Formerly BarefootWithNeonHands Nerdery, politics, and cute animals. Not necessarily in that order. Age: 18+. Pronouns: She/Her. Fanfic on Ao3 as SwordandStarsWriting
This is going to be a bit of a vent but I'm also curious if anyone else feels the same. Please share if you do ❤
Something I've been feeling more and more recently is the drive to be creative, and I'm going to be honest but it doesn't feel good? I've never been that good at art or music or woodworking or textiles or baking or anything expressive, really. When I see someone playing an instrument beautifully, constructing a lovely little ornament, or even just a reference sheet for someone's OC I feel an intense sense of longing.
The only thing I would consider myself notably good at is gaming, and that doesn't really feel like something I can share with people, as in I struggle to express myself with it? I can't show people how I feel by playing a run of Isaac the same way a pianist can with the notes they play. What I feel like I'm missing is the ability to draw a scene and have people see what I'm feeling inside. That sense of understanding that comes with damn good art.
I know the popular response on this site is "do it badly anyway" and I really do appreciate the sentiment but doing something badly just makes me feel truly awful. I can't get around that mental block no matter how hard I try and it's stopping me from practicing any of these skills. It doesn't feel like I have so much space to improve, it feels like I'll always be this bad because I always have been. Regardless of how provably untrue that is it's how I feel.
I want to be able to enjoy the process but that's simply impossible for me right now, not when everything I try ends up worse than I expect. I know it's a problem with my mindset and not a profound lack of talent but it's just as insurmountable a barrier to me. I wish I could play the violin.
Hello! I have been through this and I have SO MANY THOUGHTS! In fact, you have unlocked my personal art manifesto that I've been thinking about for the last couple of years.
So, first, the video game angle:
Hi. I'm an Overwatch support main with 600+ hours entirely in Quick Play since 2016. In the first 18 months of the pandemic I also clocked over 700 hours in Animal Crossing.
I say this to establish that I get it. You have this deep urge to CREATE and you're going through the motions of creating when you play but it's still kind of hollow.
That's because the act of playing a video game is consumption, not creation.
It's like reading a book. When you read, there's a physical component to your consumption (turning pages, swiping, whatever) that helps keep all of you engaged. Your mind creates the world you read about, you go on a journey with the characters, you feel like you've Done A Thing.
But you haven't. You've taken something in, but you haven't actually gone somewhere or produced anything. Eventually, many readers feel the same urge you are and tip over into becoming writers. They want to experience the act of creation, and be part of a cycle of creation/consumption/creation, rather than just ending it with consumption.
And when they first tip over, their writing SUCKS. Which Ira Glass and I will come back to in a moment.
But first, I want to be clear that there's nothing inherently wrong with consumption. You need to consume things that fuel your need to create. The trap we've fallen into here in Ye Olde Late Stage Capitalism comes when we begin to believe that consumption is the same as creating. Or that creating is sole province of the people who are already good at it. Or that people who make things are a different category of human. (See also: Burn It Down by Maureen Ryan)
So: you want to create something. Make something. Bring something cool into the world that wasn't there before.
Wooo! Fuck yeah! Join the party, it's awesome over here!
Let's talk about the sucking now.
You're right. A lot of people here are going to tell you to do it badly anyway. And they're not wrong. But it's not the right advice for you, my fellow perfectionist.
Instead, I want you to consider being bad on purpose. Consider approaching your future creative endeavor with the INTENTION of being bad. Because in this case, perfect does not equal good.
In this case, perfect equals:
1) I created something
2) I created something better than the last thing I created
3) I created something better than the second thing I created
You're going to get to perfect eventually if you do that long enough. The way to what you seek is through mastery. So you're first going to perfect your process of mastery.
The way to push through the really sucky initial phases of mastery is to find a creative outlet you're absolutely in love with. That you have a total crush on. That you obsessively watch videos about when you have thirty free seconds.
For me, it was fiber arts. I got into embroidery first, and committed myself to mastering the satin stitch. And when I talked about it with people, I openly admitted that I was bad at it. That it was "My one project I give myself permission to suck at." Because perfection often has a component of shame and guilt, and the way to get past that is to drag that crap out into the sunlight.
Now I'm trying to knit. Which I'm also bad at. But because. I work at it through a lens of mastery rather than a quest for perfection, my suckage makes me laugh. And it also helps me understand how to get better more quickly.
I have this quote by Ira Glass above my desk:
Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.
You're standing on the edge of the gap, friend. The only way to get where you want to go is to throw yourself in and climb out on the other side. Everyone on the other side has been through it, and the ones who are honest about what it takes will respect you for what you're doing.
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Namaygoosisagagun First Nation/Collins has burned to the ground. The entire community is nothing but ashes after being quickly consumed by wildfires. They did not have any support from emergency services, and no one offered aid. The community saved themselves by escaping into boats because no one came.
Mishkeegogamang and Cat Lake have lost power. Families are ending up in shelters with nothing. Armstrong, Lac La Croix, Whitesand, Gull Bay, Lac des Mille Lacs are currently in the fires path and all members are being evacuated.
All this loss, all this devastation, and it was entirely preventable.
After steadily underfunding wildland firefighting and purposefully excluding Indigenous wildland firefighters and Indigenous wildfire organizations from wildfire operations, firefighter training, decisionmaking, and resource exchanges, in 2025, Doug Ford slashed the forest firefighting budget.
It's hard to ignore his decision to cut funding and leave us out of adequate fire training (even though we've lived with forest fires for thousands of years—far longer than settlers have been in Canada—and made sure fires like the ones we're all seeing today were prevented through kinisitotēn) when, despite making up less than 5% of the population, we account for 42% percent of all wildfire evacuations in Canada.
And when we are successfully evacuated, we face discrimination and racism—like Kashechewan—because it's always been easier to blame us than it is to blame the true culprit: denialism, corportate greed, and colonization.
The people of Collins and every other impacted community deserve better.
Right now, the AFN is currently accepting donations to help Collins First Nation. If you're able to, please consider donating.
ONWA (Ontario Native Women's Association) is another great place to donate to. They have outreach vans going to motels and inns and offering food, water, resources, and cultural support to those impacted by the wildfires.
Other places to consider donating to are Mikinakoos Emergency Fund, Red Cross, True North Aid, Indigenous Climate Action. You can also send donations directly to Whitesand First Nation via e-transfer ([email protected]) and they request that you add your full name in the e-transfer comment section to receive a tax receipt.
*Before sending money, verify that the appeal appears on an official First Nation, Tribal Council or registered charity channel.
If you can't offer financial support, please consider donating items of need. Moontime Connections is currently accepting drop-off donations. If you live in the Thunder Bay area, Namaygoosisagagun Health Office is also taking in donations! They can also bemailed to Superior Inn Hotel & Conference Centre at 555 West Arthur Street, Thunder Bay, ON, P7E 5P8.
I’ve never been hurt by the fact that my stepfather loved my sister more than me. For me, it’s just that- a fact.
I don’t remember my real dad at all, really. He passed away when I was around two or three years old. I remember meeting Dale for the first time, although even that’s getting pretty fuzzy. I remember the giant of a man kneeling down to my level, stone faced and solemn.
Then he reached forward and gave my hand a shake. “You like spaghetti?” He asked. I only nodded, too shy to speak. He just grunted and headed to the kitchen to start throwing dinner together. Dale can make a killer spaghetti. And I didn’t even like spaghetti until then.
I’m not saying he doesn’t love me. He definitely does, back then he did his best to connect with a shy kid that’d rather color than talk to people. He had also been married before, married and divorced with a son that was much older than I was. Max was already seventeen when I was only six. And it was at six years old that my mom and Dale had my sister, Harmony-Rose. Just Harmony for short, of course.
The moment that tiny baby was handed to Dale I knew he’d completely fallen in love. I was little, but I could tell he was doing his best to hold back tears. An effort that was wasted, as a tear trickled down his cheek as he sat down and rocked her back and forth.
Dale took a pay cut to be able to work from home for the first few years of Harmony’s life. Mom once said he got up for more midnight feedings and diaper changes than she did. Maybe back then I got a little jealous now and then, but I’d only need to look at Harmony’s sweet face to realize why he loved her so much. She was perfect. An easy going baby who laughed and cooed with everyone but daddy’s girl all the way, I couldn’t be mad at her. I love Harmony too.
She’s never stopped being an amazing little sister either. From a sweet baby to a well mannered toddler, all the way up till spring of this year, she has always been just the best. I did get closer to Max as the years went by, when I stopped being a little kid and became a teenager you could actually have a conversation with, but Harmony was just always there.
I’m not saying she stopped being the best. I’m just saying that’s when… well… she got sick.
I’d just turned eighteen, Harmony now a go getting twelve year old. She was a part of her school’s gymnastics team, had all the friends, but she always gave me a tackle hug when she came home. She told me about all the boys she thought were cute, and the ones that weren’t so much. I’d promise to stomp in the faces of any that made her cry, and Harmony would make a point of poking my bicep and raising an eyebrow. No words needed. I’m a wimp.
Mom and Dale just thought it was just a flu bug that wouldn’t go away. I did too. And Harmony, well, what else would she think it was? She always had bruises from gymnastics practice, the fact they weren’t going away didn’t occur to any of us that there was a further problem.
By the time we went to the doctor, the damage had already been done.
Leukemia. Fucking leukemia. How could Harmony have leukemia? It doesn’t run in our family and up until then she’d rarely even gotten a cold. Leukemia diagnoses happens to other families, other kids. Not Harmony. It couldn’t happen to Harmony.
My mom told me that when the doctor broke the news, Dale fell to his knees. Both her and the doctor thought he was about to pass out, his face was white with shock. Dale doted on Harmony, was always in her corner when she needed back up, and she was one of the few people he’d drop the stern outer shell for to show his soft heart. And now there was something he couldn’t fight for her, no matter how hard he tried.
Harmony tried to be positive at first. ‘I’m a tough kid’, she’d said, mock flexing and reassuring her dad that she’d beat this. She went into chemo treatments with a smile on her face, and as her hair fell out she’d had me help shave her head, cracking jokes about how she now looked like season one Eleven from Stranger Things.
I think even then she was putting on a brave face. The doctors hadn’t lied, her form of leukemia was particularly aggressive. Maybe if we’d caught it sooner, we’d be better off, but that just wasn’t how the cards played out.
Harmony was dying. We all knew she was dying. The spunky girl with the energy of a lighting strike faded away rapidly, turning into a pale child with sunken dull eyes and barely a smile. She was always tired, and as the months passed with no real improvement, her sense of humor waned and I’d often catch her lost in thought.
Two months ago she called me to her bedroom, asking if she could talk with me alone. Dale actually quit his job so he could be with her 24/7, caring for her every need. It was hard for us to get sibling time, just the two of us hanging out together.
Harmony was staring out her window as I slipped into her bedroom, clearly a lot on her mind. On her lap was a folded over piece of notebook paper. She didn’t say anything, just handed me the paper and calmly waited as I unfolded it and began to read it.
It hit me like a fucking truck when I realized what it was.
“… A will?” I asked quietly.
Harmony shuddered and nodded, dropping all pretenses of false bravado. “You can donate my books for me, right? Or give some to Max, I think Jayce would love them when he gets old enough.”
I wanted to say she wasn’t going to die. I wanted to tell her she could still beat this. But I think she knew better than the rest of us that we weren’t going to get lucky. I read through this little girl’s will carefully, having to reread every line as my vision was blurring with tears. “I can do that. Don’t think this is legally binding though,” I tried to joke.
Harmony smiled, just for a second. “Well, tough, lawyers aren’t cheap.” Taking another deep breath, her gaze returned out the window. “This isn’t fair,” She murmured.
I nodded, folding her will back up. “No, it isn’t,” I agreed.
Harmony sighed with relief, flopping forward and burying her face in her hands. “Why did I have to get sick? It’s bullshit, I didn’t do anything wrong! I’m healthier than all of you, or I was, I just… this is bullshit,” She said, talking so fast I could barely make it out.
I reached forward and patted her head. “It is complete bullshit. If I could swap places with you, I would.” I meant it too.
“Don’t even put that out there, you dumb fuck.”
I laughed, I couldn’t help it. “Don’t let Dale hear you say that. He’ll never recover knowing that his baby girl knows the word ‘fuck’,” I said.
She looked back up, shaking her head but she was smiling. She was… at peace. I could just see the burden lifted off her shoulders. “Thank you, Joel. Keep that will somewhere safe for me,” She said.
“I promise.”
I pulled her into a tight hug. I knew that this will meant the end was near and that Harmony was fully aware of that. The Grim Reaper was around the corner and she wanted to be ready for him.
When I left her bedroom, I saw that Dale’s office door was cracked open, but didn’t think much of it, and didn’t bother to check if he was in there. Dale was usually in bed by then anyway.
I don’t think he was. I think he heard every word that passed between me and Harmony that night. That his baby girl had made a will for all her belongings, from her treasured stuffed animals to her collection of colorful rocks she’d bought from various museums and zoos over the years. I had every intention of following that will as closely as possible when she did pass.
But that broke Dale. So that’s why he did what he did. That’s the difference between me and him, really. I’d be willing to give up anything, even my life, to save Harmony-Rose… but he was willing to set the world on fire and let it burn, all for her.
My bedroom window faces into the back yard, right into the forest that stretches around our property for miles. I was having trouble going to sleep that night, that day in particular had been especially bad for Harmony. It had been a week after I’d been given her handwritten will and it was clear she’d finally given up the fight. I was afraid if I went to sleep, I’d wake up and she’d be gone.
I was finally starting to doze off when I saw Dale in the backyard, cradling Harmony in his arms. He’d not been able to really carry her these last few years, but she’d shrunk so much she looked like a skeleton in his arms. For a second, I thought she might be dead, but I saw her shift in his arms. She was just asleep, too tired to even stir.
Dale’s face was completely blank and devoid of any emotion. He’d spent the last few days like that, almost completely oblivious to the world around him. He hugged her tight, looked into the woods, and started walking. I watched him until he vanished into the trees.
I fell asleep after that. I didn’t even know how to even remotely process what I’d just seen, and when I woke up the next morning I’d thought it was just a dream.
I went to Harmony’s room after I’d gotten dressed, expecting to walk in and see her still asleep.
Instead, I saw a glimpse of the girl she’d been all before this diagnosis. She was still bald, but the color had returned to her face and she was up and out of bed, looking just as puzzled as I felt. She looked up at me.
“Joel, I feel… I feel okay. And I feel hungry. Can you ask Dad for pancakes?”
For a girl who’d not had an appetite in months, this was mind blowing. She ended up having a whole stack of blueberry pancakes, all the while Dale looked on, pleased as could be. He took her to the doctor’s right after breakfast, and for once I tagged along since Mom had to go to work. I didn’t really like hospitals and no one ever made me go anyway, but this time I wanted to see if this was just a ‘good day’.
Instead, we were given the best news we could ever imagine. Suddenly, after months of radiation and chemotherapy doing jack shit, Harmony’s leukemia had finally gone into remission. A complete and total 180 from her last appointment. The only explanation the doctors could give?
‘It’s a miracle. It really is a miracle.’
And well, it kinda was. Just not one that came without cost.
It started right when we were heading home. Harmony and Dale were over the moon, already planning to order out for Hawaiian pizza while I openly judged them for wanting to ruin a perfectly good pizza with pineapple. We turned the corner and saw two police cars in front of our neighbor’s driveway.
Like I said before, we’re surrounded by woods, but there’s a few other families in the immediate area. It’s the kind of place where everyone has a driveway at least a quarter of a mile long, if you’ve lived in a place like that you know what I’m talking about. The family closest to us and the one with the police presence was the Fosters. They have a son that’s close to my age but he’s an asshole, so I tend to avoid him, but his parents are all right.
I saw Dale grip the steering wheel a little tighter but he didn’t attempt to even slow down to see what was going on. Harmony frowned. “Shouldn’t we go make sure Mr. and Mrs. Foster are okay?” She asked.
“After the cops leave, we don’t want to get in their way,” He said in a tone I wasn’t used to hearing- the kind of sound a person has in their voice when they lie. Harmony hadn’t missed it either, but she just changed the subject back to Hawaiian pizza and what to do for dessert afterwards.
Once we got back, I dropped my stuff off in my room and immediately beelined for the back door. I just barely stepped out the back door when I heard someone clear their throat. I looked behind me to see that Harmony was waiting for me, her arms crossed and giving me an ‘are you kidding me?’ look.
“What, did you really think you were gonna check out what happened to the Fosters on your own?”
I did attempt to come up with an excuse as to why Harmony should hold back on this one, but instead I just sighed and started walking, my little sister hot on my heels. I imagine she was suffering from a bit of cabin fever, it’s hard going out and doing shit when you’re on death’s door.
I might not have cared much for Daniel Foster, but since he was on the back porch having a smoke from his watermelon vape, I figured he was the best line for questioning.
Daniel gave us both a stink eye as we emerged from the woods, blowing a mouthful of sickly sweet smoke in our direction. Harmony plopped down on the swingset that was still in the Foster’s backyard despite the fact it hadn’t been used since Daniel was younger than she was. I walked up to the porch. “Saw the cop cars at the mouth of your driveway. We’re just here to check in if you’re okay,” I said.
After glaring for a second more, Daniel sighed and hopped off the porch, jamming his hands in his jeans pockets. “Something broke in last night, attacked the dogs, trashed the house. Dad’s out of town and you know how shit cellphone signal’s out here. We couldn’t connect to 911 so mom and I just barricaded ourselves in her room,” He said.
Harmony cocked her head to the side. “Something?” She asked.
Daniel gestured for us to follow him. “It definitely wasn’t a person. It was probably a bear, its claw marks are everywhere,” He said as we walked to the other side of the house.
My skin crawled as I saw the large score marks under the bedroom window that was still blocked by a wardrobe. Harmony reached forward and brushed her fingers against the decimated siding. “Wow,” She said in her shock.
“Did you see it? The bear, I mean,” I asked.
Daniel shook his head. “Nah. Didn’t want to. Had the gun ready just in case it got into the room, but it didn’t. It scratched up Bella and Griffin real good, they’re both at the vet now getting patched up.”
Bella and Griffin were a pair of large rottweilers, big babies really, they were the main upside to come visit the Fosters. “Will they be okay?” I asked.
“Should be.” Daniel took a deep breath and shuddered. “I- I think my mom was really scared. She kept saying it didn’t move like a bear, but all she got was a glimpse before we hid. Bears… bears make roaring sounds, right? Like a lion or a tiger?”
Harmony frowned and straightened up, glancing at me for the answer that she was pretty certain about herself. The description enough definitely puzzled me. “Honestly, bears tend to be pretty quiet. When they’re freaked out, they’re more likely to make huffing or grunting sounds, and they definitely don’t sound like wildcats,” I said.
“Fucking weirdo,” Daniel turned away, jamming his shaking hands into his pockets, probably hoping I couldn’t see them. “What do you do, just go out and watch bears on the weekend?”
“Hey, you asked, dumbass. Come on, Harmony,” I gestured for my little sister to follow along, not at all in the mood to deal with Daniel’s shittiness.
“Wait. So you know what bear prints look like too then?”
I paused. “Are there prints?” I asked.
Daniel walked over to the treeline and motioned us over. Hesitantly, I followed.
The print that was there was sure as hell not a bear’s print, and I think Daniel knew that too. The mud captured the print perfectly, long spindly fingers carving deep scratches into the mud with smaller palms. It was like a person had dragged their hand through the mud, but it wasn’t quite right.
I snapped a picture of it with my phone. “Yeah, I… I don’t think that’s a bear print,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. Something about it set the hair on my neck standing straight up.
“Then what is it?” Daniel asked.
I sent the picture to Dale with the message ‘found this near the Foster’s, what made this track’. “I have no freaking clue,” I admitted.
Harmony bent down next to it. “It’s so weird,” She muttered.
I didn’t expect my phone to immediately buzz, Dale was god awful at responding to texts at a decent time. I turned my phone back on to an even more shocking response.
‘Come home right now. I don’t want you back in the woods now.’
“Dale doesn’t know either, and he’s telling us to come home ASAP,” I gave Harmony’s shoulder a tap and that got her attention. “Let’s go, sis. See you, Daniel. Stay safe, man.”
He just grunted in response and jogged back into his house.
Once we got back, Dale explained his for his curt demand was that he was worried about that bear that came after the Fosters. Apparently he’d called Mrs. Foster the moment we got back and got the story from her. If it was so bold to break into a person’s house, god knows what it’d do to me wandering out alone out there… and I especially shouldn’t bring Harmony-Rose out there.
I did hear Harmony mutter something along the lines of ‘screw that’ as we got ready to go pick up the pizza for dinner. Not that I blamed her, since she was finally feeling better to go out and about. But that track still made me super curious. So the next day, I went to the other person who might know a thing about animal tracks- my older stepbrother, Max.
The visit was first pretty normal, just light chatter about the warm weather and how things have been going at Max’s work. I got to play with Jayce, who was ecstatic to see his ‘Uncle Joel’ and of course Max’s wife Lisa popped in to ask how I was doing and if I was seeing anyone (girls or boys, she always makes sure to specify), and then she had to bustle right back out because she had to run errands.
After we got all the small talk out of the way, Max set his coffee mug down and brought up the biggest news to date.
“So, Harmony. She’s better?” He asked.
I shrugged. “Cancer’s suddenly beating a hasty retreat. Doctors say be cautious but hopeful. Said it’s a real miracle,” I said.
“Hmm. That’s… interesting,” Max’s brow knitted in concern, “And she’s going back for more tests? Just to be sure? I mean, any false hope will actually kill Dad.”
“Yeah, she should be going back for more tests by the end of the week. But you should see her, it really is a complete 180 with how she’s acting,” I shook my head, “I barely believe it. But she had like six slices of pizza last night, and she’d eaten breakfast that morning, a stack of Dale’s pancakes. And she didn’t throw up.”
Max’s concerned expression didn’t vanish as he went for another sip, “Maybe, just keep an eye on her- oh fuck that!”
I barely dodged the surge of coffee spilling in my direction as Max literally threw the contents across the table. I was about to ask what the hell was wrong with him when I saw it.
A centipede, two of them actually, squirming and writhing in the pooling dark liquid. Max quietly gagged before heading to the sink. “Didn’t even see those little bastards crawl in there. Really hope I wasn’t drinking centipede coffee this whole time.” He turned on the tap and looked back at me. “You want something to drink? I promise, it won’t have a bug infestation.”
I opened my mouth to say a glass of water wouldn’t be so bad when I looked at the flow coming from the faucet and the words wouldn’t come out of my mouth.
It wasn’t like it was just red or rusty colored water. Water and blood have different consistencies, and the thick scarlet liquid now overflowing Max’s mug and dripping down his hand was sure as hell not water. Max looked confused at my likely shocked face and was probably about to ask what was up when we both smelled it. The smell that always shows up when you have a bloody nose, except a thousand times more potent and bittersweet, like it was rotting.
Max stared at his sink now filling up with blood, and I bolted for his bathroom to throw up. I’m not good around blood. I barely made it to the sink before I puked my breakfast and the chocolate shake I’d picked up at the corner store before I hit up Max’s place.
After coughing a bit, I made the mistake of trying to wash down the puke down the drain. Thankfully it only took one crimson drop from the faucet for me to turn it back off. I sunk to the floor, my world going topsy turvy as I did my best to keep breathing so I wouldn’t pass out. I barely succeeded. Max had to help me get out of the bathroom and put me up in his guest room while he went to figure out just what the hell was up with their plumbing. I was just about as useful as wet noodle so he let me be while Jayce showed me all his dinosaur toys to make me feel better. Obviously, any intention of showing him the strange tracks went out the window as I was struggling just to be a living person.
It wasn’t just Max’s house having ‘plumbing issues’. While I lived in the middle of the woods, he had settled down in a nice neighborhood that was just missing white picket fences to complete the perfect vibe. All up and down the street people were turning on the water to have blood come squirting out of their faucets. One poor person had gone in for a late shower and had an actual to god panic attack as they were coated in disgusting red fluid. The ambulance showed up and everything to make sure they were all right.
I felt like absolute garbage until I got home, driven there by Max. But when I walked through the door and saw Harmony dancing along to some song on the radio, I felt like a million bucks seeing her like this. Bright. Vibrant. Pain free. A complete and total turn around. I did tell her about the blood spewing out of our brother’s sink and she was naturally quite horrified by that turn of events, but we came to the conclusion it wasn’t actually blood. I mean, it couldn’t be blood. A lot of things would have to be dead to have every faucet bleeding on my brother’s street.
Harmony made leaps and strides in terms of recovery in the matter of a week. Every test came back with confirmation the disease that was going to cut her short life off was retreating at unnatural speeds. I encouraged her to start practicing her gymnastic moves, knowing if she kept bouncing back like this she’d want to rejoin her team. With Harmony getting better, the house seemed generally so much happier. My mom only cried with joy whenever she saw Harmony practically skipping around the house and Dale… man, Dale. Truly the happiest about this all was Dale.
Plans began taking form. Trips to Disney, a vacation out west to go visit all the national parks, the future that we’d originally thought might have been robbed from us was suddenly now in our grasp again. I was just as excited as my parents to be honest. I love Harmony, so much. I wanted to just focus on her now.
But as our house began to gain life, everyone else’s began to… fall apart. Rot from the corners and collapse.
Even if I was focused mostly on my little sister, I couldn’t help but notice that things were different. More bloody plumbing began popping up all over town, to the point where a notice was put out about not drinking any tap water until they find the source of this. Apparently some professional talking out their ass said it was more than likely some kind of infestation of mold, and all they needed to do was find the source and all would be okay again.
Thing is, they couldn’t find a source. I don’t know how much time was spent or how much money the town poured into to tear open water mains or go through every centimeter of the treatment plant, but it was turning up squat.
Dale was still not letting us out in the woods. If I so much as looked at the back door he was the first to ask me to ‘do the dishes’ or ‘run an errand into town’ for him. Not until they found the bear, which I still didn’t feel was right. Bears didn’t leave prints like that. Bears just… weren’t like that.
Then I got that call from Daniel.
I had given my number to Daniel freaking ages ago. My parents made me because they wanted us to be friends. Yeah, no, I’d rather not be friends with the jackass who insulted me literally every other sentence. Around three AM I heard my phone start to ring and I had to scramble to get it. I nearly missed the call and didn’t even check the caller ID before I answered it I was in such a rush. I couldn’t even ask who it was before Daniel scream-whispered into my ear,
“Something’s wrong with the dogs!”
I wiped the sleep from my eyes. “The fuck?” I managed to get out, my voice slurring with sleep.
“They… they were just so quiet…” I heard Daniel swear quietly and the sound of someone checking the lock on a door. “When they came back, they looked fine and were patched up, but they were just so fucking quiet. I didn’t give a shit, but I just got home from a night out, and- oh my god, there’s so much blood?” Daniel sniffled and I realized he was starting to cry.
“I can’t find my dad, my mom’s… she’s passed out, she got bit real bad. I got her wrapped up real good but there’s not much else I can do. The dogs, Christ, Joel… the dogs. They’re so fucked up. They tried to get me too but I’m hiding in my parent’s room. Called 911, I’m freaking the fuck out, I don’t know when they’re going to get here, and fuck knows if they’ll get to the right house. Please, man, you gotta help me. I don’t want…” Daniel’s voice cracked, my neighbor now starting to sob. “I don’t want my mom to die, man.”
Maybe I’m not friends with Daniel, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to leave him in a jam like that. I assumed rabies, because you know, that’s the closest thing to a rational explanation I could come to.
I woke Dale up and told him what Daniel told me. I didn’t want to go over there alone, and although Dale had been acting a bit off, I expected he’d help me at least get Mrs. Foster and Daniel out of the house.
He did follow me over. But he also grabbed his hunting knife, and he made sure his rifle was loaded before he swung it over his back.
Dale really didn’t hunt often, only going when his buddies asking him to tag along. I thought Dale was a lousy shot, since he never brought anything home he killed himself. I figured it was just an excuse to go out and drink beer.
We entered the Foster house and it was just as Daniel said- the living room covered in blood. I barely managed to swallow my vertigo as I followed Dale, the silence so much it felt like it was going to swallow me. It was only quiet for a few seconds though, then I heard the unsettling sound- the jingling of a dog’s tags.
One of the rottweilers ambled into the living room and even with how dark it was, my initial assumptions of the dogs being rabid was immediately put out of my mind. Rabies doesn’t give you large tumorous growths sprouting from under your bandages that oozed a reddish pus. The dog cocked its head to the side for just a moment before its lips curled back, a thin rusty colored film covering its teeth and tongue. It tensed up, ready to pounce… and Dale fired a shot right into its skull.
It dropped with not even a whimper, a perfect kill shot. The other rottweiler skidded in after its friend and I nearly vomited at the sight of even more tumors growing from its neck and back. This dog also had a tail. Yes, I know, rotties are known for those little stumpy tails, but I swear to god, this dog now had a tail sprouting from its backside, arched over its body like a scorpion’s tail. I didn’t get a better look until Dale downed that dog too. Despite having to swallow down the urge to puke again, I walked up to the second dog’s body. The name reflecting back from its tag read ‘Griffin’.
This wasn’t the Griffin I knew. The ‘tail’ hadn’t sprouted from its actual tail, it had come from in front of it. A closer look at Bella’s body and I saw that skin and fur had rotted away from some of her side, revealing putrid decaying flesh stretched over cracked ribs that had were turning black.
I ended up having to collapse on the couch to avoid passing out on the disgusting floor, leaving Dale alone to stride back into the bedrooms to find Daniel and his mom.
When the ambulances finally arrived, Mrs. Foster was dead. Mr. Foster’s body was found in the kitchen, practically ripped limb from limb. Daniel was catatonic, his eyes glazed over as he was wrapped in a shock blanket, and leaving Dale to explain that by the time he’d gotten in there Mrs. Foster had already passed, the bite must have severed her brachial artery. Her body was covered when it was wheeled out, but I caught a glimpse of her bitten arm, and how it was already growing bulbous tumors like that was on the dogs.
I also noticed that Dale’s hunting knife was now conspicuously missing.
When we got home, he pulled me aside and quietly told me one thing:
“Don’t tell your mother. Or your sister.”
I didn’t need to ask what he didn’t want me to tell. I kept my mouth shut. Maybe if I didn’t talk about it, it wasn’t real. The mutant rottweilers from hell, the fact that Mrs. Foster was now dead and how I had this gut feeling that something really bad had gone down in that room when Dale went in there.
There were more attacks. Reports of shadowy, long legged beasts roaming around our neck of the woods, that moved too quickly for anyone to get a good look, and pets would vanish only to turn up torn to pieces. Probably a better fate than what happened to the Foster’s rottweilers.
Only one person was directly attacked other than the Fosters. Mr. Green was taking his garbage out when he was pounced by what his wife described as ‘two thin beasts with overly long legs’. They literally ate his face off, god, it makes me sick to even say that. She managed to get them away and call 911, but with her signal going in and out it took them forever to get there. They took the somehow still living Mr. Green to the hospital, but he didn’t last. He developed a fever that went far beyond the livable temperatures, and even if he did live I imagined it would be kind of a shitty life, since his face was entirely gone.
I didn’t get to hear if there were any more tumors, since I had to listen in on this conversation between Mrs. Green and my mom. Poor widow was clearly traumatized by what she saw.
In town wasn’t much better though, as I’d find out when I went to go visit Max. The start of the most fucked up day.
“Lisa’s taking time off work. She doesn’t want Jayce at daycare.”
Max looked, well, a mess. The water still hadn’t been fixed, and it looked like he hadn’t had a decent shave or a bath in days, probably since this all started.
“He’s been such a fussy kid lately,” Max flopped back on his position on the couch with a loud sigh. “Same with all the other kids who go to that daycare.”
“Think it’s the bad water?” I asked, nodding to the absolute mountain of water bottles by the front door, barely contained in their garbage bags.
Max shrugged, running his hands through his hair. “I just… I don’t know. His eczema is acting up again too, but that might just be because of the heat. We’ve been using bottled water for almost everything, including baths. I feel like I need a long shower, but every time we turn on the pipes it’s just,” he shuddered, “Well, you know.”
I patted my brother’s back. “Maybe you can come over and stay at our house for a bit? I doubt Dale will mind.”
Max was quiet, shifting uncomfortably and staring at his clasped hands before he spoke up.
“Joel, did Dad- did Dale do anything weird, leading up to Harmony’s recovery? Was he acting quiet, or did… did he go out to the woods late at night?”
I remembered what happened the night before Harmony’s miracle. Up till then, I’d made myself believe it was really some kind of dream. I swallowed. “Why?” I responded, trying to keep my voice level.
It didn’t work. Max’s eyes narrowed and I could tell he knew I knew something. “When did he go out there, Joel?” He said, his voice quiet and icy cold.
“Why does it matter?” I asked, still trying to avoid answering the question.
Max chewed on his lip, a small speck of blood forming when he ripped off a piece of dried skin. “It matters, Joel. You’re not his blood, so I don’t blame him for not telling you, but… there’s something you do need to know about those woods. About the far back, past the lake, through the wet cave, there’s a patch of trees-”
Max was cut off by a loud crash from the kitchen. I just about jumped out of my skin and Max was up, bolting for the source of the sound.
“Lisa!? Lisa! What’s wrong?”
I got up and followed behind Max, nearly bumping into him as he stood frozen in the doorway.
Lisa was on all fours, groping wildly at the floor and murmuring something to herself that I couldn’t quite make out. My heart hammering in my chest, I pushed past Max and slowly walked into the kitchen. “Lisa? You all right?” I asked.
I nearly stepped on it, since it mostly blended into the white linoleum floor. But at the last second I saw the red stumps protruding from the back of the small white orbs. I nudged one with my foot and I actually pissed my pants a little when I saw the light brown irises of Lisa’s eyes staring back at me.
“My… my eyes…”
The hair on my neck stood right up as I looked towards Lisa, who’s head lifted up in my direction, likely hearing my panicked breathing.
“H-help me find my eyes?”
I stared into the black sockets of Lisa’s skull, her face pale as her hands continued to blindly grope along the kitchen floor. A maggot crawled out of her left eye, squirming onto her cheek before dropping onto the floor.
I screamed. I ran. I ran right into the front door and knocked myself out. Not exactly a thing to be proud of, but fuck it. I saw a woman searching for her fallen out eyes. When I came to, the ambulance was there, rushing Lisa to the hospital while another EMT was making sure I didn’t accidentally give myself a concussion in my panic to get away. I didn’t, but it didn’t matter. Max had already headed to the hospital with Jayce and I was left in their home alone, unable to get the image of Lisa’s eyeless face out of my mind.
I had Dale pick me up, but I was too scared to ask him about the wet cave and the patch of woods behind it.
There was one other person I could ask what went down that night though. I could ask my sister, Harmony-Rose.
I found her in her bedroom that night, sitting at the foot of her bed and staring into her mirror. In her hands was clutched the light pink handkerchief she’d used to cover her head once the chemo took her hair away.
I sat on the bed behind her, waiting for her to come out of whatever thought she was in. We sat in silence for a few minutes before she turned around.
“Joel? I think something’s wrong with me.”
My stomach turned. I was about to ask if she was feeling sick again when I looked at her… I mean, really looked at her.
Sure, she had been bouncing back, but she looked almost entirely back to normal now. The weight had been put back on in a matter of days, and her hair was already regrowing, reaching to cover her ears… but it wasn’t really her hair, either.
Harmony-Rose had our mother’s hair, dark brown, sleek and smooth. And I had heard about how when a chemo patient’s hair grows back, sometimes it looks a bit different. The texture’s changed, the color’s lightened or darkened.
The texture had changed, now it was much curlier, but the color was what got me. Parts were the same, but other locks had grown in a shocking shade of silver. I reached forward to give her hair a tussle and was surprised by how thick it had become. “Do you feel different?” I asked.
Harmony shook her head. “I feel… fine. Too fine. Recovery shouldn’t- it just doesn’t go like this. I shouldn’t be building back muscle so fast, I shouldn’t be,” She ran her hands through her new grown hair, “my hair should be taking its time, and it’s almost normal now, except for the… color…” She shuddered. “Joel, what’s happening to me?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. But I have a theory.”
I told her about what I saw the night before her recovery began. When I finished, Harmony had gone white as a sheet, but her eyes lit up with the return of some memories of that night.
“I thought I was asleep,” Harmony tugged at the strands of her hair, “And just had some really whacked out dreams.”
“What happened?” I urged her to say.
Harmony took a deep breath to clear her thoughts.
“I remember Dad carrying me out back. Like when I was little and I’d fall asleep on the couch during a movie. I knew I could feel I was outside, because it was windy, but I was too tired to really do anything except lay still. Dad carried me for a long time, I remember hearing the leaves crunching under his feet. Then we walked through someplace… maybe underground? His footsteps echoed off the walls. And then when we left that he set me down on my feet. Told me to walk alongside him. There was wet needles under my feet and the place smelled like bad breath and something sickly sweet. We were surrounded by pine trees. I didn’t really open my eyes, I was so tired, but when I did, I saw… things. Eyes looking out from between the branches. Big, yellow eyes. I couldn’t even make out what they belonged to, dad just hurried me along and told me I couldn’t stop.
“We came to this large… rock. I think. There was someone sitting on top, with very long legs and arms. Like twice the size they should’ve been. Dad helped me lie down in the dirt in front of the rock and told me to go back to sleep. I tried, but his voice kept me awake. I think he was talking to the person on the rock, told them he had the key, and was willing to make an exchange,” Harmony reached up, touching the locks of hair that were now colorless, “And something wet and slimy touched my head… I was too scared to reopen my eyes. And I heard… I heard someone else say that it would be done. Suddenly I was just so cold, I couldn’t stop shivering, and it feels like there’s hundreds of bugs crawling all over me… the next thing I know I’m waking up in bed, and I’m hungry, and I don’t feel like a pile of garbage.
I glanced out back to the forest that had surrounded my home. The very thought that something was actually dangerous in there was, well, it felt stupid. I played back there almost every day as a kid and saw nothing more than squirrels and birds, maybe the occasional garter snake or deer. But nothing like what she described.
“I’m going to go see.”
I don’t know why I felt like it was so important for me to go check it out, but I had to be sure for myself.
I was barely out the back door when I heard a click and saw the beam of a flashlight. I turned to see Harmony right behind me, wearing a coat that finally fit her again instead of making her look like she was drowning in cloth. I originally opened my mouth to object to her coming along, but I shut it just as quickly and started walking.
The far back of the woods. Past the lake and the wet cave. Harmony and I walked in almost complete silence, only hearing the croaking of frogs and chirping crickets that hung heavily on the night air. I’d been back here so often I knew what Max was talking about. I’d only gone in the cave once, but since it was so gross I only poked my head in and never went back. When I walked through it this time, I felt Harmony’s hand in mine, I felt it shake.
When we exited into the forest behind the cave, we were officially in a place I had never been before. Even the trees looked different, the flashlight casting long shadows along the pebbles that looked like claws. While my steps got more uncertain on the stone path, Harmony’s pace picked up.
“I remember… this. I remember this.”
Harmony breathed in slowly, her gaze flicking back and forth. “Whatever you do, Joel, don’t look to the sides. They’ll eat you alive,” She said.
I knew better than to ask how the hell she knew that. “Why won’t they eat you?” I asked, the hair on my neck standing up. Back here not even the crickets were making a racket, the only sounds were my breathing and the occasional snap of a twig past the treeline, just enough to let me know that we weren’t alone.
“Because whatever my dad did to me, it made me a part of them.”
Harmony and I kept walking until we reached the clearing, where the heavy silence was finally broken by something else. Arguing.
It took me longer than normal to recognize Max’s voice, his words were colliding and slurring together so they were barely recognizable. Harmony’s grip on my hand turned so tight it nearly cut off circulation, and we both ducked behind a tree before peering around to see Max.
He was so drunk he was barely standing up straight, his cheeks bright red and his hair sticking up with sweat. At the very back of the small clearing was something I recognized as an obelisk, made of a black flecked gray stone and carved with letters I couldn’t recognize. And by the obelisk was Dale.
“So all those years… every fuckin’ year you told me that it was the most important fuckin’ responsibility,” Max swayed back and forth, barely catching himself from just falling to the ground, “You were just talking out of your ass? Because the moment you need something, you c-come back here and let them out?!”
Dale was quiet, his face expressionless. “… We were out of-”
“Don’t. Don’t fucking give me that shit, dad!” Max burst into messy sobs, tears rolling down his cheeks and snot dribbling from his nose. “Lisa’s dead! So many people are dead, because you took the key and let them out to save Harmony!”
“She’s your sister-”
“So what about other people’s sisters?!” Max pointed an accusatory finger at Dale, spittle flying from his mouth as he began to scream at his father. “What about other people’s wives?! Other people’s s-s-sooonns….” Max trailed off before he threw his head back and screamed into the sky.
Dale finally showed something other than apathy, blinking a few times in shock before he looked concerned. “What happened to Jayce?” He asked softly.
“I don’t fucking know, how about you ask your fucking monsters?!” Max pointed up and I finally noticed there was someone sitting on top of the obelisk.
It was just as Harmony recounted for me earlier, a man with limbs twice as long as they should’ve been, but his face… the gray skin was stretched so tightly over his skull, his lips parted in a painful looking smile as his yellow eyes stared down at the arguing pair.
Dale glanced up at that… that thing. “What happened to Jayce, then, Balem?”
Balem yawned, revealing rows upon rows of needle teeth in his mouth that stretched back down his throat and covered his pointed tongue that was dripping in a thick white saliva. When he spoke, his mouth moved a moment slower than the words leaving him, like he was lipsyncing along to his speech. “What happened to the rest of the children at that Greenhill daycare. The carpet cleaner was diluted with water- tap water. They were infested.” Balem’s manic grin returned.
Dale’s face went white as a sheet. He stammered for a few moments, trying to come up with a response. “I’m so sorry, Max, I didn’t mean for this-”
“And you still did it!” Max cackled, his eyes rolling into his head to only show their whites as he continued to laugh without sounding a least bit amused. When he finally stopped, his face twisted in such a way I could barely recognize him as my stepbrother anymore. “You fucking hypocrite. You traded everyone’s lives for Harmony, the same thing you told me not to do for anyone- not even mom.”
Dale stared at his shoes. I think he knew he was in the wrong here, but there was really no coming back from what he’d done. “… It’ll only be for a bit more, Max, a week or two more and Harmony will be completely healed,” He said.
“And what’ll happen during those two weeks!?” Max shook his head. “Unbelievable. So, what’s the deal? As long as she’s alive and recovering in town, these freaks get full run of the place? I can think of a good way to end that.”
My heart almost stopped at the implication. Dale looked ready to be sick. “No, no, you can’t! If you hurt her, then all of this would be for nothing!”
“It already was!” Max began winding his way through the clearing. “You’re responsible for everyone who’s getting hurt and killed! You did! You might as well have put a gun to their head! At least when I kill Harmony, it’ll be peaceful, and she’ll never know her life was paid for with her nephew’s blood-”
It happened so fast. Max took a step too close to Dale and Dale grabbed Max by the head, slamming his son into the obelisk so hard his skull cracking sounded like a gunshot.
Max slid to the ground, his smashed head leaving a streak of blood on the stone. A shrieking laugh echoed through the clearing and I looked up to see this ‘Balem’ clapping, rocking back and forth on his obelisk. I now saw there was a chain wrapped around his neck, with a padlock hanging open from one of the links.
“Too good! Too good, Dale!” Balem’s chattering his jaw, his teeth making a disturbing clattering sound. “The drama has been made perfect with the audience!” Balem’s gaze landed right where we were and he pointed one of his long fingers towards us.
Dale slowly turned, the blood of his son dripping down his hands from where he bashed Max’s head into the stone. Harmony shoved me down into the ground before she stepped out from behind the tree, muttering ‘stay still’ as she walked into plain view of Balem and Dale.
“Dad?” Harmony looked at Max’s body before back to their father. “You killed Max?”
Dale began to shake, the once imposing man turning into a shadow of his former self. He dropped to his knees, burying his face in his hands as he began to sob, sputtering out half apologies and weak explanations about this being the only choice.
“I couldn’t lose you, Harmony Rose. I’d sacrifice the world for you,” were the only words that were really clear, since the rest was slurred out by his sobbing and crying.
Harmony just shook her head before glancing up the obelisk. Silently she approached it, where Balem leaned down, actually managing to get down to her level. “Aren’t you going to thank me?” The monster said, cocking his head to the side, his ever grinning face looking downright smug.
Harmony took a deep breath. “As long as the lock’s open,” She pointed to the padlock, “you and… everything else can go wherever you want?”
Balem nodded. “And your blood cancer will continue to fade. Once it’s gone, you’ll live to a hundred and two, thanks to my interference,” He said.
For several long seconds, Harmony just stood there, still as a statue. Then she reached up and clicked the padlock shut.
Nothing monumental happened- Balem didn’t start melting into goo, and I didn’t hear the screams of several monsters being forced back into their forest prison. Balem didn’t even stop smiling, only reaching up to pat Harmony gently on the head. “You still stand a chance to beat it, since I healed it enough to where treatment might actually make a difference. You’re welcome, and you’re such a good girl, so I hope to see you again. I haven’t made a bargain with your family for years. It was great fun. Now go home, girl, and take your half brother with you. I think you’ll both want to miss the final act of this drama.”
Nodding, Harmony backed away from Balem before turning around and sprinting back to the treeline, yanking me back up to my feet. We bolted down the path, together. I took a single look back to see Dale, still on his knees, while swarms of long legged pure black creatures began to swarm him.
It’s been a month. Max’s body was found, but there was no mention of an obelisk, and Dale was just gone. Harmony’s recovery is starting to slide, but where it is now, it is far more likely she’ll beat it. She’s been quiet, running her fingers through the still silvery curls on her head. She hasn’t said it, but we both hope if her hair falls out this time, it’ll grow back the way it used to be. Mom’s been a wreck, losing Dale, Max, Lisa and Jayce has really fucked her up. But we’ll make it through this.
I found something though. Last night, after both Harmony and my mom went to bed, I heard someone knock at the door and opened it to find a small leather pouch on the porch. I dumped the contents into my hand and I felt sick.
It’s a key. A key made of the same material the obelisk was, just the right size for the padlock attached to the chain on Balem’s neck.
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Oh damn. I think this was inspired by The Winged Victory of Samothrace, one of the most famous extant sculptures of the Hellenic period.
The dress is almost sculptural. There are feathers but they don't look soft, they look like armor, or weapons, or stone. And fuck yeah, let's declare victory over the racist haters that cried about women of color in the film.
Literally where my mind went as soon as I saw it. Gotta love the depth Zendaya brings to her red carpet fits!
It was a Tuesday in 1981 when the San Francisco police kicked in the door.
Inside the small apartment, they expected to find a hardened criminal. They expected a drug kingpin. They expected resistance.
Instead, they found a 57-year-old waitress in an apron.
The air in the apartment smelled sweet, thick with chocolate and something earthier. On the kitchen counter, cooling on wire racks, were 54 dozen brownies.
The police officers began bagging the evidence. They confiscated nearly 18 pounds of marijuana. They handcuffed the woman, whose name was Mary Jane Rathbun.
She didn't look scared. She didn't look guilty.
She looked at the officers, smoothed her apron, and reportedly said, "I thought you guys were coming."
She was booked into the county jail. The headlines wrote themselves. A grandmother running a pot bakery. It seemed like a joke to the legal system, a quirky local news story about an older woman behaving badly.
But Mary wasn't baking for fun. And she certainly wasn't baking for profit.
To understand why Mary risked her freedom, you have to understand the silence of the early 1980s.
San Francisco was gripping the edge of a cliff. A mysterious illness was sweeping through the city, specifically targeting young men. Later, the world would know it as AIDS. But in those early days, it was just a death sentence that no one wanted to talk about.
Families were disowning their sons. Landlords were evicting tenants. Even doctors and nurses, paralyzed by the fear of the unknown, would sometimes leave food trays outside hospital doors, afraid to breathe the same air as their patients.
Men in their twenties were wasting away in sterile rooms, dying alone.
Mary knew what it felt like to lose a child.
Years earlier, in 1974, her daughter Peggy had been killed in a car accident. Peggy was only 22. The loss had hollowed Mary out, leaving a space in her heart that nothing seemed to fill.
When the judge sentenced Mary for that first arrest, he ordered her to perform 500 hours of community service. He likely thought the manual labor would teach her a lesson.
He sent her to the Shanti Project and San Francisco General Hospital.
It was a mistake that would change American history.
Mary walked into the AIDS wards when others were walking out. She didn't wear a hazmat suit. She didn't hold her breath. She saw rows of young men who looked like ghosts—skeletal, in pain, and terrified.
She saw "her kids."
She began mopping floors and changing sheets. But soon, she noticed something the doctors were missing. The harsh medications the men were taking caused violent nausea. They couldn't eat. They were starving to death as much as they were dying of the virus.
Mary knew a secret about the brownies she had been arrested for.
She knew they settled the stomach. She knew they brought back the appetite. She knew they could help a dying man sleep for a few hours without pain.
So, she made a choice.
She went back to her kitchen. She fired up the oven. She started mixing batter, not to sell, but to save.
Every morning, Mary would bake. She lived on a fixed income, surviving on Social Security checks that barely covered her rent. Yet, she spent nearly every dime on flour, sugar, and butter.
The most expensive ingredient—the cannabis—was donated. Local growers heard what she was doing. They began dropping off pounds of product at her door, free of charge.
She packed the brownies into a basket and took the bus to the hospital.
She walked room to room. She sat by the bedsides of men who hadn't seen their own mothers in years. She held their hands. She told them jokes. And she gave them brownies.
"Here, baby," she would say. "Eat this. It'll help."
And it did.
Nurses watched in amazement as patients who hadn't eaten in days began to ask for food. The constant retching stopped. The mood on the ward shifted from despair to a quiet sort of comfort.
Mary Jane Rathbun became "Brownie Mary."
For over a decade, this was her life. She baked roughly 600 brownies a day. She went through 50 pounds of flour a week. She became the mother to a generation of lost boys.
She washed their pajamas. She attended their funerals. She held them while they took their last breaths.
She did this while the government declared a "War on Drugs."
By the early 1990s, the political climate was hostile. Politicians were competing to see who could be "tougher" on crime. Mandatory minimum sentences were locking people away for decades.
In 1992, at the age of 70, Mary was arrested again.
This time, the stakes were lethal. She was charged with felonies. The district attorney looked at her rap sheet and saw a repeat offender. He threatened to send her to prison.
One prosecutor famously whispered to a colleague that he was going to "kick this old lady's ass."
They underestimated who they were dealing with.
They thought they were prosecuting a drug dealer. In reality, they were attacking the most beloved woman in San Francisco.
When the news broke that Brownie Mary was facing prison, the city erupted.
It wasn't just the activists who were angry. It was the doctors. It was the nurses. It was the parents who had watched Mary care for their dying sons when the government did nothing.
Mary turned her trial into a pulpit.
She arrived at court not as a defendant, but as a grandmother standing her ground. The media swarmed her. Reporters asked if she was afraid of prison. They asked if she would stop baking if they let her go.
Mary looked into the cameras, her voice gravelly and firm.
"If the narcs think I'm gonna stop baking brownies for my kids with AIDS," she said, "they can go fuck themselves in Macy's window."
The quote ran in newspapers across the country.
The court didn't stand a chance.
Testimony poured in. Doctors from San Francisco General Hospital wrote letters explaining that Mary’s brownies were medically necessary. Patients testified that she was an angel of mercy.
The charges were dropped.
Mary walked out of the courthouse a free woman. But she didn't go home to rest. She realized that her personal victory wasn't enough. As long as the law was broken, her "kids" were still in danger.
She needed to change the law.
August 25 was declared "Brownie Mary Day" by the San Francisco Board of Supervisors. It was a nice gesture, but Mary wanted policy, not plaques.
She teamed up with fellow activist Dennis Peron. Together, they opened the San Francisco Cannabis Buyers Club—the first public dispensary in the United States. It was a safe haven where patients could get their medicine without fear of arrest.
But Mary wanted more. She wanted the state of California to acknowledge the truth.
She campaigned for Proposition 215. She traveled the state, despite her failing health. She spoke in her simple, direct way. She didn't talk about liberties or economics. She talked about compassion. She talked about pain.
She forced voters to look at the issue through the eyes of a grandmother.
In 1996, Proposition 215 passed. California became the first state to legalize medical marijuana.
It was a domino effect. Because one woman refused to let her "kids" suffer, the public perception of cannabis shifted. The Economist later noted that Mary was single-handedly responsible for changing the national conversation.
She never got rich.
She had always joked that if legalization ever happened, she would sell her recipe to Betty Crocker and buy a Victorian house for her patients to live in.
She never sold the recipe. She never bought the house.
Mary Jane Rathbun died in 1999, at the age of 77. She passed away in a nursing home, poor in money but rich in legacy.
Today, over 30 states have legalized medical marijuana. Millions of people use it to manage pain, seizures, and nausea.
Most of them have never heard of Mary.
They don't know that their legal prescription exists because a waitress in San Francisco decided that the law was wrong and her heart was right.
They don't know about the 600 brownies a day.
They don't know about the thousands of hospital visits.
Mary didn't set out to be a hero. She told the Chicago Tribune years before she died, "I didn't go into this thinking I would be a hero."
She was just a mother who had lost her daughter, trying to help boys who had lost their way.
She proved that authority doesn't always equal morality.
She proved that sometimes, the most patriotic thing a citizen can do is break a bad law.
Every August, a few people in San Francisco still celebrate Brownie Mary Day. But her true memorial isn't a date on a calendar.
It is found in every oncology ward where a patient finds relief. It is found in every dispensary door that opens without fear.
It is found in the simple, quiet courage of anyone who sees suffering and refuses to look away.
Mary taught us that you don't need a law degree to change the world. You don't need millions of dollars. You don't need political office.
Sometimes, all you need is a mixing bowl, an oven, and enough love to tell the world to get out of your way.
Sources: New York Times Obituary (1999), "Brownie Mary" Rathbun. San Francisco Chronicle Archives (1992, 1996). History.com, "The History of Medical Marijuana." Weird Everything, FB december 12, 2025
I'd be only too happy to do that. I was suspicious to start, too. It seemed a bit on the nose to have the weed brownie grandma named "Mary Jane," but also, that's a very common combination in a certain place and time, so I thought it was worth the extra effort.
What I did was find sources that made the claim (in this case, that a woman named Mary Jane was a medicinal marijuana activist in California, USA in the 1980s and 90s.) I checked the dates to get some certainty those sources aren't AI slop, then checked that the sources are generally reliable.
Then I followed useful details about the place and time, and other people involved, to explore it more fully.
The first thing I did was search for "Brownie Mary" and see if that turned anything up at all. It turned up a LOT of results. Predictably, some of them were recipes, but not all of them.
Next up, I checked sources and dates. Wikipedia can be dodgy for academic use, but their policy on LLM-generated input is very clear: they don't want slop. I started by reading that page and then went on to read others.
The Atlas Obscura article is from 2018. I found another one from SFWeekly from 2017.
Both of those are decent sources - Atlas Obscura gets a High factual reporting rate from MediaBiasFactCheck, and while MBFC doesn't have a rating for SFWeekly, the verbiage in that article is very close to what GastroObscura has. (Also to what the post itself has, right down to the choice of pull quote.)
Now, we can stop there and feel pretty confident that articles published before the wide availability of LLMs are not, in fact, LLM generated.
...or we can go deeper, and run this all the way back to source.
I spotted references to a Chicago Tribune imterview of Mary Jane Rathbun, published in 1993.
My search string of "Chicago Tribune 1993 Mary Jane Rathbun" hit it in the top 3 results. That article includes some fun new details: she wore a cannabis leaf shaped pendant to her trial!
She also objected to being portrayed as a cuddly grandma up against The Man, so I must retract my flippant tags, above.
The evidence now strongly points to Brownie Mary being a real woman who really went to court for giving AIDS patients weed brownies. But can we get closer? I've now seen several mentions of a 1980 attempt at convicting her too.
The articles have mentioned Sonoma County and a nonprofit called the Shanti Project, so let's hook onto that and see what we get.
Searching for "Mary Jane Rathbun Sonoma County 1980" gets me an article from a law firm; that mentions the prosecuting attorney by name, and points to a book: Lust for Justice: The Radical Life & Law of J. Tony Serra, by Paulette Frankl. It even has an excerpt!
We can run the book down too, just for fun (now we have a primary source.) My favorite used book site has a copy for $1. Amazon gives a view of the back cover, too:
...wow. I should see if my library has that!
The excerpt on the site has a mention of a candelight vigil held for her death in 1999. It took some hunting past things I'd already read and a bunch of shops giving written tributes, but I found a news report about that, too.
There's a lot of information out there, and it's worth digging into. Otherwise it's altogether too easy to think something real and worth knowing is just another bit of slop.
remember Lindsey Graham won’t see your posts about being delighted a racist, garbage senator being dead, because he’s dead, but Mitch McConnell might via twenty minute phone call.
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so my favorite boba tea kiosk in the mall was completely gone just a patch of empty floor which is very sad BUT I got this adorable pokemon stationary at a store that just opened up in the old joanns so I think we can call this a successful outing
yeah so fun fact when I saw that post last week(?) I went ha ha what if that's my local mall. what if that's my favorite boba place at my local mall. sure looks like mall floor. but that's silly because all mall floor looks like mall floor! there's so many malls! there's no way it's my mall!
turns out
it was definitely my favorite boba place at my favorite mall. I sent op an ask with this photo when I was leaving the mall earlier (I don't think they've seen it yet but I was astounded)
you guys would all have loved my (not on tumblr) spouses reaction when he went "oh no the kiosk is gone" and I immediately said LOST JOB FROM TUMBLR?!?
we went to a different tea place by the new store in the old joanns building and I read him the whole saga aloud while we sat and had our drinks
The long-lost remains of King Alfred the Great have been found buried under a car park, investigators claim.
Alfred died in 899, and his bones were repeatedly moved. He was buried in Winchester Cathedral until 1110, when his remains were moved to Winchester's Hyde Abbey, where they were interred before the high altar between the bodies of his wife and son.
The abbey was demolished after the dissolution of the monasteries in 1539, and the place was left in ruins.
In 1866, during construction of a workhouse on the site, the English antiquarian John Mellor excavated the area, found what he thought were Alfred's bones and had them reburied at nearby St. Bartholemew’s Church.
But in 2013, when archaeologists exhumed and carbon-dated the bones from St. Bartholomew’s churchyard, they proved to date from over 200 years after Alfred’s death - sparking Graham's interest and search.
He said: "Whoever’s bones they were, they weren’t Alfred’s. So, I decided to discover what happened to them.
"The quest has taken me 13 years.”
It's Your Local Bardic entity, Gallus Rostromengalus of Bread Jesus and other Weird Tumblr Story Fame.
Despite my best efforts to mitigate mt Terrible English Dental DNA, today two of my teeth broke.
I don't even have a fun story about this, it's literally terrible genetics and stress-grinding my teeth in my sleep.
I just got back from emergency surgery to get the pieces pulled and the hole in my jaw closed so I don't get an infection, but a second reconstruction surgery to give me a bone graft and dental implants will be needed so I can actually chew and use my mouth for it's intended purposes.
I do not currently have dental insurance.
I haven't talked about it here much, but my husband was unemployed after getting laid off for almost all of last year. He has a job again, but it pays like 2/3rds of his previous one and the benefits are crap. Like no dental insurance until he's worked there at least a year.
So I'm on the hook for the full cost of Today's emergency surgery, Medication, and the necessary follow-up reconstruction, which my dentist estimates will cost between $5000-$7000. Our dentist has given us every discount she can and we have a payment plan, but losing half our household income has left us with no savings and credit cards at their limits.
Even though I only need to come up with $500 this month to go ahead with the reconstructive surgery, I do not have any money to spare. It will also be VASTLY cheaper overall to pay for everything up front rather than pay interest over the months with the payment plan, but literally anything will help me right now.
Link To My GoFundMe
Link To My Ko-Fi
Thank you all so much,
Gallus
Pic of Chaleston Chew lounging on his pillows because pics generally help these posts but I do not want to inflict images of Dental Trauma on all of you.
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No matter which character or ship you're most devoted to, I think we can all agree that when Claudia's ghost appears, she needs to bitch slap all four men.
when we started talking about getting a small-breed dog I was like, "I will NEVER turn into one of those people who treats their little dog like a doll or an accessory by forcing them to dress up in ridiculous outfits. Dogs HATE that. They should get to be DOGS, and that means not having to wear anything but a HARNESS and being FREE to ROLL in the MUD." and then I adopted a dog who throws a fit if you try to take him for a walk without letting him pick out a bow tie first. a dog who loves wearing pajamas so much that I'm about to spend a disgusting amount of money on several sets of linen ones for summer. a dog who watches me wave at him to follow me through a mud puddle and just stands there blinking up at me like, "are you fucking serious? and get my paws wet?"
me: I will raise him no differently than the two 80-lb labs I had growing up. absolutely no hoity-toity frou frou little yapyap dog stuff. he's gonna be a good ol' fashioned, rough-and-tumble, capital D-O-G—
to celebrate the popularity of this post, I ordered him another set of the linen jammies in yellow. now he looks like paddington bear
the etsy seller threw in a little miniature hermes silk scarf as a freebie and I dare you to tell me he doesn't know how handsome he looks in it. whenever we take it off of him he broods like he's a wealthy victorian orphan child in desperate need of a seaside holiday to restore his delicate aristocratic constitution
I made this image for my working line, bred to hunt all day, rough tough... princess. She's *such* a princess. You'd never know she spent her first 8mo in outdoor (hunting) kennels; this dog was born to cuddle under the covers and wear pretty tiaras with matching necklaces. Anyway, I would like to share it for all the rough tough pets out there:
