I don't know what I'm doing

Mark was talking about Frostpunk2 and how the narrator at the beginning of Iron Lung also played a part in the first Frostpunk game, and then brought up theories on Astrophage causing the ice age in the Frostpunk series... leading some in the chat to suggest this as a Bloodymary setting.

Yes, I was tearing through books constantly, and talking to this teacher at least weekly. Because even though I always loved reading as a kid, literature was always a very weak subject for me in terms of a teaching-to-standardized-test school setting (I just do awful on "what color were the curtains" type multiple choice questions. Those details don't stick in my memory THEY JUST DON'T). But that didn't matter for this class. I could just read my way out of any bad test score. I have always had fond memories of how I "fudged" my way through that class and "abused' the extra credit policy.

Tommy is an asshole.

He's under no delusion that he's not.

He knows that there isn't an aspect of Steve's life that he won't exploit to get the upper hand.

There isn't a secret he won't spill, a rumor he won't spread. There is nothing too precious he won't sucker punch Steve with to win an argument, to humble him, to make a joke...

Except one thing.

Steve fell off the roof in seventh grade.

Steve says he fell off the roof in seventh grade.

It's not something they talk about. It's not something they have ever talked about.

So when Steve's high school football career ends with a bad hit on the field halfway through freshman year and Steve jokingly says the next day that the guy hit him harder than he hit the concrete, Tommy -

"Ow! What the fuck?" Steve squawks in the back of history class. He rubs the side of his head where Tommy slapped him. "What the hell?"

"Why don't you shut the hell up?" He hisses over Carol telling them to be quiet before they fuck up group studying for everyone. "No one wants to listen to how you're leaving the team high and dry. You probably fucked us out of going to state."

"We haven't gone to state since '62, asshole."

"Try it," Tommy dared when Steve moves like he's going to hit him back. "I'll break your other ankle."

Steve hesitates.

He crosses his arms.

"I didn't break my ankle," Steve rolls his eyes. "I sprained it and I have a concussion so thanks for hitting me in the head. Dick."

"I cant make you any dumber."

Steve fell off the fucking roof.

Tommy and Carol secretly dated for three months and no one died once. The moment they start telling people at school and suddenly, Steve falls off the fucking roof???

Tommy, to the ceiling of the Harrington-Cline pediatric wing, says, “That’s - you can’t tell me that’s not a coincidence, right?”

“It is a coincidence.”

“What if it’s a sign?”

“It’s not a sign.”

Tommy lets his gaze drift from the water-stained ceiling to Carol’s water-stained voice. She has her back to him, watching every second tick by on the clock.

He wants to ask if she’s sure. He wants to ask if she feels the same guilt that clawing up his throat. He wants to ask if she’s going to cry but he think he might cry if he does.

He’s too old for this crying shit.

He’s twelve.

He’s sitting in the waiting room in the emergency room wishing that his mom would come out from behind those double doors and tell him that Steve’s okay.

But she won’t and Carol won’t comfort him because she doesn’t know how. The only person that could comfort him is Steve and -

And Steve fell off the fucking roof.

“Jesus,” He swears. “Christ, Carol. Think about it. Just - just think about it.”

Tommy didn’t even think twice about his dad making breakfast this morning. He didn’t think to ask where his mom was until his dad said she was at the hospital.

He said that Steve had an accident but that he’d be okay. He said he didn’t have to go to school and Tommy.

He hadn’t cared.

He just wanted to tell his classmates that he had a girlfriend and - and-

“What if we killed him?” Tommy asks. “We - god, we were worried how he’d take us dating. What if it killed him.”

“He’s not dead, Tommy.”

“He fell off the roof,” Tommy says to her stiff shoulders. “He cracked his head open. People hit their heads all the time and wake up different people. What if he’s - what if he’s not Steve anymore? What if he’s basically dead already and-“

“Shut up, Tommy,” She snaps. “We didn’t kill him. He’s not dead. We didn’t do anything. It was an accident!”

Mrs Harrington called the house yesterday frantic about the hospital calling. Mr Harrington had to take the phone from her and ask if someone could sit with Steve until they could catch a flight back from their ‘day trip.’

The weather was bad in DC and they didn’t want Steve to wake up alone.

So, Steve wasn’t awake when he was brought to the hospital.

Tommy’s dad said Steve was going to be okay.

So, he’s not okay now.

Steve’s brain is leaking out of his skull and Tommy wasn’t even home when his mom packed a bag and left-

“Yesterday.”

“What?”

“Mrs Harrington called yesterday,” She states, finally looking at him. “Your mom came here yesterday. Steve fell off the roof yesterday.”

“We held hands in the lunch line today,” She continues. “We got in trouble for PDA today. We told our friends- most of our friends that we are dating today.”

“He didn’t jump off the roof because he found out we were dating today,” She says clear. “He fell because it was an accident that happened yesterday. It’s not a coincidence. It’s not anything.”

She falls into the chair next to his and laces her fingers through his, “Shit just happens.”

“It happens to Steve way too often.”

“Yeah, I know,” She agrees. “But he’ll be okay.”

She assures, “He has to be okay.”

She cracks, “He’s not that smart. How much damage could a fall do anyways?”

Tommy tries to laugh.

She’s trying and he’s trying too but there’s a question pressing against his ribs. There’s a tickle against the fear that runs him cold and he just - he just needs to know.

Fuck Rick.

Eddie has only been back in Hawkins for three weeks. It’s been three goddamn weeks since he moved in with Wayne after years of sporadic visits.

This is supposed to be permanent.

He’s supposed to have a normal life now and go to school, and be thirteen but no.

He doesn’t get that now and it’s all Rick’s damn fault.

He said the house was empty.

He said, “I ain’t never seen a soul in that big house in Loch Nora.”

He said, “Half the damn hospital is named after the couple that lives there. Bet they have some valuables they wouldn’t be missing.”

He said, “You know how to pick a lock, don’t ya?”

Eddie just wanted a guitar.

He just wanted some friends, and now he’s probably going to fucking jail. Jesus H Christ.

He said the house was empty.

It’s easy to get inside.

Eddie walks through the house in the afternoon light leaking in through the blinds and makes note of what could be easily pawned. He pockets the money on the kitchen island and looks through the cabinets for cool cups Wayne might like.

Every room is more sterile than the last. Every room more and more impersonal. It feels like he’s walking through a QVC set. It feels like a fake home until he gets to the last door on the second floor and - “Jesus.”

It’s a plaid hellscape nightmare.

It’s also the only room in the whole house that looks like someone once lived in it. It’s clean but the bed is hastily made and the clothes hamper is half full. There’s a jacket thrown over the desk chair and a pair of glasses on the nightstand.

He pockets a Walkman as he walks further into the room. His eyes drift from the car poster on the wall to the row of trophies, to the plaid curtain and the open window where -

Eddie freezes.

Beyond the window, at the edge of the roof where it slants into oblivion, is a pair of big brown eyes watching him. Squinting at him.

It takes Eddie a second to pull his eyes away from the piercing gaze to see the kid it belonged to.

The kid is standing over the gutter with a broom, frozen in the process of cleaning them. He tilts his head at Eddie inside his bedroom.

Rick said no one was here.

Rick is a fucking liar.

Eddie watches frozen to the spot as this kid leans forward. He watches as he opens his mouth and then - nothing.

No words. No kid.

There. Gone.

All Eddie gets is a sickening thud from the concrete below.

And then he runs.

He stops just long enough to call 911 on the landline and then he runs.

He runs and he doesn’t stop until he’s in the bathroom at Wayne’s and there are two locked doors between him and the rest of the world.

Only then, does he cry.

He killed that kid.

He’s going to go to jail and Wayne is going to hate him, and he - Jesus, he killed that kid.

Fucking Rick.

Wayne is at work until the morning. Eddie spends his time alone convinced that every sound he hears is the police coming to arrest him. He burns his clothes in a trash can behind the house. He shaves his head so they can’t connect curly hair to him.

By the time Wayne gets home, Eddie is bald and exhausted. He takes one look at his nephew, “Do I want to know?”

“Trying something new.”

Like prison.

He goes to school. He sits numbly in Clarke’s first period class where he overhears someone say, “Did you hear about Steve Harrington?”

Here it is.

This is the kid Eddie killed.

“He’s in the hospital,” The girl says. “Tommy H said he has a concussion and can’t go to Mary Lou’s birthday party now.”

He’s alive.

Someone to be brave for.

excerpt is from chapter 29 of the novel.

We're having our turn in the heat wave and reports from the National Mall are brutal already this week. That screenshot is today's forecast (courtesy of the Capital Weather Gang) and tomorrow and Saturday are confidently going to be worse than this is.

The national Mall has no shade on the grass and you will be exposed to the sun constantly while also experiencing extremely high humidity. You will not be allowed a bag over a certain size to enter the mall and it has to be clear. You cannot have an insulated water bottle, it has to be clear. Reports are that there are two entrances to the area so you'll have to wait in line to even get in. I cannot find a number on how many cooling stations there are, except that it's "few" to "none" depending on what accounts I read online. Vendors are allegedly charging more than the posted prices and seem to be unprepared for actual crowds - these are the official vendors not the scam food trucks that park all around the edges of the mall. And that's the extent of the planning done because it was not a priority to make sure attendees don't pass out.

My local friends and I have reached a consensus that tourists are going to get extremely sick and none of us know what the EMT response or planning is on the mall this year. People are going to die.

There is historically an assumption that attendees will have access to planned amenities. It's not in place this year of all years. There is a very real risk here and I'm trying to warn people, because people simply don't know how awful this is about to be.

and dc is a swamp, literally. when we hit a heat wave like this, the heat just settles; it doesn't break at night and there's just zero relief, especially without shade in places like the mall. and without cooling stations or literally any other planning or precautions, people will get sick. they will get hurt. they will die.

if you know anyone planning on going, please tell them to stay home or find something else to do. watch the fireworks from somewhere else.