl even starts shaking whilst she tries to find the code for the tape when it won’t scan. he is impatient, raps his knuckles on the desk, calls her a bitch under his breath as he leaves. wide-shot: he walks down the street past the glass window – the cashier is crying silently inside. That’s it. I try to click forward, to see if there’s anything else, but that’s it. I watched the whole thing expecting it to be the build up to something but no, instead, all I see is something that looks exactly like me drive around town and buy apples and tape. I try to see if I can find the website again to cancel my subscription, but I can’t find anything. I try and look through my history, but it’s not there – in fact, there’s just an empty gap between 1 and 3am. Whilst it isn’t porn, the technology behind it is still amazing, the person on the screen looks exactly – exactly – like me. I don’t go to work. I watch TV, drink beer, smoke inside. My wife – and she is still my wife – complains. I don’t listen. Around 6pm I receive another email. the camera is focused on the me-that-isn’t-me sat at a table. he’s answering questions. it’s my voice! my voice! he says he is sorry. he says he does not know, no, he never knew. he is fiddling with something in his mouth. above his teeth. he has never heard that name before. he says if they insist but it’s not like he’ll like it. the voice behind the camera laughs. close-up of his mouth: there is a thick, black hair protruding from his gum, just above his teeth, and he is trying to wiggle it loose. it isn’t working. until. until it does, and he pulls out a knot of tangled hairs from his the pink of his gum, and they keep coming and coming and coming until there’s nearly a foot of hair, and with each tug it wobbles his front two teeth a little. he says this has never happened to him before. the voice behind the camera laughs again. I don’t sleep that well that night. Something about the videos has unsettled me. They’re too realistic, and, watching that fake-me fiddle with his gums made my mouth hurt. I say nothing to my wife when she comes in, make no effort to tidy the take-away boxes from the table. She looks at me for a long, long time, as if something is building up inside her, some thought or opinion about me she’s always wanted to tell me, and I watch as it almost bursts out her lips – and then, nothing. I hear something looking through our bins as I try to sleep. A raccoon? Someone homeless? They disappear when I get up to look. The notification wakes me up: another video. I try to reply to the address that’s sending me these, telling them I want them to stop, but the email bounces back. I have no choice but to watch. the me-that-can’t-possibly-be-me is eating at a new table. but the whole table is covered in trash, dirt, empty cans, pizza boxes, rotting fruit, bones, tiny crawling things etc. etc. there are flies buzzing aimlessly about. he is shovelling as much as he can in his mouth, coffee grounds spill down his chin and he coughs. he keeps looking to the left of the camera after swallowing. he winces, pulls something from his mouth: a razor. he has bitten a razor. his blood is dark and thick, and mixes with the coffee grounds that dribble down his chin so that it looks lumpy and black. it coats his shirt, and his hands as he attempts to wipe his face. he looks to the left of the camera again, and continues eating. At this point I consider deleting my email account. Something is wrong here, there is something in these videos that’s beyond unsettling. I don’t remember pulling half those facial expressions, and his reactions are just like mine. It’s too real. That’s my wince. That’s the wince of pain I know I do when I stub my toe, or stand on a thumbtack, or bite my tongue. But when I get up to fix myself a drink I find my wife’s car gone, and I know that she’s with him, with this guy she’s fucking, and I feel a stab of self-loathing that goes so deep it pierces my stomach and makes me retch. I watch the video again. Evening comes. he is carrying a bunch of grapefruit in his arms in the street. a small, old man bumps into him and the fruit go flying. they make this wet pop as they hit the floor, and in the noise you can hear the fibres that held the fruit together tear. the man is knocked over. the-me-that-looks-too-much-like-me sees someone nearby drinking from a thermos, and, grabbing it, empties the scalding water all over the fallen man’s face. close-up: the-me-that-shouldn’t-be-me spits on him, and winks at the stunned crowd watching. the fallen man moans, and spasms. I don’t know why, but I sort of like this one. The noise of the fruit is so satisfying, so visceral, and there’s something triumphant about the way fake-me snatches the boiling water and pours it over the man. Fake-me is in control. That evening my wife tells me that she doesn’t think she ever loved me, not like the way she loves her new man, and that come to think of it I’m not much of a man at all. She says this whilst I try and wipe ketchup from my shirt, but only succeed in getting some on the couch. When she goes to bed upstairs I watch over and over again. I doze. With my eyes half-open, the-me-that-isn’t-me, the fake-me winks at the camera. My heart gets faster. I pretend to be asleep, and keep my eyes open just a sliver. fake-me walks away from the crowd, right up to the camera. knocks on my screen a few times with his knuckles. it sounds like glass. he watches through the screen, smiling. his eyes are on me, I’m sure of it. he pushes his face against the camera, against my screen, and stares right at me. there is something behind those eyes, behind that face. something dark, and waiting. he keep watching me. I think he knows I’m awake. We stay like that until morning. he knocks on mrs. tay’s door. he is holding an apple, and tape. she invites him in. he enters, the camera follows. in one movement he stuffs the apple in mrs. tay’s mouth and forces her to the ground where he binds her arms and legs with tape. someone from off camera hands him a hammer. wide-shot: mrs. tay struggles on the floor. the-me-that-watched-me looks through her records, puts one on. it’s old and slow and the vinyl crackles as he drags her into the basement. the video continues for half an hour more, until the vinyl has finished and there is just a loop of a faint crackle, and then there are two thuds, a snap, and it ends. I can see someone’s car I don’t recognise in my driveway. It looks expensive. I go to investigate, but can’t find anyone near it, and so I decide to go and check on Mrs. Tay. I stumble down the street in my dressing gown, face covered in patches of stubble, and knock on her door. No-one answers. Bill Roberts walks past, and I wave at him. “Seen Mrs. Tay today Bill? ” He shakes his head. I can tell he’s trying not to react to how I look, trying to be polite. “Haven’t seen her in a week or so Michael. ” A pause. He’s finding the right words – I can tell. “You doing okay? You don’t look so good. ” “Never better. ” The combination of emotions I’m feeling is hard to put into words. I am elated; there is a version of me, online, who is in control, and is acting. I am, also, terrified. Whatever it is on that screen knows about me, knows something about my life. I don’t know if it is here, in this reality, or if it is just peering in. Either option makes my chest tight. I’ve drunk the house dry, and have to make several trips to stock up on liquor. I even call a few old contacts and manage to get some pills, although I promise myself I’ll only take them when things get really, really bad. the shortest video so far. the-me-i-wish-was-me pushes against his jaw, probing. slowly, surely, he slides his hand under the skin of my face, until I can see the outline of my fingers under the skin, like five giant malformed veins. he wriggles the fingers and the skin comes away from my face, my ring finger emerges from my eyelids. he pulls the hand out and it is covered in some sort of embryonic fluid. he winks at the camera. (at me? ) I try the same thing that evening after I’ve shaved, pushing my fingers into my face as if the skin is going to slip and I’ll be able to do what he did, but nothing happens. My long nails cut the tender, freshly-shaven skin, and I end up just moving my face the conventional way; I smile, then frown, then stick out my tongue, then puff out my cheeks. Once I’m convinced my face still works, I go to bed. I think my wife sneaks him in the back door: her lover, her casanova. I can hear them fuck, I think. I can’t wait for morning, can’t wait for a new I watch on repeat to help me sleep, and when he is convinced I’m asleep he comes right up to the camera again, but this time he fiddles with the edges, as if testing the boundaries. his breathing gets deeper, lustier, he cannot find a way out, so he just watches, cycling through expressions the way I did, convinced that I am asleep. (am I? ) When I wake up, there is a note from my wife telling me that she’s moving in with him for a while. There is a voicemail from work telling me I’m fired, and that there’ll be no severance pay. he (I? ) finds a couple of junkies on the outside of town. he shows them a huge stack of cash and they both nod. they have about 6 teeth between them and walk with a pronounced stoop, taking him to an abandoned building on the edge of town. he says go in ahead of me I’ll be right in. they pause for a while, trying to work out what the catch is, why this seemingly average guy would offer all this cash up front, but he hands them both small foil packages and they quickly dash inside. as before, he slowly slips his hand under the skin of his face, working it up and up and up, until both hands are completely under the skin – the camera pans down, to the rusty gate that borders the property. he hangs something from the gate, before walking down the overgrown path into the house. it takes me a while to realise that the thing hanging from the gate is a face. my face. like a mask, the mouth and eyes are empty, and the skin flaps like a heavy flag in the breeze. there is the sound of cars driving past every few minutes – then, two noises like grapefruit bursting, fibrous and wet and sudden he walks back down the path, and puts the face back on. I do not manage to see what lies under that face, but I desperately want to. I think my hair is falling out. I take a long walk around the block. When I return I find my wife staring at my laptop as if she’s seen the devil. She turns to me, slowly. “What the fuck is this, Michael? ” The laptop is positioned behind her back, so I can see the screen and her at once. I remember the contents of and start to panic, if that fell into the wrong hands, with no context- “I can explain – the videos, they’re not me, all of the places, the situations, they’re fake, I think-“ She shakes her head. “What situations? Jesus. Michael - it’s just hours and hours and hours of footage of you whispering to the camera. It’s just your face. What’s fake about that? ” I can tell she’s a little scared, her disgust at me slowly morphing into something uglier, nastier. She takes a couple of steps back, as if seeing me for the first time. Behind her I can see the-me-that-isn’t-me, the fake-me smiling at the camera on screen. The footage is paused, but he’s still moving, closer and closer to the camera, his eyes wide and with a rigor-mortis smile – a smile as if he’s just learned how to control the musculature of his face perfectly – and he’s holding a finger to his lips. Shh. She takes another step back. I try and warn her but no words come. Instead I’m frozen in fear, seeing the fake-me grow closer and closer to the camera, to the screen as her backs turned and- He’s pushing against the glass of the screen, trying to find a weak point, a crack that will allow him to move from his reality into ours- She can’t take it anymore, she turns around and without looking at the screen she picks my laptop up and smashes it on the floor. “You’re sick. ” She leaves. The thought of the screen smashed for some reason terrifies me. It’s as if whatever barrier was between me and that thing is broken, and although I can’t see anything I feel him leaking into our world, like the soft hiss of gas through a broken pipe, or air escaping a valve. I take the laptop to be fixed – pay extra to make it happen as fast as possible. As soon as the screen is fixed I take it home, desperate to turn it on, to see if there are any new videos – to check on the old ones. I try loading – the first video I was sent. A familiar scene plays, except there’s no fake-me. It’s the exact same footage, I’m sure of it, but the me-that-isn’t-me isn’t there at all. The cashier still weeps silently, but it’s not due to any version of me scaring her. I try loading The same. The exact same video but the fake-me isn’t there. The man still falls over, coffee is still poured on his face, the crowd still reacts – but there’s no me. is now just footage of two junkies walking to a crackhouse, and entering it. They still don’t leave, but there is no face on the gate. Nothing. No sign that I was ever there. The house suddenly feels so empty. I can hear the faint tap-tap-tap of the branches against the upstairs window. The gurgling of the drain. The way the old wood creaks ever so slightly with age. I am alone. And I know then that the reason he’s not on the screen because he’s here. With me. As I feel sweat start to run down my back, I receive one final email. wide-shot: me, but the real me this time. alone. the room is full of trash, rotting food, empty beer bottles, liquor bottles smashed on the floor, pill bottles, crumpled clothes. the real me holds up a hand, waves it. this is live. this is real time. this is happening. now. the room is dark. objects are obscured. in shadow. something moves behind the window. a curtain rustles. bottles clink. he is in here, somewhere. watching. waiting. I am alone with myself, & I have all the time in the world. x.

 

 

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