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(30f) I am an objectum sexual who is in a para-social relationship with the electric chair from Sing Sing Prison in New York and also the electric chair currently at Riverbend Maximum Security Institute in Tennessee.
2023.05.28 14:17 WeakSand-chairpostin (30f) I am an objectum sexual who is in a para-social relationship with the electric chair from Sing Sing Prison in New York and also the electric chair currently at Riverbend Maximum Security Institute in Tennessee.
It started when I was around nine years old. Growing up in Florida I'd heard about the electric chair many times. But for some reason, it just seemed mythological to me. As if it were something that parents made up in order to help prevent their kids from becoming criminals. It just did not seem real too me. A chair that kills you when you sit in it? No, that's made up, I thought.
At around that age, my parents didn't give a crap about me having a bedtime. I had a TV in my room next to my bed and I'd often stay up until some ungodly hour of the morning and watch TV. I'd end up watching things which in retrospect were really not age appropriate. One of the movies I ended up watching was the Bundy movie.
I was terrified when I was watching that movie. It made me resent serial killers. I couldn't believe how cruel this man could be to kill women. As a girl, this scared me even more, knowing that there are really monsters such as him and something like that could happen to me.
My disgust and fear quickly turned into amusement when I got towards the end of the movie and I saw the electric chair scene. The chair was real! It isn't a myth! I was so happy and morbidly curious at this point. I knew it was a movie, but I also knew it was based on real events so I was curious how this chair would kill him after he sits in it.
It was so funny seeing this murderer who thinks he's so tough, lose his shit to the sight of this old wooden chair. He's going to die. How? Not by being stabbed by another inmate. Not by dying of old age or disease...no! He's going to die from sitting on a chair. That's just hilarious to me. He became the electric chair's prey. It's also amusing just because of how unusual it is. When you think of a chair you think it's something to sit and relax in. But not THIS chair! You cannot sit in it! Because if you do, it'll electrocute you and you'll die!
It's oddly romantic in a way, to me. When a prisoner is strapped into the electric chair it's almost as if the chair is hugging them or something. But in a twisted way. The chair doesn't want to let the prisoner go, it wants to inject its juice (electricity) right through their body, whether they like it or not.
As I got older I enjoyed researching electric chairs in my free time. I see people tend to personify electric chairs a lot, sometimes even giving them pronouns such as ''he'' or ''she''. That just makes them seem more...alive? In a way, compared to ordinary chairs (which I have no interest in, I'm specifically into real electric chairs, located at real prisons!)
I love the Sing Sing electric chair. I think he's the most adorable one, even though he's killed the most people out of any other electric chair (614 since 1891!). The Riverbend one, Old Smokey, has only killed 6 since 2007. I love how sexy the Riverbend one looks. I love that huge leather backrest, those car seatbelt straps, rather than the incremental leather ones the Sing Sing chair uses. I love the junction box and the fact that the Riverbend chair's ankle electrodes (yes, there are two, rather than just one!) are actually built into the structure of the chair itself.
Been into electric chairs for a really long time, haven't told anyone I know in real life about it though, so this site is my outlet!
submitted by WeakSand-chairpostin to offmychest [link] [comments]
At around that age, my parents didn't give a crap about me having a bedtime. I had a TV in my room next to my bed and I'd often stay up until some ungodly hour of the morning and watch TV. I'd end up watching things which in retrospect were really not age appropriate. One of the movies I ended up watching was the Bundy movie.
I was terrified when I was watching that movie. It made me resent serial killers. I couldn't believe how cruel this man could be to kill women. As a girl, this scared me even more, knowing that there are really monsters such as him and something like that could happen to me.
My disgust and fear quickly turned into amusement when I got towards the end of the movie and I saw the electric chair scene. The chair was real! It isn't a myth! I was so happy and morbidly curious at this point. I knew it was a movie, but I also knew it was based on real events so I was curious how this chair would kill him after he sits in it.
It was so funny seeing this murderer who thinks he's so tough, lose his shit to the sight of this old wooden chair. He's going to die. How? Not by being stabbed by another inmate. Not by dying of old age or disease...no! He's going to die from sitting on a chair. That's just hilarious to me. He became the electric chair's prey. It's also amusing just because of how unusual it is. When you think of a chair you think it's something to sit and relax in. But not THIS chair! You cannot sit in it! Because if you do, it'll electrocute you and you'll die!
It's oddly romantic in a way, to me. When a prisoner is strapped into the electric chair it's almost as if the chair is hugging them or something. But in a twisted way. The chair doesn't want to let the prisoner go, it wants to inject its juice (electricity) right through their body, whether they like it or not.
As I got older I enjoyed researching electric chairs in my free time. I see people tend to personify electric chairs a lot, sometimes even giving them pronouns such as ''he'' or ''she''. That just makes them seem more...alive? In a way, compared to ordinary chairs (which I have no interest in, I'm specifically into real electric chairs, located at real prisons!)
I love the Sing Sing electric chair. I think he's the most adorable one, even though he's killed the most people out of any other electric chair (614 since 1891!). The Riverbend one, Old Smokey, has only killed 6 since 2007. I love how sexy the Riverbend one looks. I love that huge leather backrest, those car seatbelt straps, rather than the incremental leather ones the Sing Sing chair uses. I love the junction box and the fact that the Riverbend chair's ankle electrodes (yes, there are two, rather than just one!) are actually built into the structure of the chair itself.
Been into electric chairs for a really long time, haven't told anyone I know in real life about it though, so this site is my outlet!
2023.05.28 14:15 WeakSand-chairpostin (30f) I am an objectum sexual who is in a para-social relationship with the electric chair from Sing Sing Prison in New York and also the electric chair currently at Riverbend Maximum Security Institute in Tennessee.
It started when I was around nine years old. Growing up in Florida I'd heard about the electric chair many times. But for some reason, it just seemed mythological to me. As if it were something that parents made up in order to help prevent their kids from becoming criminals. It just did not seem real too me. A chair that kills you when you sit in it? No, that's made up, I thought.
At around that age, my parents didn't give a crap about me having a bedtime. I had a TV in my room next to my bed and I'd often stay up until some ungodly hour of the morning and watch TV. I'd end up watching things which in retrospect were really not age appropriate. One of the movies I ended up watching was the Bundy movie.
I was terrified when I was watching that movie. It made me resent serial killers. I couldn't believe how cruel this man could be to kill women. As a girl, this scared me even more, knowing that there are really monsters such as him and something like that could happen to me.
My disgust and fear quickly turned into amusement when I got towards the end of the movie and I saw the electric chair scene. The chair was real! It isn't a myth! I was so happy and morbidly curious at this point. I knew it was a movie, but I also knew it was based on real events so I was curious how this chair would kill him after he sits in it.
It was so funny seeing this murderer who thinks he's so tough, lose his shit to the sight of this old wooden chair. He's going to die. How? Not by being stabbed by another inmate. Not by dying of old age or disease...no! He's going to die from sitting on a chair. That's just hilarious to me. He became the electric chair's bitch. It's also amusing just because of how unusual it is. When you think of a chair you think it's something to sit and relax in. But not THIS chair! You cannot sit in it! Because if you do, it'll electrocute you and you'll die!
It's oddly romantic in a way, to me. When a prisoner is strapped into the electric chair it's almost as if the chair is hugging them or something. But in a twisted way. The chair doesn't want to let the prisoner go, it wants to inject its juice (electricity) right through their body, whether they like it or not.
As I got older I enjoyed researching electric chairs in my free time. I see people tend to personify electric chairs a lot, sometimes even giving them pronouns such as ''he'' or ''she''. That just makes them seem more...alive? In a way, compared to ordinary chairs (which I have no interest in, I'm specifically into real electric chairs, located at real prisons!)
I love the Sing Sing electric chair. I think he's the most adorable one, even though he's killed the most people out of any other electric chair (614 since 1891!). The Riverbend one, Old Smokey, has only killed 6 since 2007. I love how sexy the Riverbend one looks. I love that huge leather backrest, those car seatbelt straps, rather than the incremental leather ones the Sing Sing chair uses. I love the junction box and the fact that the Riverbend chair's ankle electrodes (yes, there are two, rather than just one!) are actually built into the structure of the chair itself.
Been into electric chairs for a really long time, haven't told anyone I know in real life about it though, so this site is my outlet!
submitted by WeakSand-chairpostin to rant [link] [comments]
At around that age, my parents didn't give a crap about me having a bedtime. I had a TV in my room next to my bed and I'd often stay up until some ungodly hour of the morning and watch TV. I'd end up watching things which in retrospect were really not age appropriate. One of the movies I ended up watching was the Bundy movie.
I was terrified when I was watching that movie. It made me resent serial killers. I couldn't believe how cruel this man could be to kill women. As a girl, this scared me even more, knowing that there are really monsters such as him and something like that could happen to me.
My disgust and fear quickly turned into amusement when I got towards the end of the movie and I saw the electric chair scene. The chair was real! It isn't a myth! I was so happy and morbidly curious at this point. I knew it was a movie, but I also knew it was based on real events so I was curious how this chair would kill him after he sits in it.
It was so funny seeing this murderer who thinks he's so tough, lose his shit to the sight of this old wooden chair. He's going to die. How? Not by being stabbed by another inmate. Not by dying of old age or disease...no! He's going to die from sitting on a chair. That's just hilarious to me. He became the electric chair's bitch. It's also amusing just because of how unusual it is. When you think of a chair you think it's something to sit and relax in. But not THIS chair! You cannot sit in it! Because if you do, it'll electrocute you and you'll die!
It's oddly romantic in a way, to me. When a prisoner is strapped into the electric chair it's almost as if the chair is hugging them or something. But in a twisted way. The chair doesn't want to let the prisoner go, it wants to inject its juice (electricity) right through their body, whether they like it or not.
As I got older I enjoyed researching electric chairs in my free time. I see people tend to personify electric chairs a lot, sometimes even giving them pronouns such as ''he'' or ''she''. That just makes them seem more...alive? In a way, compared to ordinary chairs (which I have no interest in, I'm specifically into real electric chairs, located at real prisons!)
I love the Sing Sing electric chair. I think he's the most adorable one, even though he's killed the most people out of any other electric chair (614 since 1891!). The Riverbend one, Old Smokey, has only killed 6 since 2007. I love how sexy the Riverbend one looks. I love that huge leather backrest, those car seatbelt straps, rather than the incremental leather ones the Sing Sing chair uses. I love the junction box and the fact that the Riverbend chair's ankle electrodes (yes, there are two, rather than just one!) are actually built into the structure of the chair itself.
Been into electric chairs for a really long time, haven't told anyone I know in real life about it though, so this site is my outlet!
2023.05.28 14:12 WeakSand-chairpostin (30f) I am an objectum sexual who is in a para-social relationship with the electric chair from Sing Sing Prison in New York and also the electric chair currently at Riverbend Maximum Security Institute in Tennessee.
It started when I was around nine years old. Growing up in Florida I'd heard about the electric chair many times. But for some reason, it just seemed mythological to me. As if it were something that parents made up in order to help prevent their kids from becoming criminals. It just did not seem real too me. A chair that kills you when you sit in it? No, that's made up, I thought.
At around that age, my parents didn't give a crap about me having a bedtime. I had a TV in my room next to my bed and I'd often stay up until some ungodly hour of the morning and watch TV. I'd end up watching things which in retrospect were really not age appropriate. One of the movies I ended up watching was the Bundy movie.
I was terrified when I was watching that movie. It made me resent serial killers. I couldn't believe how cruel this man could be to kill women. As a girl, this scared me even more, knowing that there are really monsters such as him and something like that could happen to me.
My disgust and fear quickly turned into amusement when I got towards the end of the movie and I saw the electric chair scene. The chair was real! It isn't a myth! I was so happy and morbidly curious at this point. I knew it was a movie, but I also knew it was based on real events so I was curious how this chair would kill him after he sits in it.
It was so funny seeing this murderer who thinks he's so tough, lose his shit to the sight of this old wooden chair. He's going to die. How? Not by being stabbed by another inmate. Not by dying of old age or disease...no! He's going to die from sitting on a chair. That's just hilarious to me. He became the electric chair's bitch. It's also amusing just because of how unusual it is. When you think of a chair you think it's something to sit and relax in. But not THIS chair! You cannot sit in it! Because if you do, it'll electrocute you and you'll die!
It's oddly romantic in a way, to me. When a prisoner is strapped into the electric chair it's almost as if the chair is hugging them or something. But in a twisted way. The chair doesn't want to let the prisoner go, it wants to inject its juice (electricity) right through their body, whether they like it or not.
As I got older I enjoyed researching electric chairs in my free time. I see people tend to personify electric chairs a lot, sometimes even giving them pronouns such as ''he'' or ''she''. That just makes them seem more...alive? In a way, compared to ordinary chairs (which I have no interest in, I'm specifically into real electric chairs, located at real prisons!)
I love the Sing Sing electric chair. I think he's the most adorable one, even though he's killed the most people out of any other electric chair (614 since 1891!). The Riverbend one, Old Smokey, has only killed 6 since 2007. I love how sexy the Riverbend one looks. I love that huge leather backrest, those car seatbelt straps, rather than the incremental leather ones the Sing Sing chair uses. I love the junction box and the fact that the Riverbend chair's ankle electrodes (yes, there are two, rather than just one!) are actually built into the structure of the chair itself.
Been into electric chairs for a really long time, haven't told anyone I know in real life about it though, so this site is my outlet!
submitted by WeakSand-chairpostin to confessions [link] [comments]
At around that age, my parents didn't give a crap about me having a bedtime. I had a TV in my room next to my bed and I'd often stay up until some ungodly hour of the morning and watch TV. I'd end up watching things which in retrospect were really not age appropriate. One of the movies I ended up watching was the Bundy movie.
I was terrified when I was watching that movie. It made me resent serial killers. I couldn't believe how cruel this man could be to kill women. As a girl, this scared me even more, knowing that there are really monsters such as him and something like that could happen to me.
My disgust and fear quickly turned into amusement when I got towards the end of the movie and I saw the electric chair scene. The chair was real! It isn't a myth! I was so happy and morbidly curious at this point. I knew it was a movie, but I also knew it was based on real events so I was curious how this chair would kill him after he sits in it.
It was so funny seeing this murderer who thinks he's so tough, lose his shit to the sight of this old wooden chair. He's going to die. How? Not by being stabbed by another inmate. Not by dying of old age or disease...no! He's going to die from sitting on a chair. That's just hilarious to me. He became the electric chair's bitch. It's also amusing just because of how unusual it is. When you think of a chair you think it's something to sit and relax in. But not THIS chair! You cannot sit in it! Because if you do, it'll electrocute you and you'll die!
It's oddly romantic in a way, to me. When a prisoner is strapped into the electric chair it's almost as if the chair is hugging them or something. But in a twisted way. The chair doesn't want to let the prisoner go, it wants to inject its juice (electricity) right through their body, whether they like it or not.
As I got older I enjoyed researching electric chairs in my free time. I see people tend to personify electric chairs a lot, sometimes even giving them pronouns such as ''he'' or ''she''. That just makes them seem more...alive? In a way, compared to ordinary chairs (which I have no interest in, I'm specifically into real electric chairs, located at real prisons!)
I love the Sing Sing electric chair. I think he's the most adorable one, even though he's killed the most people out of any other electric chair (614 since 1891!). The Riverbend one, Old Smokey, has only killed 6 since 2007. I love how sexy the Riverbend one looks. I love that huge leather backrest, those car seatbelt straps, rather than the incremental leather ones the Sing Sing chair uses. I love the junction box and the fact that the Riverbend chair's ankle electrodes (yes, there are two, rather than just one!) are actually built into the structure of the chair itself.
Been into electric chairs for a really long time, haven't told anyone I know in real life about it though, so this site is my outlet!
2023.05.28 11:34 emunroginn New Releases & Freebies 28 May
New Releases & Freebies 28 May
Kindle Unlimited- Bro And The Beast (The Wolf’s Mate #3) by L.C Davis - 146 pages - https://a.co/d/2sm4BEM - (omegaverse, contemporary, fantasy/paranormal, frat bro, sucked into a book, wolf shifters, must read other books in series first)
- Wolf Hunt (Outcast Pack #6) by T.J Nichols - 151 pages - https://a.co/d/5eHwpUa - (contemporary, snake shifter x wolf shifter, agent x lawyer, MC used as bait to capture hunters, new couple but probably needs context of series)
- Fog On The Mountian by Joshua Erik Rossi - 74 pages - https://amzn.asia/d/5feWLRL - (contemporary, ex-military, orphans, second chances, !! check triggers, can't confirm this is actually a romance)
- Addiction (Salvation Society) by K.L. Jessop - 349 pages - https://a.co/d/2Y2Cz4H - (contemporary, friends-to-lovers, slowburn, ex-inmate, alcoholism, PTSD)
- Billionaire’s Sexy Hacker (#2) by Dillon Hart - 120 pages - https://a.co/d/1kNoYJv - (contemporary, boss x employee, age gap, dislike-to-lovers, geek x ex-military billionaire, low angst)
- Return of the Witch (Witches of Keating Hollow #14) by Deanna Chase - 227 pages - https://a.co/d/irUmqdI - (contemporary, urban fantasy/paranormal, witch MC, second chances, musician x actor, FTB/closed door)
- Playing Fair (Littles of the Night #8) by A. Little - 97 pages - https://a.co/d/azOcYUa - (contemporary, established couple, DD/lb, vampires/werewolves/dragons, new couple to series but not a standalone)
- Last Call (The Coffee Girl Series: A Rockstar Romance #4) by Sophie Sinclair - 269 pages - https://a.co/d/hhtoNrR - (contemporary, established couple, surrogacy/adoption/fostering, closed door)
- The Internship by Whitney Gayle - 262 pages - https://www.kobo.com/au/en/ebook/the-internship-4 - (contemporary, friends-to-?, living away from home, set in Germany)
Other Queer Romance
No new releases.Audiobooks
No new releases.Free At Time of Posting (may be location-specific)
- Good as Gold by T.J. Land - 231 pages - https://a.co/d/38JAyno - (contemporary, sci-fi, MMMM, hero x villain (x3), aliens/superheroes, infiltrating the enemy, some sex but mostly FTB (?))
- Worship (On My Knees Series #1) by Ellis James (Ella James) - 158 pages - https://a.co/d/4gYH1Eb - (contemporary, rich MC, secrets, closeted pastor from a megachurch, kinky (?))
- Sixty Five Hours by N.R. Walker - 208 pages - https://a.co/d/7Tdohn3 - (contemporary, colleagues, work deadline, forced proximity, dislike-to-lovers)
- Hairy Harry's Car Seat (Lyon Road Vets #1) by Sue Brown - 102 pages - https://a.co/d/8QDczgW - (contemporary, vet x pet owner, divorced MC, sexuality awakening, out-for-you, !! dog put down due to old age)
- The Pride of Garnet Run (Garnet Run #2.5) by Roan Parrish - 66 pages - https://a.co/d/3PqgkQ7 - (contemporary, restoring an art-deco theatre, musician MC, can be read as a standalone)
- In the Picture (Army Awakenings #2) by Nico Flynn - 57 pages - https://a.co/d/43mjsco - (contemporary, roommates-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, ex-military x nerdy artist, sexuality awakening/acceptance)
- Thirteen Years and a Day (Sapphire Scars #1) by Robert Knight - 335 pages - https://a.co/d/5bBjy1R - (contemporary, second chances, childhood friends, trauma/shitty families)
2023.05.28 04:11 ArchDukeNemesis Every NWA, WCW & WWE world heavyweight championship run from 1904-2023 combined, if every champion held the belt once.
To celebrate the "Return" of the "Big Gold Belt" on Raw, I thought I'd make a history combining all title runs from the first world heavyweight championship, through it's time in the NWA, its two off shoots in WCW and its appropriation by WWE. All lineages combined, all vacancies ignored, all reigns recognized and all champions holding the belt once.
submitted by ArchDukeNemesis to SquaredCircle [link] [comments]
2023.05.27 21:58 Turn4Ugin Rock-goblin locations around western Maryland?
Hey I’m new to reddit looking to find places i can rockhound in the area of western Maryland/ northeastern West Virginia/ northern Virginia/ southwestern Pennsylvania. I only collect a small amount of specimen when i enter the rock goblin mode and i do not sell stones, personal collection only. I’d love to know any spots you’re comfortable with sharing!
submitted by Turn4Ugin to rockhounds [link] [comments]
2023.05.27 18:26 discreditcampaign917 May 27, 2023 Update
Re:
Over the past year and a half, following my complaint to the EEOC, I have continuously been subjected to harassment and retaliation by my former employer. The situation escalated when I came across an audiotape revealing the company's VP of Finance discussing financial fraud. I have attached my EEOC complaint and rebuttal to provide you with a better understanding of this situation. The company has embarked on a campaign of retaliation and attempts to cover up the truth. Recently, I discovered that my phone was under surveillance by private investigators hired by my previous employer, Socure Inc. As mentioned earlier, this harassment began at my local YMCA, where multiple individuals were instructed to participate in a planned campaign targeting me. Socure extended their actions beyond the YMCA by continuously tracking my cellphone's location wherever I went. Initially, I suspected I was being followed, but I later realized that my phone had been compromised. My messages and calls were being monitored, and even my home internet seemed to be tapped into. Furthermore, I have reason to believe that my bank transactions were being monitored as well. I am being targeted because I disclosed illegal activities involving the VP of Finance, which he was afraid to share. I’m one hundred percent certain that Socure hacked into my cellphone to eavesdrop on all conversations. Any and all things that I discuss with my wife would later be discussed amongst gym goers, at multiple Mosque, and random places I often visit. I have attached my EEOC compliant for further assessment of this situation.
The following individuals, whom I suspect were compensated, were involved in collecting information about me and fabricating false allegations:
* Sonia Atherly, the Director of the YMCA
* Stephin Roberts, a YMCA member who became a friend
* Ade A. (last name unknown), a YMCA member who became a friend
* Andre Nelson, a friend from Downtown YMCA Brooklyn whom I haven't spoken to in two years
* Austin Hill, a YMCA member who accompanied Andre Nelson
* Ethan, a YMCA member (last name unknown)
* Torell Taylor, a YMCA member
* Multiple neighbors: units 5A, 5F, and 2X PHE
* Serdar Cam, former neighbor and new neighbor at 322 Gates Ave
* Trevor (last name unknown), a YMCA member
* Justin (last name unknown), a YMCA member
* An unidentified female YMCA member who unexpectedly appeared at a restaurant where my wife and I were in Puerto Rico
* Gavin Tseng, a former friend who orchestrated a scheme involving real estate and a startup concept
Retaliations took place at the following locations:
* Bedford-Stuyvesant YMCA: 1121 Bedford Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11216
* Brooklyn Mosque Khalifa: 120 Madison St, Brooklyn, NY
* Islamic Mission of America/Dawood Mosque: 143 State St, Brooklyn, NY 11201
* Airport Travels: JFK AirTrain
* Puerto Rico Vacation: Hilton Hotel
* Trip to Milwaukee: Airbnb rental at 1028 East Juneau Avenue, Unit 416, Milwaukee, WI 53202
* Supermarket in Brooklyn: 1420 Fulton St, Brooklyn, NY 11216
* Multiple Banking Institutions: Chase at 1380 Fulton St, Brooklyn, NY 11216 & TD Bank at 957 Marcy Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11216
* Multiple NYC Train Platforms: Hoyt–Schermerhorn Streets station & 125th Street Station
* Apartment Building: 322 Gates Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11216
Types of framing and allegations being built against me:
* Resume fraud
* Real estate fraud
* Influencing people to file lawsuits
* Influencing neighbors to complain
* False restaurant reporting
* False robbery attempt
* And more...
Bedford-Stuyvesant YMCA Director, Sonia Atherly - Staged Office Phone Video Recording:
Sonia Atherly, the director of the Bedstuy YMCA, participated in a retaliatory campaign. On September 29, 2022, she requested a meeting with me in her office. During our conversation, she pulled out her phone and began recording from her work monitor, alleging that a masked individual had entered the gym. She even asked me to view the video footage. While I complied, her phone continued recording, capturing my voice in the process. This action appears to be an attempt to counter the accusations made by the VP of Finance regarding fraudulent activities and manipulate my voice recordings to paint a negative picture of my behavior. In response to my concerns, the YMCA director provided the following reply: "Hi Lou. I believe that it was on Tuesday, and I was actually taking photos, so no, your voice would not have been captured in any way. To be clear, we do not record conversations at the Y in any way, shape, or form unless we have signed event waivers. I hope this clarifies the matter for you." On September 30, 2022, Sonia orchestrated an incident where the same individual showed up at the front desk as I was leaving, hoping to provoke a response from me and involve me in their investigation. For months, non-members of the YMCA were allowed to come into the facility and harass me while surveillance cameras were purposely turned off to destroy any possible evidence.
Bedford-Stuyvesant YMCA Program Coordinator, Jeff (Damian Best):
Upon my arrival at the basketball gym, Jeff, the program coordinator, and a parent with her child were already present. After requesting Jeff to wait a few more minutes, the parent engaged in a heated argument with him, demanding to know why her child couldn't participate since no one else was there. I reassured her that while I didn't mind, Jeff was responsible for setting the rules. She eventually left the gym in an angry state. Their intention was to have me report the incident to management and portray me as someone who constantly complains. On October 4, 2022, I sent an email to myself for record-keeping purposes.
Bedford-Stuyvesant YMCA Member, Ade (last name starting with "A"):
On Saturday, October 8, 2022, Ade and I agreed to meet for a late lunch at "The Green Place" in Brooklyn. I noticed that he kept referencing financial figures related to specific people he worked with. I suspect he has also been recruited to participate in Socure's retaliation against me. Their goal is to capture recordings of me to use them against me, claiming that I habitually record people. Ade also expressed dissatisfaction with the YMCA's adult open gym times during Saturday's basketball hours. He mentioned having discussed it with the front desk. On October 9, 2022, Ade sent me a screenshot of the YMCA's response to his request. It's important to note that I never made any complaints. As someone who lives near the YMCA and often wakes up early, I told him, "I don't want to play." Once again, Socure is attempting to build a case portraying me as someone who incessantly complains and records people to divert attention from their own misconduct. Multiple members were instructed to complain to me so that my name can be implicated. I believe that individuals are being compensated to assist them. In early May 2023, both Ade and Stephin Roberts repeatedly interrupted my workout in an attempt to initiate a conversation with me.
Bedford-Stuyvesant YMCA member, Stephin Roberts - Staged information gathering:
Stephin Roberts, a fellow YMCA member, unexpectedly called me after we crossed paths at the gym, which was an unusual occurrence. We exchanged brief greetings, and I proceeded with my workout. I suspect that his intention in calling me was to record our conversation and use it against me, falsely claiming that I frequently record people, which is entirely untrue. Given that my cellphone was being tracked, it seemed that whenever I left my home, I would coincidentally encounter Mr. Roberts. He had been instructed to fabricate a false DUI incident to elicit personal information from me regarding a case on my record that had been expunged. During our conversation, I shared a past experience of mine involving a car accident I had when I was younger while dating someone, as well as my advice on expungement, recounting a personal incident that happened to me. At the time, I thought Mr. Roberts was a genuine person with good intentions. I believe Socure will be attempting to coordinate and get me arrested for theft or burglary based on the previous expunged records, trying to paint a negative image of who I am. I believe Stephin Roberts has been recording me as a tactic instructed by Socure's private investigator.
Friend from Downtown YMCA Brooklyn whom I haven't spoken with in two years, Andre Nelson at Bedford-Stuyvesant YMCA:
I haven't had any communication with Andre Nelson for more than two years. However, he unexpectedly appeared at the gym I regularly attend on a Wednesday evening, despite it not being in close proximity to his residence. Subsequently, Mr. Nelson started frequenting the gym with his friend Austin Hill. Together, they began coordinating with YMCA members, informing them about my situation with Socure. Within one week, one of Austin Hill's Facebook friends reached out to me, mentioning a potential collaboration with someone they knew, namely Austin Hill. As I stated, I've never met Mr. Hill nor had any connection with people he knew outside of Mr. Nelson. When I encountered Mr. Hill during the following open gym session, he acted as though nothing had transpired, and I played along. Additionally, Austin requested certain documents from me for his business, but I never fulfilled his request. To confirm my suspicions that Austin was attempting to set me up, I orchestrated an event by telling him, "Yeah, man, girls don't care if you have a ring on. They will approach you. Come to this bar tonight." Upon my arrival at the bar a few minutes later, a woman wearing a wedding band tried to get my attention. However, I sensed that it was a staged occurrence. When Andre Nelson and Austin Hill arrived, they infiltrated the group of members, instructing them to provoke me during the basketball game while secretly recording my reactions. At one point, a member named Justin threw a water bottle, and the situation escalated.
Bedford-Stuyvesant YMCA member, Trevor - Staged information gathering:
Trevor started asking and mentioning multiple work-related questions. On October 7, 2023, he mentioned having a quarterly review and asked for suggestions. Within weeks later, Trevor asked me if I knew any lawyers as he was dealing with a housemaid who was suing him. This same situation happened with more than two other members (Stephin Roberts, Kadeem Kirsten) in which they asked me attorney-related questions. I believe he was instructed to record our conversations.
Bedford-Stuyvesant YMCA member, Torrell Taylor:
As previously mentioned, I believe that the YMCA's Director is monitoring my interactions with other gym members in order to collaborate with them. Their objective is to falsely claim that "Lou is influencing people to document incidents," all with the intention of tarnishing my reputation. Additionally, Socure allegedly requested Torrell to open a restaurant in downtown Brooklyn as part of their scheme to build a case against me. YMCA member Justin repeatedly approached me, informing me that Torrell had opened a restaurant with poor-quality food and suggested I visit. Upon receiving this information from Torrell himself, I decided to pay the restaurant a visit. However, Torrell was not present during my first visit. I attempted a second visit, only to discover that the restaurant was closed. When I texted Torrell to inquire about the closure, he responded that there had been an issue with the owner's licensing. It is apparent to me that this was a staged event orchestrated by Socure to fabricate a case against me by falsely claiming that I reported violations against Torrell's restaurant. As mentioned earlier, I strongly believe that my phone was being tracked, and it is possible that a separate line was used to make false reports under my information.
Furthermore, my emails were also subjected to hacking.
Wireless Earbuds Planned at the Bedford-Stuyvesant YMCA open gym by Kadeem Kirsten - early 2022:
To ensure my privacy and personal space during the YMCA open gym sessions, I started choosing a spot away from others. I made sure to thoroughly clean the area where I sat, removing any bottles, wipes, or other items. After finishing my workout, I briefly went to the bathroom, and upon my return, I noticed a wireless earbud near the window close to my chair. I suspect that Khadim Kirsten intentionally placed the earbud there as he kept watching me closely. Mr. Kirsten also asked me for legal advice as well as a UX Designer, the same exact topic that Gavin Tseng asked me. Mr. Kirsten is one of those new members who never came to the YMCA. Upon rejecting Socure's settlement offer in January 2023, that's when all of these new members started coming to open basketball nights.
Mosque Khalifa on Bedford Ave: Sept 2, 2022, at 120 Madison St, Brooklyn, NY, United States, New York:
During the service at Mosque Khalifa on Bedford Ave, the preacher persistently addressed a specific topic related to my case. He made references to "a brother within this community, one of our own, who made a recording" in an apparent attempt to divert attention to the tape I had recorded. Following my complaint to the EEOC through email, the recording was promptly deleted on the same day, which I later submitted to the EEOC. I started attending Islamic Mission of America/Dawood Mosque at 143 State St, Brooklyn, NY 11201, and immediately, I was followed by an individual who repeatedly tried to have a conversation with me. I was also followed to a Mosque in Harlem, NY.
T-Mobile Visit Tracking / Unauthorized new number added at 574 Atlantic Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11217:
Concerned about the security of my internet connection with Verizon, I visited T-Mobile to add a new line specifically for internet access. To my surprise, shortly after arriving at the store, a male approached the same register I was standing at and started asking questions. A few days after leaving the store, I discovered that a new phone line had been added to my T-Mobile account without my knowledge or consent. I promptly contacted T-Mobile customer service to inquire about the data usage associated with that particular number, but unfortunately, I did not receive the requested information. I believe Socure hacked my home network, such as my laptop, tablet, Television and home camera. For the past year and a half, Socure has managed to view all of my browsing history. I believe they kept contacting lawyers that I reached out to after every visit I made on their website to avoid me from being represented. In additional, after noticing that my email accounts were hacked, I wrote a statement indicating that my emails were hacked in which I got notarized at TD Bank.
Grocery Shopping Brooklyn:
During my visit to the local supermarket, I noticed several individuals following me closely, paying particular attention to the food items I was selecting and the card I used for payment. I believe I was being followed long before I started to notice.
* May 8, 2023, at 1420 Fulton St, Brooklyn, NY 11216
* May 1, 2023, at 1420 Fulton St, Brooklyn, NY 11216
Online Job Targeting:
I have been repeatedly targeted for specific jobs and companies, which I believe are staged by Socure, just as they did by involving me in a company backed by their investors to stage multiple events against me while interfering with my employment. I was lured into Plural, formerly known as Civic Eagle, where multiple African American candidates who did not qualify were being hired without my knowledge. All whom I’ve never spoke with. I suspect that Socure somehow gained access to my T-Mobile account and requested my entire call history to monitor my communications. Furthermore, I believe that when I sought legal counsel after receiving the EEOC's authorization to file a lawsuit, Socure clandestinely intervened in my calls to every law firm I contacted.
Puerto Rico Vacation on Dec 23, 2022:
Upon our arrival at our room in Puerto Rico, we noticed a black male who entered a room adjacent to ours shortly after us. However, after a couple of days, we did not see him again.
During a visit to a restaurant in Puerto Rico, I recognized the hostess as the same woman I had encountered multiple times at the YMCA. She had her head covered with a white scarf. As I was seated facing the entrance, she deliberately made eye contact with me, seemingly aware that I recognized her. After finishing lunch, this same woman followed us to the waterfront and watched us closely.
Neighbor Tracking Movement at 322 Gates Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11216:
Every time I left my building, I noticed a consistent pattern where the neighbor from 5F would coincidentally head towards the elevator, wait in the lobby, and enter the building exactly at the same time. This behavior raised suspicions and led me to believe that individuals from 5A were strategically positioned next door, potentially tapping our walls to eavesdrop on our conversations. The neighbor in 5A, whom I knew through the YMCA, repeatedly complained about the building while urging me to submit a work order. I also suspect that Socure assisted one of my former neighbors, Serdar Cam, in moving into the building after they discovered my text messages about potentially moving there. Immediately after moving in, Serdar started complaining as well. I believe Socure was involved in placing a previous female tenant in the building, who also complained to me on multiple occasions about the building.
Uber License Training:
Once again, Socure monitored the location of my phone and deployed individuals to the classroom where I was attending classes in Long Island City in early March 2023. After completing the classes, I became too afraid of potentially facing false rider allegations.
New Open Gym Invitation by Bedford-Stuyvesant YMCA member Ethan, Andre Nelson was present on March 2, 2023, at 300 Adelphi, Brooklyn, NY 11205:
Ethan, a fellow YMCA member, invited me to join him at a nearby gym. To my surprise, Andre Nelson was also in attendance. While playing on the court, I noticed one of the players guarding me had a conspicuous microphone attached to them, and an Asian woman diligently captured footage from different angles with a video camera. I believe they were recording my voice and actions on the court. Additionally, it seems that after complaining about what happened at the YMCA, members are being instructed to engage me outside the YMCA to diffuse the situation. This incident further raised my suspicion that our apartment might be under surveillance, as I had previously mentioned Andre Nelson's presence at the open gym to my wife. Moreover, during the open run, I noticed the unexpected presence of multiple YMCA members from the Downtown Brooklyn location, whom I hadn't encountered in the past four years. I firmly believe that Andre Nelson orchestrated their participation and that they were strategically placed as collaborators by Socure.
New Gym Invites
After fully understanding that I knew about all of the plans in place at the YMCA, with the help of the YMCA Director, Sonia Atherly, multiple members were told to invite me to other gyms to built a campaign of “ this is Lou everywhere he goes”. Over six plus individuals were asked to invite me to new open gyms and men’s league to play in. This is all to avoid further problems at the gym.
Real Estate / Startup Venture Inquiry by Gavin Tseng:
Due to ongoing targeting, I decided to distance myself from everyone for months. However, my friend Gavin Tseng, whom I knew while living in Downtown Brooklyn, repeatedly invited me to his upstate home and wanted me to see properties he was interested in purchasing. It was quite unusual that Mr. Tseng would frequently text me, asking about my availability on specific days. I suspect that Mr. Tseng was recording our conversations during the trips and multiple phone calls, where he sought my help with UX Designing for his apartment rental car service. I believe Socure conducted research on my past work history, including my involvement in a Delegate campaign in Maryland for a real estate professional. I suspect that Socure fabricated false accusations against this individual and used my information to create misleading claims, leveraging my network and devices.
Subways / Stores Staged Evidence Building:
Regardless of the subway station I find myself in, I consistently experience being followed by random individuals who are instructed to approach me closely while holding their cellphones up to my face and posing questions. On multiple occasions, I recall three females approaching me seeking guidance regarding subway directions, and I willingly offered my assistance. However, I have recently become aware that individuals, including camera operators, have been capturing these interactions on film as part of what appears to be a deliberate campaign to discredit me.
March 28, 2023 - Travel to Milwaukee:
While traveling to Milwaukee for a getaway from my wife after several disputes, I noticed that I was being followed at the airport. The surveillance continued throughout my stay at the Airbnb located at 1028 East Juneau Avenue, Unit 416, Milwaukee, WI 53202, from March 28, 2023, to April 11, 2023. I also experienced being followed at the Hertz car rental at 804 Vel R. Phillips Ave, Milwaukee, WI 53203, on April 6, 2023, and at the Pleasant Prairie Premium Outlet at 11211 120th Ave, Pleasant Prairie, WI 53158, on the same day.
April 12, 2023 - Returning back from Milwaukee:
Immediately after arriving back in New York City from my two-week vacation, at around 3:45 pm ET, just two minutes after landing, I received a text message from a YMCA member whom I hadn't communicated with in over three weeks. The message mentioned something along the lines of "See you tonight," which I promptly deleted. This unmistakable occurrence served as a clear indication that my phone was under surveillance and being tracked.
April 21, 2023 & May 7, 2023 - Vitamin Shoppe at 12 4th Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11217:
As I entered the Vitamin Shoppe in Downtown Brooklyn on Atlantic Ave, I noticed that I was being followed. While at the checkout counter, an African American gentleman positioned himself next to me, seemingly eavesdropping on my account information and the items I was purchasing. I strongly suspect that a similar incident occurred during my previous visit on April 21, 2023, although I was not actively observing at that time.
On May 6, 2023, between 11:30 am - 12:45 pm - JFK AirTrain:
Once again, I became aware that my phone was being tracked. I accompanied my wife to the airport as she was departing for Milwaukee. Upon arriving at the station, an assertive African American woman in her late 30s hurriedly approached us, despite the presence of multiple station operators. She aggressively stopped us and began asking for directions. Sensing something amiss, I promptly distanced myself from the situation while my wife attempted to assist her with the directions.
Friday, May 11, 2023 at Costco Eyewear at 517 E 117th St, New York, NY 10035: While I was sharing my information, a woman in her late 50s approached the counter and closely observed my personal details. I have come to believe that Socure has someone at Chase informing them of my location whenever I use my Chase bank card. The day before, I made purchases with my Chase card at Costco.
Friday, May 11, 2023 at Costco at 517 E 117th St, New York, NY 10035: While conversing with a product representative at Costco, a young female employee in her late teens or early twenties approached with an older Senegalese gentleman in his late 60s. The gentleman sought assistance with a product due to his limited English proficiency. As he showed me his phone up close, I noticed someone recording our interaction from a distance. Once again, I felt as though I was being followed. It seems that a private investigator was aware of my recent purchase of fish oil at Vitamin Shoppe on May 7, 2023, as well as my pursuit of becoming a personal trainer. They orchestrated the scenario with the gentleman asking me specific questions about fish oil. It's worth noting that the material I was studying for personal training explicitly states that trainers should not recommend any medication to individuals.
Saturday, May 13, 2023, at Hoyt Station in Brooklyn: Once more, I found myself being followed into the train station. While I was waiting there, a woman approached me once again, seeking directions. Without hesitation, I gestured towards someone else nearby and firmly replied, "No, ask her." Interestingly, there was a man across the platform holding two cameras, capturing the entire interaction between us. Following the unsuccessful attempt, the woman conversed with the man briefly before they both boarded the train.
Saturday, May 13, 2023, at Bedford and Quincy in Brooklyn: As I neared my apartment building, I noticed two cameramen once again attempting to record me. Sensing their presence and their intention to cross the street, I quickly changed course and crossed over to the other side, putting some distance between us.
Saturday, May 13, 2023 - TD Bank at 957 Marcy Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11216: While I was withdrawing cash from the ATM, a white male in his late 20s, accompanied by a dog, was recording me from outside. I also believe Socure did some digging into all of my transactions at my local banks, such as Chase and TD Bank.
Saturday, May 13, 2023 - Credit Card information altered: When I logged into my Discover Credit Card account, I observed that my information had been modified.
Monday, May 14, 2023 - Best Buy Brooklyn at 625 Atlantic Ave Ste A7, Brooklyn, NY 11217: Upon reaching the printing department at 12:14 pm ET, I was harassed by an African American woman in her late 60s. I ignored her and left through the opposite side, but she continued to follow me and tried to engage in a conversation.
Tuesday, May 16, 2023, at Target 517 E 117th St Suite 201, New York, NY 10035, at 10:46 am ET: Upon realizing that I was aware of the cover-up occurring, where individuals were tailing me and inquiring with their phones in hand, Socure strategically positioned an African gentleman near the entrance of the targeted bathroom. They had been closely observing my actions. Remarkably, this man was dressed identically to me during the incident that unfolded on Friday, May 11, 2023
While waiting in line, I believe a Senegalese couple were instructed to chat about illegal activities intentionally while I was behind them and they absurdly moved to another line.
Tuesday, May 16, 2023 - Cohen’s Fashion Optical at 86 W 125th St, New York, NY 10027: While retrieving my reading glasses from Costco, I discovered that the prescription was stronger than what was indicated in the eye examination. The lenses ended up negatively impacting my vision. I requested to review the physician's notes from the exam, but despite waiting for over 30 minutes, they were unable to provide any documentation as the physician was acting very strange. Instead, they gave me evasive responses, leading me to ultimately leave without a resolution.
May 18, 2023 - Chase Bank at 1380 Fulton St, Brooklyn, NY 11216 @ 12 PM ET: Around 12 PM ET on May 18, 2023, at Chase Bank on Fulton Ave in Brooklyn, I experienced another incident I believe involves Socure. An individual was sent to tail me, and it began at TD Bank where this person approached the teller in an ostentatious manner, loudly expressing their intentions. I suspect this encounter was being recorded in an attempt to frame a robbery on me. It seems that Socure is continuously monitoring my activities, possibly as a diversion from the fact that their former CFO was untrustworthy. Regardless of where I go, I am constantly being followed, with new tactics being devised every time I step outside my home.
I’m writing to put a stop to this targeting and ongoing harassment.
submitted by discreditcampaign917 to u/discreditcampaign917 [link] [comments]
Re:
Over the past year and a half, following my complaint to the EEOC, I have continuously been subjected to harassment and retaliation by my former employer. The situation escalated when I came across an audiotape revealing the company's VP of Finance discussing financial fraud. I have attached my EEOC complaint and rebuttal to provide you with a better understanding of this situation. The company has embarked on a campaign of retaliation and attempts to cover up the truth. Recently, I discovered that my phone was under surveillance by private investigators hired by my previous employer, Socure Inc. As mentioned earlier, this harassment began at my local YMCA, where multiple individuals were instructed to participate in a planned campaign targeting me. Socure extended their actions beyond the YMCA by continuously tracking my cellphone's location wherever I went. Initially, I suspected I was being followed, but I later realized that my phone had been compromised. My messages and calls were being monitored, and even my home internet seemed to be tapped into. Furthermore, I have reason to believe that my bank transactions were being monitored as well. I am being targeted because I disclosed illegal activities involving the VP of Finance, which he was afraid to share. I’m one hundred percent certain that Socure hacked into my cellphone to eavesdrop on all conversations. Any and all things that I discuss with my wife would later be discussed amongst gym goers, at multiple Mosque, and random places I often visit. I have attached my EEOC compliant for further assessment of this situation.
The following individuals, whom I suspect were compensated, were involved in collecting information about me and fabricating false allegations:
* Sonia Atherly, the Director of the YMCA
* Stephin Roberts, a YMCA member who became a friend
* Ade A. (last name unknown), a YMCA member who became a friend
* Andre Nelson, a friend from Downtown YMCA Brooklyn whom I haven't spoken to in two years
* Austin Hill, a YMCA member who accompanied Andre Nelson
* Ethan, a YMCA member (last name unknown)
* Torell Taylor, a YMCA member
* Multiple neighbors: units 5A, 5F, and 2X PHE
* Serdar Cam, former neighbor and new neighbor at 322 Gates Ave
* Trevor (last name unknown), a YMCA member
* Justin (last name unknown), a YMCA member
* An unidentified female YMCA member who unexpectedly appeared at a restaurant where my wife and I were in Puerto Rico
* Gavin Tseng, a former friend who orchestrated a scheme involving real estate and a startup concept
Retaliations took place at the following locations:
* Bedford-Stuyvesant YMCA: 1121 Bedford Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11216
* Brooklyn Mosque Khalifa: 120 Madison St, Brooklyn, NY
* Islamic Mission of America/Dawood Mosque: 143 State St, Brooklyn, NY 11201
* Airport Travels: JFK AirTrain
* Puerto Rico Vacation: Hilton Hotel
* Trip to Milwaukee: Airbnb rental at 1028 East Juneau Avenue, Unit 416, Milwaukee, WI 53202
* Supermarket in Brooklyn: 1420 Fulton St, Brooklyn, NY 11216
* Multiple Banking Institutions: Chase at 1380 Fulton St, Brooklyn, NY 11216 & TD Bank at 957 Marcy Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11216
* Multiple NYC Train Platforms: Hoyt–Schermerhorn Streets station & 125th Street Station
* Apartment Building: 322 Gates Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11216
Types of framing and allegations being built against me:
* Resume fraud
* Real estate fraud
* Influencing people to file lawsuits
* Influencing neighbors to complain
* False restaurant reporting
* False robbery attempt
* And more...
Bedford-Stuyvesant YMCA Director, Sonia Atherly - Staged Office Phone Video Recording:
Sonia Atherly, the director of the Bedstuy YMCA, participated in a retaliatory campaign. On September 29, 2022, she requested a meeting with me in her office. During our conversation, she pulled out her phone and began recording from her work monitor, alleging that a masked individual had entered the gym. She even asked me to view the video footage. While I complied, her phone continued recording, capturing my voice in the process. This action appears to be an attempt to counter the accusations made by the VP of Finance regarding fraudulent activities and manipulate my voice recordings to paint a negative picture of my behavior. In response to my concerns, the YMCA director provided the following reply: "Hi Lou. I believe that it was on Tuesday, and I was actually taking photos, so no, your voice would not have been captured in any way. To be clear, we do not record conversations at the Y in any way, shape, or form unless we have signed event waivers. I hope this clarifies the matter for you." On September 30, 2022, Sonia orchestrated an incident where the same individual showed up at the front desk as I was leaving, hoping to provoke a response from me and involve me in their investigation. For months, non-members of the YMCA were allowed to come into the facility and harass me while surveillance cameras were purposely turned off to destroy any possible evidence.
Bedford-Stuyvesant YMCA Program Coordinator, Jeff (Damian Best):
Upon my arrival at the basketball gym, Jeff, the program coordinator, and a parent with her child were already present. After requesting Jeff to wait a few more minutes, the parent engaged in a heated argument with him, demanding to know why her child couldn't participate since no one else was there. I reassured her that while I didn't mind, Jeff was responsible for setting the rules. She eventually left the gym in an angry state. Their intention was to have me report the incident to management and portray me as someone who constantly complains. On October 4, 2022, I sent an email to myself for record-keeping purposes.
Bedford-Stuyvesant YMCA Member, Ade (last name starting with "A"):
On Saturday, October 8, 2022, Ade and I agreed to meet for a late lunch at "The Green Place" in Brooklyn. I noticed that he kept referencing financial figures related to specific people he worked with. I suspect he has also been recruited to participate in Socure's retaliation against me. Their goal is to capture recordings of me to use them against me, claiming that I habitually record people. Ade also expressed dissatisfaction with the YMCA's adult open gym times during Saturday's basketball hours. He mentioned having discussed it with the front desk. On October 9, 2022, Ade sent me a screenshot of the YMCA's response to his request. It's important to note that I never made any complaints. As someone who lives near the YMCA and often wakes up early, I told him, "I don't want to play." Once again, Socure is attempting to build a case portraying me as someone who incessantly complains and records people to divert attention from their own misconduct. Multiple members were instructed to complain to me so that my name can be implicated. I believe that individuals are being compensated to assist them. In early May 2023, both Ade and Stephin Roberts repeatedly interrupted my workout in an attempt to initiate a conversation with me.
Bedford-Stuyvesant YMCA member, Stephin Roberts - Staged information gathering:
Stephin Roberts, a fellow YMCA member, unexpectedly called me after we crossed paths at the gym, which was an unusual occurrence. We exchanged brief greetings, and I proceeded with my workout. I suspect that his intention in calling me was to record our conversation and use it against me, falsely claiming that I frequently record people, which is entirely untrue. Given that my cellphone was being tracked, it seemed that whenever I left my home, I would coincidentally encounter Mr. Roberts. He had been instructed to fabricate a false DUI incident to elicit personal information from me regarding a case on my record that had been expunged. During our conversation, I shared a past experience of mine involving a car accident I had when I was younger while dating someone, as well as my advice on expungement, recounting a personal incident that happened to me. At the time, I thought Mr. Roberts was a genuine person with good intentions. I believe Socure will be attempting to coordinate and get me arrested for theft or burglary based on the previous expunged records, trying to paint a negative image of who I am. I believe Stephin Roberts has been recording me as a tactic instructed by Socure's private investigator.
Friend from Downtown YMCA Brooklyn whom I haven't spoken with in two years, Andre Nelson at Bedford-Stuyvesant YMCA:
I haven't had any communication with Andre Nelson for more than two years. However, he unexpectedly appeared at the gym I regularly attend on a Wednesday evening, despite it not being in close proximity to his residence. Subsequently, Mr. Nelson started frequenting the gym with his friend Austin Hill. Together, they began coordinating with YMCA members, informing them about my situation with Socure. Within one week, one of Austin Hill's Facebook friends reached out to me, mentioning a potential collaboration with someone they knew, namely Austin Hill. As I stated, I've never met Mr. Hill nor had any connection with people he knew outside of Mr. Nelson. When I encountered Mr. Hill during the following open gym session, he acted as though nothing had transpired, and I played along. Additionally, Austin requested certain documents from me for his business, but I never fulfilled his request. To confirm my suspicions that Austin was attempting to set me up, I orchestrated an event by telling him, "Yeah, man, girls don't care if you have a ring on. They will approach you. Come to this bar tonight." Upon my arrival at the bar a few minutes later, a woman wearing a wedding band tried to get my attention. However, I sensed that it was a staged occurrence. When Andre Nelson and Austin Hill arrived, they infiltrated the group of members, instructing them to provoke me during the basketball game while secretly recording my reactions. At one point, a member named Justin threw a water bottle, and the situation escalated.
Bedford-Stuyvesant YMCA member, Trevor - Staged information gathering:
Trevor started asking and mentioning multiple work-related questions. On October 7, 2023, he mentioned having a quarterly review and asked for suggestions. Within weeks later, Trevor asked me if I knew any lawyers as he was dealing with a housemaid who was suing him. This same situation happened with more than two other members (Stephin Roberts, Kadeem Kirsten) in which they asked me attorney-related questions. I believe he was instructed to record our conversations.
Bedford-Stuyvesant YMCA member, Torrell Taylor:
As previously mentioned, I believe that the YMCA's Director is monitoring my interactions with other gym members in order to collaborate with them. Their objective is to falsely claim that "Lou is influencing people to document incidents," all with the intention of tarnishing my reputation. Additionally, Socure allegedly requested Torrell to open a restaurant in downtown Brooklyn as part of their scheme to build a case against me. YMCA member Justin repeatedly approached me, informing me that Torrell had opened a restaurant with poor-quality food and suggested I visit. Upon receiving this information from Torrell himself, I decided to pay the restaurant a visit. However, Torrell was not present during my first visit. I attempted a second visit, only to discover that the restaurant was closed. When I texted Torrell to inquire about the closure, he responded that there had been an issue with the owner's licensing. It is apparent to me that this was a staged event orchestrated by Socure to fabricate a case against me by falsely claiming that I reported violations against Torrell's restaurant. As mentioned earlier, I strongly believe that my phone was being tracked, and it is possible that a separate line was used to make false reports under my information.
Furthermore, my emails were also subjected to hacking.
Wireless Earbuds Planned at the Bedford-Stuyvesant YMCA open gym by Kadeem Kirsten - early 2022:
To ensure my privacy and personal space during the YMCA open gym sessions, I started choosing a spot away from others. I made sure to thoroughly clean the area where I sat, removing any bottles, wipes, or other items. After finishing my workout, I briefly went to the bathroom, and upon my return, I noticed a wireless earbud near the window close to my chair. I suspect that Khadim Kirsten intentionally placed the earbud there as he kept watching me closely. Mr. Kirsten also asked me for legal advice as well as a UX Designer, the same exact topic that Gavin Tseng asked me. Mr. Kirsten is one of those new members who never came to the YMCA. Upon rejecting Socure's settlement offer in January 2023, that's when all of these new members started coming to open basketball nights.
Mosque Khalifa on Bedford Ave: Sept 2, 2022, at 120 Madison St, Brooklyn, NY, United States, New York:
During the service at Mosque Khalifa on Bedford Ave, the preacher persistently addressed a specific topic related to my case. He made references to "a brother within this community, one of our own, who made a recording" in an apparent attempt to divert attention to the tape I had recorded. Following my complaint to the EEOC through email, the recording was promptly deleted on the same day, which I later submitted to the EEOC. I started attending Islamic Mission of America/Dawood Mosque at 143 State St, Brooklyn, NY 11201, and immediately, I was followed by an individual who repeatedly tried to have a conversation with me. I was also followed to a Mosque in Harlem, NY.
T-Mobile Visit Tracking / Unauthorized new number added at 574 Atlantic Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11217:
Concerned about the security of my internet connection with Verizon, I visited T-Mobile to add a new line specifically for internet access. To my surprise, shortly after arriving at the store, a male approached the same register I was standing at and started asking questions. A few days after leaving the store, I discovered that a new phone line had been added to my T-Mobile account without my knowledge or consent. I promptly contacted T-Mobile customer service to inquire about the data usage associated with that particular number, but unfortunately, I did not receive the requested information. I believe Socure hacked my home network, such as my laptop, tablet, Television and home camera. For the past year and a half, Socure has managed to view all of my browsing history. I believe they kept contacting lawyers that I reached out to after every visit I made on their website to avoid me from being represented. In additional, after noticing that my email accounts were hacked, I wrote a statement indicating that my emails were hacked in which I got notarized at TD Bank.
Grocery Shopping Brooklyn:
During my visit to the local supermarket, I noticed several individuals following me closely, paying particular attention to the food items I was selecting and the card I used for payment. I believe I was being followed long before I started to notice.
* May 8, 2023, at 1420 Fulton St, Brooklyn, NY 11216
* May 1, 2023, at 1420 Fulton St, Brooklyn, NY 11216
Online Job Targeting:
I have been repeatedly targeted for specific jobs and companies, which I believe are staged by Socure, just as they did by involving me in a company backed by their investors to stage multiple events against me while interfering with my employment. I was lured into Plural, formerly known as Civic Eagle, where multiple African American candidates who did not qualify were being hired without my knowledge. All whom I’ve never spoke with. I suspect that Socure somehow gained access to my T-Mobile account and requested my entire call history to monitor my communications. Furthermore, I believe that when I sought legal counsel after receiving the EEOC's authorization to file a lawsuit, Socure clandestinely intervened in my calls to every law firm I contacted.
Puerto Rico Vacation on Dec 23, 2022:
Upon our arrival at our room in Puerto Rico, we noticed a black male who entered a room adjacent to ours shortly after us. However, after a couple of days, we did not see him again.
During a visit to a restaurant in Puerto Rico, I recognized the hostess as the same woman I had encountered multiple times at the YMCA. She had her head covered with a white scarf. As I was seated facing the entrance, she deliberately made eye contact with me, seemingly aware that I recognized her. After finishing lunch, this same woman followed us to the waterfront and watched us closely.
Neighbor Tracking Movement at 322 Gates Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11216:
Every time I left my building, I noticed a consistent pattern where the neighbor from 5F would coincidentally head towards the elevator, wait in the lobby, and enter the building exactly at the same time. This behavior raised suspicions and led me to believe that individuals from 5A were strategically positioned next door, potentially tapping our walls to eavesdrop on our conversations. The neighbor in 5A, whom I knew through the YMCA, repeatedly complained about the building while urging me to submit a work order. I also suspect that Socure assisted one of my former neighbors, Serdar Cam, in moving into the building after they discovered my text messages about potentially moving there. Immediately after moving in, Serdar started complaining as well. I believe Socure was involved in placing a previous female tenant in the building, who also complained to me on multiple occasions about the building.
Uber License Training:
Once again, Socure monitored the location of my phone and deployed individuals to the classroom where I was attending classes in Long Island City in early March 2023. After completing the classes, I became too afraid of potentially facing false rider allegations.
New Open Gym Invitation by Bedford-Stuyvesant YMCA member Ethan, Andre Nelson was present on March 2, 2023, at 300 Adelphi, Brooklyn, NY 11205:
Ethan, a fellow YMCA member, invited me to join him at a nearby gym. To my surprise, Andre Nelson was also in attendance. While playing on the court, I noticed one of the players guarding me had a conspicuous microphone attached to them, and an Asian woman diligently captured footage from different angles with a video camera. I believe they were recording my voice and actions on the court. Additionally, it seems that after complaining about what happened at the YMCA, members are being instructed to engage me outside the YMCA to diffuse the situation. This incident further raised my suspicion that our apartment might be under surveillance, as I had previously mentioned Andre Nelson's presence at the open gym to my wife. Moreover, during the open run, I noticed the unexpected presence of multiple YMCA members from the Downtown Brooklyn location, whom I hadn't encountered in the past four years. I firmly believe that Andre Nelson orchestrated their participation and that they were strategically placed as collaborators by Socure.
New Gym Invites
After fully understanding that I knew about all of the plans in place at the YMCA, with the help of the YMCA Director, Sonia Atherly, multiple members were told to invite me to other gyms to built a campaign of “ this is Lou everywhere he goes”. Over six plus individuals were asked to invite me to new open gyms and men’s league to play in. This is all to avoid further problems at the gym.
Real Estate / Startup Venture Inquiry by Gavin Tseng:
Due to ongoing targeting, I decided to distance myself from everyone for months. However, my friend Gavin Tseng, whom I knew while living in Downtown Brooklyn, repeatedly invited me to his upstate home and wanted me to see properties he was interested in purchasing. It was quite unusual that Mr. Tseng would frequently text me, asking about my availability on specific days. I suspect that Mr. Tseng was recording our conversations during the trips and multiple phone calls, where he sought my help with UX Designing for his apartment rental car service. I believe Socure conducted research on my past work history, including my involvement in a Delegate campaign in Maryland for a real estate professional. I suspect that Socure fabricated false accusations against this individual and used my information to create misleading claims, leveraging my network and devices.
Subways / Stores Staged Evidence Building:
Regardless of the subway station I find myself in, I consistently experience being followed by random individuals who are instructed to approach me closely while holding their cellphones up to my face and posing questions. On multiple occasions, I recall three females approaching me seeking guidance regarding subway directions, and I willingly offered my assistance. However, I have recently become aware that individuals, including camera operators, have been capturing these interactions on film as part of what appears to be a deliberate campaign to discredit me.
March 28, 2023 - Travel to Milwaukee:
While traveling to Milwaukee for a getaway from my wife after several disputes, I noticed that I was being followed at the airport. The surveillance continued throughout my stay at the Airbnb located at 1028 East Juneau Avenue, Unit 416, Milwaukee, WI 53202, from March 28, 2023, to April 11, 2023. I also experienced being followed at the Hertz car rental at 804 Vel R. Phillips Ave, Milwaukee, WI 53203, on April 6, 2023, and at the Pleasant Prairie Premium Outlet at 11211 120th Ave, Pleasant Prairie, WI 53158, on the same day.
April 12, 2023 - Returning back from Milwaukee:
Immediately after arriving back in New York City from my two-week vacation, at around 3:45 pm ET, just two minutes after landing, I received a text message from a YMCA member whom I hadn't communicated with in over three weeks. The message mentioned something along the lines of "See you tonight," which I promptly deleted. This unmistakable occurrence served as a clear indication that my phone was under surveillance and being tracked.
April 21, 2023 & May 7, 2023 - Vitamin Shoppe at 12 4th Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11217:
As I entered the Vitamin Shoppe in Downtown Brooklyn on Atlantic Ave, I noticed that I was being followed. While at the checkout counter, an African American gentleman positioned himself next to me, seemingly eavesdropping on my account information and the items I was purchasing. I strongly suspect that a similar incident occurred during my previous visit on April 21, 2023, although I was not actively observing at that time.
On May 6, 2023, between 11:30 am - 12:45 pm - JFK AirTrain:
Once again, I became aware that my phone was being tracked. I accompanied my wife to the airport as she was departing for Milwaukee. Upon arriving at the station, an assertive African American woman in her late 30s hurriedly approached us, despite the presence of multiple station operators. She aggressively stopped us and began asking for directions. Sensing something amiss, I promptly distanced myself from the situation while my wife attempted to assist her with the directions.
Friday, May 11, 2023 at Costco Eyewear at 517 E 117th St, New York, NY 10035: While I was sharing my information, a woman in her late 50s approached the counter and closely observed my personal details. I have come to believe that Socure has someone at Chase informing them of my location whenever I use my Chase bank card. The day before, I made purchases with my Chase card at Costco.
Friday, May 11, 2023 at Costco at 517 E 117th St, New York, NY 10035: While conversing with a product representative at Costco, a young female employee in her late teens or early twenties approached with an older Senegalese gentleman in his late 60s. The gentleman sought assistance with a product due to his limited English proficiency. As he showed me his phone up close, I noticed someone recording our interaction from a distance. Once again, I felt as though I was being followed. It seems that a private investigator was aware of my recent purchase of fish oil at Vitamin Shoppe on May 7, 2023, as well as my pursuit of becoming a personal trainer. They orchestrated the scenario with the gentleman asking me specific questions about fish oil. It's worth noting that the material I was studying for personal training explicitly states that trainers should not recommend any medication to individuals.
Saturday, May 13, 2023, at Hoyt Station in Brooklyn: Once more, I found myself being followed into the train station. While I was waiting there, a woman approached me once again, seeking directions. Without hesitation, I gestured towards someone else nearby and firmly replied, "No, ask her." Interestingly, there was a man across the platform holding two cameras, capturing the entire interaction between us. Following the unsuccessful attempt, the woman conversed with the man briefly before they both boarded the train.
Saturday, May 13, 2023, at Bedford and Quincy in Brooklyn: As I neared my apartment building, I noticed two cameramen once again attempting to record me. Sensing their presence and their intention to cross the street, I quickly changed course and crossed over to the other side, putting some distance between us.
Saturday, May 13, 2023 - TD Bank at 957 Marcy Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11216: While I was withdrawing cash from the ATM, a white male in his late 20s, accompanied by a dog, was recording me from outside. I also believe Socure did some digging into all of my transactions at my local banks, such as Chase and TD Bank.
Saturday, May 13, 2023 - Credit Card information altered: When I logged into my Discover Credit Card account, I observed that my information had been modified.
Monday, May 14, 2023 - Best Buy Brooklyn at 625 Atlantic Ave Ste A7, Brooklyn, NY 11217: Upon reaching the printing department at 12:14 pm ET, I was harassed by an African American woman in her late 60s. I ignored her and left through the opposite side, but she continued to follow me and tried to engage in a conversation.
Tuesday, May 16, 2023, at Target 517 E 117th St Suite 201, New York, NY 10035, at 10:46 am ET: Upon realizing that I was aware of the cover-up occurring, where individuals were tailing me and inquiring with their phones in hand, Socure strategically positioned an African gentleman near the entrance of the targeted bathroom. They had been closely observing my actions. Remarkably, this man was dressed identically to me during the incident that unfolded on Friday, May 11, 2023
While waiting in line, I believe a Senegalese couple were instructed to chat about illegal activities intentionally while I was behind them and they absurdly moved to another line.
Tuesday, May 16, 2023 - Cohen’s Fashion Optical at 86 W 125th St, New York, NY 10027: While retrieving my reading glasses from Costco, I discovered that the prescription was stronger than what was indicated in the eye examination. The lenses ended up negatively impacting my vision. I requested to review the physician's notes from the exam, but despite waiting for over 30 minutes, they were unable to provide any documentation as the physician was acting very strange. Instead, they gave me evasive responses, leading me to ultimately leave without a resolution.
May 18, 2023 - Chase Bank at 1380 Fulton St, Brooklyn, NY 11216 @ 12 PM ET: Around 12 PM ET on May 18, 2023, at Chase Bank on Fulton Ave in Brooklyn, I experienced another incident I believe involves Socure. An individual was sent to tail me, and it began at TD Bank where this person approached the teller in an ostentatious manner, loudly expressing their intentions. I suspect this encounter was being recorded in an attempt to frame a robbery on me. It seems that Socure is continuously monitoring my activities, possibly as a diversion from the fact that their former CFO was untrustworthy. Regardless of where I go, I am constantly being followed, with new tactics being devised every time I step outside my home.
I’m writing to put a stop to this targeting and ongoing harassment.
2023.05.27 17:58 DongerOverlord Insurance towed my vehicle to the wrong place, then it got stolen.
Insurance fiasco. USAA.
Maryland.
My car was stolen on 9 May. I made a police report for theft and filed a claim that morning. Later that night it’s recovered in a DC, new police report was filed, tow yard is off duty until tomorrow.
May 10 I visit the tow yard it was taken to. Vehicle is non drivable, steering, window, and bumper are damaged. I update my insurance with pictures of the car and they give me a rental car. Car is declared a total loss.
May 16 my insurance sends a tow truck to take my car to the requested repair shop. After it’s finished, the tow truck company sends me a message saying it’s been taken to wrong address. My insurance company gave them a bad address. I tell insurance that day I think they took it to a bad address.
May 17 my insurance says they will update to the correct address and a tow company will get it.
May 22 my insurance is asking ME where my vehicle is so they can take it to their scrap yard. I ask them to check where they towed it to. They say “it was never towed but rather still at the original tow yard”. Original tow yard and repair shop both say they do not have the car.
May 23 insurance calls saying they don’t know where it is and that upon further inspection of the pictures it should no longer be declared a loss. Still can’t locate vehicle.
May 26 I call them to yell at them, they call around, no one has the car. I declare it stolen to the local police department and file a new claim for theft.
I don’t know what, if anything, I can do to receive compensation. They certainly got my vehicle stolen through negligence (I provided them the correct repair shop address but they input the address to the tow company incorrectly) and then clearly didn’t do anything to fix it.
submitted by DongerOverlord to legaladvice [link] [comments]
Maryland.
My car was stolen on 9 May. I made a police report for theft and filed a claim that morning. Later that night it’s recovered in a DC, new police report was filed, tow yard is off duty until tomorrow.
May 10 I visit the tow yard it was taken to. Vehicle is non drivable, steering, window, and bumper are damaged. I update my insurance with pictures of the car and they give me a rental car. Car is declared a total loss.
May 16 my insurance sends a tow truck to take my car to the requested repair shop. After it’s finished, the tow truck company sends me a message saying it’s been taken to wrong address. My insurance company gave them a bad address. I tell insurance that day I think they took it to a bad address.
May 17 my insurance says they will update to the correct address and a tow company will get it.
May 22 my insurance is asking ME where my vehicle is so they can take it to their scrap yard. I ask them to check where they towed it to. They say “it was never towed but rather still at the original tow yard”. Original tow yard and repair shop both say they do not have the car.
May 23 insurance calls saying they don’t know where it is and that upon further inspection of the pictures it should no longer be declared a loss. Still can’t locate vehicle.
May 26 I call them to yell at them, they call around, no one has the car. I declare it stolen to the local police department and file a new claim for theft.
I don’t know what, if anything, I can do to receive compensation. They certainly got my vehicle stolen through negligence (I provided them the correct repair shop address but they input the address to the tow company incorrectly) and then clearly didn’t do anything to fix it.
2023.05.27 16:43 NobodyProfessional67 🔥🔥🐀
 | Idk if yall know bruh but he flaming submitted by NobodyProfessional67 to TheCapitalLink [link] [comments] |
2023.05.27 12:55 kjlearnslandscape Can this Japanese maple recover?
Hey all. I have a young Japanese maple (not sure what varietal) that was damaged or vandalized last year. I assumed it was dead and had been planning to replace it, but this week I noticed little leaves! My question is if it actually has the potential to recover, and how long it might take to really grow out branches and start getting full again. Also if there's anything I should do to facilitate growth. I am located in Maryland, if that's relevant. Many thanks!
submitted by kjlearnslandscape to arborists [link] [comments]
2023.05.27 05:49 thegarmeyo69420 Longest word in English
Longest word in English List of longest words in the English language
The identity of the longest word in English depends on the definition of a word and of length.
Words may be derived naturally from the language's roots or formed by coinage and construction. Additionally, comparisons are complicated because place names may be considered words, technical terms may be arbitrarily long, and the addition of suffixes and prefixes may extend the length of words to create grammatically correct but unused or novel words.
The length of a word may also be understood in multiple ways. Most commonly, length is based on orthography (conventional spelling rules) and counting the number of written letters. Alternate, but less common, approaches include phonology (the spoken language) and the number of phonemes (sounds).
More information Word, Letters ... Major dictionaries The longest word in any of the major English language dictionaries is pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis (45 letters), a word that refers to a lung disease contracted from the inhalation of very fine silica particles, specifically from a volcano; medically, it is the same as silicosis. The word was deliberately coined to be the longest word in English, and has since been used[citation needed] in a close approximation of its originally intended meaning, lending at least some degree of validity to its claim.
The Oxford English Dictionary contains pseudopseudohypoparathyroidism (30 letters).
Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary does not contain antidisestablishmentarianism (28 letters), as the editors found no widespread, sustained usage of the word in its original meaning. The longest word in that dictionary is electroencephalographically (27 letters).
The longest non-technical word in major dictionaries is floccinaucinihilipilification at 29 letters. Consisting of a series of Latin words meaning "nothing" and defined as "the act of estimating something as worthless"; its usage has been recorded as far back as 1741.
Ross Eckler has noted that most of the longest English words are not likely to occur in general text, meaning non-technical present-day text seen by casual readers, in which the author did not specifically intend to use an unusually long word. According to Eckler, the longest words likely to be encountered in general text are deinstitutionalization and counterrevolutionaries, with 22 letters each.
A computer study of over a million samples of normal English prose found that the longest word one is likely to encounter on an everyday basis is uncharacteristically, at 20 letters.
The word internationalization is abbreviated "i18n", the embedded number representing the number of letters between the first and the last.
Creations of long words Coinages In his play Assemblywomen (Ecclesiazousae), the ancient Greek comedic playwright Aristophanes created a word of 171 letters (183 in the transliteration below), which describes a dish by stringing together its ingredients:
Lopadotemachoselachogaleokranioleipsanodrimhypotrimmatosilphiokarabomelitokatakechymenokichlepikossyphophattoperisteralektryonoptekephalliokigklopeleiolagoiosiraiobaphetraganopterygon. Henry Carey's farce Chrononhotonthologos (1743) holds the opening line: "Aldiborontiphoscophornio! Where left you Chrononhotonthologos?"
Thomas Love Peacock put these creations into the mouth of the phrenologist Mr. Cranium in his 1816 book Headlong Hall: osteosarchaematosplanchnochondroneuromuelous (44 characters) and osseocarnisanguineoviscericartilaginonervomedullary (51 characters).
James Joyce made up nine 100-letter words plus one 101-letter word in his novel Finnegans Wake, the most famous of which is Bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk. Appearing on the first page, it allegedly represents the symbolic thunderclap associated with the fall of Adam and Eve. As it appears nowhere else except in reference to this passage, it is generally not accepted as a real word. Sylvia Plath made mention of it in her semi-autobiographical novel The Bell Jar, when the protagonist was reading Finnegans Wake.
"Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious", the 34-letter title of a song from the movie Mary Poppins, does appear in several dictionaries, but only as a proper noun defined in reference to the song title. The attributed meaning is "a word that you say when you don't know what to say." The idea and invention of the word is credited to songwriters Robert and Richard Sherman.
Agglutinative constructions The English language permits the legitimate extension of existing words to serve new purposes by the addition of prefixes and suffixes. This is sometimes referred to as agglutinative construction. This process can create arbitrarily long words: for example, the prefixes pseudo (false, spurious) and anti (against, opposed to) can be added as many times as desired. More familiarly, the addition of numerous "great"s to a relative, such as "great-great-great-great-grandparent", can produce words of arbitrary length. In musical notation, an 8192nd note may be called a semihemidemisemihemidemisemihemidemisemiquaver.
Antidisestablishmentarianism is the longest common example of a word formed by agglutinative construction.
Technical terms Parastratiosphecomyia stratiosphecomyioides A number of scientific naming schemes can be used to generate arbitrarily long words.
The IUPAC nomenclature for organic chemical compounds is open-ended, giving rise to the 189,819-letter chemical name Methionylthreonylthreonyl . . . isoleucine for the protein also known as titin, which is involved in striated muscle formation. In nature, DNA molecules can be much bigger than protein molecules and therefore potentially be referred to with much longer chemical names. For example, the wheat chromosome 3B contains almost 1 billion base pairs, so the sequence of one of its strands, if written out in full like Adenilyladenilylguanilylcystidylthymidyl . . . , would be about 8 billion letters long. The longest published word, Acetylseryltyrosylseryliso . . . serine, referring to the coat protein of a certain strain of tobacco mosaic virus (P03575), is 1,185 letters long, and appeared in the American Chemical Society's Chemical Abstracts Service in 1964 and 1966. In 1965, the Chemical Abstracts Service overhauled its naming system and started discouraging excessively long names. In 2011, a dictionary broke this record with a 1909-letter word describing the trpA protein (P0A877).
John Horton Conway and Landon Curt Noll developed an open-ended system for naming powers of 10, in which one sexmilliaquingentsexagintillion, coming from the Latin name for 6560, is the name for 103(6560+1) = 1019683. Under the long number scale, it would be 106(6560) = 1039360.
Gammaracanthuskytodermogammarus loricatobaicalensis is sometimes cited as the longest binomial name—it is a kind of amphipod. However, this name, proposed by B. Dybowski, was invalidated by the International Code of Zoological Nomenclature in 1929 after being petitioned by Mary J. Rathbun to take up the case.
Myxococcus llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogochensis is the longest accepted binomial name for an organism. It is a bacterium found in soil collected at Llanfairpwllgwyngyll (discussed below). Parastratiosphecomyia stratiosphecomyioides is the longest accepted binomial name for any animal, or any organism visible with the naked eye. It is a species of soldier fly. The genus name Parapropalaehoplophorus (a fossil glyptodont, an extinct family of mammals related to armadillos) is two letters longer, but does not contain a similarly long species name.
Aequeosalinocalcalinoceraceoaluminosocupreovitriolic, at 52 letters, describing the spa waters at Bath, England, is attributed to Dr. Edward Strother (1675–1737). The word is composed of the following elements:
Aequeo: equal (Latin, aequo) Salino: containing salt (Latin, salinus) Calcalino: calcium (Latin, calx) Ceraceo: waxy (Latin, cera) Aluminoso: alumina (Latin) Cupreo: from "copper" Vitriolic: resembling vitriol Notable long words Place names The sign at Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateaturipukakapikimaungahoronukupokaiwhenuakitanatahu The station sign at Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch in North Wales Main article: List of long place names The longest officially recognized place name in an English-speaking country is Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateaturipukakapikimaungahoronukupokaiwhenuakitanatahu (85 letters), which is a hill in New Zealand. The name is in the Māori language. A widely recognized version of the name is Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateaturipukakapikimaungahoronukupokaiwhenuakitanatahu (85 letters), which appears on the signpost at the location (see the photo on this page). In Māori, the digraphs ng and wh are each treated as single letters.
In Canada, the longest place name is Dysart, Dudley, Harcourt, Guilford, Harburn, Bruton, Havelock, Eyre and Clyde, a township in Ontario, at 61 letters or 68 non-space characters.
The 58-letter name Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch is the name of a town on Anglesey, an island of Wales. In terms of the traditional Welsh alphabet, the name is only 51 letters long, as certain digraphs in Welsh are considered as single letters, for instance ll, ng and ch. It is generally agreed, however, that this invented name, adopted in the mid-19th century, was contrived solely to be the longest name of any town in Britain. The official name of the place is Llanfairpwllgwyngyll, commonly abbreviated to Llanfairpwll or Llanfair PG.
The longest non-contrived place name in the United Kingdom which is a single non-hyphenated word is Cottonshopeburnfoot (19 letters) and the longest which is hyphenated is Sutton-under-Whitestonecliffe (29 characters).
The longest place name in the United States (45 letters) is Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg, a lake in Webster, Massachusetts. It means "Fishing Place at the Boundaries – Neutral Meeting Grounds" and is sometimes facetiously translated as "you fish your side of the water, I fish my side of the water, nobody fishes the middle". The lake is also known as Webster Lake. The longest hyphenated names in the U.S. are Winchester-on-the-Severn, a town in Maryland, and Washington-on-the-Brazos, a notable place in Texas history. The longest single-word town names in the U.S. are Kleinfeltersville, Pennsylvania and Mooselookmeguntic, Maine.
The longest official geographical name in Australia is Mamungkukumpurangkuntjunya. It has 26 letters and is a Pitjantjatjara word meaning "where the Devil urinates".
Liechtenstein is the longest country name with single name in English. The second longest country name with single name in English is Turkmenistan. There are longer country names if one includes ones with spaces.
See also: List of short place names Personal names Guinness World Records formerly contained a category for longest personal name used.
From about 1975 to 1985, the recordholder was Adolph Blaine Charles David Earl Frederick Gerald Hubert Irvin John Kenneth Lloyd Martin Nero Oliver Paul Quincy Randolph Sherman Thomas Uncas Victor William Xerxes Yancy Zeus Wolfeschlegelsteinhausenbergerdorffvoralternwarengewissenhaftschaferswessenschafewarenwohlgepflegeundsorgfaltigkeitbeschutzenvonangreifendurchihrraubgierigfeindewelchevoralternzwolftausendjahresvorandieerscheinenwanderersteerdemenschderraumschiffgebrauchlichtalsseinursprungvonkraftgestartseinlangefahrthinzwischensternartigraumaufdersuchenachdiesternwelchegehabtbewohnbarplanetenkreisedrehensichundwohinderneurassevonverstandigmenschlichkeitkonntefortplanzenundsicherfreuenanlebenslanglichfreudeundruhemitnichteinfurchtvorangreifenvonandererintelligentgeschopfsvonhinzwischensternartigraum, Senior (746 letters), also known as Wolfe+585, Senior. After 1985 Guinness briefly awarded the record to a newborn girl with a longer name. The category was removed shortly afterward. Long birth names are often coined in protest of naming laws or for other personal reasons.
The naming law in Sweden was challenged by parents Lasse Diding and Elisabeth Hallin, who proposed the given name "Brfxxccxxmnpcccclllmmnprxvclmnckssqlbb11116" for their child (pronounced [ˈǎlːbɪn], 43 characters), which was rejected by a district court in Halmstad, southern Sweden. Words with certain characteristics of notable length Main article: List of the longest English words with one syllable Schmaltzed and strengthed (10 letters) appear to be the longest monosyllabic words recorded in The Oxford English Dictionary, while scraunched and scroonched appear to be the longest monosyllabic words recorded in Webster's Third New International Dictionary; but squirrelled (11 letters) is the longest if pronounced as one syllable only (as permitted in The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary and Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary at squirrel, and in Longman Pronunciation Dictionary). Schtroumpfed (12 letters) was coined by Umberto Eco, while broughammed (11 letters) was coined by William Harmon after broughamed (10 letters) was coined by George Bernard Shaw. Strengths is the longest word in the English language containing only one vowel letter. Euouae, a medieval musical term, is the longest English word consisting only of vowels, and the word with the most consecutive vowels. However, the "word" itself is simply a mnemonic consisting of the vowels to be sung in the phrase "seculorum Amen" at the end of the lesser doxology. (Although u was often used interchangeably with v, and the variant "Evovae" is occasionally used, the v in these cases would still be a vowel.) The longest words with no repeated letters are dermatoglyphics and uncopyrightable. The longest word whose letters are in alphabetical order is the eight-letter Aegilops, a grass genus. However, this is arguably a proper noun. There are several six-letter English words with their letters in alphabetical order, including abhors, almost, begins, biopsy, chimps and chintz. There are few 7-letter words, such as "billowy" and "beefily". The longest words whose letters are in reverse alphabetical order are sponged, wronged and trollied. The longest words recorded in OED with each vowel only once, and in order, are abstemiously, affectiously, and tragediously (OED). Fracedinously and gravedinously (constructed from adjectives in OED) have thirteen letters; Gadspreciously, constructed from Gadsprecious (in OED), has fourteen letters. Facetiously is among the few other words directly attested in OED with single occurrences of all six vowels (counting y as a vowel). The longest single palindromic word in English is rotavator, another name for a rotary tiller for breaking and aerating soil. Typed words The longest words typable with only the left hand using conventional hand placement on a QWERTY keyboard are tesseradecades, aftercataracts, dereverberated, dereverberates and the more common but sometimes hyphenated sweaterdresses. Using the right hand alone, the longest word that can be typed is johnny-jump-up, or, excluding hyphens, monimolimnion and phyllophyllin. The longest English word typable using only the top row of letters has 11 letters: rupturewort. The word teetertotter (used in North American English) is longer at 12 letters, although it is usually spelled with a hyphen. The longest using only the middle row is shakalshas (10 letters). Nine-letter words include flagfalls; eight-letter words include galahads and alfalfas. Since the bottom row contains no vowels, no standard words can be formed. The longest words typable by alternating left and right hands are antiskepticism and leucocytozoans respectively. On a Dvorak keyboard, the longest "left-handed" words are epopoeia, jipijapa, peekapoo, and quiaquia. Other such long words are papaya, Kikuyu, opaque, and upkeep. Kikuyu is typed entirely with the index finger, and so the longest one-fingered word on the Dvorak keyboard. There are no vowels on the right-hand side, and so the longest "right-handed" word is crwths. See also Lipogram List of long species names List of the longest English words with one syllable Longest English sentence Longest word in French Longest word in Romanian Longest word in Spanish Longest word in Turkish Number of words in English Scriptio continua Sesquipedalianism Donaudampfschiffahrtselektrizitätenhauptbetriebswerkbauunterbeamtengesellschaft, longest published word in German.
submitted by thegarmeyo69420 to copypasta [link] [comments]
The identity of the longest word in English depends on the definition of a word and of length.
Words may be derived naturally from the language's roots or formed by coinage and construction. Additionally, comparisons are complicated because place names may be considered words, technical terms may be arbitrarily long, and the addition of suffixes and prefixes may extend the length of words to create grammatically correct but unused or novel words.
The length of a word may also be understood in multiple ways. Most commonly, length is based on orthography (conventional spelling rules) and counting the number of written letters. Alternate, but less common, approaches include phonology (the spoken language) and the number of phonemes (sounds).
More information Word, Letters ... Major dictionaries The longest word in any of the major English language dictionaries is pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis (45 letters), a word that refers to a lung disease contracted from the inhalation of very fine silica particles, specifically from a volcano; medically, it is the same as silicosis. The word was deliberately coined to be the longest word in English, and has since been used[citation needed] in a close approximation of its originally intended meaning, lending at least some degree of validity to its claim.
The Oxford English Dictionary contains pseudopseudohypoparathyroidism (30 letters).
Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary does not contain antidisestablishmentarianism (28 letters), as the editors found no widespread, sustained usage of the word in its original meaning. The longest word in that dictionary is electroencephalographically (27 letters).
The longest non-technical word in major dictionaries is floccinaucinihilipilification at 29 letters. Consisting of a series of Latin words meaning "nothing" and defined as "the act of estimating something as worthless"; its usage has been recorded as far back as 1741.
Ross Eckler has noted that most of the longest English words are not likely to occur in general text, meaning non-technical present-day text seen by casual readers, in which the author did not specifically intend to use an unusually long word. According to Eckler, the longest words likely to be encountered in general text are deinstitutionalization and counterrevolutionaries, with 22 letters each.
A computer study of over a million samples of normal English prose found that the longest word one is likely to encounter on an everyday basis is uncharacteristically, at 20 letters.
The word internationalization is abbreviated "i18n", the embedded number representing the number of letters between the first and the last.
Creations of long words Coinages In his play Assemblywomen (Ecclesiazousae), the ancient Greek comedic playwright Aristophanes created a word of 171 letters (183 in the transliteration below), which describes a dish by stringing together its ingredients:
Lopadotemachoselachogaleokranioleipsanodrimhypotrimmatosilphiokarabomelitokatakechymenokichlepikossyphophattoperisteralektryonoptekephalliokigklopeleiolagoiosiraiobaphetraganopterygon. Henry Carey's farce Chrononhotonthologos (1743) holds the opening line: "Aldiborontiphoscophornio! Where left you Chrononhotonthologos?"
Thomas Love Peacock put these creations into the mouth of the phrenologist Mr. Cranium in his 1816 book Headlong Hall: osteosarchaematosplanchnochondroneuromuelous (44 characters) and osseocarnisanguineoviscericartilaginonervomedullary (51 characters).
James Joyce made up nine 100-letter words plus one 101-letter word in his novel Finnegans Wake, the most famous of which is Bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk. Appearing on the first page, it allegedly represents the symbolic thunderclap associated with the fall of Adam and Eve. As it appears nowhere else except in reference to this passage, it is generally not accepted as a real word. Sylvia Plath made mention of it in her semi-autobiographical novel The Bell Jar, when the protagonist was reading Finnegans Wake.
"Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious", the 34-letter title of a song from the movie Mary Poppins, does appear in several dictionaries, but only as a proper noun defined in reference to the song title. The attributed meaning is "a word that you say when you don't know what to say." The idea and invention of the word is credited to songwriters Robert and Richard Sherman.
Agglutinative constructions The English language permits the legitimate extension of existing words to serve new purposes by the addition of prefixes and suffixes. This is sometimes referred to as agglutinative construction. This process can create arbitrarily long words: for example, the prefixes pseudo (false, spurious) and anti (against, opposed to) can be added as many times as desired. More familiarly, the addition of numerous "great"s to a relative, such as "great-great-great-great-grandparent", can produce words of arbitrary length. In musical notation, an 8192nd note may be called a semihemidemisemihemidemisemihemidemisemiquaver.
Antidisestablishmentarianism is the longest common example of a word formed by agglutinative construction.
Technical terms Parastratiosphecomyia stratiosphecomyioides A number of scientific naming schemes can be used to generate arbitrarily long words.
The IUPAC nomenclature for organic chemical compounds is open-ended, giving rise to the 189,819-letter chemical name Methionylthreonylthreonyl . . . isoleucine for the protein also known as titin, which is involved in striated muscle formation. In nature, DNA molecules can be much bigger than protein molecules and therefore potentially be referred to with much longer chemical names. For example, the wheat chromosome 3B contains almost 1 billion base pairs, so the sequence of one of its strands, if written out in full like Adenilyladenilylguanilylcystidylthymidyl . . . , would be about 8 billion letters long. The longest published word, Acetylseryltyrosylseryliso . . . serine, referring to the coat protein of a certain strain of tobacco mosaic virus (P03575), is 1,185 letters long, and appeared in the American Chemical Society's Chemical Abstracts Service in 1964 and 1966. In 1965, the Chemical Abstracts Service overhauled its naming system and started discouraging excessively long names. In 2011, a dictionary broke this record with a 1909-letter word describing the trpA protein (P0A877).
John Horton Conway and Landon Curt Noll developed an open-ended system for naming powers of 10, in which one sexmilliaquingentsexagintillion, coming from the Latin name for 6560, is the name for 103(6560+1) = 1019683. Under the long number scale, it would be 106(6560) = 1039360.
Gammaracanthuskytodermogammarus loricatobaicalensis is sometimes cited as the longest binomial name—it is a kind of amphipod. However, this name, proposed by B. Dybowski, was invalidated by the International Code of Zoological Nomenclature in 1929 after being petitioned by Mary J. Rathbun to take up the case.
Myxococcus llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogochensis is the longest accepted binomial name for an organism. It is a bacterium found in soil collected at Llanfairpwllgwyngyll (discussed below). Parastratiosphecomyia stratiosphecomyioides is the longest accepted binomial name for any animal, or any organism visible with the naked eye. It is a species of soldier fly. The genus name Parapropalaehoplophorus (a fossil glyptodont, an extinct family of mammals related to armadillos) is two letters longer, but does not contain a similarly long species name.
Aequeosalinocalcalinoceraceoaluminosocupreovitriolic, at 52 letters, describing the spa waters at Bath, England, is attributed to Dr. Edward Strother (1675–1737). The word is composed of the following elements:
Aequeo: equal (Latin, aequo) Salino: containing salt (Latin, salinus) Calcalino: calcium (Latin, calx) Ceraceo: waxy (Latin, cera) Aluminoso: alumina (Latin) Cupreo: from "copper" Vitriolic: resembling vitriol Notable long words Place names The sign at Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateaturipukakapikimaungahoronukupokaiwhenuakitanatahu The station sign at Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch in North Wales Main article: List of long place names The longest officially recognized place name in an English-speaking country is Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateaturipukakapikimaungahoronukupokaiwhenuakitanatahu (85 letters), which is a hill in New Zealand. The name is in the Māori language. A widely recognized version of the name is Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateaturipukakapikimaungahoronukupokaiwhenuakitanatahu (85 letters), which appears on the signpost at the location (see the photo on this page). In Māori, the digraphs ng and wh are each treated as single letters.
In Canada, the longest place name is Dysart, Dudley, Harcourt, Guilford, Harburn, Bruton, Havelock, Eyre and Clyde, a township in Ontario, at 61 letters or 68 non-space characters.
The 58-letter name Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch is the name of a town on Anglesey, an island of Wales. In terms of the traditional Welsh alphabet, the name is only 51 letters long, as certain digraphs in Welsh are considered as single letters, for instance ll, ng and ch. It is generally agreed, however, that this invented name, adopted in the mid-19th century, was contrived solely to be the longest name of any town in Britain. The official name of the place is Llanfairpwllgwyngyll, commonly abbreviated to Llanfairpwll or Llanfair PG.
The longest non-contrived place name in the United Kingdom which is a single non-hyphenated word is Cottonshopeburnfoot (19 letters) and the longest which is hyphenated is Sutton-under-Whitestonecliffe (29 characters).
The longest place name in the United States (45 letters) is Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg, a lake in Webster, Massachusetts. It means "Fishing Place at the Boundaries – Neutral Meeting Grounds" and is sometimes facetiously translated as "you fish your side of the water, I fish my side of the water, nobody fishes the middle". The lake is also known as Webster Lake. The longest hyphenated names in the U.S. are Winchester-on-the-Severn, a town in Maryland, and Washington-on-the-Brazos, a notable place in Texas history. The longest single-word town names in the U.S. are Kleinfeltersville, Pennsylvania and Mooselookmeguntic, Maine.
The longest official geographical name in Australia is Mamungkukumpurangkuntjunya. It has 26 letters and is a Pitjantjatjara word meaning "where the Devil urinates".
Liechtenstein is the longest country name with single name in English. The second longest country name with single name in English is Turkmenistan. There are longer country names if one includes ones with spaces.
See also: List of short place names Personal names Guinness World Records formerly contained a category for longest personal name used.
From about 1975 to 1985, the recordholder was Adolph Blaine Charles David Earl Frederick Gerald Hubert Irvin John Kenneth Lloyd Martin Nero Oliver Paul Quincy Randolph Sherman Thomas Uncas Victor William Xerxes Yancy Zeus Wolfeschlegelsteinhausenbergerdorffvoralternwarengewissenhaftschaferswessenschafewarenwohlgepflegeundsorgfaltigkeitbeschutzenvonangreifendurchihrraubgierigfeindewelchevoralternzwolftausendjahresvorandieerscheinenwanderersteerdemenschderraumschiffgebrauchlichtalsseinursprungvonkraftgestartseinlangefahrthinzwischensternartigraumaufdersuchenachdiesternwelchegehabtbewohnbarplanetenkreisedrehensichundwohinderneurassevonverstandigmenschlichkeitkonntefortplanzenundsicherfreuenanlebenslanglichfreudeundruhemitnichteinfurchtvorangreifenvonandererintelligentgeschopfsvonhinzwischensternartigraum, Senior (746 letters), also known as Wolfe+585, Senior. After 1985 Guinness briefly awarded the record to a newborn girl with a longer name. The category was removed shortly afterward. Long birth names are often coined in protest of naming laws or for other personal reasons.
The naming law in Sweden was challenged by parents Lasse Diding and Elisabeth Hallin, who proposed the given name "Brfxxccxxmnpcccclllmmnprxvclmnckssqlbb11116" for their child (pronounced [ˈǎlːbɪn], 43 characters), which was rejected by a district court in Halmstad, southern Sweden. Words with certain characteristics of notable length Main article: List of the longest English words with one syllable Schmaltzed and strengthed (10 letters) appear to be the longest monosyllabic words recorded in The Oxford English Dictionary, while scraunched and scroonched appear to be the longest monosyllabic words recorded in Webster's Third New International Dictionary; but squirrelled (11 letters) is the longest if pronounced as one syllable only (as permitted in The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary and Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary at squirrel, and in Longman Pronunciation Dictionary). Schtroumpfed (12 letters) was coined by Umberto Eco, while broughammed (11 letters) was coined by William Harmon after broughamed (10 letters) was coined by George Bernard Shaw. Strengths is the longest word in the English language containing only one vowel letter. Euouae, a medieval musical term, is the longest English word consisting only of vowels, and the word with the most consecutive vowels. However, the "word" itself is simply a mnemonic consisting of the vowels to be sung in the phrase "seculorum Amen" at the end of the lesser doxology. (Although u was often used interchangeably with v, and the variant "Evovae" is occasionally used, the v in these cases would still be a vowel.) The longest words with no repeated letters are dermatoglyphics and uncopyrightable. The longest word whose letters are in alphabetical order is the eight-letter Aegilops, a grass genus. However, this is arguably a proper noun. There are several six-letter English words with their letters in alphabetical order, including abhors, almost, begins, biopsy, chimps and chintz. There are few 7-letter words, such as "billowy" and "beefily". The longest words whose letters are in reverse alphabetical order are sponged, wronged and trollied. The longest words recorded in OED with each vowel only once, and in order, are abstemiously, affectiously, and tragediously (OED). Fracedinously and gravedinously (constructed from adjectives in OED) have thirteen letters; Gadspreciously, constructed from Gadsprecious (in OED), has fourteen letters. Facetiously is among the few other words directly attested in OED with single occurrences of all six vowels (counting y as a vowel). The longest single palindromic word in English is rotavator, another name for a rotary tiller for breaking and aerating soil. Typed words The longest words typable with only the left hand using conventional hand placement on a QWERTY keyboard are tesseradecades, aftercataracts, dereverberated, dereverberates and the more common but sometimes hyphenated sweaterdresses. Using the right hand alone, the longest word that can be typed is johnny-jump-up, or, excluding hyphens, monimolimnion and phyllophyllin. The longest English word typable using only the top row of letters has 11 letters: rupturewort. The word teetertotter (used in North American English) is longer at 12 letters, although it is usually spelled with a hyphen. The longest using only the middle row is shakalshas (10 letters). Nine-letter words include flagfalls; eight-letter words include galahads and alfalfas. Since the bottom row contains no vowels, no standard words can be formed. The longest words typable by alternating left and right hands are antiskepticism and leucocytozoans respectively. On a Dvorak keyboard, the longest "left-handed" words are epopoeia, jipijapa, peekapoo, and quiaquia. Other such long words are papaya, Kikuyu, opaque, and upkeep. Kikuyu is typed entirely with the index finger, and so the longest one-fingered word on the Dvorak keyboard. There are no vowels on the right-hand side, and so the longest "right-handed" word is crwths. See also Lipogram List of long species names List of the longest English words with one syllable Longest English sentence Longest word in French Longest word in Romanian Longest word in Spanish Longest word in Turkish Number of words in English Scriptio continua Sesquipedalianism Donaudampfschiffahrtselektrizitätenhauptbetriebswerkbauunterbeamtengesellschaft, longest published word in German.
2023.05.27 03:48 MundyyyT Cycle Results: CA ORM 3.9+/518 MD/PhD Applicant
My friend u/frankly___dank told me to make a Sankey, post is flagged as a spoiler so people who are scrolling by and want to preserve their mental health won't see the post unless they click on it. Feel free to DM if you have any MSTP-specific questions and I'll do my best to answer, although I will be trying to limit my Reddit consumption going forward so response times may be extended
I initially intended to pursue a Ph.D. but decided to pursue the dual degree ~1 year prior to applying. Sankey is below:
Secondaries submitted late July - early October, interview invitations extended mid-August - late January (withdrew from all interviews scheduled after New Year)
Overall: Happy to have kicked off and continued to live 2023 on a high note. mdphd and premed made me concerned that I wouldn't get into an MD-PhD program, so I'm pleasantly surprised I did. The extent of my success (esp. being invited to interview at T30s, T20s, and a T5-10 along with other hard-hitting MSTPs) was also something I didn't expect.
Did I get extremely lucky? I don't doubt it. But I'll try my best not to squander what I've been given.
Self-diagnosed strengths:
submitted by MundyyyT to premed [link] [comments]
I initially intended to pursue a Ph.D. but decided to pursue the dual degree ~1 year prior to applying. Sankey is below:
Secondaries submitted late July - early October, interview invitations extended mid-August - late January (withdrew from all interviews scheduled after New Year)
Overall: Happy to have kicked off and continued to live 2023 on a high note. mdphd and premed made me concerned that I wouldn't get into an MD-PhD program, so I'm pleasantly surprised I did. The extent of my success (esp. being invited to interview at T30s, T20s, and a T5-10 along with other hard-hitting MSTPs) was also something I didn't expect.
Did I get extremely lucky? I don't doubt it. But I'll try my best not to squander what I've been given.
Self-diagnosed strengths:
- High stats -- my mindset going into college was to do as well as I could in class to keep all of my post-graduation doors open, a strategy which (goes without saying) paid off
- I strongly suspect my writing was good. I got a lot of feedback on the clarity and fluidity of my primary essays (personal statement, MD/PhD essay, Significant Research Experience) from non-premed friends & professors who weren't afraid to voice direct but constructive criticism.
- Interviewers & letter-writers (including my PI) indicated my reference letters were extremely strong and painted me in a highly positive light
- My research experience was "productivity dense"; I had relatively few hours (2 school years, 1 full summer, and a few weeks full-time before submitting my primary), but lots of tangibles to show for my time.
- As an aside, I am extremely lucky to have had a PI who prioritized mentorship & a positive professor-student relationship. My PI also pulled strings to get me paid hourly for my research during the school year so I could focus on learning & growing as a scientist while also helping my family pay for my schooling. I'm only now becoming aware of how rare such a setup is for undergraduates.
- During the application cycle, I also got a few abstracts accepted to some non-school-specific meetings and sent in update letters.
- Long-term commitment to a small handful of activities (TAing, research, sport) and being able to write + talk about them enthusiastically
- A lot of my secondaries (in hindsight) were submitted pretty late. Some did turn into interviews, but some also didn't
- Low clinical and nonclinical hours, all of which were completed within 12 months of applying. Less of an issue for people applying MD-PhD but likely shut me out of the UCs and schools whose MD committees are the first line of defense for MD-PhD admissions
- Relatively lacking service is likely also why I was waitlisted at UChicago post-interview and didn't get off of it
- Research experience: My hours had substance, but I suspect an even longer track record of productivity & bigger tangibles such as authorship on a publication or winning the Goldwater Scholarship would have given my application even more range.
- <520 MCAT likely didn't help my case at other T10s and T20s I applied to with >=520 medians. It also turned me off from applying to places like JHU, Vanderbilt, Columbia, and NYU as I concluded my application would have little pull there. In hindsight, maybe I should have applied...
- No leadership experience aside from TAing
- You really have no idea how things will shake out or what specifically about your application got you in at the schools that liked you. Each school has a mind of its own, and while I like to pretend I have a handle on what went on with my own application, the real answer (that I'll never know) is going to be behind closed doors in the admissions offices
- I tried to keep things conversational in my interviews and didn't try to resume-dump. As someone who likes to talk and type a lot, I'm aware that people like to hear or see themselves, so I also asked my interviewers a lot of questions or bounced off things they said.
- I can't comment on whether my strategy is successful (going back to point 1 -- I have no idea what truly made or broke the deal), but I did turn 4 out of 8 interview invitations into acceptances, so I think my interview skills are at least passable.
- MD-PhD programs (or at least the NIH-funded MSTPs) not discriminating based on state residency made organizing a school list significantly easier. I could just go by GPA & MCAT medians + research and location interests
- With that said, I don't doubt it helps to signal that you have ties to programs and/or their state. All of these are observations:
- It's possible I got invited to interview at all three MD-PhDs in Missouri because I attended college in the state (and in the case of SLU, in the same county)
- A lot of people at my UChicago interview day had ties to Chicago and Illinois in general
- I was one of many WashU students interviewing at WashU's MSTP
- Most of the interviewees at UTSW on my interview day went to a UT (typically UT Austin or Dallas) and/or are from Texas, and a lot of people at my Einstein interview day were from NY and/or attended college in the state
- Penn State's interview day had a lot of people who lived in Pennsylvania and/or went to Penn State
- A good chunk of people at Indiana's interview day attended IU or went to Purdue
- I wrote about my ties to the state of Maryland and it's possible it played a role in UMD's decision to extend an interview
- With that said, I don't doubt it helps to signal that you have ties to programs and/or their state. All of these are observations:
- In the interest of transparency, I will disclose that I went to WashU for college (PI is unaffiliated with the medical school, however) and that may have played a role in my getting accepted to WashU. If you want to interpret these results conservatively, you can assume I otherwise wouldn't have gotten in.
- I don't know how much attending a T20 undergraduate school helps in general with things like this, and I'm aware the jury's still out on the influence of undergraduate selectivity on an application. It's likely a correlation != causation thing since my experience at WashU showed me just how many ridiculously smart classmates I had (and how lucky I am to get into a school like this...again). If you put people who are already extremely ambitious and driven into a resource-rich environment like a T10 or T20 undergrad, it's not surprising when they take full advantage and build a strong profile.
- You can (and will) make friends on the interview trail, especially if you have more than a handful of interviews. MD-PhD is a small world that is (thankfully) full of personable individuals whose interests & hobbies may or may not align with yours
- Every MSTP & MD-PhD program I interviewed at (or was invited to interview at) impressed me in several ways and I would have felt great attending any of the schools I got offered a position at:
- WashU's MSTP probably needs no introduction. One of the largest (if not the largest in the event Penn's class is smaller than usual) and most well-funded MSTPs in the US at a medical school that rakes in NIH money to fund moonshot projects in biomedical research. If you're excited about (or willing to tolerate -- depends on what kind of person you are) St. Louis, this program will pay you a generous stipend relative to COL to come and see what it's all about.
- Another school that I took a particular liking to is Einstein, their MSTP trainee outcomes and program administration are excellent. If you have an interest in working with underserved populations, Einstein's location and mission cater very well to that. The school subsidizes housing that's located very close to the medical school and its facilities and also provides what I consider a very generous stipend ($42,000+/year) to go along with it.
- UT San Antonio's program director, who is also a very well-known SDN user, is extremely dedicated to the success of his students and is always looking to improve the structure and resources his program offers. UTSA's program (STX-MSTP) received an extremely good impact score on their T32 grant renewal. Deservedly so. It's a program that punches well above the medical school's USNews rankings
- I AP'd out of Gen Chem and also didn't take OChem 2, which I thought would pose issues when I applied to medical school. I'm not inclined to believe it introduced drag to my app as most schools list their requirements as being pre-matriculation requirements, and not pre-application. Schools that don't accept AP credit (SLU) also still invited me to interview.
2023.05.27 03:00 nointro-225 Every Matchup Between Power 5 Teams
Because it’s the offseason, I decided to see how many potential matchups there are between Power 5 Teams, and how many have been played. I made this chart to display these matchups. Out of the 64 current Power 5 members, Notre Dame, and the 4 future teams joining the Big 12, there are a total of 2,346 potential matchups possible. Out of those, 1,802 matchups have been played, with 31 new matchups having been officially scheduled. This leaves 513 matchups that have not been played or scheduled as of yet.
Teams With The Most Matchups Already
2 programs are tied for having the most matchups played, those being Michigan and Nebraska who only have 5 teams never played. 4 programs are tied for the second most, those being Miami, Missouri, Ohio State, Penn State, and Texas who all have 6 remaining matchups.
Michigan, Nebraska, Ohio State, and Texas make sense, as they all have a long history of success and are commonly accepted as blue bloods of the sport. They likely have more games played when compared to other teams in the sport, whether that be due to more bowl games achieved or getting more reach due to their success.
Penn State and Miami could be explained due to their longer history as independents, giving them more options when scheduling (Notre Dame has played all but 7 teams). These two teams have also had a history of success much like the blue blood teams mentioned above.
This leaves us with Missouri. They seem out of place compared to the other teams, but do have a good history of their own. The explanation I could come up with is due to their location near the middle of the country, giving them equal access to both eastern and western teams. They also have history in multiple conferences such as the Big8/12 and SEC, giving them a larger pool of conference opponents than many other teams.
Teams With The Least Matchups Already Played
Not unexpected, UCF has the least matchups played with 30 Power5 teams never played. This is likely due to their age, having only been competing since 1979 and only having joined FBS ranks in 1996. They are making strides to play new teams, having 4 new future matchups on the schedule already and more likely matchups to happen when they join the Big 12.
Ole Miss is next, having 28 teams they have never played. I don’t have a concrete theory as to why this is the case. One idea is that many teams may have refused to play. Legendary Georgia Tech coach Bobby Dodd famously refused to ever play in Mississippi, so something similar may have happened with other teams. If anyone else has a theory, please leave it in the comments!
In third place is Utah, with 26 teams never played. Their explanation is similar to UCF’s, being a new Power 5 member joining the Pac-12 in 2011.
Likely Future Conference Matchups
A few matchups will likely be played within the next few years as a result of new conference realignment.
Unplayed Matchups That Surprised Me
Florida State-Texas: 2 major teams in the South with passionate fanbases, I would’ve expected at least a bowl matchup by now.
Penn State-Virginia Tech: 2 programs with a history of independence and close proximity. Matchups were scheduled in 2020 and 2025, though both were cancelled.
Duke-Vanderbilt: 2 nerd schools in nearby states? It would just make sense to play at least once!
LSU-Michigan: This one surprised me the most, both teams having great histories and sustained success. I could see a playoff matchup in the near future.
All matchup info is from Winsipedia. If any information is incorrect, please let me know. And let me know which unplayed matchup surprised you the most in the comments! Hope everyone finds this interesting!
submitted by nointro-225 to CFB [link] [comments]
Teams With The Most Matchups Already
2 programs are tied for having the most matchups played, those being Michigan and Nebraska who only have 5 teams never played. 4 programs are tied for the second most, those being Miami, Missouri, Ohio State, Penn State, and Texas who all have 6 remaining matchups.
Michigan, Nebraska, Ohio State, and Texas make sense, as they all have a long history of success and are commonly accepted as blue bloods of the sport. They likely have more games played when compared to other teams in the sport, whether that be due to more bowl games achieved or getting more reach due to their success.
Penn State and Miami could be explained due to their longer history as independents, giving them more options when scheduling (Notre Dame has played all but 7 teams). These two teams have also had a history of success much like the blue blood teams mentioned above.
This leaves us with Missouri. They seem out of place compared to the other teams, but do have a good history of their own. The explanation I could come up with is due to their location near the middle of the country, giving them equal access to both eastern and western teams. They also have history in multiple conferences such as the Big8/12 and SEC, giving them a larger pool of conference opponents than many other teams.
Teams With The Least Matchups Already Played
Not unexpected, UCF has the least matchups played with 30 Power5 teams never played. This is likely due to their age, having only been competing since 1979 and only having joined FBS ranks in 1996. They are making strides to play new teams, having 4 new future matchups on the schedule already and more likely matchups to happen when they join the Big 12.
Ole Miss is next, having 28 teams they have never played. I don’t have a concrete theory as to why this is the case. One idea is that many teams may have refused to play. Legendary Georgia Tech coach Bobby Dodd famously refused to ever play in Mississippi, so something similar may have happened with other teams. If anyone else has a theory, please leave it in the comments!
In third place is Utah, with 26 teams never played. Their explanation is similar to UCF’s, being a new Power 5 member joining the Pac-12 in 2011.
Likely Future Conference Matchups
A few matchups will likely be played within the next few years as a result of new conference realignment.
| Iowa State | Houston |
|---|---|
| Iowa State | UCF |
| TCU | UCF |
| Texas Tech | UCF |
| Indiana | UCLA |
| Rutgers | UCLA |
| Maryland | USC |
| Rutgers | USC |
| Mississippi State | Oklahoma |
| South Carolina | Oklahoma |
Unplayed Matchups That Surprised Me
Florida State-Texas: 2 major teams in the South with passionate fanbases, I would’ve expected at least a bowl matchup by now.
Penn State-Virginia Tech: 2 programs with a history of independence and close proximity. Matchups were scheduled in 2020 and 2025, though both were cancelled.
Duke-Vanderbilt: 2 nerd schools in nearby states? It would just make sense to play at least once!
LSU-Michigan: This one surprised me the most, both teams having great histories and sustained success. I could see a playoff matchup in the near future.
All matchup info is from Winsipedia. If any information is incorrect, please let me know. And let me know which unplayed matchup surprised you the most in the comments! Hope everyone finds this interesting!
2023.05.27 02:24 Quirky-Motor As Asian American and Pacific Islander heritage month draws to a close here in the United States, I wanted to share an EXPANDED collection of write-ups featuring the stories of Asians/Pacific Islanders who are currently missing or whose cases have not been resolved.
As Asian American and Pacific Islander heritage month draws to a close here in the United States, I wanted to share a collection of write-ups featuring the stories of Asians/Pacific Islanders who are currently missing or whose cases have not been resolved. This is an expansion of a piece I post annually and therefore may it sound similar. These are mostly my pieces as well as a few other cases that I have remembered reading about over the last year or two including some cases recommended by readers. Feel free to add other cases which have stuck with you down in the comment section. I hope to garner some exposure for these lesser known cases and links to sources can be found at the bottom or embedded.
Khoi Dang Vu was a deaf American man who went missing from his family’s home in 2007 in Vancouver, Washington. He left on a rainy night without his coat, bike, or any belongings. His case is now considered a homicide and no trace of him has ever been found. True Crime Bullsh*t, an investigative podcast, has surmised that Vu may be a victim of serial killer Israel Keyes. The FBI considers the case a kidnapping. Khoi is of Vietnamese descent. My write up here- https://www.reddit.com/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/g89b2z/what_causes_someone_to_leave_their_home_in_the/
https://www.fbi.gov/wanted/kidnap/khoi-dang-vu
Slideshow made my Khoi's sister- www.youtube.com/watch?v=8IuTeb58vH0&t=0s
Wallace Guidroz went missing from Tacoma in 1983 when he was only two years old. His father took him to a park, went on a walk with a mysterious man, and then when he returned Wallace was gone. Wallace has never been seen again. He is of Korean and African American descent. https://www.reddit.com/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/mdtktl/2_%C2%BD_year_old_wallace_guidroz_disappeared_while/
https://charleyproject.org/case/wallace-guidroz
Helen Doe is an unidentified decedent who died in a semi-truck crash in Kalama, Washington in 1991. Although she is believed to be Native American, Asian, Hispanic, and mixed heritage cannot be ruled out. Her story can be found here. A new facial reconstruction can be see here. https://unidentified-awareness.fandom.com/wiki/Helen_Doe https://www.reddit.com/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/lnv1b9/extensive_write_up_on_the_bizarre_case_of_helen/
https://www.koin.com/news/special-reports/the-mystery-of-helen-doe-kalama-crash-1991/
Grays Harbor Jane Doe was found in 1984 off of a logging road in Southern Washington state. She was middle aged and believed to be of Asian descent. You can read about her here. https://unidentified-awareness.fandom.com/wiki/Grays_Harbor_County_Jane_Doe
In 1963 the body of an unidentified man was found floating in the Spokane River in Spokane, Washington. The man had most likely drowned. He is believed to be of Asian descent but white and mixed descent could not be ruled out. His story, as well as the stories of 16 other unknown persons from Spokane can be found here. https://www.reddit.com/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/liqj98/extensive_write_up_on_17_of_spokane_countys/
https://www.doenetwork.org/cases/1670umwa.html
Gary Ridgway aka the Green River Killer terrorized the Pacific Northwest for decades. What many people do not know is that the Green River task force is still in operation. Ridgway confessed to 71 murders, but only around 49 bodies have been found meaning there are more victims waiting to be discovered or reported missing. Two of Gary Ridgway’s known victims were of Asian American or Pacific Islander backgrounds. Marie Malvar, who was of Filipino descent, and Kimi Kai Pitsor who was native Hawaiian, but there may be more. To read about the stories of these young girls as well as other victims of Ridgway you can start here. https://www.reddit.com/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/gpbcll/what_everyone_has_wrong_about_ridgway_extensive/
https://kingcounty.gov/depts/sheriff/about-us/enforcement/investigations/green-river.aspx
Diane Nguyen Robbins was only 13 in 1985 when she was last seen. She disappeared with her 21 year old friend, Molly Purdin, who was later found murdered. Both Diane and her friend were from Kennewick, Washington but Molly’s was found in northern King County. Gary Ridgway is a suspect in both cases. Diane is of Vietnamese and white descent. https://charleyproject.org/case/diane-nguyen-robbins
Edward Ryon Makuahanai Aikau, usually known as Eddie Aikau, a famous lifeguard and surfer, was credited with saving over 500 people at Waimea bay on Oahu’s north shore during his tenure as lifeguard. In fact not one person was reported drowned during Eddie’s shifts at the beach. In 1978, 31 year old Aikau had decided to join the Polynesia Voyaging society, a group who planned to travel from Hawaii to Tahiti using only outrigger canoes. Shortly into their journey one canoe sprung a leak and eventually capsized 12 miles south of Molokai. Eddie paddled on his surfboard towards Lanai in a valiant effort to summon help, but soon disappeared. The US Coast Guard were able to save all the passengers and a huge search was launched but Eddie was never found and is presumed drowned. Eddie Aikau is a household name in Hawaii and in the surfing community. Competitions bearing his name and t-shirts, bumper stickers, and other items inscribed with “Eddie would go” are a constant reminder of his legacy and memory. Eddie was of Native Hawaiian and Caucasian, mostly Portuguese, descent. His story can be found here. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eddie_Aikau
Rachel Mellon, sometimes reported as Rachel Mellon Skemp or Rachel Mellon Kemp was a 13 year old who disappeared from her Illinois home when she was home sick one day in 1996. Her step-father is the primary suspect in her disappearance and diary entries from several months earlier reported that her step dad had touched her inappropriately and tried to kiss her. Rachel is of Asian descent but her family reports she is often mistaken for Greek or Italian. Her case can be found here. https://charleyproject.org/case/rachel-marie-mellon
Hang Lee, a 17 year old girl, went missing from St Paul Minnesota on January 12th 1993. Hang was last seen with a friend Kia “Nikki” Lee. She left home with this friend between 6:00 and 7:00 p.m. but when Nikki returned home an hour later, Hang was not with her. Nikki initially told authorities Hang had left with some unidentified young men. She later changed her story and said Hang had gone to a job interview with Nikki's own employer, Mark Steven Wallace, at Wallace's small painting and carpentry business on Iroquois Avenue. Wallace told Nikki that he was looking to hire another employee and she suggested her friend Hang as Hang was looking for a new job. Nikki thought that this request from Wallace was odd as he did not have enough work to hire another employee at that time. Nikki eventually told authorities that she and Hang went to Wallace's place of work and drove around with him in a white truck before switching and driving around in a tan Chevy Cavalier. Wallace dropped Nikki off and then left with Hang in the car. Wallace also told Nikki to not report what happened to the police.After a few interviews with the police Nikki retained an attorney and is no longer cooperating. Wallace denied involvement but also retained an attorney. Wallace is the prime suspect in the disappearance of Hang Lee. He has a record which includes rape, kidnapping, stalking, and drug possession. Hang Lee has never been located and her mother and 13 siblings are still looking for her.Hang is described as a sweet and naïve teenager who is only 17 and 1993. She was 5 ft tall and weighed 90 lb. She was last seen wearing a lightweight black leather jacket, a black t-shirt with "Skid Row" written on the back, black jeans or slacks, sneakers and several pieces of jewelry, including two silver bracelets. She is described as an Asian female with black hair and brown eyes. Her parents moved from Lao (sometimes spelled Laos in the US), and she is Hmong descent. She speaks both English and Hmong. She left behind her purse, a paycheck, and all of her other belongings.Full article here.
Deborah Palmer was only 7 years old in 1997 when she was last seen getting ready for school. Her mother said goodbye as Deborah left the home to walk a few blocks to her elementary school in Oak Harbor, Washington. When Deborah’s mother tried to drop off lunch a few hours later, she was shocked to learn that her daughter never arrived. Five days later, Deborah’s body was found on a beach a few miles away. She had been strangled but not sexually assaulted. Her case is cold and unsolved 25 years later. Deborah is of African American and Filipino descent. https://www.q13fox.com/washingtons-most-wanted/little-girl-doesnt-show-up-for-school-but-shows-up-days-later-dead-on-a-beach
In September of 2019, Tampa native Paulino Norberto Del Mundo Japor Jr. decided she wanted to go on a 10 vacation to Cozumel, Mexico but during a layover in Dallas she called her sister and asked for help getting a ticket back to Florida as she had changed her mind about going to Mexico. Her family said on the phone she sounded “desperate” and “incoherent.” She never boarded a flight home or boarded her plane to Mexico. Her last known whereabouts were documented on security tapes from the Dallas airport. Her phone and bank account have not been used since that day and she was never seen again. Paulino is a transgender woman who went by the names Paula, Paulina, or Pauline. Although Paula had lived as a woman for years she had not medically transitioned and it appears she still used Paulino Norberto as her legal first and middle name. She is of Filipino descent and her family is still hoping for answers. https://charleyproject.org/case/paulino-norberto-del-mundo-japor-jr
In 1999, Xuan Cao, a 53-year-old man from China, was visiting the USA as part of a tour group. His tour group had just gotten to a hotel in North Bergen, NJ, when Xuan said he was going out to make a phone call. He disappeared and never came back. He left behind his passport and all of his luggage. It is not believed to be a voluntary disappearance.
In 1990, Tu Thi-Cam Tran, a student at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County, vanished one night on her way back to her car from the University Center. Tu, who was of Vietnamese descent, was 24 years old at the time, and in her senior year at UMBC. She went missing in the small window of time between leaving her classroom and getting into her car. Here's a write-up on her case with some more information.
Ashok Kuman Narain was last seen in Eugene, Oregon in either 1987 or 1988 where he lived with his wife and young daughter after moving from Fiji several years earlier. In 1987 the dismembered body of a pregnant woman and the body of a toddler were found floating nearby in Washington and Oregon. 20 years later these bodies were identified as Raj Mati Narain and Kamnee Koushal, the wife and daughter of Ashok, after Raj’s brother read a story about the unidentified bodies online. He had not heard from his sister since 1987 when Raj’s letters back to her family in Fiji mysteriously stopped. Ashok is wanted for questioning but his whereabouts are unknown. Authorities are looking for a white 1980 Toyota Tercel with the Oregon license plate number KUV762, which disappeared with Ashok and may be connected to Raj and Kamnee's homicides. Both Oregon and Washington authorities are investigating his disappearance.Most sources say the family is of Indo Fijian descent, however, the Charley project now reports that Ashok is of native Fijian descent. You can read their tragic story here. https://charleyproject.org/case/ashok-kumar-narain
Queens Jane Doe was an unidentified woman who fell to her death accidentally after falling off an elevated train platform in Queens, New York in January, 2000. She is described as an 18 to 28 year old Asian or Pacific Islander woman who is 5 ft 1 in in height and weighed 113 lb. She had brown eyes and 7” straight dark brown hair. She was wearing a dark brown Albert Duke brand leather jacket, a blue and white plaid button-up shirt, a dark colored bra, blue jeans, white underwear, and black Euro sneakers or boots. She was also wearing earrings. Her identity is still a mystery to this day. You can find more information here, https://unidentified-awareness.fandom.com/wiki/Queens_Jane_Doe_(January_2000)) but please be careful as post-mortem photos are available of this woman.
In 2011, Mansoor Riaz, a Microsoft software engineer, vanished one night from his Bellevue, Washington apartment. Riaz is of Pakistani descent. His story can be found here.
https://www.reddit.com/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/msgolf/a_software_developer_at_mircosoft_vanished_from/
https://charleyproject.org/case/mansoor-riaz
Yuan Xia Wang went missing near Washington DC when she was headed for a doctor’s appointment. Yuan had been found at Dulles Airport when a man who was smuggling people into the country was detained and Yuan was one of his charges. Police became suspicious when Yuan who was supposedly a Thai citizen could not speak or understand Thai, but rather spoke Mandarin. Yuan told authorities her parents in Fuzhou, China had paid money for this man to get her into the country using a Thai passport. She was supposed to live with an aunt in the US, but she didn't know where or who this person was so she was placed in foster care for the time being. Other reports say that her smuggler was supposed to take her to a hotel in Alexandria, Virginia. Her foster parents hired a Mandarin speaking babysitter to stay with her until she was enrolled in at a local middle school. Yuan went missing only a few weeks later while on the way to a doctor's appointment. She reportedly got off the school bus and was supposed to take a cab to the doctors but vanished by the time the cab arrived. Although Yuan said she was 12, she was 5’ 6” in height and most people thought she was probably 14-15 at the time of her disappearance. She is of Chinese descent and speaks Mandarin. Police believe she either ran away, was kidnapped by her family members or smugglers, or met with foul play. She may have been seen in Kansas city in 2008. Sadly her dentals, fingerprints, and DNA and not available. https://www.reddit.com/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/jbtixc/yuan_xia_wangmissing_from_lincolnia_virginia/
https://charleyproject.org/case/yuan-xia-wang
Su Cha Kim a 54 year old shop owner from Twin Falls, Idaho Was found murdered in her massage parlor in 1997. Her case is unsolved and cold. Unfortunately, little information is available online. https://www.reddit.com/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/njhce2/the_1997_murder_of_su_cha_kim_in_twin_falls_id/
https://magicvalley.com/news/local/twin-falls-police-hope-passing-years-will-help-solve-cold-cases/article_7c83fca5-9dfd-5fd6-915f-063719bc0117.html
Faloma Luhk, 10, and Maleina Luhk, 9, disappeared while waiting for their school bus in As Teo, Saipan, Northern Mariana Islands, on May 25th, 2011. The girls were last seen sitting on a concrete slab at 6:10 a.m. across the road from their bus stop, only 300 feet from the home they shared with their grandparents. The bus arrived and left without them at 6:30 am but the girls were not reported missing until they didn’t come home after school that day. The 12 mile long island of Saipan was searched thoroughly by friends, family, locals, and the FBI but no trace of the girls or their things were ever found and their disappearance remains one of the most well known mysteries from the Northern Mariana Islands. Both girls are described as Pacific Islander females with brown hair and brown eyes. In 2011, Faloma had bronze colored highlights in her bangs, and Maleina had a large birthmark on her left cheek. She is reported as small and short for her age. A distant family member by marriage, who was later arrested for domestic violence, is the prime suspect in the case. He has never been named publicly. https://www.saipantribune.com/index.php/disappearance-of-luhk-sisters-marks-10-years/
https://www.guampdn.com/news/local/10-years-later-fbi-still-looking-for-luhk-sisters-who-went-missing-from-saipan-bus/article_f22e2472-cc38-50ac-a187-2ad5f3795155.html
Dong Chull Jung disappeared within minutes in Lakewood, Washington. The 78 year old was residing at the Golden Lion Motel on Tacoma Way in Lakewood, Washington. The establishment has long been a hotbed of criminal activity and violence since at least the 1990s. On average the police responded to incidents at the 24-room hotel over 100 times per year. November 22nd 2003 was one of those times. On that day witnesses called the police after hearing a “disturbance” in Dong’s room. When the authorities arrived, they found a giant pool of blood on the floor as well as Dong’s prescription eyeglasses, but Dong was nowhere to be found. According to the News Tribune, a paper out of Tacoma, one week before Dong’s disappearance he was granted a temporary domestic violence protection order from a Paul C. Jung, who might be Dong’s adult son. In June of 2003, someone named Hae Sung Jung, got a restraining order against Dong. Hae might be the estranged wife of Dong, but this isn’t known for sure. There are vague reports that Dong was having “marital issues'' at the time of his disappearance. Very little information is available in the case. The Golden Lion Inn was finally torn down in 2017 but the fate of the elderly man who resided within remains a mystery. Dong is described as an Asian (Korean) male, with brown eyes and thinning gray hair. He is 5’6'' and weighs 135 lbs. Dong wears prescription eyeglasses but they were left behind when he vanished. If you have any information regarding the disappearance of Dong Jung please call Pierce County Crime Stoppers 253-591-5959. https://charleyproject.org/case/dong-chull-jung
Gordon Kaipo Kealoha, 59, disappeared along with his dog Mahina in 2011. They were last seen fishing near Honolulu where they lived on July 8; Gordon cherished Mahina and brought her almost everywhere he went. After his disappearance, Gordon's white minivan was found abandoned, and his dinghy was found in the water, floating away from his home. Gordon is 6'1 and 250 pounds, and he is of Native Hawaiian descent.
https://charleyproject.org/case/gordon-kaipo-kealoha
Amber Aiaz and Melissa Fu were mother and daughter who went missing In November, 2019 from Irvine, California. The story of their disappearance and possible kidnapping is complicated. I would suggest reading the story here or here if you are interested in the details but the basic story is this. Amber's husband, Cheng Zhang, reported his wife and stepdaughter missing to the police about a week after they were last seen. He said that a Chinese man and woman came to his door, put something on his face and he passed out. He reported that when he woke up he found blood and evidence of a struggle in the apartment. He also found a note telling him not to report his wife and daughter missing to the police for at least several days and continued to get notes over the next week. He did what the notes instructed for the next several days. When he finally did report his wife and stepdaughter missing, police were skeptical of his story to say the least. Several months later police reported that they had found nothing to indicate that Cheng’s story was untrue, including over 40 hours of interviews with him and 44 days of around the clock surveillance. In the past Amber had told acquaintances that she was a very wealthy woman who had millions of dollars to her name. While this was not true, authorities speculated that Amber may have been kidnapped for ransom only for her captors to find out that her story of riches was nothing more than a farce. Amber's money has not been touched in either her Chinese or American bank accounts. Both mother and daughter left behind their passports and there's no indication that either of them have entered China.
Amber is described as a 34-year-old Chinese woman who is 5'9 and weighed 180 lb. She has black hair and brown eyes. When last seen she was wearing a black shirt, a black vest, black fitted pants with white writing on them, and light colored shoes. She may use the name Mei Yi Wu or Meiyi W. Wu.
Melissa is described as a 12 or 13 year old Chinese female with black hair and brown eyes. She was 5 '11” in height and weighed about 200 lb. She was last seen wearing a black tracksuit.
Cheng described the unidentified abductors as a Chinese couple in their 40s. Both had average builds. The woman was reported to be about 5’8” and had her black hair tied back in a bun. The man was of average build about 190 lb. and 5 '10”. He had short black hair. The couple may have been driving a black Cadillac and they may have been seen near the apartment complex that day by other neighbors.
Destiny Dee Sanith was last seen by her family on March 3rd, 2022 in Williamstown New Jersey. At about 2:30 in the afternoon on March 3rd, she asked her mom if she could borrow the car to go visit a friend in South Philadelphia. When Destiny did not return in the evening her mother learned that she never made it to her friend's house that day. New Jersey police had contact with Destiny at about 5:20 a.m. on March 4th In Folsom New Jersey. Destiny and her car were near a strip mall at the time. What exactly happened is not clear but police reported they helped Destiny move her car into a parking spot and then gave her a ride to a Wawa convenience store about a mile up the road. Destiny's family has reported that they have surveillance video of Destiny entering and then later leaving the Wawa store after purchasing a drink. At about 9:00 a.m. she was seen leaving the store with a drink crossing the road, turning into another convenience store and then going behind the building and out of view. This is the last known sighting and location of Destiny Sanith. On March 5th when Destiny had still not returned home she was reported missing to the police and her family learned about her interaction with the police on the morning of March 4th. Destiny has not been seen or heard from since.
Destiny is described as an Asian female 27 years old, who is 5'6 and height and weighs about 160 lb. She reportedly has short wavy brown hair and brown eyes. She was last seen wearing black sweatpants, a black Nike sweatshirt, a backpack, white and red Air Jordan sneakers, wearing earrings and carrying a coffee. She has a tattoo of the Virgo symbol on her right hand. Her nickname is Dara. Her family has set up a GoFundMe to help find Destiny and hire a private investigator. Full article here.
Myong Keun Noah, who went by the nickname Mike, was seen by his family at around 7:00 p.m. on May 1st, 2007 in San Bruno, CA. Mike owned a private car company called E Limousine Services that he ran out of his home. That evening Mike told his son that he had to leave to pick up a 7:30 p.m fare. He did not tell his son where he was picking up the fare. Mike's wife was at an evening class at the time. Neither he or his black Lincoln town car was ever seen again. His car was new and didn't have permanent license plates, but had the transportation carrier permit number TCP 18525 printed on the back bumper. It had a transponder that registers when it enters San Francisco International Airport, but the transponder did not register a trip to the airport that evening. A search of parking areas at both the San Francisco Airport and the Oakland Airport did not locate Mike or his car. Mike's bank account and his phone have not been used since May 1st, 2007. Mike had no history of running away or dropping out of sight, he had no reported mental health issues, no personal problems, and no enemies. Police report that they are baffled by his disappearance. Mike was a US Army veteran and a naturalized American citizen. He had one teenaged son with his current wife and two adult children from a previous marriage however, no one in Mike's family has heard from him since May 1st, 2007. Mike is described as an Asian male, 60 years old in 2007, with brown eyes and black and gray hair. He is 5 ft 8 in in height and weighs about 165 lbs. He was last seen wearing a black suit with a white shirt. He may spell his last name “Noh.” He is of Korean descent.
https://www.sfgate.com/bayarea/article/SAN-BRUNO-Wife-police-plead-for-help-finding-2559008.php
https://charleyproject.org/case/myoung-keun-noah
What happened to these people?
submitted by Quirky-Motor to UnresolvedMysteries [link] [comments]
Khoi Dang Vu was a deaf American man who went missing from his family’s home in 2007 in Vancouver, Washington. He left on a rainy night without his coat, bike, or any belongings. His case is now considered a homicide and no trace of him has ever been found. True Crime Bullsh*t, an investigative podcast, has surmised that Vu may be a victim of serial killer Israel Keyes. The FBI considers the case a kidnapping. Khoi is of Vietnamese descent. My write up here- https://www.reddit.com/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/g89b2z/what_causes_someone_to_leave_their_home_in_the/
https://www.fbi.gov/wanted/kidnap/khoi-dang-vu
Slideshow made my Khoi's sister- www.youtube.com/watch?v=8IuTeb58vH0&t=0s
Wallace Guidroz went missing from Tacoma in 1983 when he was only two years old. His father took him to a park, went on a walk with a mysterious man, and then when he returned Wallace was gone. Wallace has never been seen again. He is of Korean and African American descent. https://www.reddit.com/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/mdtktl/2_%C2%BD_year_old_wallace_guidroz_disappeared_while/
https://charleyproject.org/case/wallace-guidroz
Helen Doe is an unidentified decedent who died in a semi-truck crash in Kalama, Washington in 1991. Although she is believed to be Native American, Asian, Hispanic, and mixed heritage cannot be ruled out. Her story can be found here. A new facial reconstruction can be see here. https://unidentified-awareness.fandom.com/wiki/Helen_Doe https://www.reddit.com/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/lnv1b9/extensive_write_up_on_the_bizarre_case_of_helen/
https://www.koin.com/news/special-reports/the-mystery-of-helen-doe-kalama-crash-1991/
Grays Harbor Jane Doe was found in 1984 off of a logging road in Southern Washington state. She was middle aged and believed to be of Asian descent. You can read about her here. https://unidentified-awareness.fandom.com/wiki/Grays_Harbor_County_Jane_Doe
In 1963 the body of an unidentified man was found floating in the Spokane River in Spokane, Washington. The man had most likely drowned. He is believed to be of Asian descent but white and mixed descent could not be ruled out. His story, as well as the stories of 16 other unknown persons from Spokane can be found here. https://www.reddit.com/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/liqj98/extensive_write_up_on_17_of_spokane_countys/
https://www.doenetwork.org/cases/1670umwa.html
Gary Ridgway aka the Green River Killer terrorized the Pacific Northwest for decades. What many people do not know is that the Green River task force is still in operation. Ridgway confessed to 71 murders, but only around 49 bodies have been found meaning there are more victims waiting to be discovered or reported missing. Two of Gary Ridgway’s known victims were of Asian American or Pacific Islander backgrounds. Marie Malvar, who was of Filipino descent, and Kimi Kai Pitsor who was native Hawaiian, but there may be more. To read about the stories of these young girls as well as other victims of Ridgway you can start here. https://www.reddit.com/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/gpbcll/what_everyone_has_wrong_about_ridgway_extensive/
https://kingcounty.gov/depts/sheriff/about-us/enforcement/investigations/green-river.aspx
Diane Nguyen Robbins was only 13 in 1985 when she was last seen. She disappeared with her 21 year old friend, Molly Purdin, who was later found murdered. Both Diane and her friend were from Kennewick, Washington but Molly’s was found in northern King County. Gary Ridgway is a suspect in both cases. Diane is of Vietnamese and white descent. https://charleyproject.org/case/diane-nguyen-robbins
Edward Ryon Makuahanai Aikau, usually known as Eddie Aikau, a famous lifeguard and surfer, was credited with saving over 500 people at Waimea bay on Oahu’s north shore during his tenure as lifeguard. In fact not one person was reported drowned during Eddie’s shifts at the beach. In 1978, 31 year old Aikau had decided to join the Polynesia Voyaging society, a group who planned to travel from Hawaii to Tahiti using only outrigger canoes. Shortly into their journey one canoe sprung a leak and eventually capsized 12 miles south of Molokai. Eddie paddled on his surfboard towards Lanai in a valiant effort to summon help, but soon disappeared. The US Coast Guard were able to save all the passengers and a huge search was launched but Eddie was never found and is presumed drowned. Eddie Aikau is a household name in Hawaii and in the surfing community. Competitions bearing his name and t-shirts, bumper stickers, and other items inscribed with “Eddie would go” are a constant reminder of his legacy and memory. Eddie was of Native Hawaiian and Caucasian, mostly Portuguese, descent. His story can be found here. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eddie_Aikau
Rachel Mellon, sometimes reported as Rachel Mellon Skemp or Rachel Mellon Kemp was a 13 year old who disappeared from her Illinois home when she was home sick one day in 1996. Her step-father is the primary suspect in her disappearance and diary entries from several months earlier reported that her step dad had touched her inappropriately and tried to kiss her. Rachel is of Asian descent but her family reports she is often mistaken for Greek or Italian. Her case can be found here. https://charleyproject.org/case/rachel-marie-mellon
Hang Lee, a 17 year old girl, went missing from St Paul Minnesota on January 12th 1993. Hang was last seen with a friend Kia “Nikki” Lee. She left home with this friend between 6:00 and 7:00 p.m. but when Nikki returned home an hour later, Hang was not with her. Nikki initially told authorities Hang had left with some unidentified young men. She later changed her story and said Hang had gone to a job interview with Nikki's own employer, Mark Steven Wallace, at Wallace's small painting and carpentry business on Iroquois Avenue. Wallace told Nikki that he was looking to hire another employee and she suggested her friend Hang as Hang was looking for a new job. Nikki thought that this request from Wallace was odd as he did not have enough work to hire another employee at that time. Nikki eventually told authorities that she and Hang went to Wallace's place of work and drove around with him in a white truck before switching and driving around in a tan Chevy Cavalier. Wallace dropped Nikki off and then left with Hang in the car. Wallace also told Nikki to not report what happened to the police.After a few interviews with the police Nikki retained an attorney and is no longer cooperating. Wallace denied involvement but also retained an attorney. Wallace is the prime suspect in the disappearance of Hang Lee. He has a record which includes rape, kidnapping, stalking, and drug possession. Hang Lee has never been located and her mother and 13 siblings are still looking for her.Hang is described as a sweet and naïve teenager who is only 17 and 1993. She was 5 ft tall and weighed 90 lb. She was last seen wearing a lightweight black leather jacket, a black t-shirt with "Skid Row" written on the back, black jeans or slacks, sneakers and several pieces of jewelry, including two silver bracelets. She is described as an Asian female with black hair and brown eyes. Her parents moved from Lao (sometimes spelled Laos in the US), and she is Hmong descent. She speaks both English and Hmong. She left behind her purse, a paycheck, and all of her other belongings.Full article here.
Deborah Palmer was only 7 years old in 1997 when she was last seen getting ready for school. Her mother said goodbye as Deborah left the home to walk a few blocks to her elementary school in Oak Harbor, Washington. When Deborah’s mother tried to drop off lunch a few hours later, she was shocked to learn that her daughter never arrived. Five days later, Deborah’s body was found on a beach a few miles away. She had been strangled but not sexually assaulted. Her case is cold and unsolved 25 years later. Deborah is of African American and Filipino descent. https://www.q13fox.com/washingtons-most-wanted/little-girl-doesnt-show-up-for-school-but-shows-up-days-later-dead-on-a-beach
In September of 2019, Tampa native Paulino Norberto Del Mundo Japor Jr. decided she wanted to go on a 10 vacation to Cozumel, Mexico but during a layover in Dallas she called her sister and asked for help getting a ticket back to Florida as she had changed her mind about going to Mexico. Her family said on the phone she sounded “desperate” and “incoherent.” She never boarded a flight home or boarded her plane to Mexico. Her last known whereabouts were documented on security tapes from the Dallas airport. Her phone and bank account have not been used since that day and she was never seen again. Paulino is a transgender woman who went by the names Paula, Paulina, or Pauline. Although Paula had lived as a woman for years she had not medically transitioned and it appears she still used Paulino Norberto as her legal first and middle name. She is of Filipino descent and her family is still hoping for answers. https://charleyproject.org/case/paulino-norberto-del-mundo-japor-jr
In 1999, Xuan Cao, a 53-year-old man from China, was visiting the USA as part of a tour group. His tour group had just gotten to a hotel in North Bergen, NJ, when Xuan said he was going out to make a phone call. He disappeared and never came back. He left behind his passport and all of his luggage. It is not believed to be a voluntary disappearance.
In 1990, Tu Thi-Cam Tran, a student at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County, vanished one night on her way back to her car from the University Center. Tu, who was of Vietnamese descent, was 24 years old at the time, and in her senior year at UMBC. She went missing in the small window of time between leaving her classroom and getting into her car. Here's a write-up on her case with some more information.
Ashok Kuman Narain was last seen in Eugene, Oregon in either 1987 or 1988 where he lived with his wife and young daughter after moving from Fiji several years earlier. In 1987 the dismembered body of a pregnant woman and the body of a toddler were found floating nearby in Washington and Oregon. 20 years later these bodies were identified as Raj Mati Narain and Kamnee Koushal, the wife and daughter of Ashok, after Raj’s brother read a story about the unidentified bodies online. He had not heard from his sister since 1987 when Raj’s letters back to her family in Fiji mysteriously stopped. Ashok is wanted for questioning but his whereabouts are unknown. Authorities are looking for a white 1980 Toyota Tercel with the Oregon license plate number KUV762, which disappeared with Ashok and may be connected to Raj and Kamnee's homicides. Both Oregon and Washington authorities are investigating his disappearance.Most sources say the family is of Indo Fijian descent, however, the Charley project now reports that Ashok is of native Fijian descent. You can read their tragic story here. https://charleyproject.org/case/ashok-kumar-narain
Queens Jane Doe was an unidentified woman who fell to her death accidentally after falling off an elevated train platform in Queens, New York in January, 2000. She is described as an 18 to 28 year old Asian or Pacific Islander woman who is 5 ft 1 in in height and weighed 113 lb. She had brown eyes and 7” straight dark brown hair. She was wearing a dark brown Albert Duke brand leather jacket, a blue and white plaid button-up shirt, a dark colored bra, blue jeans, white underwear, and black Euro sneakers or boots. She was also wearing earrings. Her identity is still a mystery to this day. You can find more information here, https://unidentified-awareness.fandom.com/wiki/Queens_Jane_Doe_(January_2000)) but please be careful as post-mortem photos are available of this woman.
In 2011, Mansoor Riaz, a Microsoft software engineer, vanished one night from his Bellevue, Washington apartment. Riaz is of Pakistani descent. His story can be found here.
https://www.reddit.com/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/msgolf/a_software_developer_at_mircosoft_vanished_from/
https://charleyproject.org/case/mansoor-riaz
Yuan Xia Wang went missing near Washington DC when she was headed for a doctor’s appointment. Yuan had been found at Dulles Airport when a man who was smuggling people into the country was detained and Yuan was one of his charges. Police became suspicious when Yuan who was supposedly a Thai citizen could not speak or understand Thai, but rather spoke Mandarin. Yuan told authorities her parents in Fuzhou, China had paid money for this man to get her into the country using a Thai passport. She was supposed to live with an aunt in the US, but she didn't know where or who this person was so she was placed in foster care for the time being. Other reports say that her smuggler was supposed to take her to a hotel in Alexandria, Virginia. Her foster parents hired a Mandarin speaking babysitter to stay with her until she was enrolled in at a local middle school. Yuan went missing only a few weeks later while on the way to a doctor's appointment. She reportedly got off the school bus and was supposed to take a cab to the doctors but vanished by the time the cab arrived. Although Yuan said she was 12, she was 5’ 6” in height and most people thought she was probably 14-15 at the time of her disappearance. She is of Chinese descent and speaks Mandarin. Police believe she either ran away, was kidnapped by her family members or smugglers, or met with foul play. She may have been seen in Kansas city in 2008. Sadly her dentals, fingerprints, and DNA and not available. https://www.reddit.com/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/jbtixc/yuan_xia_wangmissing_from_lincolnia_virginia/
https://charleyproject.org/case/yuan-xia-wang
Su Cha Kim a 54 year old shop owner from Twin Falls, Idaho Was found murdered in her massage parlor in 1997. Her case is unsolved and cold. Unfortunately, little information is available online. https://www.reddit.com/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/njhce2/the_1997_murder_of_su_cha_kim_in_twin_falls_id/
https://magicvalley.com/news/local/twin-falls-police-hope-passing-years-will-help-solve-cold-cases/article_7c83fca5-9dfd-5fd6-915f-063719bc0117.html
Faloma Luhk, 10, and Maleina Luhk, 9, disappeared while waiting for their school bus in As Teo, Saipan, Northern Mariana Islands, on May 25th, 2011. The girls were last seen sitting on a concrete slab at 6:10 a.m. across the road from their bus stop, only 300 feet from the home they shared with their grandparents. The bus arrived and left without them at 6:30 am but the girls were not reported missing until they didn’t come home after school that day. The 12 mile long island of Saipan was searched thoroughly by friends, family, locals, and the FBI but no trace of the girls or their things were ever found and their disappearance remains one of the most well known mysteries from the Northern Mariana Islands. Both girls are described as Pacific Islander females with brown hair and brown eyes. In 2011, Faloma had bronze colored highlights in her bangs, and Maleina had a large birthmark on her left cheek. She is reported as small and short for her age. A distant family member by marriage, who was later arrested for domestic violence, is the prime suspect in the case. He has never been named publicly. https://www.saipantribune.com/index.php/disappearance-of-luhk-sisters-marks-10-years/
https://www.guampdn.com/news/local/10-years-later-fbi-still-looking-for-luhk-sisters-who-went-missing-from-saipan-bus/article_f22e2472-cc38-50ac-a187-2ad5f3795155.html
Dong Chull Jung disappeared within minutes in Lakewood, Washington. The 78 year old was residing at the Golden Lion Motel on Tacoma Way in Lakewood, Washington. The establishment has long been a hotbed of criminal activity and violence since at least the 1990s. On average the police responded to incidents at the 24-room hotel over 100 times per year. November 22nd 2003 was one of those times. On that day witnesses called the police after hearing a “disturbance” in Dong’s room. When the authorities arrived, they found a giant pool of blood on the floor as well as Dong’s prescription eyeglasses, but Dong was nowhere to be found. According to the News Tribune, a paper out of Tacoma, one week before Dong’s disappearance he was granted a temporary domestic violence protection order from a Paul C. Jung, who might be Dong’s adult son. In June of 2003, someone named Hae Sung Jung, got a restraining order against Dong. Hae might be the estranged wife of Dong, but this isn’t known for sure. There are vague reports that Dong was having “marital issues'' at the time of his disappearance. Very little information is available in the case. The Golden Lion Inn was finally torn down in 2017 but the fate of the elderly man who resided within remains a mystery. Dong is described as an Asian (Korean) male, with brown eyes and thinning gray hair. He is 5’6'' and weighs 135 lbs. Dong wears prescription eyeglasses but they were left behind when he vanished. If you have any information regarding the disappearance of Dong Jung please call Pierce County Crime Stoppers 253-591-5959. https://charleyproject.org/case/dong-chull-jung
Gordon Kaipo Kealoha, 59, disappeared along with his dog Mahina in 2011. They were last seen fishing near Honolulu where they lived on July 8; Gordon cherished Mahina and brought her almost everywhere he went. After his disappearance, Gordon's white minivan was found abandoned, and his dinghy was found in the water, floating away from his home. Gordon is 6'1 and 250 pounds, and he is of Native Hawaiian descent.
https://charleyproject.org/case/gordon-kaipo-kealoha
Amber Aiaz and Melissa Fu were mother and daughter who went missing In November, 2019 from Irvine, California. The story of their disappearance and possible kidnapping is complicated. I would suggest reading the story here or here if you are interested in the details but the basic story is this. Amber's husband, Cheng Zhang, reported his wife and stepdaughter missing to the police about a week after they were last seen. He said that a Chinese man and woman came to his door, put something on his face and he passed out. He reported that when he woke up he found blood and evidence of a struggle in the apartment. He also found a note telling him not to report his wife and daughter missing to the police for at least several days and continued to get notes over the next week. He did what the notes instructed for the next several days. When he finally did report his wife and stepdaughter missing, police were skeptical of his story to say the least. Several months later police reported that they had found nothing to indicate that Cheng’s story was untrue, including over 40 hours of interviews with him and 44 days of around the clock surveillance. In the past Amber had told acquaintances that she was a very wealthy woman who had millions of dollars to her name. While this was not true, authorities speculated that Amber may have been kidnapped for ransom only for her captors to find out that her story of riches was nothing more than a farce. Amber's money has not been touched in either her Chinese or American bank accounts. Both mother and daughter left behind their passports and there's no indication that either of them have entered China.
Amber is described as a 34-year-old Chinese woman who is 5'9 and weighed 180 lb. She has black hair and brown eyes. When last seen she was wearing a black shirt, a black vest, black fitted pants with white writing on them, and light colored shoes. She may use the name Mei Yi Wu or Meiyi W. Wu.
Melissa is described as a 12 or 13 year old Chinese female with black hair and brown eyes. She was 5 '11” in height and weighed about 200 lb. She was last seen wearing a black tracksuit.
Cheng described the unidentified abductors as a Chinese couple in their 40s. Both had average builds. The woman was reported to be about 5’8” and had her black hair tied back in a bun. The man was of average build about 190 lb. and 5 '10”. He had short black hair. The couple may have been driving a black Cadillac and they may have been seen near the apartment complex that day by other neighbors.
Destiny Dee Sanith was last seen by her family on March 3rd, 2022 in Williamstown New Jersey. At about 2:30 in the afternoon on March 3rd, she asked her mom if she could borrow the car to go visit a friend in South Philadelphia. When Destiny did not return in the evening her mother learned that she never made it to her friend's house that day. New Jersey police had contact with Destiny at about 5:20 a.m. on March 4th In Folsom New Jersey. Destiny and her car were near a strip mall at the time. What exactly happened is not clear but police reported they helped Destiny move her car into a parking spot and then gave her a ride to a Wawa convenience store about a mile up the road. Destiny's family has reported that they have surveillance video of Destiny entering and then later leaving the Wawa store after purchasing a drink. At about 9:00 a.m. she was seen leaving the store with a drink crossing the road, turning into another convenience store and then going behind the building and out of view. This is the last known sighting and location of Destiny Sanith. On March 5th when Destiny had still not returned home she was reported missing to the police and her family learned about her interaction with the police on the morning of March 4th. Destiny has not been seen or heard from since.
Destiny is described as an Asian female 27 years old, who is 5'6 and height and weighs about 160 lb. She reportedly has short wavy brown hair and brown eyes. She was last seen wearing black sweatpants, a black Nike sweatshirt, a backpack, white and red Air Jordan sneakers, wearing earrings and carrying a coffee. She has a tattoo of the Virgo symbol on her right hand. Her nickname is Dara. Her family has set up a GoFundMe to help find Destiny and hire a private investigator. Full article here.
Myong Keun Noah, who went by the nickname Mike, was seen by his family at around 7:00 p.m. on May 1st, 2007 in San Bruno, CA. Mike owned a private car company called E Limousine Services that he ran out of his home. That evening Mike told his son that he had to leave to pick up a 7:30 p.m fare. He did not tell his son where he was picking up the fare. Mike's wife was at an evening class at the time. Neither he or his black Lincoln town car was ever seen again. His car was new and didn't have permanent license plates, but had the transportation carrier permit number TCP 18525 printed on the back bumper. It had a transponder that registers when it enters San Francisco International Airport, but the transponder did not register a trip to the airport that evening. A search of parking areas at both the San Francisco Airport and the Oakland Airport did not locate Mike or his car. Mike's bank account and his phone have not been used since May 1st, 2007. Mike had no history of running away or dropping out of sight, he had no reported mental health issues, no personal problems, and no enemies. Police report that they are baffled by his disappearance. Mike was a US Army veteran and a naturalized American citizen. He had one teenaged son with his current wife and two adult children from a previous marriage however, no one in Mike's family has heard from him since May 1st, 2007. Mike is described as an Asian male, 60 years old in 2007, with brown eyes and black and gray hair. He is 5 ft 8 in in height and weighs about 165 lbs. He was last seen wearing a black suit with a white shirt. He may spell his last name “Noh.” He is of Korean descent.
https://www.sfgate.com/bayarea/article/SAN-BRUNO-Wife-police-plead-for-help-finding-2559008.php
https://charleyproject.org/case/myoung-keun-noah
What happened to these people?
2023.05.27 01:10 Erutious Stragview Stories- His Happy Place
“It’s out by the dumpster, you better send the money. I could get fired for this.”
Mark sighed as he read the message, pulling on his pants as he grabbed his car keys. He’d have to be quick before someone figured out what it was. Kevin hadn’t been wrong. He and Mark could get in trouble for what they were about to do. Kevin could get fired, but Mark could very easily be arrested for trespassing. He didn’t work at the prison anymore, and
Stragview didn’t forget slights upon its honor like someone quitting.
It didn’t matter though, he needed that damn chair!
Mark had been working at Stragview for about two years when he finally hit the big time. When you were male and relatively consistent in your work schedule, it was only a matter of time before they put you in confinement. The Show, as many of them called it, had three quads, one of them being permanently sealed off for some reason, and was the bustling hub of the prison. The two guards he worked with, Sergeant Martin and Officer Rack, were solid as well, and they quickly figured out that Mark was a wiz when it came to paperwork and computer stuff. Both the old timers, both of his counterparts having ten plus years behind the fence, were more about flipping cells and keeping down problems than signing forms and housing new arrivals. As such, Mark was left in the bubble most of the time to run the nerve center of the unit while his new friends went to the floor for fun and games. Mark got pretty good at keeping it all between the ditches, and that was when he discovered his real passion.
Mark had dabbled in writing for years, but something about being inside the epicenter of segregation really brought out the best in his writing. Mark found the process of bunking inmates to be pretty easy and the paperwork was tedious but not too complicated. He usually finished his work fairly early in the evening, which left him lots of time to hone his craft. He'd been working on the same novel for years, a bit of grim dark sci-fi set in his own little universe, but he had never really been motivated to finish it. The novel was a hobby, something to pass the time when he had nothing better to do, and now, as he sat and watched the two go about their daily chores he found that he suddenly had nothing better to do.
He fell in with both feet, and night after night found him at the keyboard of the dorm computer as he banged out chapter after chapter. The longer he worked on it, the more he realized that what he was writing was actually pretty good. Better than good, even. He was writing better than he'd ever written, and whether it was the ambiance or some latent ability coming out in him, Mark found the pages coming together easily. The story was great and the descriptions painted a picture of his universe he had never thought possible. The few people he let read it couldn't believe he had been the one to write it, and they had pressured him to submit it.
“Who knows,” Sergeant Martin said after looking over it before chow one morning, “you might actually make it out of shit hole like this with a story like this one.” Mark had laughed at the time, but he couldn't have guessed how right he would be.
Kevin said he had put it behind the green dumpster next to admin, and as he drove around the ominous wooden building, he saw the dumpster in question. The lids were open and Mark could see the flies swarming from here. The bags sat poking from the hole, black and glistening in the midday sun, and Mark hoped none of the smell would stick to his new chair. He had to be quick, he told himself, as he pulled up beside the dumpster and took one more look for anyone who might be watching.
This was private property, and if he was caught out here taking things from the dumpster, they could make trouble for him.
He climbed out of his truck, a bag of trash in hand as he approached the dumpster. He was just some guy from admin who was tossing some truck garbage, nothing out of the ordinary.
As Mark came around to the side of the dumpster, letting the bag fly in a lazy arc, he saw what he had come to for.
The chair was beautiful, just as he remembered it. The wood on the armrests and the feet was stained a dark brown, the faux leather a deep reverent blue. It would support his back and head, cradling it for maximum creativity. It hadn't changed a bit, and he wondered how they had let Kevin take it to the dumpster at all?
A chair this pristine, this undamaged by careless boots and oversized backsides, came around once in a career.
He suddenly didn't care who saw him.
Mark lifted the chair gingerly and put it into the bed of his truck. He carried it the way he might his wife as he brought her over the threshold, and the blanket he had brought made for a fine buffer against the scratchy bed liner. As Mark lifted the tailgate, he couldn't help but smile at the chair as it lay there benignly.
He had it!
The last piece of the puzzle!
Now, he could finally get back to...
“Mark?”
Mark stiffened, turning around slowly as a smile stretched painfully over his face. He recognized the voice, but her name escaped him. The smiling brunette was only about a foot away from him, leaning out the window of her car as she greeted him. She'd been on Mark's shift, they had spoken many times on the occasions when he came to the captains office or found himself on the yard, and Mark might have even considered asking her out once.
Now she was an obstacle, one more thing to overcome so he could return to his work.
“I thought that was you. What's a big time writer doing in a place like this?”
Mark stepped close to her car, grinning as he leaned down and hoping it looked natural.
“Just had to come and talk to HR about the rest of my vacation time. They still hadn't paid me for all of it and I could use the money until my royalty checks even out a little.”
He prayed silently behind that smile that she wouldn't see the chair as it lay there in the bed of his F150.
It was his chair, and she couldn't have it.
“I'm so jealous,” she said, “we're so short handed that I doubt I'll ever get to use any of mine. How have you been?”
“Good. Just enjoying doing what I love,” he said, his mind screaming behind that smile.
He had to go, he had to get out of here, he had to get back to what mattered.
He made a little more small talk before she realized she was going to be late and told Mark she would see him around. He turned to go, glad to be free of her, when she suddenly called his name and brought him back around. He was like an overclocked spring, ready to snap if she so much as mentioned the chair. She had to have seen it. How could she not. It was beautiful, it was captivating, and anyone who saw it would have to have it. He'd kill her right here if she made him. He needed that chair and he'd snap her neck as she hung out her window if she...
“Could you sign this for me?” she asked, taking a copy of his book off the passenger seat,
“I had been carrying it in the hopes I'd see you around. It would be great to have a signed copy.”
Mark sighed in relief, scratching his name on the inside cover before handing it back. He waved as she pulled off, wishing him well as she rolled towards the employee parking lot.
She hadn't even found a spot before Mark was speeding out of the lot and back onto the road towards Cashmere.
No more distraction, Mark had work to do.
When the publisher called to let him know he had broken a thousand copies, he was tickled.
When they called a week later to inform him it was more like fifty thousand, Mark was astonished.
When he hit the New York Times best seller list, he had taken a two week vacation so he could do a few interviews and some local TV spots.
When his new agent called to let him know that Amazon was interested in a TV adaptation, Mark knew he had arrived.
By then, Mark was already writing his resignation letter. He was thankful for the prison and what they had helped him accomplish, but he would need more time to focus on his work. Amazon was hoping for his take on the script they were putting together, and there were already rumblings for a sequel. The show writers were interested in the chance of a sequel too, and Mark figured he better get to writing one. He'd already started the first couple of chapters, and as he said goodbye to Stragview, he thought his life might truly be about to begin.
Two weeks later as he sat in front of his brand new computer with nothing to show for it, he started wondering what had gone wrong?
Mark tried everything in his power, but the ideas just wouldn't come. He tried taking his laptop to different places. He tried consuming different kinds of media or music as he wrote. He tried immersing himself in different genres, but nothing brought the muse back. His editor was clamoring for new pages, but Mark couldn't give him what he wanted. The Amazon reps were complaining that his notes on the script were lacking too. They wanted big ideas, concepts for the show, but Mark couldn't come up with anything.
The more he racked his brain, the less work he seemed to do, and the only conclusion he could come to was that the last time he had found good output was when he had worked at Stragview. Mark cast that idea aside, though. That couldn't be it. The prison was such a hectic environment, and unpredictable setting. It couldn't possibly be conducive to a productive writing environment.
It had to be something else.
That's how it all began.
That had been the start of his madness.
He pulled his truck into the backyard and came to rest outside the large shed he had purchased. It was no humble storage shed, not by a long shot, and as he took the chair out of the truck, Mark felt giddy with anticipation. This was it, the final piece, the last thing he needed to make everything perfect.
As the door came open, Mark looked once more upon the monstrosity he had created and was proud.
When he had contacted Kevin about getting some things, his old partner had been hesitant. Mark wanted pictures, layouts, specifics on brands of desks and computers, and Kevin had wanted to know why?
Once Mark offered to pay him, however, the questions became a little less important. Mark had constructed the desk first. A long workspace made of Formica and wood, every chip and every ding the same as the one that sat in G dorm, thanks to Kevin's photos. Then the computer, an old two thousand five model that Mark had picked them up pretty cheap. Having it come with the same OS and programs was a little more expensive, but nothing too ridiculous. Then came every basket, every folder, every coffee cup and roach stain present in the booth. A microwave from a yard sale. A coffee pot from a Dollar General. Paper and flyers and all them custom printed. It took months of work, but when Mark finally looked at the finished product, he knew he'd done it.
When he sat down to work, however, he knew immediately that something wasn't right. The windows had been wooden instead of metal, but the computer monitors that he played the security footage through were a stroke of genius. The footage had been hard to talk Kevin into, but the money had gone a long way. Kevin was in a lot of debt, like most CO's Mark knew, and the cash he was getting from the little project was likely helping him dig himself out of it. At least, Mark hoped it was, but he really didn't care what Kevin spent the money on.
When the windows and familiar view didn't help, thats when Mark realized what he needed. The chair was a piece of it, likely the most important, and as he set it down now, he felt sure this would be the moment he'd been waiting for.
He booted up the computer, reveling in the old clicks and clacks that the aged system made as it came up.
He watched the inmates press their faces against the glass as Sergeant Martin and Kevin, Officer Rack, began their count for the day.
He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes as he soaked in the ambiance, and knew that the moment had come.
He opened Windows office, selected a new document, and set to work.
An hour later, he slammed his head against the desk and cried.
The idea's wouldn't come.
This had all been for nothing, an expensive nothing at that, and now he had nothing to show for it.
He was sunk, finished, his candle quenched before it's time.
“Quite an impressive set up you have here.”
He jumped as the voice wafted over him, and spun to find the Warden leaning in the door to his shed.
The Warden was the last person he had expected to find here, and he stood up at attention before he could stop himself. The Warden laughed, striding in as he took in the scene. He was such an odd character, and the sight of him outside the walls of Stragview was a little alarming. The Warden never left the compound, at least, Mark didn't think he had ever heard of him doing as much. Now he was here, standing inside Mark's shed and judging his efforts, and Mark wasn't sure what he expected.
“Security footage, pictures of secure locations within the prison, a chair with the maintenance ID still engraved on it, I've got enough here to have the police put you away for a while. I could probably get Officer Rack too while I'm at it, but I've got a much better idea.”
Mark shuddered as he watched the man circle like a shark, still not sure what to expect. “This isn't going to work, Officer Danbrey. This hollow shell isn't going to give you what you need, and I think you understand that now, don't you?”
Mark nodded, hanging his head in defeat.
“You need the magic that hangs around Stragview, something you can’t get from a chair and a desk. You happen to be in luck, because I need something as well.” He stopped then, and as he smiled at Mark he could swear the man's eyes glinted like brimstone.
“I need staff that are loyal to me, loyal to Stragview. Staff who know that if they choose to desert me, I can take that which they covet at a moment's notice. You want to write, to continue to grow your star? You need Stragview as much as it needs you.” The two stood and stared at each other for a count of five before Mark asked the question the old shark had been waiting for.
“When do I start?”
“Oh, you'll have to go through orientation again, since you've quit. You might even have to prove to your old captain that you belong in confinement again, but I think you'll make it back sooner than you think. Orientation for new hires starts Monday, and I'll expect you in the training building promptly at five am.”
Mark wanted to protest, but he knew now what the price for disobedience would be. He nodded, watching as The Warden stepped out of his shed as he walked towards the road. Mark saw no car, now means of conveyance, and wondered how the old imp had gotten here so quickly?
“And Officer Danbrey,” the Warden said, drawing Mark up sharply, “the next time you think about leaving to pursue greener pastures, remember how far the warden's grass stretches.”
The Warden left him to his contemplation then, smiling as he felt the weight settle on his newest acolytes soul.
None of them understood the magic of Stragview better than he.
It was why he had built the prison there in the first place.
Some of them might tap into that deep wellspring that lay beneath Stragview, but none of them would ever understand it.
It gave them visions, it helped them thrive, but in the end, it only added strings that the Warden could use to make them dance.
submitted by Erutious to stayawake [link] [comments]
Mark sighed as he read the message, pulling on his pants as he grabbed his car keys. He’d have to be quick before someone figured out what it was. Kevin hadn’t been wrong. He and Mark could get in trouble for what they were about to do. Kevin could get fired, but Mark could very easily be arrested for trespassing. He didn’t work at the prison anymore, and
Stragview didn’t forget slights upon its honor like someone quitting.
It didn’t matter though, he needed that damn chair!
Mark had been working at Stragview for about two years when he finally hit the big time. When you were male and relatively consistent in your work schedule, it was only a matter of time before they put you in confinement. The Show, as many of them called it, had three quads, one of them being permanently sealed off for some reason, and was the bustling hub of the prison. The two guards he worked with, Sergeant Martin and Officer Rack, were solid as well, and they quickly figured out that Mark was a wiz when it came to paperwork and computer stuff. Both the old timers, both of his counterparts having ten plus years behind the fence, were more about flipping cells and keeping down problems than signing forms and housing new arrivals. As such, Mark was left in the bubble most of the time to run the nerve center of the unit while his new friends went to the floor for fun and games. Mark got pretty good at keeping it all between the ditches, and that was when he discovered his real passion.
Mark had dabbled in writing for years, but something about being inside the epicenter of segregation really brought out the best in his writing. Mark found the process of bunking inmates to be pretty easy and the paperwork was tedious but not too complicated. He usually finished his work fairly early in the evening, which left him lots of time to hone his craft. He'd been working on the same novel for years, a bit of grim dark sci-fi set in his own little universe, but he had never really been motivated to finish it. The novel was a hobby, something to pass the time when he had nothing better to do, and now, as he sat and watched the two go about their daily chores he found that he suddenly had nothing better to do.
He fell in with both feet, and night after night found him at the keyboard of the dorm computer as he banged out chapter after chapter. The longer he worked on it, the more he realized that what he was writing was actually pretty good. Better than good, even. He was writing better than he'd ever written, and whether it was the ambiance or some latent ability coming out in him, Mark found the pages coming together easily. The story was great and the descriptions painted a picture of his universe he had never thought possible. The few people he let read it couldn't believe he had been the one to write it, and they had pressured him to submit it.
“Who knows,” Sergeant Martin said after looking over it before chow one morning, “you might actually make it out of shit hole like this with a story like this one.” Mark had laughed at the time, but he couldn't have guessed how right he would be.
* * * * *Mark pulled into the parking lot and looked for the dumpster.
Kevin said he had put it behind the green dumpster next to admin, and as he drove around the ominous wooden building, he saw the dumpster in question. The lids were open and Mark could see the flies swarming from here. The bags sat poking from the hole, black and glistening in the midday sun, and Mark hoped none of the smell would stick to his new chair. He had to be quick, he told himself, as he pulled up beside the dumpster and took one more look for anyone who might be watching.
This was private property, and if he was caught out here taking things from the dumpster, they could make trouble for him.
He climbed out of his truck, a bag of trash in hand as he approached the dumpster. He was just some guy from admin who was tossing some truck garbage, nothing out of the ordinary.
As Mark came around to the side of the dumpster, letting the bag fly in a lazy arc, he saw what he had come to for.
The chair was beautiful, just as he remembered it. The wood on the armrests and the feet was stained a dark brown, the faux leather a deep reverent blue. It would support his back and head, cradling it for maximum creativity. It hadn't changed a bit, and he wondered how they had let Kevin take it to the dumpster at all?
A chair this pristine, this undamaged by careless boots and oversized backsides, came around once in a career.
He suddenly didn't care who saw him.
Mark lifted the chair gingerly and put it into the bed of his truck. He carried it the way he might his wife as he brought her over the threshold, and the blanket he had brought made for a fine buffer against the scratchy bed liner. As Mark lifted the tailgate, he couldn't help but smile at the chair as it lay there benignly.
He had it!
The last piece of the puzzle!
Now, he could finally get back to...
“Mark?”
Mark stiffened, turning around slowly as a smile stretched painfully over his face. He recognized the voice, but her name escaped him. The smiling brunette was only about a foot away from him, leaning out the window of her car as she greeted him. She'd been on Mark's shift, they had spoken many times on the occasions when he came to the captains office or found himself on the yard, and Mark might have even considered asking her out once.
Now she was an obstacle, one more thing to overcome so he could return to his work.
“I thought that was you. What's a big time writer doing in a place like this?”
Mark stepped close to her car, grinning as he leaned down and hoping it looked natural.
“Just had to come and talk to HR about the rest of my vacation time. They still hadn't paid me for all of it and I could use the money until my royalty checks even out a little.”
He prayed silently behind that smile that she wouldn't see the chair as it lay there in the bed of his F150.
It was his chair, and she couldn't have it.
“I'm so jealous,” she said, “we're so short handed that I doubt I'll ever get to use any of mine. How have you been?”
“Good. Just enjoying doing what I love,” he said, his mind screaming behind that smile.
He had to go, he had to get out of here, he had to get back to what mattered.
He made a little more small talk before she realized she was going to be late and told Mark she would see him around. He turned to go, glad to be free of her, when she suddenly called his name and brought him back around. He was like an overclocked spring, ready to snap if she so much as mentioned the chair. She had to have seen it. How could she not. It was beautiful, it was captivating, and anyone who saw it would have to have it. He'd kill her right here if she made him. He needed that chair and he'd snap her neck as she hung out her window if she...
“Could you sign this for me?” she asked, taking a copy of his book off the passenger seat,
“I had been carrying it in the hopes I'd see you around. It would be great to have a signed copy.”
Mark sighed in relief, scratching his name on the inside cover before handing it back. He waved as she pulled off, wishing him well as she rolled towards the employee parking lot.
She hadn't even found a spot before Mark was speeding out of the lot and back onto the road towards Cashmere.
No more distraction, Mark had work to do.
* * * * *The book hadn't been an immediate success. No one had appeared to publish it, no fairy godmother had poofed into existence to make his dreams come true. Mark had shopped the novel around after proofing it for the fifth time, and found someone willing to take a chance on a first time writer. To their surprise, however, the novel had taken off after some shaky reception. It wasn't everyone's cup of tea, grim dark tales rarely were, but as it found its audience, Mark was astonished at the praise he received.
When the publisher called to let him know he had broken a thousand copies, he was tickled.
When they called a week later to inform him it was more like fifty thousand, Mark was astonished.
When he hit the New York Times best seller list, he had taken a two week vacation so he could do a few interviews and some local TV spots.
When his new agent called to let him know that Amazon was interested in a TV adaptation, Mark knew he had arrived.
By then, Mark was already writing his resignation letter. He was thankful for the prison and what they had helped him accomplish, but he would need more time to focus on his work. Amazon was hoping for his take on the script they were putting together, and there were already rumblings for a sequel. The show writers were interested in the chance of a sequel too, and Mark figured he better get to writing one. He'd already started the first couple of chapters, and as he said goodbye to Stragview, he thought his life might truly be about to begin.
Two weeks later as he sat in front of his brand new computer with nothing to show for it, he started wondering what had gone wrong?
Mark tried everything in his power, but the ideas just wouldn't come. He tried taking his laptop to different places. He tried consuming different kinds of media or music as he wrote. He tried immersing himself in different genres, but nothing brought the muse back. His editor was clamoring for new pages, but Mark couldn't give him what he wanted. The Amazon reps were complaining that his notes on the script were lacking too. They wanted big ideas, concepts for the show, but Mark couldn't come up with anything.
The more he racked his brain, the less work he seemed to do, and the only conclusion he could come to was that the last time he had found good output was when he had worked at Stragview. Mark cast that idea aside, though. That couldn't be it. The prison was such a hectic environment, and unpredictable setting. It couldn't possibly be conducive to a productive writing environment.
It had to be something else.
That's how it all began.
That had been the start of his madness.
He pulled his truck into the backyard and came to rest outside the large shed he had purchased. It was no humble storage shed, not by a long shot, and as he took the chair out of the truck, Mark felt giddy with anticipation. This was it, the final piece, the last thing he needed to make everything perfect.
As the door came open, Mark looked once more upon the monstrosity he had created and was proud.
When he had contacted Kevin about getting some things, his old partner had been hesitant. Mark wanted pictures, layouts, specifics on brands of desks and computers, and Kevin had wanted to know why?
Once Mark offered to pay him, however, the questions became a little less important. Mark had constructed the desk first. A long workspace made of Formica and wood, every chip and every ding the same as the one that sat in G dorm, thanks to Kevin's photos. Then the computer, an old two thousand five model that Mark had picked them up pretty cheap. Having it come with the same OS and programs was a little more expensive, but nothing too ridiculous. Then came every basket, every folder, every coffee cup and roach stain present in the booth. A microwave from a yard sale. A coffee pot from a Dollar General. Paper and flyers and all them custom printed. It took months of work, but when Mark finally looked at the finished product, he knew he'd done it.
When he sat down to work, however, he knew immediately that something wasn't right. The windows had been wooden instead of metal, but the computer monitors that he played the security footage through were a stroke of genius. The footage had been hard to talk Kevin into, but the money had gone a long way. Kevin was in a lot of debt, like most CO's Mark knew, and the cash he was getting from the little project was likely helping him dig himself out of it. At least, Mark hoped it was, but he really didn't care what Kevin spent the money on.
When the windows and familiar view didn't help, thats when Mark realized what he needed. The chair was a piece of it, likely the most important, and as he set it down now, he felt sure this would be the moment he'd been waiting for.
He booted up the computer, reveling in the old clicks and clacks that the aged system made as it came up.
He watched the inmates press their faces against the glass as Sergeant Martin and Kevin, Officer Rack, began their count for the day.
He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes as he soaked in the ambiance, and knew that the moment had come.
He opened Windows office, selected a new document, and set to work.
An hour later, he slammed his head against the desk and cried.
The idea's wouldn't come.
This had all been for nothing, an expensive nothing at that, and now he had nothing to show for it.
He was sunk, finished, his candle quenched before it's time.
“Quite an impressive set up you have here.”
He jumped as the voice wafted over him, and spun to find the Warden leaning in the door to his shed.
The Warden was the last person he had expected to find here, and he stood up at attention before he could stop himself. The Warden laughed, striding in as he took in the scene. He was such an odd character, and the sight of him outside the walls of Stragview was a little alarming. The Warden never left the compound, at least, Mark didn't think he had ever heard of him doing as much. Now he was here, standing inside Mark's shed and judging his efforts, and Mark wasn't sure what he expected.
“Security footage, pictures of secure locations within the prison, a chair with the maintenance ID still engraved on it, I've got enough here to have the police put you away for a while. I could probably get Officer Rack too while I'm at it, but I've got a much better idea.”
Mark shuddered as he watched the man circle like a shark, still not sure what to expect. “This isn't going to work, Officer Danbrey. This hollow shell isn't going to give you what you need, and I think you understand that now, don't you?”
Mark nodded, hanging his head in defeat.
“You need the magic that hangs around Stragview, something you can’t get from a chair and a desk. You happen to be in luck, because I need something as well.” He stopped then, and as he smiled at Mark he could swear the man's eyes glinted like brimstone.
“I need staff that are loyal to me, loyal to Stragview. Staff who know that if they choose to desert me, I can take that which they covet at a moment's notice. You want to write, to continue to grow your star? You need Stragview as much as it needs you.” The two stood and stared at each other for a count of five before Mark asked the question the old shark had been waiting for.
“When do I start?”
“Oh, you'll have to go through orientation again, since you've quit. You might even have to prove to your old captain that you belong in confinement again, but I think you'll make it back sooner than you think. Orientation for new hires starts Monday, and I'll expect you in the training building promptly at five am.”
Mark wanted to protest, but he knew now what the price for disobedience would be. He nodded, watching as The Warden stepped out of his shed as he walked towards the road. Mark saw no car, now means of conveyance, and wondered how the old imp had gotten here so quickly?
“And Officer Danbrey,” the Warden said, drawing Mark up sharply, “the next time you think about leaving to pursue greener pastures, remember how far the warden's grass stretches.”
The Warden left him to his contemplation then, smiling as he felt the weight settle on his newest acolytes soul.
None of them understood the magic of Stragview better than he.
It was why he had built the prison there in the first place.
Some of them might tap into that deep wellspring that lay beneath Stragview, but none of them would ever understand it.
It gave them visions, it helped them thrive, but in the end, it only added strings that the Warden could use to make them dance.
2023.05.27 01:10 Erutious Stragview Stories- His Happy Place
“It’s out by the dumpster, you better send the money. I could get fired for this.”
Mark sighed as he read the message, pulling on his pants as he grabbed his car keys. He’d have to be quick before someone figured out what it was. Kevin hadn’t been wrong. He and Mark could get in trouble for what they were about to do. Kevin could get fired, but Mark could very easily be arrested for trespassing. He didn’t work at the prison anymore, and
Stragview didn’t forget slights upon its honor like someone quitting.
It didn’t matter though, he needed that damn chair!
Mark had been working at Stragview for about two years when he finally hit the big time. When you were male and relatively consistent in your work schedule, it was only a matter of time before they put you in confinement. The Show, as many of them called it, had three quads, one of them being permanently sealed off for some reason, and was the bustling hub of the prison. The two guards he worked with, Sergeant Martin and Officer Rack, were solid as well, and they quickly figured out that Mark was a wiz when it came to paperwork and computer stuff. Both the old timers, both of his counterparts having ten plus years behind the fence, were more about flipping cells and keeping down problems than signing forms and housing new arrivals. As such, Mark was left in the bubble most of the time to run the nerve center of the unit while his new friends went to the floor for fun and games. Mark got pretty good at keeping it all between the ditches, and that was when he discovered his real passion.
Mark had dabbled in writing for years, but something about being inside the epicenter of segregation really brought out the best in his writing. Mark found the process of bunking inmates to be pretty easy and the paperwork was tedious but not too complicated. He usually finished his work fairly early in the evening, which left him lots of time to hone his craft. He'd been working on the same novel for years, a bit of grim dark sci-fi set in his own little universe, but he had never really been motivated to finish it. The novel was a hobby, something to pass the time when he had nothing better to do, and now, as he sat and watched the two go about their daily chores he found that he suddenly had nothing better to do.
He fell in with both feet, and night after night found him at the keyboard of the dorm computer as he banged out chapter after chapter. The longer he worked on it, the more he realized that what he was writing was actually pretty good. Better than good, even. He was writing better than he'd ever written, and whether it was the ambiance or some latent ability coming out in him, Mark found the pages coming together easily. The story was great and the descriptions painted a picture of his universe he had never thought possible. The few people he let read it couldn't believe he had been the one to write it, and they had pressured him to submit it.
“Who knows,” Sergeant Martin said after looking over it before chow one morning, “you might actually make it out of shit hole like this with a story like this one.” Mark had laughed at the time, but he couldn't have guessed how right he would be.
Kevin said he had put it behind the green dumpster next to admin, and as he drove around the ominous wooden building, he saw the dumpster in question. The lids were open and Mark could see the flies swarming from here. The bags sat poking from the hole, black and glistening in the midday sun, and Mark hoped none of the smell would stick to his new chair. He had to be quick, he told himself, as he pulled up beside the dumpster and took one more look for anyone who might be watching.
This was private property, and if he was caught out here taking things from the dumpster, they could make trouble for him.
He climbed out of his truck, a bag of trash in hand as he approached the dumpster. He was just some guy from admin who was tossing some truck garbage, nothing out of the ordinary.
As Mark came around to the side of the dumpster, letting the bag fly in a lazy arc, he saw what he had come to for.
The chair was beautiful, just as he remembered it. The wood on the armrests and the feet was stained a dark brown, the faux leather a deep reverent blue. It would support his back and head, cradling it for maximum creativity. It hadn't changed a bit, and he wondered how they had let Kevin take it to the dumpster at all?
A chair this pristine, this undamaged by careless boots and oversized backsides, came around once in a career.
He suddenly didn't care who saw him.
Mark lifted the chair gingerly and put it into the bed of his truck. He carried it the way he might his wife as he brought her over the threshold, and the blanket he had brought made for a fine buffer against the scratchy bed liner. As Mark lifted the tailgate, he couldn't help but smile at the chair as it lay there benignly.
He had it!
The last piece of the puzzle!
Now, he could finally get back to...
“Mark?”
Mark stiffened, turning around slowly as a smile stretched painfully over his face. He recognized the voice, but her name escaped him. The smiling brunette was only about a foot away from him, leaning out the window of her car as she greeted him. She'd been on Mark's shift, they had spoken many times on the occasions when he came to the captains office or found himself on the yard, and Mark might have even considered asking her out once.
Now she was an obstacle, one more thing to overcome so he could return to his work.
“I thought that was you. What's a big time writer doing in a place like this?”
Mark stepped close to her car, grinning as he leaned down and hoping it looked natural.
“Just had to come and talk to HR about the rest of my vacation time. They still hadn't paid me for all of it and I could use the money until my royalty checks even out a little.”
He prayed silently behind that smile that she wouldn't see the chair as it lay there in the bed of his F150.
It was his chair, and she couldn't have it.
“I'm so jealous,” she said, “we're so short handed that I doubt I'll ever get to use any of mine. How have you been?”
“Good. Just enjoying doing what I love,” he said, his mind screaming behind that smile.
He had to go, he had to get out of here, he had to get back to what mattered.
He made a little more small talk before she realized she was going to be late and told Mark she would see him around. He turned to go, glad to be free of her, when she suddenly called his name and brought him back around. He was like an overclocked spring, ready to snap if she so much as mentioned the chair. She had to have seen it. How could she not. It was beautiful, it was captivating, and anyone who saw it would have to have it. He'd kill her right here if she made him. He needed that chair and he'd snap her neck as she hung out her window if she...
“Could you sign this for me?” she asked, taking a copy of his book off the passenger seat,
“I had been carrying it in the hopes I'd see you around. It would be great to have a signed copy.”
Mark sighed in relief, scratching his name on the inside cover before handing it back. He waved as she pulled off, wishing him well as she rolled towards the employee parking lot.
She hadn't even found a spot before Mark was speeding out of the lot and back onto the road towards Cashmere.
No more distraction, Mark had work to do.
When the publisher called to let him know he had broken a thousand copies, he was tickled.
When they called a week later to inform him it was more like fifty thousand, Mark was astonished.
When he hit the New York Times best seller list, he had taken a two week vacation so he could do a few interviews and some local TV spots.
When his new agent called to let him know that Amazon was interested in a TV adaptation, Mark knew he had arrived.
By then, Mark was already writing his resignation letter. He was thankful for the prison and what they had helped him accomplish, but he would need more time to focus on his work. Amazon was hoping for his take on the script they were putting together, and there were already rumblings for a sequel. The show writers were interested in the chance of a sequel too, and Mark figured he better get to writing one. He'd already started the first couple of chapters, and as he said goodbye to Stragview, he thought his life might truly be about to begin.
Two weeks later as he sat in front of his brand new computer with nothing to show for it, he started wondering what had gone wrong?
Mark tried everything in his power, but the ideas just wouldn't come. He tried taking his laptop to different places. He tried consuming different kinds of media or music as he wrote. He tried immersing himself in different genres, but nothing brought the muse back. His editor was clamoring for new pages, but Mark couldn't give him what he wanted. The Amazon reps were complaining that his notes on the script were lacking too. They wanted big ideas, concepts for the show, but Mark couldn't come up with anything.
The more he racked his brain, the less work he seemed to do, and the only conclusion he could come to was that the last time he had found good output was when he had worked at Stragview. Mark cast that idea aside, though. That couldn't be it. The prison was such a hectic environment, and unpredictable setting. It couldn't possibly be conducive to a productive writing environment.
It had to be something else.
That's how it all began.
That had been the start of his madness.
He pulled his truck into the backyard and came to rest outside the large shed he had purchased. It was no humble storage shed, not by a long shot, and as he took the chair out of the truck, Mark felt giddy with anticipation. This was it, the final piece, the last thing he needed to make everything perfect.
As the door came open, Mark looked once more upon the monstrosity he had created and was proud.
When he had contacted Kevin about getting some things, his old partner had been hesitant. Mark wanted pictures, layouts, specifics on brands of desks and computers, and Kevin had wanted to know why?
Once Mark offered to pay him, however, the questions became a little less important. Mark had constructed the desk first. A long workspace made of Formica and wood, every chip and every ding the same as the one that sat in G dorm, thanks to Kevin's photos. Then the computer, an old two thousand five model that Mark had picked them up pretty cheap. Having it come with the same OS and programs was a little more expensive, but nothing too ridiculous. Then came every basket, every folder, every coffee cup and roach stain present in the booth. A microwave from a yard sale. A coffee pot from a Dollar General. Paper and flyers and all them custom printed. It took months of work, but when Mark finally looked at the finished product, he knew he'd done it.
When he sat down to work, however, he knew immediately that something wasn't right. The windows had been wooden instead of metal, but the computer monitors that he played the security footage through were a stroke of genius. The footage had been hard to talk Kevin into, but the money had gone a long way. Kevin was in a lot of debt, like most CO's Mark knew, and the cash he was getting from the little project was likely helping him dig himself out of it. At least, Mark hoped it was, but he really didn't care what Kevin spent the money on.
When the windows and familiar view didn't help, thats when Mark realized what he needed. The chair was a piece of it, likely the most important, and as he set it down now, he felt sure this would be the moment he'd been waiting for.
He booted up the computer, reveling in the old clicks and clacks that the aged system made as it came up.
He watched the inmates press their faces against the glass as Sergeant Martin and Kevin, Officer Rack, began their count for the day.
He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes as he soaked in the ambiance, and knew that the moment had come.
He opened Windows office, selected a new document, and set to work.
An hour later, he slammed his head against the desk and cried.
The idea's wouldn't come.
This had all been for nothing, an expensive nothing at that, and now he had nothing to show for it.
He was sunk, finished, his candle quenched before it's time.
“Quite an impressive set up you have here.”
He jumped as the voice wafted over him, and spun to find the Warden leaning in the door to his shed.
The Warden was the last person he had expected to find here, and he stood up at attention before he could stop himself. The Warden laughed, striding in as he took in the scene. He was such an odd character, and the sight of him outside the walls of Stragview was a little alarming. The Warden never left the compound, at least, Mark didn't think he had ever heard of him doing as much. Now he was here, standing inside Mark's shed and judging his efforts, and Mark wasn't sure what he expected.
“Security footage, pictures of secure locations within the prison, a chair with the maintenance ID still engraved on it, I've got enough here to have the police put you away for a while. I could probably get Officer Rack too while I'm at it, but I've got a much better idea.”
Mark shuddered as he watched the man circle like a shark, still not sure what to expect. “This isn't going to work, Officer Danbrey. This hollow shell isn't going to give you what you need, and I think you understand that now, don't you?”
Mark nodded, hanging his head in defeat.
“You need the magic that hangs around Stragview, something you can’t get from a chair and a desk. You happen to be in luck, because I need something as well.” He stopped then, and as he smiled at Mark he could swear the man's eyes glinted like brimstone.
“I need staff that are loyal to me, loyal to Stragview. Staff who know that if they choose to desert me, I can take that which they covet at a moment's notice. You want to write, to continue to grow your star? You need Stragview as much as it needs you.” The two stood and stared at each other for a count of five before Mark asked the question the old shark had been waiting for.
“When do I start?”
“Oh, you'll have to go through orientation again, since you've quit. You might even have to prove to your old captain that you belong in confinement again, but I think you'll make it back sooner than you think. Orientation for new hires starts Monday, and I'll expect you in the training building promptly at five am.”
Mark wanted to protest, but he knew now what the price for disobedience would be. He nodded, watching as The Warden stepped out of his shed as he walked towards the road. Mark saw no car, now means of conveyance, and wondered how the old imp had gotten here so quickly?
“And Officer Danbrey,” the Warden said, drawing Mark up sharply, “the next time you think about leaving to pursue greener pastures, remember how far the warden's grass stretches.”
The Warden left him to his contemplation then, smiling as he felt the weight settle on his newest acolytes soul.
None of them understood the magic of Stragview better than he.
It was why he had built the prison there in the first place.
Some of them might tap into that deep wellspring that lay beneath Stragview, but none of them would ever understand it.
It gave them visions, it helped them thrive, but in the end, it only added strings that the Warden could use to make them dance.
submitted by Erutious to SignalHorrorFiction [link] [comments]
Mark sighed as he read the message, pulling on his pants as he grabbed his car keys. He’d have to be quick before someone figured out what it was. Kevin hadn’t been wrong. He and Mark could get in trouble for what they were about to do. Kevin could get fired, but Mark could very easily be arrested for trespassing. He didn’t work at the prison anymore, and
Stragview didn’t forget slights upon its honor like someone quitting.
It didn’t matter though, he needed that damn chair!
Mark had been working at Stragview for about two years when he finally hit the big time. When you were male and relatively consistent in your work schedule, it was only a matter of time before they put you in confinement. The Show, as many of them called it, had three quads, one of them being permanently sealed off for some reason, and was the bustling hub of the prison. The two guards he worked with, Sergeant Martin and Officer Rack, were solid as well, and they quickly figured out that Mark was a wiz when it came to paperwork and computer stuff. Both the old timers, both of his counterparts having ten plus years behind the fence, were more about flipping cells and keeping down problems than signing forms and housing new arrivals. As such, Mark was left in the bubble most of the time to run the nerve center of the unit while his new friends went to the floor for fun and games. Mark got pretty good at keeping it all between the ditches, and that was when he discovered his real passion.
Mark had dabbled in writing for years, but something about being inside the epicenter of segregation really brought out the best in his writing. Mark found the process of bunking inmates to be pretty easy and the paperwork was tedious but not too complicated. He usually finished his work fairly early in the evening, which left him lots of time to hone his craft. He'd been working on the same novel for years, a bit of grim dark sci-fi set in his own little universe, but he had never really been motivated to finish it. The novel was a hobby, something to pass the time when he had nothing better to do, and now, as he sat and watched the two go about their daily chores he found that he suddenly had nothing better to do.
He fell in with both feet, and night after night found him at the keyboard of the dorm computer as he banged out chapter after chapter. The longer he worked on it, the more he realized that what he was writing was actually pretty good. Better than good, even. He was writing better than he'd ever written, and whether it was the ambiance or some latent ability coming out in him, Mark found the pages coming together easily. The story was great and the descriptions painted a picture of his universe he had never thought possible. The few people he let read it couldn't believe he had been the one to write it, and they had pressured him to submit it.
“Who knows,” Sergeant Martin said after looking over it before chow one morning, “you might actually make it out of shit hole like this with a story like this one.” Mark had laughed at the time, but he couldn't have guessed how right he would be.
* * * * *Mark pulled into the parking lot and looked for the dumpster.
Kevin said he had put it behind the green dumpster next to admin, and as he drove around the ominous wooden building, he saw the dumpster in question. The lids were open and Mark could see the flies swarming from here. The bags sat poking from the hole, black and glistening in the midday sun, and Mark hoped none of the smell would stick to his new chair. He had to be quick, he told himself, as he pulled up beside the dumpster and took one more look for anyone who might be watching.
This was private property, and if he was caught out here taking things from the dumpster, they could make trouble for him.
He climbed out of his truck, a bag of trash in hand as he approached the dumpster. He was just some guy from admin who was tossing some truck garbage, nothing out of the ordinary.
As Mark came around to the side of the dumpster, letting the bag fly in a lazy arc, he saw what he had come to for.
The chair was beautiful, just as he remembered it. The wood on the armrests and the feet was stained a dark brown, the faux leather a deep reverent blue. It would support his back and head, cradling it for maximum creativity. It hadn't changed a bit, and he wondered how they had let Kevin take it to the dumpster at all?
A chair this pristine, this undamaged by careless boots and oversized backsides, came around once in a career.
He suddenly didn't care who saw him.
Mark lifted the chair gingerly and put it into the bed of his truck. He carried it the way he might his wife as he brought her over the threshold, and the blanket he had brought made for a fine buffer against the scratchy bed liner. As Mark lifted the tailgate, he couldn't help but smile at the chair as it lay there benignly.
He had it!
The last piece of the puzzle!
Now, he could finally get back to...
“Mark?”
Mark stiffened, turning around slowly as a smile stretched painfully over his face. He recognized the voice, but her name escaped him. The smiling brunette was only about a foot away from him, leaning out the window of her car as she greeted him. She'd been on Mark's shift, they had spoken many times on the occasions when he came to the captains office or found himself on the yard, and Mark might have even considered asking her out once.
Now she was an obstacle, one more thing to overcome so he could return to his work.
“I thought that was you. What's a big time writer doing in a place like this?”
Mark stepped close to her car, grinning as he leaned down and hoping it looked natural.
“Just had to come and talk to HR about the rest of my vacation time. They still hadn't paid me for all of it and I could use the money until my royalty checks even out a little.”
He prayed silently behind that smile that she wouldn't see the chair as it lay there in the bed of his F150.
It was his chair, and she couldn't have it.
“I'm so jealous,” she said, “we're so short handed that I doubt I'll ever get to use any of mine. How have you been?”
“Good. Just enjoying doing what I love,” he said, his mind screaming behind that smile.
He had to go, he had to get out of here, he had to get back to what mattered.
He made a little more small talk before she realized she was going to be late and told Mark she would see him around. He turned to go, glad to be free of her, when she suddenly called his name and brought him back around. He was like an overclocked spring, ready to snap if she so much as mentioned the chair. She had to have seen it. How could she not. It was beautiful, it was captivating, and anyone who saw it would have to have it. He'd kill her right here if she made him. He needed that chair and he'd snap her neck as she hung out her window if she...
“Could you sign this for me?” she asked, taking a copy of his book off the passenger seat,
“I had been carrying it in the hopes I'd see you around. It would be great to have a signed copy.”
Mark sighed in relief, scratching his name on the inside cover before handing it back. He waved as she pulled off, wishing him well as she rolled towards the employee parking lot.
She hadn't even found a spot before Mark was speeding out of the lot and back onto the road towards Cashmere.
No more distraction, Mark had work to do.
* * * * *The book hadn't been an immediate success. No one had appeared to publish it, no fairy godmother had poofed into existence to make his dreams come true. Mark had shopped the novel around after proofing it for the fifth time, and found someone willing to take a chance on a first time writer. To their surprise, however, the novel had taken off after some shaky reception. It wasn't everyone's cup of tea, grim dark tales rarely were, but as it found its audience, Mark was astonished at the praise he received.
When the publisher called to let him know he had broken a thousand copies, he was tickled.
When they called a week later to inform him it was more like fifty thousand, Mark was astonished.
When he hit the New York Times best seller list, he had taken a two week vacation so he could do a few interviews and some local TV spots.
When his new agent called to let him know that Amazon was interested in a TV adaptation, Mark knew he had arrived.
By then, Mark was already writing his resignation letter. He was thankful for the prison and what they had helped him accomplish, but he would need more time to focus on his work. Amazon was hoping for his take on the script they were putting together, and there were already rumblings for a sequel. The show writers were interested in the chance of a sequel too, and Mark figured he better get to writing one. He'd already started the first couple of chapters, and as he said goodbye to Stragview, he thought his life might truly be about to begin.
Two weeks later as he sat in front of his brand new computer with nothing to show for it, he started wondering what had gone wrong?
Mark tried everything in his power, but the ideas just wouldn't come. He tried taking his laptop to different places. He tried consuming different kinds of media or music as he wrote. He tried immersing himself in different genres, but nothing brought the muse back. His editor was clamoring for new pages, but Mark couldn't give him what he wanted. The Amazon reps were complaining that his notes on the script were lacking too. They wanted big ideas, concepts for the show, but Mark couldn't come up with anything.
The more he racked his brain, the less work he seemed to do, and the only conclusion he could come to was that the last time he had found good output was when he had worked at Stragview. Mark cast that idea aside, though. That couldn't be it. The prison was such a hectic environment, and unpredictable setting. It couldn't possibly be conducive to a productive writing environment.
It had to be something else.
That's how it all began.
That had been the start of his madness.
He pulled his truck into the backyard and came to rest outside the large shed he had purchased. It was no humble storage shed, not by a long shot, and as he took the chair out of the truck, Mark felt giddy with anticipation. This was it, the final piece, the last thing he needed to make everything perfect.
As the door came open, Mark looked once more upon the monstrosity he had created and was proud.
When he had contacted Kevin about getting some things, his old partner had been hesitant. Mark wanted pictures, layouts, specifics on brands of desks and computers, and Kevin had wanted to know why?
Once Mark offered to pay him, however, the questions became a little less important. Mark had constructed the desk first. A long workspace made of Formica and wood, every chip and every ding the same as the one that sat in G dorm, thanks to Kevin's photos. Then the computer, an old two thousand five model that Mark had picked them up pretty cheap. Having it come with the same OS and programs was a little more expensive, but nothing too ridiculous. Then came every basket, every folder, every coffee cup and roach stain present in the booth. A microwave from a yard sale. A coffee pot from a Dollar General. Paper and flyers and all them custom printed. It took months of work, but when Mark finally looked at the finished product, he knew he'd done it.
When he sat down to work, however, he knew immediately that something wasn't right. The windows had been wooden instead of metal, but the computer monitors that he played the security footage through were a stroke of genius. The footage had been hard to talk Kevin into, but the money had gone a long way. Kevin was in a lot of debt, like most CO's Mark knew, and the cash he was getting from the little project was likely helping him dig himself out of it. At least, Mark hoped it was, but he really didn't care what Kevin spent the money on.
When the windows and familiar view didn't help, thats when Mark realized what he needed. The chair was a piece of it, likely the most important, and as he set it down now, he felt sure this would be the moment he'd been waiting for.
He booted up the computer, reveling in the old clicks and clacks that the aged system made as it came up.
He watched the inmates press their faces against the glass as Sergeant Martin and Kevin, Officer Rack, began their count for the day.
He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes as he soaked in the ambiance, and knew that the moment had come.
He opened Windows office, selected a new document, and set to work.
An hour later, he slammed his head against the desk and cried.
The idea's wouldn't come.
This had all been for nothing, an expensive nothing at that, and now he had nothing to show for it.
He was sunk, finished, his candle quenched before it's time.
“Quite an impressive set up you have here.”
He jumped as the voice wafted over him, and spun to find the Warden leaning in the door to his shed.
The Warden was the last person he had expected to find here, and he stood up at attention before he could stop himself. The Warden laughed, striding in as he took in the scene. He was such an odd character, and the sight of him outside the walls of Stragview was a little alarming. The Warden never left the compound, at least, Mark didn't think he had ever heard of him doing as much. Now he was here, standing inside Mark's shed and judging his efforts, and Mark wasn't sure what he expected.
“Security footage, pictures of secure locations within the prison, a chair with the maintenance ID still engraved on it, I've got enough here to have the police put you away for a while. I could probably get Officer Rack too while I'm at it, but I've got a much better idea.”
Mark shuddered as he watched the man circle like a shark, still not sure what to expect. “This isn't going to work, Officer Danbrey. This hollow shell isn't going to give you what you need, and I think you understand that now, don't you?”
Mark nodded, hanging his head in defeat.
“You need the magic that hangs around Stragview, something you can’t get from a chair and a desk. You happen to be in luck, because I need something as well.” He stopped then, and as he smiled at Mark he could swear the man's eyes glinted like brimstone.
“I need staff that are loyal to me, loyal to Stragview. Staff who know that if they choose to desert me, I can take that which they covet at a moment's notice. You want to write, to continue to grow your star? You need Stragview as much as it needs you.” The two stood and stared at each other for a count of five before Mark asked the question the old shark had been waiting for.
“When do I start?”
“Oh, you'll have to go through orientation again, since you've quit. You might even have to prove to your old captain that you belong in confinement again, but I think you'll make it back sooner than you think. Orientation for new hires starts Monday, and I'll expect you in the training building promptly at five am.”
Mark wanted to protest, but he knew now what the price for disobedience would be. He nodded, watching as The Warden stepped out of his shed as he walked towards the road. Mark saw no car, now means of conveyance, and wondered how the old imp had gotten here so quickly?
“And Officer Danbrey,” the Warden said, drawing Mark up sharply, “the next time you think about leaving to pursue greener pastures, remember how far the warden's grass stretches.”
The Warden left him to his contemplation then, smiling as he felt the weight settle on his newest acolytes soul.
None of them understood the magic of Stragview better than he.
It was why he had built the prison there in the first place.
Some of them might tap into that deep wellspring that lay beneath Stragview, but none of them would ever understand it.
It gave them visions, it helped them thrive, but in the end, it only added strings that the Warden could use to make them dance.
2023.05.27 01:09 Erutious Stragview Stories- His Happy Place
“It’s out by the dumpster, you better send the money. I could get fired for this.”
Mark sighed as he read the message, pulling on his pants as he grabbed his car keys. He’d have to be quick before someone figured out what it was. Kevin hadn’t been wrong. He and Mark could get in trouble for what they were about to do. Kevin could get fired, but Mark could very easily be arrested for trespassing. He didn’t work at the prison anymore, and
Stragview didn’t forget slights upon its honor like someone quitting.
It didn’t matter though, he needed that damn chair!
Mark had been working at Stragview for about two years when he finally hit the big time. When you were male and relatively consistent in your work schedule, it was only a matter of time before they put you in confinement. The Show, as many of them called it, had three quads, one of them being permanently sealed off for some reason, and was the bustling hub of the prison. The two guards he worked with, Sergeant Martin and Officer Rack, were solid as well, and they quickly figured out that Mark was a wiz when it came to paperwork and computer stuff. Both the old timers, both of his counterparts having ten plus years behind the fence, were more about flipping cells and keeping down problems than signing forms and housing new arrivals. As such, Mark was left in the bubble most of the time to run the nerve center of the unit while his new friends went to the floor for fun and games. Mark got pretty good at keeping it all between the ditches, and that was when he discovered his real passion.
Mark had dabbled in writing for years, but something about being inside the epicenter of segregation really brought out the best in his writing. Mark found the process of bunking inmates to be pretty easy and the paperwork was tedious but not too complicated. He usually finished his work fairly early in the evening, which left him lots of time to hone his craft. He'd been working on the same novel for years, a bit of grim dark sci-fi set in his own little universe, but he had never really been motivated to finish it. The novel was a hobby, something to pass the time when he had nothing better to do, and now, as he sat and watched the two go about their daily chores he found that he suddenly had nothing better to do.
He fell in with both feet, and night after night found him at the keyboard of the dorm computer as he banged out chapter after chapter. The longer he worked on it, the more he realized that what he was writing was actually pretty good. Better than good, even. He was writing better than he'd ever written, and whether it was the ambiance or some latent ability coming out in him, Mark found the pages coming together easily. The story was great and the descriptions painted a picture of his universe he had never thought possible. The few people he let read it couldn't believe he had been the one to write it, and they had pressured him to submit it.
“Who knows,” Sergeant Martin said after looking over it before chow one morning, “you might actually make it out of shit hole like this with a story like this one.” Mark had laughed at the time, but he couldn't have guessed how right he would be.
Kevin said he had put it behind the green dumpster next to admin, and as he drove around the ominous wooden building, he saw the dumpster in question. The lids were open and Mark could see the flies swarming from here. The bags sat poking from the hole, black and glistening in the midday sun, and Mark hoped none of the smell would stick to his new chair. He had to be quick, he told himself, as he pulled up beside the dumpster and took one more look for anyone who might be watching.
This was private property, and if he was caught out here taking things from the dumpster, they could make trouble for him.
He climbed out of his truck, a bag of trash in hand as he approached the dumpster. He was just some guy from admin who was tossing some truck garbage, nothing out of the ordinary.
As Mark came around to the side of the dumpster, letting the bag fly in a lazy arc, he saw what he had come to for.
The chair was beautiful, just as he remembered it. The wood on the armrests and the feet was stained a dark brown, the faux leather a deep reverent blue. It would support his back and head, cradling it for maximum creativity. It hadn't changed a bit, and he wondered how they had let Kevin take it to the dumpster at all?
A chair this pristine, this undamaged by careless boots and oversized backsides, came around once in a career.
He suddenly didn't care who saw him.
Mark lifted the chair gingerly and put it into the bed of his truck. He carried it the way he might his wife as he brought her over the threshold, and the blanket he had brought made for a fine buffer against the scratchy bed liner. As Mark lifted the tailgate, he couldn't help but smile at the chair as it lay there benignly.
He had it!
The last piece of the puzzle!
Now, he could finally get back to...
“Mark?”
Mark stiffened, turning around slowly as a smile stretched painfully over his face. He recognized the voice, but her name escaped him. The smiling brunette was only about a foot away from him, leaning out the window of her car as she greeted him. She'd been on Mark's shift, they had spoken many times on the occasions when he came to the captains office or found himself on the yard, and Mark might have even considered asking her out once.
Now she was an obstacle, one more thing to overcome so he could return to his work.
“I thought that was you. What's a big time writer doing in a place like this?”
Mark stepped close to her car, grinning as he leaned down and hoping it looked natural.
“Just had to come and talk to HR about the rest of my vacation time. They still hadn't paid me for all of it and I could use the money until my royalty checks even out a little.”
He prayed silently behind that smile that she wouldn't see the chair as it lay there in the bed of his F150.
It was his chair, and she couldn't have it.
“I'm so jealous,” she said, “we're so short handed that I doubt I'll ever get to use any of mine. How have you been?”
“Good. Just enjoying doing what I love,” he said, his mind screaming behind that smile.
He had to go, he had to get out of here, he had to get back to what mattered.
He made a little more small talk before she realized she was going to be late and told Mark she would see him around. He turned to go, glad to be free of her, when she suddenly called his name and brought him back around. He was like an overclocked spring, ready to snap if she so much as mentioned the chair. She had to have seen it. How could she not. It was beautiful, it was captivating, and anyone who saw it would have to have it. He'd kill her right here if she made him. He needed that chair and he'd snap her neck as she hung out her window if she...
“Could you sign this for me?” she asked, taking a copy of his book off the passenger seat,
“I had been carrying it in the hopes I'd see you around. It would be great to have a signed copy.”
Mark sighed in relief, scratching his name on the inside cover before handing it back. He waved as she pulled off, wishing him well as she rolled towards the employee parking lot.
She hadn't even found a spot before Mark was speeding out of the lot and back onto the road towards Cashmere.
No more distraction, Mark had work to do.
When the publisher called to let him know he had broken a thousand copies, he was tickled.
When they called a week later to inform him it was more like fifty thousand, Mark was astonished.
When he hit the New York Times best seller list, he had taken a two week vacation so he could do a few interviews and some local TV spots.
When his new agent called to let him know that Amazon was interested in a TV adaptation, Mark knew he had arrived.
By then, Mark was already writing his resignation letter. He was thankful for the prison and what they had helped him accomplish, but he would need more time to focus on his work. Amazon was hoping for his take on the script they were putting together, and there were already rumblings for a sequel. The show writers were interested in the chance of a sequel too, and Mark figured he better get to writing one. He'd already started the first couple of chapters, and as he said goodbye to Stragview, he thought his life might truly be about to begin.
Two weeks later as he sat in front of his brand new computer with nothing to show for it, he started wondering what had gone wrong?
Mark tried everything in his power, but the ideas just wouldn't come. He tried taking his laptop to different places. He tried consuming different kinds of media or music as he wrote. He tried immersing himself in different genres, but nothing brought the muse back. His editor was clamoring for new pages, but Mark couldn't give him what he wanted. The Amazon reps were complaining that his notes on the script were lacking too. They wanted big ideas, concepts for the show, but Mark couldn't come up with anything.
The more he racked his brain, the less work he seemed to do, and the only conclusion he could come to was that the last time he had found good output was when he had worked at Stragview. Mark cast that idea aside, though. That couldn't be it. The prison was such a hectic environment, and unpredictable setting. It couldn't possibly be conducive to a productive writing environment.
It had to be something else.
That's how it all began.
That had been the start of his madness.
He pulled his truck into the backyard and came to rest outside the large shed he had purchased. It was no humble storage shed, not by a long shot, and as he took the chair out of the truck, Mark felt giddy with anticipation. This was it, the final piece, the last thing he needed to make everything perfect.
As the door came open, Mark looked once more upon the monstrosity he had created and was proud.
When he had contacted Kevin about getting some things, his old partner had been hesitant. Mark wanted pictures, layouts, specifics on brands of desks and computers, and Kevin had wanted to know why?
Once Mark offered to pay him, however, the questions became a little less important. Mark had constructed the desk first. A long workspace made of Formica and wood, every chip and every ding the same as the one that sat in G dorm, thanks to Kevin's photos. Then the computer, an old two thousand five model that Mark had picked them up pretty cheap. Having it come with the same OS and programs was a little more expensive, but nothing too ridiculous. Then came every basket, every folder, every coffee cup and roach stain present in the booth. A microwave from a yard sale. A coffee pot from a Dollar General. Paper and flyers and all them custom printed. It took months of work, but when Mark finally looked at the finished product, he knew he'd done it.
When he sat down to work, however, he knew immediately that something wasn't right. The windows had been wooden instead of metal, but the computer monitors that he played the security footage through were a stroke of genius. The footage had been hard to talk Kevin into, but the money had gone a long way. Kevin was in a lot of debt, like most CO's Mark knew, and the cash he was getting from the little project was likely helping him dig himself out of it. At least, Mark hoped it was, but he really didn't care what Kevin spent the money on.
When the windows and familiar view didn't help, thats when Mark realized what he needed. The chair was a piece of it, likely the most important, and as he set it down now, he felt sure this would be the moment he'd been waiting for.
He booted up the computer, reveling in the old clicks and clacks that the aged system made as it came up.
He watched the inmates press their faces against the glass as Sergeant Martin and Kevin, Officer Rack, began their count for the day.
He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes as he soaked in the ambiance, and knew that the moment had come.
He opened Windows office, selected a new document, and set to work.
An hour later, he slammed his head against the desk and cried.
The idea's wouldn't come.
This had all been for nothing, an expensive nothing at that, and now he had nothing to show for it.
He was sunk, finished, his candle quenched before it's time.
“Quite an impressive set up you have here.”
He jumped as the voice wafted over him, and spun to find the Warden leaning in the door to his shed.
The Warden was the last person he had expected to find here, and he stood up at attention before he could stop himself. The Warden laughed, striding in as he took in the scene. He was such an odd character, and the sight of him outside the walls of Stragview was a little alarming. The Warden never left the compound, at least, Mark didn't think he had ever heard of him doing as much. Now he was here, standing inside Mark's shed and judging his efforts, and Mark wasn't sure what he expected.
“Security footage, pictures of secure locations within the prison, a chair with the maintenance ID still engraved on it, I've got enough here to have the police put you away for a while. I could probably get Officer Rack too while I'm at it, but I've got a much better idea.”
Mark shuddered as he watched the man circle like a shark, still not sure what to expect. “This isn't going to work, Officer Danbrey. This hollow shell isn't going to give you what you need, and I think you understand that now, don't you?”
Mark nodded, hanging his head in defeat.
“You need the magic that hangs around Stragview, something you can’t get from a chair and a desk. You happen to be in luck, because I need something as well.” He stopped then, and as he smiled at Mark he could swear the man's eyes glinted like brimstone.
“I need staff that are loyal to me, loyal to Stragview. Staff who know that if they choose to desert me, I can take that which they covet at a moment's notice. You want to write, to continue to grow your star? You need Stragview as much as it needs you.” The two stood and stared at each other for a count of five before Mark asked the question the old shark had been waiting for.
“When do I start?”
“Oh, you'll have to go through orientation again, since you've quit. You might even have to prove to your old captain that you belong in confinement again, but I think you'll make it back sooner than you think. Orientation for new hires starts Monday, and I'll expect you in the training building promptly at five am.”
Mark wanted to protest, but he knew now what the price for disobedience would be. He nodded, watching as The Warden stepped out of his shed as he walked towards the road. Mark saw no car, now means of conveyance, and wondered how the old imp had gotten here so quickly?
“And Officer Danbrey,” the Warden said, drawing Mark up sharply, “the next time you think about leaving to pursue greener pastures, remember how far the warden's grass stretches.”
The Warden left him to his contemplation then, smiling as he felt the weight settle on his newest acolytes soul.
None of them understood the magic of Stragview better than he.
It was why he had built the prison there in the first place.
Some of them might tap into that deep wellspring that lay beneath Stragview, but none of them would ever understand it.
It gave them visions, it helped them thrive, but in the end, it only added strings that the Warden could use to make them dance.
submitted by Erutious to Nonsleep [link] [comments]
Mark sighed as he read the message, pulling on his pants as he grabbed his car keys. He’d have to be quick before someone figured out what it was. Kevin hadn’t been wrong. He and Mark could get in trouble for what they were about to do. Kevin could get fired, but Mark could very easily be arrested for trespassing. He didn’t work at the prison anymore, and
Stragview didn’t forget slights upon its honor like someone quitting.
It didn’t matter though, he needed that damn chair!
Mark had been working at Stragview for about two years when he finally hit the big time. When you were male and relatively consistent in your work schedule, it was only a matter of time before they put you in confinement. The Show, as many of them called it, had three quads, one of them being permanently sealed off for some reason, and was the bustling hub of the prison. The two guards he worked with, Sergeant Martin and Officer Rack, were solid as well, and they quickly figured out that Mark was a wiz when it came to paperwork and computer stuff. Both the old timers, both of his counterparts having ten plus years behind the fence, were more about flipping cells and keeping down problems than signing forms and housing new arrivals. As such, Mark was left in the bubble most of the time to run the nerve center of the unit while his new friends went to the floor for fun and games. Mark got pretty good at keeping it all between the ditches, and that was when he discovered his real passion.
Mark had dabbled in writing for years, but something about being inside the epicenter of segregation really brought out the best in his writing. Mark found the process of bunking inmates to be pretty easy and the paperwork was tedious but not too complicated. He usually finished his work fairly early in the evening, which left him lots of time to hone his craft. He'd been working on the same novel for years, a bit of grim dark sci-fi set in his own little universe, but he had never really been motivated to finish it. The novel was a hobby, something to pass the time when he had nothing better to do, and now, as he sat and watched the two go about their daily chores he found that he suddenly had nothing better to do.
He fell in with both feet, and night after night found him at the keyboard of the dorm computer as he banged out chapter after chapter. The longer he worked on it, the more he realized that what he was writing was actually pretty good. Better than good, even. He was writing better than he'd ever written, and whether it was the ambiance or some latent ability coming out in him, Mark found the pages coming together easily. The story was great and the descriptions painted a picture of his universe he had never thought possible. The few people he let read it couldn't believe he had been the one to write it, and they had pressured him to submit it.
“Who knows,” Sergeant Martin said after looking over it before chow one morning, “you might actually make it out of shit hole like this with a story like this one.” Mark had laughed at the time, but he couldn't have guessed how right he would be.
* * * * *Mark pulled into the parking lot and looked for the dumpster.
Kevin said he had put it behind the green dumpster next to admin, and as he drove around the ominous wooden building, he saw the dumpster in question. The lids were open and Mark could see the flies swarming from here. The bags sat poking from the hole, black and glistening in the midday sun, and Mark hoped none of the smell would stick to his new chair. He had to be quick, he told himself, as he pulled up beside the dumpster and took one more look for anyone who might be watching.
This was private property, and if he was caught out here taking things from the dumpster, they could make trouble for him.
He climbed out of his truck, a bag of trash in hand as he approached the dumpster. He was just some guy from admin who was tossing some truck garbage, nothing out of the ordinary.
As Mark came around to the side of the dumpster, letting the bag fly in a lazy arc, he saw what he had come to for.
The chair was beautiful, just as he remembered it. The wood on the armrests and the feet was stained a dark brown, the faux leather a deep reverent blue. It would support his back and head, cradling it for maximum creativity. It hadn't changed a bit, and he wondered how they had let Kevin take it to the dumpster at all?
A chair this pristine, this undamaged by careless boots and oversized backsides, came around once in a career.
He suddenly didn't care who saw him.
Mark lifted the chair gingerly and put it into the bed of his truck. He carried it the way he might his wife as he brought her over the threshold, and the blanket he had brought made for a fine buffer against the scratchy bed liner. As Mark lifted the tailgate, he couldn't help but smile at the chair as it lay there benignly.
He had it!
The last piece of the puzzle!
Now, he could finally get back to...
“Mark?”
Mark stiffened, turning around slowly as a smile stretched painfully over his face. He recognized the voice, but her name escaped him. The smiling brunette was only about a foot away from him, leaning out the window of her car as she greeted him. She'd been on Mark's shift, they had spoken many times on the occasions when he came to the captains office or found himself on the yard, and Mark might have even considered asking her out once.
Now she was an obstacle, one more thing to overcome so he could return to his work.
“I thought that was you. What's a big time writer doing in a place like this?”
Mark stepped close to her car, grinning as he leaned down and hoping it looked natural.
“Just had to come and talk to HR about the rest of my vacation time. They still hadn't paid me for all of it and I could use the money until my royalty checks even out a little.”
He prayed silently behind that smile that she wouldn't see the chair as it lay there in the bed of his F150.
It was his chair, and she couldn't have it.
“I'm so jealous,” she said, “we're so short handed that I doubt I'll ever get to use any of mine. How have you been?”
“Good. Just enjoying doing what I love,” he said, his mind screaming behind that smile.
He had to go, he had to get out of here, he had to get back to what mattered.
He made a little more small talk before she realized she was going to be late and told Mark she would see him around. He turned to go, glad to be free of her, when she suddenly called his name and brought him back around. He was like an overclocked spring, ready to snap if she so much as mentioned the chair. She had to have seen it. How could she not. It was beautiful, it was captivating, and anyone who saw it would have to have it. He'd kill her right here if she made him. He needed that chair and he'd snap her neck as she hung out her window if she...
“Could you sign this for me?” she asked, taking a copy of his book off the passenger seat,
“I had been carrying it in the hopes I'd see you around. It would be great to have a signed copy.”
Mark sighed in relief, scratching his name on the inside cover before handing it back. He waved as she pulled off, wishing him well as she rolled towards the employee parking lot.
She hadn't even found a spot before Mark was speeding out of the lot and back onto the road towards Cashmere.
No more distraction, Mark had work to do.
* * * * *The book hadn't been an immediate success. No one had appeared to publish it, no fairy godmother had poofed into existence to make his dreams come true. Mark had shopped the novel around after proofing it for the fifth time, and found someone willing to take a chance on a first time writer. To their surprise, however, the novel had taken off after some shaky reception. It wasn't everyone's cup of tea, grim dark tales rarely were, but as it found its audience, Mark was astonished at the praise he received.
When the publisher called to let him know he had broken a thousand copies, he was tickled.
When they called a week later to inform him it was more like fifty thousand, Mark was astonished.
When he hit the New York Times best seller list, he had taken a two week vacation so he could do a few interviews and some local TV spots.
When his new agent called to let him know that Amazon was interested in a TV adaptation, Mark knew he had arrived.
By then, Mark was already writing his resignation letter. He was thankful for the prison and what they had helped him accomplish, but he would need more time to focus on his work. Amazon was hoping for his take on the script they were putting together, and there were already rumblings for a sequel. The show writers were interested in the chance of a sequel too, and Mark figured he better get to writing one. He'd already started the first couple of chapters, and as he said goodbye to Stragview, he thought his life might truly be about to begin.
Two weeks later as he sat in front of his brand new computer with nothing to show for it, he started wondering what had gone wrong?
Mark tried everything in his power, but the ideas just wouldn't come. He tried taking his laptop to different places. He tried consuming different kinds of media or music as he wrote. He tried immersing himself in different genres, but nothing brought the muse back. His editor was clamoring for new pages, but Mark couldn't give him what he wanted. The Amazon reps were complaining that his notes on the script were lacking too. They wanted big ideas, concepts for the show, but Mark couldn't come up with anything.
The more he racked his brain, the less work he seemed to do, and the only conclusion he could come to was that the last time he had found good output was when he had worked at Stragview. Mark cast that idea aside, though. That couldn't be it. The prison was such a hectic environment, and unpredictable setting. It couldn't possibly be conducive to a productive writing environment.
It had to be something else.
That's how it all began.
That had been the start of his madness.
He pulled his truck into the backyard and came to rest outside the large shed he had purchased. It was no humble storage shed, not by a long shot, and as he took the chair out of the truck, Mark felt giddy with anticipation. This was it, the final piece, the last thing he needed to make everything perfect.
As the door came open, Mark looked once more upon the monstrosity he had created and was proud.
When he had contacted Kevin about getting some things, his old partner had been hesitant. Mark wanted pictures, layouts, specifics on brands of desks and computers, and Kevin had wanted to know why?
Once Mark offered to pay him, however, the questions became a little less important. Mark had constructed the desk first. A long workspace made of Formica and wood, every chip and every ding the same as the one that sat in G dorm, thanks to Kevin's photos. Then the computer, an old two thousand five model that Mark had picked them up pretty cheap. Having it come with the same OS and programs was a little more expensive, but nothing too ridiculous. Then came every basket, every folder, every coffee cup and roach stain present in the booth. A microwave from a yard sale. A coffee pot from a Dollar General. Paper and flyers and all them custom printed. It took months of work, but when Mark finally looked at the finished product, he knew he'd done it.
When he sat down to work, however, he knew immediately that something wasn't right. The windows had been wooden instead of metal, but the computer monitors that he played the security footage through were a stroke of genius. The footage had been hard to talk Kevin into, but the money had gone a long way. Kevin was in a lot of debt, like most CO's Mark knew, and the cash he was getting from the little project was likely helping him dig himself out of it. At least, Mark hoped it was, but he really didn't care what Kevin spent the money on.
When the windows and familiar view didn't help, thats when Mark realized what he needed. The chair was a piece of it, likely the most important, and as he set it down now, he felt sure this would be the moment he'd been waiting for.
He booted up the computer, reveling in the old clicks and clacks that the aged system made as it came up.
He watched the inmates press their faces against the glass as Sergeant Martin and Kevin, Officer Rack, began their count for the day.
He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes as he soaked in the ambiance, and knew that the moment had come.
He opened Windows office, selected a new document, and set to work.
An hour later, he slammed his head against the desk and cried.
The idea's wouldn't come.
This had all been for nothing, an expensive nothing at that, and now he had nothing to show for it.
He was sunk, finished, his candle quenched before it's time.
“Quite an impressive set up you have here.”
He jumped as the voice wafted over him, and spun to find the Warden leaning in the door to his shed.
The Warden was the last person he had expected to find here, and he stood up at attention before he could stop himself. The Warden laughed, striding in as he took in the scene. He was such an odd character, and the sight of him outside the walls of Stragview was a little alarming. The Warden never left the compound, at least, Mark didn't think he had ever heard of him doing as much. Now he was here, standing inside Mark's shed and judging his efforts, and Mark wasn't sure what he expected.
“Security footage, pictures of secure locations within the prison, a chair with the maintenance ID still engraved on it, I've got enough here to have the police put you away for a while. I could probably get Officer Rack too while I'm at it, but I've got a much better idea.”
Mark shuddered as he watched the man circle like a shark, still not sure what to expect. “This isn't going to work, Officer Danbrey. This hollow shell isn't going to give you what you need, and I think you understand that now, don't you?”
Mark nodded, hanging his head in defeat.
“You need the magic that hangs around Stragview, something you can’t get from a chair and a desk. You happen to be in luck, because I need something as well.” He stopped then, and as he smiled at Mark he could swear the man's eyes glinted like brimstone.
“I need staff that are loyal to me, loyal to Stragview. Staff who know that if they choose to desert me, I can take that which they covet at a moment's notice. You want to write, to continue to grow your star? You need Stragview as much as it needs you.” The two stood and stared at each other for a count of five before Mark asked the question the old shark had been waiting for.
“When do I start?”
“Oh, you'll have to go through orientation again, since you've quit. You might even have to prove to your old captain that you belong in confinement again, but I think you'll make it back sooner than you think. Orientation for new hires starts Monday, and I'll expect you in the training building promptly at five am.”
Mark wanted to protest, but he knew now what the price for disobedience would be. He nodded, watching as The Warden stepped out of his shed as he walked towards the road. Mark saw no car, now means of conveyance, and wondered how the old imp had gotten here so quickly?
“And Officer Danbrey,” the Warden said, drawing Mark up sharply, “the next time you think about leaving to pursue greener pastures, remember how far the warden's grass stretches.”
The Warden left him to his contemplation then, smiling as he felt the weight settle on his newest acolytes soul.
None of them understood the magic of Stragview better than he.
It was why he had built the prison there in the first place.
Some of them might tap into that deep wellspring that lay beneath Stragview, but none of them would ever understand it.
It gave them visions, it helped them thrive, but in the end, it only added strings that the Warden could use to make them dance.
2023.05.27 01:08 Erutious Stragview Stories- His Happy Place
“It’s out by the dumpster, you better send the money. I could get fired for this.”
Mark sighed as he read the message, pulling on his pants as he grabbed his car keys. He’d have to be quick before someone figured out what it was. Kevin hadn’t been wrong. He and Mark could get in trouble for what they were about to do. Kevin could get fired, but Mark could very easily be arrested for trespassing. He didn’t work at the prison anymore, and Stragview didn’t forget slights upon its honor like someone quitting.
It didn’t matter though, he needed that damn chair!
Mark had been working at Stragview for about two years when he finally hit the big time. When you were male and relatively consistent in your work schedule, it was only a matter of time before they put you in confinement. The Show, as many of them called it, had three quads, one of them being permanently sealed off for some reason, and was the bustling hub of the prison. The two guards he worked with, Sergeant Martin and Officer Rack, were solid as well, and they quickly figured out that Mark was a wiz when it came to paperwork and computer stuff. Both the old timers, both of his counterparts having ten plus years behind the fence, were more about flipping cells and keeping down problems than signing forms and housing new arrivals. As such, Mark was left in the bubble most of the time to run the nerve center of the unit while his new friends went to the floor for fun and games.
Mark got pretty good at keeping it all between the ditches, and that was when he discovered his real passion.
Mark had dabbled in writing for years, but something about being inside the epicenter of segregation really brought out the best in his writing. Mark found the process of bunking inmates to be pretty easy and the paperwork was tedious but not too complicated. He usually finished his work fairly early in the evening, which left him lots of time to hone his craft. He'd been working on the same novel for years, a bit of grim dark sci-fi set in his own little universe, but he had never really been motivated to finish it. The novel was a hobby, something to pass the time when he had nothing better to do, and now, as he sat and watched the two go about their daily chores he found that he suddenly had nothing better to do.
He fell in with both feet, and night after night found him at the keyboard of the dorm computer as he banged out chapter after chapter. The longer he worked on it, the more he realized that what he was writing was actually pretty good. Better than good, even. He was writing better than he'd ever written, and whether it was the ambiance or some latent ability coming out in him, Mark found the pages coming together easily. The story was great and the descriptions painted a picture of his universe he had never thought possible. The few people he let read it couldn't believe he had been the one to write it, and they had pressured him to submit it.
“Who knows,” Sergeant Martin said after looking over it before chow one morning, “you might actually make it out of shit hole like this with a story like this one.”
Mark had laughed at the time, but he couldn't have guessed how right he would be.
* * * * *
Mark pulled into the parking lot and looked for the dumpster.
Kevin said he had put it behind the green dumpster next to admin, and as he drove around the ominous wooden building, he saw the dumpster in question. The lids were open and Mark could see the flies swarming from here. The bags sat poking from the hole, black and glistening in the midday sun, and Mark hoped none of the smell would stick to his new chair. He had to be quick, he told himself, as he pulled up beside the dumpster and took one more look for anyone who might be watching.
This was private property, and if he was caught out here taking things from the dumpster, they could make trouble for him.
He climbed out of his truck, a bag of trash in hand as he approached the dumpster.
He was just some guy from admin who was tossing some truck garbage, nothing out of the ordinary.
As Mark came around to the side of the dumpster, letting the bag fly in a lazy arc, he saw what he had come to for.
The chair was beautiful, just as he remembered it. The wood on the armrests and the feet was stained a dark brown, the faux leather a deep reverent blue. It would support his back and head, cradling it for maximum creativity. It hadn't changed a bit, and he wondered how they had let Kevin take it to the dumpster at all?
A chair this pristine, this undamaged by careless boots and oversized backsides, came around once in a career.
He suddenly didn't care who saw him.
Mark lifted the chair gingerly and put it into the bed of his truck. He carried it the way he might his wife as he brought her over the threshold, and the blanket he had brought made for a fine buffer against the scratchy bed liner. As Mark lifted the tailgate, he couldn't help but smile at the chair as it lay there benignly.
He had it!
The last piece of the puzzle!
Now, he could finally get back to...
“Mark?”
Mark stiffened, turning around slowly as a smile stretched painfully over his face. He recognized the voice, but her name escaped him. The smiling brunette was only about a foot away from him, leaning out the window of her car as she greeted him. She'd been on Mark's shift, they had spoken many times on the occasions when he came to the captains office or found himself on the yard, and Mark might have even considered asking her out once.
Now she was an obstacle, one more thing to overcome so he could return to his work.
“I thought that was you. What's a big time writer doing in a place like this?”
Mark stepped close to her car, grinning as he leaned down and hoping it looked natural.
“Just had to come and talk to HR about the rest of my vacation time. They still hadn't paid me for all of it and I could use the money until my royalty checks even out a little.”
He prayed silently behind that smile that she wouldn't see the chair as it lay there in the bed of his F150.
It was his chair, and she couldn't have it.
“I'm so jealous,” she said, “we're so short handed that I doubt I'll ever get to use any of mine. How have you been?”
“Good. Just enjoying doing what I love,” he said, his mind screaming behind that smile.
He had to go, he had to get out of here, he had to get back to what mattered.
He made a little more small talk before she realized she was going to be late and told Mark she would see him around. He turned to go, glad to be free of her, when she suddenly called his name and brought him back around. He was like an overclocked spring, ready to snap if she so much as mentioned the chair. She had to have seen it. How could she not. It was beautiful, it was captivating, and anyone who saw it would have to have it. He'd kill her right here if she made him. He needed that chair and he'd snap her neck as she hung out her window if she...
“Could you sign this for me?” she asked, taking a copy of his book off the passenger seat, “I had been carrying it in the hopes I'd see you around. It would be great to have a signed copy.”
Mark sighed in relief, scratching his name on the inside cover before handing it back.
He waved as she pulled off, wishing him well as she rolled towards the employee parking lot.
She hadn't even found a spot before Mark was speeding out of the lot and back onto the road towards Cashmere.
No more distraction, Mark had work to do.
* * * * *
The book hadn't been an immediate success. No one had appeared to publish it, no fairy godmother had poofed into existence to make his dreams come true. Mark had shopped the novel around after proofing it for the fifth time, and found someone willing to take a chance on a first time writer. To their surprise, however, the novel had taken off after some shaky reception. It wasn't everyone's cup of tea, grim dark tales rarely were, but as it found its audience, Mark was astonished at the praise he received.
When the publisher called to let him know he had broken a thousand copies, he was tickled.
When they called a week later to inform him it was more like fifty thousand, Mark was astonished.
When he hit the New York Times best seller list, he had taken a two week vacation so he could do a few interviews and some local TV spots.
When his new agent called to let him know that Amazon was interested in a TV adaptation, Mark knew he had arrived.
By then, Mark was already writing his resignation letter. He was thankful for the prison and what they had helped him accomplish, but he would need more time to focus on his work. Amazon was hoping for his take on the script they were putting together, and there were already rumblings for a sequel. The show writers were interested in the chance of a sequel too, and Mark figured he better get to writing one. He'd already started the first couple of chapters, and as he said goodbye to Stragview, he thought his life might truly be about to begin.
Two weeks later as he sat in front of his brand new computer with nothing to show for it, he started wondering what had gone wrong?
Mark tried everything in his power, but the ideas just wouldn't come. He tried taking his laptop to different places. He tried consuming different kinds of media or music as he wrote. He tried immersing himself in different genres, but nothing brought the muse back. His editor was clamoring for new pages, but Mark couldn't give him what he wanted. The Amazon reps were complaining that his notes on the script were lacking too. They wanted big ideas, concepts for the show, but Mark couldn't come up with anything.
The more he racked his brain, the less work he seemed to do, and the only conclusion he could come to was that the last time he had found good output was when he had worked at Stragview. Mark cast that idea aside, though. That couldn't be it. The prison was such a hectic environment, and unpredictable setting. It couldn't possibly be conducive to a productive writing environment.
It had to be something else.
That's how it all began.
That had been the start of his madness.
* * * * *
He pulled his truck into the backyard and came to rest outside the large shed he had purchased. It was no humble storage shed, not by a long shot, and as he took the chair out of the truck, Mark felt giddy with anticipation. This was it, the final piece, the last thing he needed to make everything perfect.
As the door came open, Mark looked once more upon the monstrosity he had created and was proud.
When he had contacted Kevin about getting some things, his old partner had been hesitant.
Mark wanted pictures, layouts, specifics on brands of desks and computers, and Kevin had wanted to know why?
Once Mark offered to pay him, however, the questions became a little less important.
Mark had constructed the desk first. A long workspace made of Formica and wood, every chip and every ding the same as the one that sat in G dorm, thanks to Kevin's photos. Then the computer, an old two thousand five model that Mark had picked them up pretty cheap. Having it come with the same OS and programs was a little more expensive, but nothing too ridiculous. Then came every basket, every folder, every coffee cup and roach stain present in the booth. A microwave from a yard sale. A coffee pot from a Dollar General. Paper and flyers and all them custom printed. It took months of work, but when Mark finally looked at the finished product, he knew he'd done it.
When he sat down to work, however, he knew immediately that something wasn't right.
The windows had been wooden instead of metal, but the computer monitors that he played the security footage through were a stroke of genius. The footage had been hard to talk Kevin into, but the money had gone a long way. Kevin was in a lot of debt, like most CO's Mark knew, and the cash he was getting from the little project was likely helping him dig himself out of it. At least, Mark hoped it was, but he really didn't care what Kevin spent the money on.
When the windows and familiar view didn't help, thats when Mark realized what he needed.
The chair was a piece of it, likely the most important, and as he set it down now, he felt sure this would be the moment he'd been waiting for.
He booted up the computer, reveling in the old clicks and clacks that the aged system made as it came up.
He watched the inmates press their faces against the glass as Sergeant Martin and Kevin, Officer Rack, began their count for the day.
He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes as he soaked in the ambiance, and knew that the moment had come.
He opened Windows office, selected a new document, and set to work.
An hour later, he slammed his head against the desk and cried.
The idea's wouldn't come.
This had all been for nothing, an expensive nothing at that, and now he had nothing to show for it.
He was sunk, finished, his candle quenched before it's time.
“Quite an impressive set up you have here.”
He jumped as the voice wafted over him, and spun to find the Warden leaning in the door to his shed.
The Warden was the last person he had expected to find here, and he stood up at attention before he could stop himself. The Warden laughed, striding in as he took in the scene. He was such an odd character, and the sight of him outside the walls of Stragview was a little alarming. The Warden never left the compound, at least, Mark didn't think he had ever heard of him doing as much. Now he was here, standing inside Mark's shed and judging his efforts, and Mark wasn't sure what he expected.
“Security footage, pictures of secure locations within the prison, a chair with the maintenance ID still engraved on it, I've got enough here to have the police put you away for a while. I could probably get Officer Rack too while I'm at it, but I've got a much better idea.”
Mark shuddered as he watched the man circle like a shark, still not sure what to expect.
“This isn't going to work, Officer Danbrey. This hollow shell isn't going to give you what you need, and I think you understand that now, don't you?”
Mark nodded, hanging his head in defeat.
“You need the magic that hangs around Stragview, something you can’t get from a chair and a desk. You happen to be in luck, because I need something as well.”
He stopped then, and as he smiled at Mark he could swear the man's eyes glinted like brimstone.
“I need staff that are loyal to me, loyal to Stragview. Staff who know that if they choose to desert me, I can take that which they covet at a moment's notice. You want to write, to continue to grow your star? You need Stragview as much as it needs you.”
The two stood and stared at each other for a count of five before Mark asked the question the old shark had been waiting for.
“When do I start?”
“Oh, you'll have to go through orientation again, since you've quit. You might even have to prove to your old captain that you belong in confinement again, but I think you'll make it back sooner than you think. Orientation for new hires starts Monday, and I'll expect you in the training building promptly at five am.”
Mark wanted to protest, but he knew now what the price for disobedience would be.
He nodded, watching as The Warden stepped out of his shed as he walked towards the road.
Mark saw no car, now means of conveyance, and wondered how the old imp had gotten here so quickly?
“And Officer Danbrey,” the Warden said, drawing Mark up sharply, “the next time you think about leaving to pursue greener pastures, remember how far the warden's grass stretches.”
The Warden left him to his contemplation then, smiling as he felt the weight settle on his newest acolytes soul.
None of them understood the magic of Stragview better than he.
It was why he had built the prison there in the first place.
Some of them might tap into that deep wellspring that lay beneath Stragview, but none of them would ever understand it.
It gave them visions, it helped them thrive, but in the end, it only added strings that the Warden could use to make them dance.
submitted by Erutious to TalesOfDarkness [link] [comments]
“It’s out by the dumpster, you better send the money. I could get fired for this.”
Mark sighed as he read the message, pulling on his pants as he grabbed his car keys. He’d have to be quick before someone figured out what it was. Kevin hadn’t been wrong. He and Mark could get in trouble for what they were about to do. Kevin could get fired, but Mark could very easily be arrested for trespassing. He didn’t work at the prison anymore, and Stragview didn’t forget slights upon its honor like someone quitting.
It didn’t matter though, he needed that damn chair!
Mark had been working at Stragview for about two years when he finally hit the big time. When you were male and relatively consistent in your work schedule, it was only a matter of time before they put you in confinement. The Show, as many of them called it, had three quads, one of them being permanently sealed off for some reason, and was the bustling hub of the prison. The two guards he worked with, Sergeant Martin and Officer Rack, were solid as well, and they quickly figured out that Mark was a wiz when it came to paperwork and computer stuff. Both the old timers, both of his counterparts having ten plus years behind the fence, were more about flipping cells and keeping down problems than signing forms and housing new arrivals. As such, Mark was left in the bubble most of the time to run the nerve center of the unit while his new friends went to the floor for fun and games.
Mark got pretty good at keeping it all between the ditches, and that was when he discovered his real passion.
Mark had dabbled in writing for years, but something about being inside the epicenter of segregation really brought out the best in his writing. Mark found the process of bunking inmates to be pretty easy and the paperwork was tedious but not too complicated. He usually finished his work fairly early in the evening, which left him lots of time to hone his craft. He'd been working on the same novel for years, a bit of grim dark sci-fi set in his own little universe, but he had never really been motivated to finish it. The novel was a hobby, something to pass the time when he had nothing better to do, and now, as he sat and watched the two go about their daily chores he found that he suddenly had nothing better to do.
He fell in with both feet, and night after night found him at the keyboard of the dorm computer as he banged out chapter after chapter. The longer he worked on it, the more he realized that what he was writing was actually pretty good. Better than good, even. He was writing better than he'd ever written, and whether it was the ambiance or some latent ability coming out in him, Mark found the pages coming together easily. The story was great and the descriptions painted a picture of his universe he had never thought possible. The few people he let read it couldn't believe he had been the one to write it, and they had pressured him to submit it.
“Who knows,” Sergeant Martin said after looking over it before chow one morning, “you might actually make it out of shit hole like this with a story like this one.”
Mark had laughed at the time, but he couldn't have guessed how right he would be.
* * * * *
Mark pulled into the parking lot and looked for the dumpster.
Kevin said he had put it behind the green dumpster next to admin, and as he drove around the ominous wooden building, he saw the dumpster in question. The lids were open and Mark could see the flies swarming from here. The bags sat poking from the hole, black and glistening in the midday sun, and Mark hoped none of the smell would stick to his new chair. He had to be quick, he told himself, as he pulled up beside the dumpster and took one more look for anyone who might be watching.
This was private property, and if he was caught out here taking things from the dumpster, they could make trouble for him.
He climbed out of his truck, a bag of trash in hand as he approached the dumpster.
He was just some guy from admin who was tossing some truck garbage, nothing out of the ordinary.
As Mark came around to the side of the dumpster, letting the bag fly in a lazy arc, he saw what he had come to for.
The chair was beautiful, just as he remembered it. The wood on the armrests and the feet was stained a dark brown, the faux leather a deep reverent blue. It would support his back and head, cradling it for maximum creativity. It hadn't changed a bit, and he wondered how they had let Kevin take it to the dumpster at all?
A chair this pristine, this undamaged by careless boots and oversized backsides, came around once in a career.
He suddenly didn't care who saw him.
Mark lifted the chair gingerly and put it into the bed of his truck. He carried it the way he might his wife as he brought her over the threshold, and the blanket he had brought made for a fine buffer against the scratchy bed liner. As Mark lifted the tailgate, he couldn't help but smile at the chair as it lay there benignly.
He had it!
The last piece of the puzzle!
Now, he could finally get back to...
“Mark?”
Mark stiffened, turning around slowly as a smile stretched painfully over his face. He recognized the voice, but her name escaped him. The smiling brunette was only about a foot away from him, leaning out the window of her car as she greeted him. She'd been on Mark's shift, they had spoken many times on the occasions when he came to the captains office or found himself on the yard, and Mark might have even considered asking her out once.
Now she was an obstacle, one more thing to overcome so he could return to his work.
“I thought that was you. What's a big time writer doing in a place like this?”
Mark stepped close to her car, grinning as he leaned down and hoping it looked natural.
“Just had to come and talk to HR about the rest of my vacation time. They still hadn't paid me for all of it and I could use the money until my royalty checks even out a little.”
He prayed silently behind that smile that she wouldn't see the chair as it lay there in the bed of his F150.
It was his chair, and she couldn't have it.
“I'm so jealous,” she said, “we're so short handed that I doubt I'll ever get to use any of mine. How have you been?”
“Good. Just enjoying doing what I love,” he said, his mind screaming behind that smile.
He had to go, he had to get out of here, he had to get back to what mattered.
He made a little more small talk before she realized she was going to be late and told Mark she would see him around. He turned to go, glad to be free of her, when she suddenly called his name and brought him back around. He was like an overclocked spring, ready to snap if she so much as mentioned the chair. She had to have seen it. How could she not. It was beautiful, it was captivating, and anyone who saw it would have to have it. He'd kill her right here if she made him. He needed that chair and he'd snap her neck as she hung out her window if she...
“Could you sign this for me?” she asked, taking a copy of his book off the passenger seat, “I had been carrying it in the hopes I'd see you around. It would be great to have a signed copy.”
Mark sighed in relief, scratching his name on the inside cover before handing it back.
He waved as she pulled off, wishing him well as she rolled towards the employee parking lot.
She hadn't even found a spot before Mark was speeding out of the lot and back onto the road towards Cashmere.
No more distraction, Mark had work to do.
* * * * *
The book hadn't been an immediate success. No one had appeared to publish it, no fairy godmother had poofed into existence to make his dreams come true. Mark had shopped the novel around after proofing it for the fifth time, and found someone willing to take a chance on a first time writer. To their surprise, however, the novel had taken off after some shaky reception. It wasn't everyone's cup of tea, grim dark tales rarely were, but as it found its audience, Mark was astonished at the praise he received.
When the publisher called to let him know he had broken a thousand copies, he was tickled.
When they called a week later to inform him it was more like fifty thousand, Mark was astonished.
When he hit the New York Times best seller list, he had taken a two week vacation so he could do a few interviews and some local TV spots.
When his new agent called to let him know that Amazon was interested in a TV adaptation, Mark knew he had arrived.
By then, Mark was already writing his resignation letter. He was thankful for the prison and what they had helped him accomplish, but he would need more time to focus on his work. Amazon was hoping for his take on the script they were putting together, and there were already rumblings for a sequel. The show writers were interested in the chance of a sequel too, and Mark figured he better get to writing one. He'd already started the first couple of chapters, and as he said goodbye to Stragview, he thought his life might truly be about to begin.
Two weeks later as he sat in front of his brand new computer with nothing to show for it, he started wondering what had gone wrong?
Mark tried everything in his power, but the ideas just wouldn't come. He tried taking his laptop to different places. He tried consuming different kinds of media or music as he wrote. He tried immersing himself in different genres, but nothing brought the muse back. His editor was clamoring for new pages, but Mark couldn't give him what he wanted. The Amazon reps were complaining that his notes on the script were lacking too. They wanted big ideas, concepts for the show, but Mark couldn't come up with anything.
The more he racked his brain, the less work he seemed to do, and the only conclusion he could come to was that the last time he had found good output was when he had worked at Stragview. Mark cast that idea aside, though. That couldn't be it. The prison was such a hectic environment, and unpredictable setting. It couldn't possibly be conducive to a productive writing environment.
It had to be something else.
That's how it all began.
That had been the start of his madness.
* * * * *
He pulled his truck into the backyard and came to rest outside the large shed he had purchased. It was no humble storage shed, not by a long shot, and as he took the chair out of the truck, Mark felt giddy with anticipation. This was it, the final piece, the last thing he needed to make everything perfect.
As the door came open, Mark looked once more upon the monstrosity he had created and was proud.
When he had contacted Kevin about getting some things, his old partner had been hesitant.
Mark wanted pictures, layouts, specifics on brands of desks and computers, and Kevin had wanted to know why?
Once Mark offered to pay him, however, the questions became a little less important.
Mark had constructed the desk first. A long workspace made of Formica and wood, every chip and every ding the same as the one that sat in G dorm, thanks to Kevin's photos. Then the computer, an old two thousand five model that Mark had picked them up pretty cheap. Having it come with the same OS and programs was a little more expensive, but nothing too ridiculous. Then came every basket, every folder, every coffee cup and roach stain present in the booth. A microwave from a yard sale. A coffee pot from a Dollar General. Paper and flyers and all them custom printed. It took months of work, but when Mark finally looked at the finished product, he knew he'd done it.
When he sat down to work, however, he knew immediately that something wasn't right.
The windows had been wooden instead of metal, but the computer monitors that he played the security footage through were a stroke of genius. The footage had been hard to talk Kevin into, but the money had gone a long way. Kevin was in a lot of debt, like most CO's Mark knew, and the cash he was getting from the little project was likely helping him dig himself out of it. At least, Mark hoped it was, but he really didn't care what Kevin spent the money on.
When the windows and familiar view didn't help, thats when Mark realized what he needed.
The chair was a piece of it, likely the most important, and as he set it down now, he felt sure this would be the moment he'd been waiting for.
He booted up the computer, reveling in the old clicks and clacks that the aged system made as it came up.
He watched the inmates press their faces against the glass as Sergeant Martin and Kevin, Officer Rack, began their count for the day.
He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes as he soaked in the ambiance, and knew that the moment had come.
He opened Windows office, selected a new document, and set to work.
An hour later, he slammed his head against the desk and cried.
The idea's wouldn't come.
This had all been for nothing, an expensive nothing at that, and now he had nothing to show for it.
He was sunk, finished, his candle quenched before it's time.
“Quite an impressive set up you have here.”
He jumped as the voice wafted over him, and spun to find the Warden leaning in the door to his shed.
The Warden was the last person he had expected to find here, and he stood up at attention before he could stop himself. The Warden laughed, striding in as he took in the scene. He was such an odd character, and the sight of him outside the walls of Stragview was a little alarming. The Warden never left the compound, at least, Mark didn't think he had ever heard of him doing as much. Now he was here, standing inside Mark's shed and judging his efforts, and Mark wasn't sure what he expected.
“Security footage, pictures of secure locations within the prison, a chair with the maintenance ID still engraved on it, I've got enough here to have the police put you away for a while. I could probably get Officer Rack too while I'm at it, but I've got a much better idea.”
Mark shuddered as he watched the man circle like a shark, still not sure what to expect.
“This isn't going to work, Officer Danbrey. This hollow shell isn't going to give you what you need, and I think you understand that now, don't you?”
Mark nodded, hanging his head in defeat.
“You need the magic that hangs around Stragview, something you can’t get from a chair and a desk. You happen to be in luck, because I need something as well.”
He stopped then, and as he smiled at Mark he could swear the man's eyes glinted like brimstone.
“I need staff that are loyal to me, loyal to Stragview. Staff who know that if they choose to desert me, I can take that which they covet at a moment's notice. You want to write, to continue to grow your star? You need Stragview as much as it needs you.”
The two stood and stared at each other for a count of five before Mark asked the question the old shark had been waiting for.
“When do I start?”
“Oh, you'll have to go through orientation again, since you've quit. You might even have to prove to your old captain that you belong in confinement again, but I think you'll make it back sooner than you think. Orientation for new hires starts Monday, and I'll expect you in the training building promptly at five am.”
Mark wanted to protest, but he knew now what the price for disobedience would be.
He nodded, watching as The Warden stepped out of his shed as he walked towards the road.
Mark saw no car, now means of conveyance, and wondered how the old imp had gotten here so quickly?
“And Officer Danbrey,” the Warden said, drawing Mark up sharply, “the next time you think about leaving to pursue greener pastures, remember how far the warden's grass stretches.”
The Warden left him to his contemplation then, smiling as he felt the weight settle on his newest acolytes soul.
None of them understood the magic of Stragview better than he.
It was why he had built the prison there in the first place.
Some of them might tap into that deep wellspring that lay beneath Stragview, but none of them would ever understand it.
It gave them visions, it helped them thrive, but in the end, it only added strings that the Warden could use to make them dance.
2023.05.27 01:08 Erutious Stragview Stories- His Happy Place
“It’s out by the dumpster, you better send the money. I could get fired for this.”
Mark sighed as he read the message, pulling on his pants as he grabbed his car keys. He’d have to be quick before someone figured out what it was. Kevin hadn’t been wrong. He and Mark could get in trouble for what they were about to do. Kevin could get fired, but Mark could very easily be arrested for trespassing. He didn’t work at the prison anymore, and Stragview didn’t forget slights upon its honor like someone quitting.
It didn’t matter though, he needed that damn chair!
Mark had been working at Stragview for about two years when he finally hit the big time. When you were male and relatively consistent in your work schedule, it was only a matter of time before they put you in confinement. The Show, as many of them called it, had three quads, one of them being permanently sealed off for some reason, and was the bustling hub of the prison. The two guards he worked with, Sergeant Martin and Officer Rack, were solid as well, and they quickly figured out that Mark was a wiz when it came to paperwork and computer stuff. Both the old timers, both of his counterparts having ten plus years behind the fence, were more about flipping cells and keeping down problems than signing forms and housing new arrivals. As such, Mark was left in the bubble most of the time to run the nerve center of the unit while his new friends went to the floor for fun and games.
Mark got pretty good at keeping it all between the ditches, and that was when he discovered his real passion.
Mark had dabbled in writing for years, but something about being inside the epicenter of segregation really brought out the best in his writing. Mark found the process of bunking inmates to be pretty easy and the paperwork was tedious but not too complicated. He usually finished his work fairly early in the evening, which left him lots of time to hone his craft. He'd been working on the same novel for years, a bit of grim dark sci-fi set in his own little universe, but he had never really been motivated to finish it. The novel was a hobby, something to pass the time when he had nothing better to do, and now, as he sat and watched the two go about their daily chores he found that he suddenly had nothing better to do.
He fell in with both feet, and night after night found him at the keyboard of the dorm computer as he banged out chapter after chapter. The longer he worked on it, the more he realized that what he was writing was actually pretty good. Better than good, even. He was writing better than he'd ever written, and whether it was the ambiance or some latent ability coming out in him, Mark found the pages coming together easily. The story was great and the descriptions painted a picture of his universe he had never thought possible. The few people he let read it couldn't believe he had been the one to write it, and they had pressured him to submit it.
“Who knows,” Sergeant Martin said after looking over it before chow one morning, “you might actually make it out of shit hole like this with a story like this one.”
Mark had laughed at the time, but he couldn't have guessed how right he would be.
* * * * *
Mark pulled into the parking lot and looked for the dumpster.
Kevin said he had put it behind the green dumpster next to admin, and as he drove around the ominous wooden building, he saw the dumpster in question. The lids were open and Mark could see the flies swarming from here. The bags sat poking from the hole, black and glistening in the midday sun, and Mark hoped none of the smell would stick to his new chair. He had to be quick, he told himself, as he pulled up beside the dumpster and took one more look for anyone who might be watching.
This was private property, and if he was caught out here taking things from the dumpster, they could make trouble for him.
He climbed out of his truck, a bag of trash in hand as he approached the dumpster.
He was just some guy from admin who was tossing some truck garbage, nothing out of the ordinary.
As Mark came around to the side of the dumpster, letting the bag fly in a lazy arc, he saw what he had come to for.
The chair was beautiful, just as he remembered it. The wood on the armrests and the feet was stained a dark brown, the faux leather a deep reverent blue. It would support his back and head, cradling it for maximum creativity. It hadn't changed a bit, and he wondered how they had let Kevin take it to the dumpster at all?
A chair this pristine, this undamaged by careless boots and oversized backsides, came around once in a career.
He suddenly didn't care who saw him.
Mark lifted the chair gingerly and put it into the bed of his truck. He carried it the way he might his wife as he brought her over the threshold, and the blanket he had brought made for a fine buffer against the scratchy bed liner. As Mark lifted the tailgate, he couldn't help but smile at the chair as it lay there benignly.
He had it!
The last piece of the puzzle!
Now, he could finally get back to...
“Mark?”
Mark stiffened, turning around slowly as a smile stretched painfully over his face. He recognized the voice, but her name escaped him. The smiling brunette was only about a foot away from him, leaning out the window of her car as she greeted him. She'd been on Mark's shift, they had spoken many times on the occasions when he came to the captains office or found himself on the yard, and Mark might have even considered asking her out once.
Now she was an obstacle, one more thing to overcome so he could return to his work.
“I thought that was you. What's a big time writer doing in a place like this?”
Mark stepped close to her car, grinning as he leaned down and hoping it looked natural.
“Just had to come and talk to HR about the rest of my vacation time. They still hadn't paid me for all of it and I could use the money until my royalty checks even out a little.”
He prayed silently behind that smile that she wouldn't see the chair as it lay there in the bed of his F150.
It was his chair, and she couldn't have it.
“I'm so jealous,” she said, “we're so short handed that I doubt I'll ever get to use any of mine. How have you been?”
“Good. Just enjoying doing what I love,” he said, his mind screaming behind that smile.
He had to go, he had to get out of here, he had to get back to what mattered.
He made a little more small talk before she realized she was going to be late and told Mark she would see him around. He turned to go, glad to be free of her, when she suddenly called his name and brought him back around. He was like an overclocked spring, ready to snap if she so much as mentioned the chair. She had to have seen it. How could she not. It was beautiful, it was captivating, and anyone who saw it would have to have it. He'd kill her right here if she made him. He needed that chair and he'd snap her neck as she hung out her window if she...
“Could you sign this for me?” she asked, taking a copy of his book off the passenger seat, “I had been carrying it in the hopes I'd see you around. It would be great to have a signed copy.”
Mark sighed in relief, scratching his name on the inside cover before handing it back.
He waved as she pulled off, wishing him well as she rolled towards the employee parking lot.
She hadn't even found a spot before Mark was speeding out of the lot and back onto the road towards Cashmere.
No more distraction, Mark had work to do.
* * * * *
The book hadn't been an immediate success. No one had appeared to publish it, no fairy godmother had poofed into existence to make his dreams come true. Mark had shopped the novel around after proofing it for the fifth time, and found someone willing to take a chance on a first time writer. To their surprise, however, the novel had taken off after some shaky reception. It wasn't everyone's cup of tea, grim dark tales rarely were, but as it found its audience, Mark was astonished at the praise he received.
When the publisher called to let him know he had broken a thousand copies, he was tickled.
When they called a week later to inform him it was more like fifty thousand, Mark was astonished.
When he hit the New York Times best seller list, he had taken a two week vacation so he could do a few interviews and some local TV spots.
When his new agent called to let him know that Amazon was interested in a TV adaptation, Mark knew he had arrived.
By then, Mark was already writing his resignation letter. He was thankful for the prison and what they had helped him accomplish, but he would need more time to focus on his work. Amazon was hoping for his take on the script they were putting together, and there were already rumblings for a sequel. The show writers were interested in the chance of a sequel too, and Mark figured he better get to writing one. He'd already started the first couple of chapters, and as he said goodbye to Stragview, he thought his life might truly be about to begin.
Two weeks later as he sat in front of his brand new computer with nothing to show for it, he started wondering what had gone wrong?
Mark tried everything in his power, but the ideas just wouldn't come. He tried taking his laptop to different places. He tried consuming different kinds of media or music as he wrote. He tried immersing himself in different genres, but nothing brought the muse back. His editor was clamoring for new pages, but Mark couldn't give him what he wanted. The Amazon reps were complaining that his notes on the script were lacking too. They wanted big ideas, concepts for the show, but Mark couldn't come up with anything.
The more he racked his brain, the less work he seemed to do, and the only conclusion he could come to was that the last time he had found good output was when he had worked at Stragview. Mark cast that idea aside, though. That couldn't be it. The prison was such a hectic environment, and unpredictable setting. It couldn't possibly be conducive to a productive writing environment.
It had to be something else.
That's how it all began.
That had been the start of his madness.
* * * * *
He pulled his truck into the backyard and came to rest outside the large shed he had purchased. It was no humble storage shed, not by a long shot, and as he took the chair out of the truck, Mark felt giddy with anticipation. This was it, the final piece, the last thing he needed to make everything perfect.
As the door came open, Mark looked once more upon the monstrosity he had created and was proud.
When he had contacted Kevin about getting some things, his old partner had been hesitant.
Mark wanted pictures, layouts, specifics on brands of desks and computers, and Kevin had wanted to know why?
Once Mark offered to pay him, however, the questions became a little less important.
Mark had constructed the desk first. A long workspace made of Formica and wood, every chip and every ding the same as the one that sat in G dorm, thanks to Kevin's photos. Then the computer, an old two thousand five model that Mark had picked them up pretty cheap. Having it come with the same OS and programs was a little more expensive, but nothing too ridiculous. Then came every basket, every folder, every coffee cup and roach stain present in the booth. A microwave from a yard sale. A coffee pot from a Dollar General. Paper and flyers and all them custom printed. It took months of work, but when Mark finally looked at the finished product, he knew he'd done it.
When he sat down to work, however, he knew immediately that something wasn't right.
The windows had been wooden instead of metal, but the computer monitors that he played the security footage through were a stroke of genius. The footage had been hard to talk Kevin into, but the money had gone a long way. Kevin was in a lot of debt, like most CO's Mark knew, and the cash he was getting from the little project was likely helping him dig himself out of it. At least, Mark hoped it was, but he really didn't care what Kevin spent the money on.
When the windows and familiar view didn't help, thats when Mark realized what he needed.
The chair was a piece of it, likely the most important, and as he set it down now, he felt sure this would be the moment he'd been waiting for.
He booted up the computer, reveling in the old clicks and clacks that the aged system made as it came up.
He watched the inmates press their faces against the glass as Sergeant Martin and Kevin, Officer Rack, began their count for the day.
He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes as he soaked in the ambiance, and knew that the moment had come.
He opened Windows office, selected a new document, and set to work.
An hour later, he slammed his head against the desk and cried.
The idea's wouldn't come.
This had all been for nothing, an expensive nothing at that, and now he had nothing to show for it.
He was sunk, finished, his candle quenched before it's time.
“Quite an impressive set up you have here.”
He jumped as the voice wafted over him, and spun to find the Warden leaning in the door to his shed.
The Warden was the last person he had expected to find here, and he stood up at attention before he could stop himself. The Warden laughed, striding in as he took in the scene. He was such an odd character, and the sight of him outside the walls of Stragview was a little alarming. The Warden never left the compound, at least, Mark didn't think he had ever heard of him doing as much. Now he was here, standing inside Mark's shed and judging his efforts, and Mark wasn't sure what he expected.
“Security footage, pictures of secure locations within the prison, a chair with the maintenance ID still engraved on it, I've got enough here to have the police put you away for a while. I could probably get Officer Rack too while I'm at it, but I've got a much better idea.”
Mark shuddered as he watched the man circle like a shark, still not sure what to expect.
“This isn't going to work, Officer Danbrey. This hollow shell isn't going to give you what you need, and I think you understand that now, don't you?”
Mark nodded, hanging his head in defeat.
“You need the magic that hangs around Stragview, something you can’t get from a chair and a desk. You happen to be in luck, because I need something as well.”
He stopped then, and as he smiled at Mark he could swear the man's eyes glinted like brimstone.
“I need staff that are loyal to me, loyal to Stragview. Staff who know that if they choose to desert me, I can take that which they covet at a moment's notice. You want to write, to continue to grow your star? You need Stragview as much as it needs you.”
The two stood and stared at each other for a count of five before Mark asked the question the old shark had been waiting for.
“When do I start?”
“Oh, you'll have to go through orientation again, since you've quit. You might even have to prove to your old captain that you belong in confinement again, but I think you'll make it back sooner than you think. Orientation for new hires starts Monday, and I'll expect you in the training building promptly at five am.”
Mark wanted to protest, but he knew now what the price for disobedience would be.
He nodded, watching as The Warden stepped out of his shed as he walked towards the road.
Mark saw no car, now means of conveyance, and wondered how the old imp had gotten here so quickly?
“And Officer Danbrey,” the Warden said, drawing Mark up sharply, “the next time you think about leaving to pursue greener pastures, remember how far the warden's grass stretches.”
The Warden left him to his contemplation then, smiling as he felt the weight settle on his newest acolytes soul.
None of them understood the magic of Stragview better than he.
It was why he had built the prison there in the first place.
Some of them might tap into that deep wellspring that lay beneath Stragview, but none of them would ever understand it.
It gave them visions, it helped them thrive, but in the end, it only added strings that the Warden could use to make them dance.
submitted by Erutious to spooky_stories [link] [comments]
“It’s out by the dumpster, you better send the money. I could get fired for this.”
Mark sighed as he read the message, pulling on his pants as he grabbed his car keys. He’d have to be quick before someone figured out what it was. Kevin hadn’t been wrong. He and Mark could get in trouble for what they were about to do. Kevin could get fired, but Mark could very easily be arrested for trespassing. He didn’t work at the prison anymore, and Stragview didn’t forget slights upon its honor like someone quitting.
It didn’t matter though, he needed that damn chair!
Mark had been working at Stragview for about two years when he finally hit the big time. When you were male and relatively consistent in your work schedule, it was only a matter of time before they put you in confinement. The Show, as many of them called it, had three quads, one of them being permanently sealed off for some reason, and was the bustling hub of the prison. The two guards he worked with, Sergeant Martin and Officer Rack, were solid as well, and they quickly figured out that Mark was a wiz when it came to paperwork and computer stuff. Both the old timers, both of his counterparts having ten plus years behind the fence, were more about flipping cells and keeping down problems than signing forms and housing new arrivals. As such, Mark was left in the bubble most of the time to run the nerve center of the unit while his new friends went to the floor for fun and games.
Mark got pretty good at keeping it all between the ditches, and that was when he discovered his real passion.
Mark had dabbled in writing for years, but something about being inside the epicenter of segregation really brought out the best in his writing. Mark found the process of bunking inmates to be pretty easy and the paperwork was tedious but not too complicated. He usually finished his work fairly early in the evening, which left him lots of time to hone his craft. He'd been working on the same novel for years, a bit of grim dark sci-fi set in his own little universe, but he had never really been motivated to finish it. The novel was a hobby, something to pass the time when he had nothing better to do, and now, as he sat and watched the two go about their daily chores he found that he suddenly had nothing better to do.
He fell in with both feet, and night after night found him at the keyboard of the dorm computer as he banged out chapter after chapter. The longer he worked on it, the more he realized that what he was writing was actually pretty good. Better than good, even. He was writing better than he'd ever written, and whether it was the ambiance or some latent ability coming out in him, Mark found the pages coming together easily. The story was great and the descriptions painted a picture of his universe he had never thought possible. The few people he let read it couldn't believe he had been the one to write it, and they had pressured him to submit it.
“Who knows,” Sergeant Martin said after looking over it before chow one morning, “you might actually make it out of shit hole like this with a story like this one.”
Mark had laughed at the time, but he couldn't have guessed how right he would be.
* * * * *
Mark pulled into the parking lot and looked for the dumpster.
Kevin said he had put it behind the green dumpster next to admin, and as he drove around the ominous wooden building, he saw the dumpster in question. The lids were open and Mark could see the flies swarming from here. The bags sat poking from the hole, black and glistening in the midday sun, and Mark hoped none of the smell would stick to his new chair. He had to be quick, he told himself, as he pulled up beside the dumpster and took one more look for anyone who might be watching.
This was private property, and if he was caught out here taking things from the dumpster, they could make trouble for him.
He climbed out of his truck, a bag of trash in hand as he approached the dumpster.
He was just some guy from admin who was tossing some truck garbage, nothing out of the ordinary.
As Mark came around to the side of the dumpster, letting the bag fly in a lazy arc, he saw what he had come to for.
The chair was beautiful, just as he remembered it. The wood on the armrests and the feet was stained a dark brown, the faux leather a deep reverent blue. It would support his back and head, cradling it for maximum creativity. It hadn't changed a bit, and he wondered how they had let Kevin take it to the dumpster at all?
A chair this pristine, this undamaged by careless boots and oversized backsides, came around once in a career.
He suddenly didn't care who saw him.
Mark lifted the chair gingerly and put it into the bed of his truck. He carried it the way he might his wife as he brought her over the threshold, and the blanket he had brought made for a fine buffer against the scratchy bed liner. As Mark lifted the tailgate, he couldn't help but smile at the chair as it lay there benignly.
He had it!
The last piece of the puzzle!
Now, he could finally get back to...
“Mark?”
Mark stiffened, turning around slowly as a smile stretched painfully over his face. He recognized the voice, but her name escaped him. The smiling brunette was only about a foot away from him, leaning out the window of her car as she greeted him. She'd been on Mark's shift, they had spoken many times on the occasions when he came to the captains office or found himself on the yard, and Mark might have even considered asking her out once.
Now she was an obstacle, one more thing to overcome so he could return to his work.
“I thought that was you. What's a big time writer doing in a place like this?”
Mark stepped close to her car, grinning as he leaned down and hoping it looked natural.
“Just had to come and talk to HR about the rest of my vacation time. They still hadn't paid me for all of it and I could use the money until my royalty checks even out a little.”
He prayed silently behind that smile that she wouldn't see the chair as it lay there in the bed of his F150.
It was his chair, and she couldn't have it.
“I'm so jealous,” she said, “we're so short handed that I doubt I'll ever get to use any of mine. How have you been?”
“Good. Just enjoying doing what I love,” he said, his mind screaming behind that smile.
He had to go, he had to get out of here, he had to get back to what mattered.
He made a little more small talk before she realized she was going to be late and told Mark she would see him around. He turned to go, glad to be free of her, when she suddenly called his name and brought him back around. He was like an overclocked spring, ready to snap if she so much as mentioned the chair. She had to have seen it. How could she not. It was beautiful, it was captivating, and anyone who saw it would have to have it. He'd kill her right here if she made him. He needed that chair and he'd snap her neck as she hung out her window if she...
“Could you sign this for me?” she asked, taking a copy of his book off the passenger seat, “I had been carrying it in the hopes I'd see you around. It would be great to have a signed copy.”
Mark sighed in relief, scratching his name on the inside cover before handing it back.
He waved as she pulled off, wishing him well as she rolled towards the employee parking lot.
She hadn't even found a spot before Mark was speeding out of the lot and back onto the road towards Cashmere.
No more distraction, Mark had work to do.
* * * * *
The book hadn't been an immediate success. No one had appeared to publish it, no fairy godmother had poofed into existence to make his dreams come true. Mark had shopped the novel around after proofing it for the fifth time, and found someone willing to take a chance on a first time writer. To their surprise, however, the novel had taken off after some shaky reception. It wasn't everyone's cup of tea, grim dark tales rarely were, but as it found its audience, Mark was astonished at the praise he received.
When the publisher called to let him know he had broken a thousand copies, he was tickled.
When they called a week later to inform him it was more like fifty thousand, Mark was astonished.
When he hit the New York Times best seller list, he had taken a two week vacation so he could do a few interviews and some local TV spots.
When his new agent called to let him know that Amazon was interested in a TV adaptation, Mark knew he had arrived.
By then, Mark was already writing his resignation letter. He was thankful for the prison and what they had helped him accomplish, but he would need more time to focus on his work. Amazon was hoping for his take on the script they were putting together, and there were already rumblings for a sequel. The show writers were interested in the chance of a sequel too, and Mark figured he better get to writing one. He'd already started the first couple of chapters, and as he said goodbye to Stragview, he thought his life might truly be about to begin.
Two weeks later as he sat in front of his brand new computer with nothing to show for it, he started wondering what had gone wrong?
Mark tried everything in his power, but the ideas just wouldn't come. He tried taking his laptop to different places. He tried consuming different kinds of media or music as he wrote. He tried immersing himself in different genres, but nothing brought the muse back. His editor was clamoring for new pages, but Mark couldn't give him what he wanted. The Amazon reps were complaining that his notes on the script were lacking too. They wanted big ideas, concepts for the show, but Mark couldn't come up with anything.
The more he racked his brain, the less work he seemed to do, and the only conclusion he could come to was that the last time he had found good output was when he had worked at Stragview. Mark cast that idea aside, though. That couldn't be it. The prison was such a hectic environment, and unpredictable setting. It couldn't possibly be conducive to a productive writing environment.
It had to be something else.
That's how it all began.
That had been the start of his madness.
* * * * *
He pulled his truck into the backyard and came to rest outside the large shed he had purchased. It was no humble storage shed, not by a long shot, and as he took the chair out of the truck, Mark felt giddy with anticipation. This was it, the final piece, the last thing he needed to make everything perfect.
As the door came open, Mark looked once more upon the monstrosity he had created and was proud.
When he had contacted Kevin about getting some things, his old partner had been hesitant.
Mark wanted pictures, layouts, specifics on brands of desks and computers, and Kevin had wanted to know why?
Once Mark offered to pay him, however, the questions became a little less important.
Mark had constructed the desk first. A long workspace made of Formica and wood, every chip and every ding the same as the one that sat in G dorm, thanks to Kevin's photos. Then the computer, an old two thousand five model that Mark had picked them up pretty cheap. Having it come with the same OS and programs was a little more expensive, but nothing too ridiculous. Then came every basket, every folder, every coffee cup and roach stain present in the booth. A microwave from a yard sale. A coffee pot from a Dollar General. Paper and flyers and all them custom printed. It took months of work, but when Mark finally looked at the finished product, he knew he'd done it.
When he sat down to work, however, he knew immediately that something wasn't right.
The windows had been wooden instead of metal, but the computer monitors that he played the security footage through were a stroke of genius. The footage had been hard to talk Kevin into, but the money had gone a long way. Kevin was in a lot of debt, like most CO's Mark knew, and the cash he was getting from the little project was likely helping him dig himself out of it. At least, Mark hoped it was, but he really didn't care what Kevin spent the money on.
When the windows and familiar view didn't help, thats when Mark realized what he needed.
The chair was a piece of it, likely the most important, and as he set it down now, he felt sure this would be the moment he'd been waiting for.
He booted up the computer, reveling in the old clicks and clacks that the aged system made as it came up.
He watched the inmates press their faces against the glass as Sergeant Martin and Kevin, Officer Rack, began their count for the day.
He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes as he soaked in the ambiance, and knew that the moment had come.
He opened Windows office, selected a new document, and set to work.
An hour later, he slammed his head against the desk and cried.
The idea's wouldn't come.
This had all been for nothing, an expensive nothing at that, and now he had nothing to show for it.
He was sunk, finished, his candle quenched before it's time.
“Quite an impressive set up you have here.”
He jumped as the voice wafted over him, and spun to find the Warden leaning in the door to his shed.
The Warden was the last person he had expected to find here, and he stood up at attention before he could stop himself. The Warden laughed, striding in as he took in the scene. He was such an odd character, and the sight of him outside the walls of Stragview was a little alarming. The Warden never left the compound, at least, Mark didn't think he had ever heard of him doing as much. Now he was here, standing inside Mark's shed and judging his efforts, and Mark wasn't sure what he expected.
“Security footage, pictures of secure locations within the prison, a chair with the maintenance ID still engraved on it, I've got enough here to have the police put you away for a while. I could probably get Officer Rack too while I'm at it, but I've got a much better idea.”
Mark shuddered as he watched the man circle like a shark, still not sure what to expect.
“This isn't going to work, Officer Danbrey. This hollow shell isn't going to give you what you need, and I think you understand that now, don't you?”
Mark nodded, hanging his head in defeat.
“You need the magic that hangs around Stragview, something you can’t get from a chair and a desk. You happen to be in luck, because I need something as well.”
He stopped then, and as he smiled at Mark he could swear the man's eyes glinted like brimstone.
“I need staff that are loyal to me, loyal to Stragview. Staff who know that if they choose to desert me, I can take that which they covet at a moment's notice. You want to write, to continue to grow your star? You need Stragview as much as it needs you.”
The two stood and stared at each other for a count of five before Mark asked the question the old shark had been waiting for.
“When do I start?”
“Oh, you'll have to go through orientation again, since you've quit. You might even have to prove to your old captain that you belong in confinement again, but I think you'll make it back sooner than you think. Orientation for new hires starts Monday, and I'll expect you in the training building promptly at five am.”
Mark wanted to protest, but he knew now what the price for disobedience would be.
He nodded, watching as The Warden stepped out of his shed as he walked towards the road.
Mark saw no car, now means of conveyance, and wondered how the old imp had gotten here so quickly?
“And Officer Danbrey,” the Warden said, drawing Mark up sharply, “the next time you think about leaving to pursue greener pastures, remember how far the warden's grass stretches.”
The Warden left him to his contemplation then, smiling as he felt the weight settle on his newest acolytes soul.
None of them understood the magic of Stragview better than he.
It was why he had built the prison there in the first place.
Some of them might tap into that deep wellspring that lay beneath Stragview, but none of them would ever understand it.
It gave them visions, it helped them thrive, but in the end, it only added strings that the Warden could use to make them dance.
2023.05.27 01:07 Erutious Stragview Stories- His Happy Place
“It’s out by the dumpster, you better send the money. I could get fired for this.”
Mark sighed as he read the message, pulling on his pants as he grabbed his car keys. He’d have to be quick before someone figured out what it was. Kevin hadn’t been wrong. He and Mark could get in trouble for what they were about to do. Kevin could get fired, but Mark could very easily be arrested for trespassing. He didn’t work at the prison anymore, and Stragview didn’t forget slights upon its honor like someone quitting.
It didn’t matter though, he needed that damn chair!
Mark had been working at Stragview for about two years when he finally hit the big time. When you were male and relatively consistent in your work schedule, it was only a matter of time before they put you in confinement. The Show, as many of them called it, had three quads, one of them being permanently sealed off for some reason, and was the bustling hub of the prison. The two guards he worked with, Sergeant Martin and Officer Rack, were solid as well, and they quickly figured out that Mark was a wiz when it came to paperwork and computer stuff. Both the old timers, both of his counterparts having ten plus years behind the fence, were more about flipping cells and keeping down problems than signing forms and housing new arrivals. As such, Mark was left in the bubble most of the time to run the nerve center of the unit while his new friends went to the floor for fun and games.
Mark got pretty good at keeping it all between the ditches, and that was when he discovered his real passion.
Mark had dabbled in writing for years, but something about being inside the epicenter of segregation really brought out the best in his writing. Mark found the process of bunking inmates to be pretty easy and the paperwork was tedious but not too complicated. He usually finished his work fairly early in the evening, which left him lots of time to hone his craft. He'd been working on the same novel for years, a bit of grim dark sci-fi set in his own little universe, but he had never really been motivated to finish it. The novel was a hobby, something to pass the time when he had nothing better to do, and now, as he sat and watched the two go about their daily chores he found that he suddenly had nothing better to do.
He fell in with both feet, and night after night found him at the keyboard of the dorm computer as he banged out chapter after chapter. The longer he worked on it, the more he realized that what he was writing was actually pretty good. Better than good, even. He was writing better than he'd ever written, and whether it was the ambiance or some latent ability coming out in him, Mark found the pages coming together easily. The story was great and the descriptions painted a picture of his universe he had never thought possible. The few people he let read it couldn't believe he had been the one to write it, and they had pressured him to submit it.
“Who knows,” Sergeant Martin said after looking over it before chow one morning, “you might actually make it out of shit hole like this with a story like this one.”
Mark had laughed at the time, but he couldn't have guessed how right he would be.
* * * * *
Mark pulled into the parking lot and looked for the dumpster.
Kevin said he had put it behind the green dumpster next to admin, and as he drove around the ominous wooden building, he saw the dumpster in question. The lids were open and Mark could see the flies swarming from here. The bags sat poking from the hole, black and glistening in the midday sun, and Mark hoped none of the smell would stick to his new chair. He had to be quick, he told himself, as he pulled up beside the dumpster and took one more look for anyone who might be watching.
This was private property, and if he was caught out here taking things from the dumpster, they could make trouble for him.
He climbed out of his truck, a bag of trash in hand as he approached the dumpster.
He was just some guy from admin who was tossing some truck garbage, nothing out of the ordinary.
As Mark came around to the side of the dumpster, letting the bag fly in a lazy arc, he saw what he had come to for.
The chair was beautiful, just as he remembered it. The wood on the armrests and the feet was stained a dark brown, the faux leather a deep reverent blue. It would support his back and head, cradling it for maximum creativity. It hadn't changed a bit, and he wondered how they had let Kevin take it to the dumpster at all?
A chair this pristine, this undamaged by careless boots and oversized backsides, came around once in a career.
He suddenly didn't care who saw him.
Mark lifted the chair gingerly and put it into the bed of his truck. He carried it the way he might his wife as he brought her over the threshold, and the blanket he had brought made for a fine buffer against the scratchy bed liner. As Mark lifted the tailgate, he couldn't help but smile at the chair as it lay there benignly.
He had it!
The last piece of the puzzle!
Now, he could finally get back to...
“Mark?”
Mark stiffened, turning around slowly as a smile stretched painfully over his face. He recognized the voice, but her name escaped him. The smiling brunette was only about a foot away from him, leaning out the window of her car as she greeted him. She'd been on Mark's shift, they had spoken many times on the occasions when he came to the captains office or found himself on the yard, and Mark might have even considered asking her out once.
Now she was an obstacle, one more thing to overcome so he could return to his work.
“I thought that was you. What's a big time writer doing in a place like this?”
Mark stepped close to her car, grinning as he leaned down and hoping it looked natural.
“Just had to come and talk to HR about the rest of my vacation time. They still hadn't paid me for all of it and I could use the money until my royalty checks even out a little.”
He prayed silently behind that smile that she wouldn't see the chair as it lay there in the bed of his F150.
It was his chair, and she couldn't have it.
“I'm so jealous,” she said, “we're so short handed that I doubt I'll ever get to use any of mine. How have you been?”
“Good. Just enjoying doing what I love,” he said, his mind screaming behind that smile.
He had to go, he had to get out of here, he had to get back to what mattered.
He made a little more small talk before she realized she was going to be late and told Mark she would see him around. He turned to go, glad to be free of her, when she suddenly called his name and brought him back around. He was like an overclocked spring, ready to snap if she so much as mentioned the chair. She had to have seen it. How could she not. It was beautiful, it was captivating, and anyone who saw it would have to have it. He'd kill her right here if she made him. He needed that chair and he'd snap her neck as she hung out her window if she...
“Could you sign this for me?” she asked, taking a copy of his book off the passenger seat, “I had been carrying it in the hopes I'd see you around. It would be great to have a signed copy.”
Mark sighed in relief, scratching his name on the inside cover before handing it back.
He waved as she pulled off, wishing him well as she rolled towards the employee parking lot.
She hadn't even found a spot before Mark was speeding out of the lot and back onto the road towards Cashmere.
No more distraction, Mark had work to do.
* * * * *
The book hadn't been an immediate success. No one had appeared to publish it, no fairy godmother had poofed into existence to make his dreams come true. Mark had shopped the novel around after proofing it for the fifth time, and found someone willing to take a chance on a first time writer. To their surprise, however, the novel had taken off after some shaky reception. It wasn't everyone's cup of tea, grim dark tales rarely were, but as it found its audience, Mark was astonished at the praise he received.
When the publisher called to let him know he had broken a thousand copies, he was tickled.
When they called a week later to inform him it was more like fifty thousand, Mark was astonished.
When he hit the New York Times best seller list, he had taken a two week vacation so he could do a few interviews and some local TV spots.
When his new agent called to let him know that Amazon was interested in a TV adaptation, Mark knew he had arrived.
By then, Mark was already writing his resignation letter. He was thankful for the prison and what they had helped him accomplish, but he would need more time to focus on his work. Amazon was hoping for his take on the script they were putting together, and there were already rumblings for a sequel. The show writers were interested in the chance of a sequel too, and Mark figured he better get to writing one. He'd already started the first couple of chapters, and as he said goodbye to Stragview, he thought his life might truly be about to begin.
Two weeks later as he sat in front of his brand new computer with nothing to show for it, he started wondering what had gone wrong?
Mark tried everything in his power, but the ideas just wouldn't come. He tried taking his laptop to different places. He tried consuming different kinds of media or music as he wrote. He tried immersing himself in different genres, but nothing brought the muse back. His editor was clamoring for new pages, but Mark couldn't give him what he wanted. The Amazon reps were complaining that his notes on the script were lacking too. They wanted big ideas, concepts for the show, but Mark couldn't come up with anything.
The more he racked his brain, the less work he seemed to do, and the only conclusion he could come to was that the last time he had found good output was when he had worked at Stragview. Mark cast that idea aside, though. That couldn't be it. The prison was such a hectic environment, and unpredictable setting. It couldn't possibly be conducive to a productive writing environment.
It had to be something else.
That's how it all began.
That had been the start of his madness.
* * * * *
He pulled his truck into the backyard and came to rest outside the large shed he had purchased. It was no humble storage shed, not by a long shot, and as he took the chair out of the truck, Mark felt giddy with anticipation. This was it, the final piece, the last thing he needed to make everything perfect.
As the door came open, Mark looked once more upon the monstrosity he had created and was proud.
When he had contacted Kevin about getting some things, his old partner had been hesitant.
Mark wanted pictures, layouts, specifics on brands of desks and computers, and Kevin had wanted to know why?
Once Mark offered to pay him, however, the questions became a little less important.
Mark had constructed the desk first. A long workspace made of Formica and wood, every chip and every ding the same as the one that sat in G dorm, thanks to Kevin's photos. Then the computer, an old two thousand five model that Mark had picked them up pretty cheap. Having it come with the same OS and programs was a little more expensive, but nothing too ridiculous. Then came every basket, every folder, every coffee cup and roach stain present in the booth. A microwave from a yard sale. A coffee pot from a Dollar General. Paper and flyers and all them custom printed. It took months of work, but when Mark finally looked at the finished product, he knew he'd done it.
When he sat down to work, however, he knew immediately that something wasn't right.
The windows had been wooden instead of metal, but the computer monitors that he played the security footage through were a stroke of genius. The footage had been hard to talk Kevin into, but the money had gone a long way. Kevin was in a lot of debt, like most CO's Mark knew, and the cash he was getting from the little project was likely helping him dig himself out of it. At least, Mark hoped it was, but he really didn't care what Kevin spent the money on.
When the windows and familiar view didn't help, thats when Mark realized what he needed.
The chair was a piece of it, likely the most important, and as he set it down now, he felt sure this would be the moment he'd been waiting for.
He booted up the computer, reveling in the old clicks and clacks that the aged system made as it came up.
He watched the inmates press their faces against the glass as Sergeant Martin and Kevin, Officer Rack, began their count for the day.
He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes as he soaked in the ambiance, and knew that the moment had come.
He opened Windows office, selected a new document, and set to work.
An hour later, he slammed his head against the desk and cried.
The idea's wouldn't come.
This had all been for nothing, an expensive nothing at that, and now he had nothing to show for it.
He was sunk, finished, his candle quenched before it's time.
“Quite an impressive set up you have here.”
He jumped as the voice wafted over him, and spun to find the Warden leaning in the door to his shed.
The Warden was the last person he had expected to find here, and he stood up at attention before he could stop himself. The Warden laughed, striding in as he took in the scene. He was such an odd character, and the sight of him outside the walls of Stragview was a little alarming. The Warden never left the compound, at least, Mark didn't think he had ever heard of him doing as much. Now he was here, standing inside Mark's shed and judging his efforts, and Mark wasn't sure what he expected.
“Security footage, pictures of secure locations within the prison, a chair with the maintenance ID still engraved on it, I've got enough here to have the police put you away for a while. I could probably get Officer Rack too while I'm at it, but I've got a much better idea.”
Mark shuddered as he watched the man circle like a shark, still not sure what to expect.
“This isn't going to work, Officer Danbrey. This hollow shell isn't going to give you what you need, and I think you understand that now, don't you?”
Mark nodded, hanging his head in defeat.
“You need the magic that hangs around Stragview, something you can’t get from a chair and a desk. You happen to be in luck, because I need something as well.”
He stopped then, and as he smiled at Mark he could swear the man's eyes glinted like brimstone.
“I need staff that are loyal to me, loyal to Stragview. Staff who know that if they choose to desert me, I can take that which they covet at a moment's notice. You want to write, to continue to grow your star? You need Stragview as much as it needs you.”
The two stood and stared at each other for a count of five before Mark asked the question the old shark had been waiting for.
“When do I start?”
“Oh, you'll have to go through orientation again, since you've quit. You might even have to prove to your old captain that you belong in confinement again, but I think you'll make it back sooner than you think. Orientation for new hires starts Monday, and I'll expect you in the training building promptly at five am.”
Mark wanted to protest, but he knew now what the price for disobedience would be.
He nodded, watching as The Warden stepped out of his shed as he walked towards the road.
Mark saw no car, now means of conveyance, and wondered how the old imp had gotten here so quickly?
“And Officer Danbrey,” the Warden said, drawing Mark up sharply, “the next time you think about leaving to pursue greener pastures, remember how far the warden's grass stretches.”
The Warden left him to his contemplation then, smiling as he felt the weight settle on his newest acolytes soul.
None of them understood the magic of Stragview better than he.
It was why he had built the prison there in the first place.
Some of them might tap into that deep wellspring that lay beneath Stragview, but none of them would ever understand it.
It gave them visions, it helped them thrive, but in the end, it only added strings that the Warden could use to make them dance.
submitted by Erutious to RedditHorrorStories [link] [comments]
“It’s out by the dumpster, you better send the money. I could get fired for this.”
Mark sighed as he read the message, pulling on his pants as he grabbed his car keys. He’d have to be quick before someone figured out what it was. Kevin hadn’t been wrong. He and Mark could get in trouble for what they were about to do. Kevin could get fired, but Mark could very easily be arrested for trespassing. He didn’t work at the prison anymore, and Stragview didn’t forget slights upon its honor like someone quitting.
It didn’t matter though, he needed that damn chair!
Mark had been working at Stragview for about two years when he finally hit the big time. When you were male and relatively consistent in your work schedule, it was only a matter of time before they put you in confinement. The Show, as many of them called it, had three quads, one of them being permanently sealed off for some reason, and was the bustling hub of the prison. The two guards he worked with, Sergeant Martin and Officer Rack, were solid as well, and they quickly figured out that Mark was a wiz when it came to paperwork and computer stuff. Both the old timers, both of his counterparts having ten plus years behind the fence, were more about flipping cells and keeping down problems than signing forms and housing new arrivals. As such, Mark was left in the bubble most of the time to run the nerve center of the unit while his new friends went to the floor for fun and games.
Mark got pretty good at keeping it all between the ditches, and that was when he discovered his real passion.
Mark had dabbled in writing for years, but something about being inside the epicenter of segregation really brought out the best in his writing. Mark found the process of bunking inmates to be pretty easy and the paperwork was tedious but not too complicated. He usually finished his work fairly early in the evening, which left him lots of time to hone his craft. He'd been working on the same novel for years, a bit of grim dark sci-fi set in his own little universe, but he had never really been motivated to finish it. The novel was a hobby, something to pass the time when he had nothing better to do, and now, as he sat and watched the two go about their daily chores he found that he suddenly had nothing better to do.
He fell in with both feet, and night after night found him at the keyboard of the dorm computer as he banged out chapter after chapter. The longer he worked on it, the more he realized that what he was writing was actually pretty good. Better than good, even. He was writing better than he'd ever written, and whether it was the ambiance or some latent ability coming out in him, Mark found the pages coming together easily. The story was great and the descriptions painted a picture of his universe he had never thought possible. The few people he let read it couldn't believe he had been the one to write it, and they had pressured him to submit it.
“Who knows,” Sergeant Martin said after looking over it before chow one morning, “you might actually make it out of shit hole like this with a story like this one.”
Mark had laughed at the time, but he couldn't have guessed how right he would be.
* * * * *
Mark pulled into the parking lot and looked for the dumpster.
Kevin said he had put it behind the green dumpster next to admin, and as he drove around the ominous wooden building, he saw the dumpster in question. The lids were open and Mark could see the flies swarming from here. The bags sat poking from the hole, black and glistening in the midday sun, and Mark hoped none of the smell would stick to his new chair. He had to be quick, he told himself, as he pulled up beside the dumpster and took one more look for anyone who might be watching.
This was private property, and if he was caught out here taking things from the dumpster, they could make trouble for him.
He climbed out of his truck, a bag of trash in hand as he approached the dumpster.
He was just some guy from admin who was tossing some truck garbage, nothing out of the ordinary.
As Mark came around to the side of the dumpster, letting the bag fly in a lazy arc, he saw what he had come to for.
The chair was beautiful, just as he remembered it. The wood on the armrests and the feet was stained a dark brown, the faux leather a deep reverent blue. It would support his back and head, cradling it for maximum creativity. It hadn't changed a bit, and he wondered how they had let Kevin take it to the dumpster at all?
A chair this pristine, this undamaged by careless boots and oversized backsides, came around once in a career.
He suddenly didn't care who saw him.
Mark lifted the chair gingerly and put it into the bed of his truck. He carried it the way he might his wife as he brought her over the threshold, and the blanket he had brought made for a fine buffer against the scratchy bed liner. As Mark lifted the tailgate, he couldn't help but smile at the chair as it lay there benignly.
He had it!
The last piece of the puzzle!
Now, he could finally get back to...
“Mark?”
Mark stiffened, turning around slowly as a smile stretched painfully over his face. He recognized the voice, but her name escaped him. The smiling brunette was only about a foot away from him, leaning out the window of her car as she greeted him. She'd been on Mark's shift, they had spoken many times on the occasions when he came to the captains office or found himself on the yard, and Mark might have even considered asking her out once.
Now she was an obstacle, one more thing to overcome so he could return to his work.
“I thought that was you. What's a big time writer doing in a place like this?”
Mark stepped close to her car, grinning as he leaned down and hoping it looked natural.
“Just had to come and talk to HR about the rest of my vacation time. They still hadn't paid me for all of it and I could use the money until my royalty checks even out a little.”
He prayed silently behind that smile that she wouldn't see the chair as it lay there in the bed of his F150.
It was his chair, and she couldn't have it.
“I'm so jealous,” she said, “we're so short handed that I doubt I'll ever get to use any of mine. How have you been?”
“Good. Just enjoying doing what I love,” he said, his mind screaming behind that smile.
He had to go, he had to get out of here, he had to get back to what mattered.
He made a little more small talk before she realized she was going to be late and told Mark she would see him around. He turned to go, glad to be free of her, when she suddenly called his name and brought him back around. He was like an overclocked spring, ready to snap if she so much as mentioned the chair. She had to have seen it. How could she not. It was beautiful, it was captivating, and anyone who saw it would have to have it. He'd kill her right here if she made him. He needed that chair and he'd snap her neck as she hung out her window if she...
“Could you sign this for me?” she asked, taking a copy of his book off the passenger seat, “I had been carrying it in the hopes I'd see you around. It would be great to have a signed copy.”
Mark sighed in relief, scratching his name on the inside cover before handing it back.
He waved as she pulled off, wishing him well as she rolled towards the employee parking lot.
She hadn't even found a spot before Mark was speeding out of the lot and back onto the road towards Cashmere.
No more distraction, Mark had work to do.
* * * * *
The book hadn't been an immediate success. No one had appeared to publish it, no fairy godmother had poofed into existence to make his dreams come true. Mark had shopped the novel around after proofing it for the fifth time, and found someone willing to take a chance on a first time writer. To their surprise, however, the novel had taken off after some shaky reception. It wasn't everyone's cup of tea, grim dark tales rarely were, but as it found its audience, Mark was astonished at the praise he received.
When the publisher called to let him know he had broken a thousand copies, he was tickled.
When they called a week later to inform him it was more like fifty thousand, Mark was astonished.
When he hit the New York Times best seller list, he had taken a two week vacation so he could do a few interviews and some local TV spots.
When his new agent called to let him know that Amazon was interested in a TV adaptation, Mark knew he had arrived.
By then, Mark was already writing his resignation letter. He was thankful for the prison and what they had helped him accomplish, but he would need more time to focus on his work. Amazon was hoping for his take on the script they were putting together, and there were already rumblings for a sequel. The show writers were interested in the chance of a sequel too, and Mark figured he better get to writing one. He'd already started the first couple of chapters, and as he said goodbye to Stragview, he thought his life might truly be about to begin.
Two weeks later as he sat in front of his brand new computer with nothing to show for it, he started wondering what had gone wrong?
Mark tried everything in his power, but the ideas just wouldn't come. He tried taking his laptop to different places. He tried consuming different kinds of media or music as he wrote. He tried immersing himself in different genres, but nothing brought the muse back. His editor was clamoring for new pages, but Mark couldn't give him what he wanted. The Amazon reps were complaining that his notes on the script were lacking too. They wanted big ideas, concepts for the show, but Mark couldn't come up with anything.
The more he racked his brain, the less work he seemed to do, and the only conclusion he could come to was that the last time he had found good output was when he had worked at Stragview. Mark cast that idea aside, though. That couldn't be it. The prison was such a hectic environment, and unpredictable setting. It couldn't possibly be conducive to a productive writing environment.
It had to be something else.
That's how it all began.
That had been the start of his madness.
* * * * *
He pulled his truck into the backyard and came to rest outside the large shed he had purchased. It was no humble storage shed, not by a long shot, and as he took the chair out of the truck, Mark felt giddy with anticipation. This was it, the final piece, the last thing he needed to make everything perfect.
As the door came open, Mark looked once more upon the monstrosity he had created and was proud.
When he had contacted Kevin about getting some things, his old partner had been hesitant.
Mark wanted pictures, layouts, specifics on brands of desks and computers, and Kevin had wanted to know why?
Once Mark offered to pay him, however, the questions became a little less important.
Mark had constructed the desk first. A long workspace made of Formica and wood, every chip and every ding the same as the one that sat in G dorm, thanks to Kevin's photos. Then the computer, an old two thousand five model that Mark had picked them up pretty cheap. Having it come with the same OS and programs was a little more expensive, but nothing too ridiculous. Then came every basket, every folder, every coffee cup and roach stain present in the booth. A microwave from a yard sale. A coffee pot from a Dollar General. Paper and flyers and all them custom printed. It took months of work, but when Mark finally looked at the finished product, he knew he'd done it.
When he sat down to work, however, he knew immediately that something wasn't right.
The windows had been wooden instead of metal, but the computer monitors that he played the security footage through were a stroke of genius. The footage had been hard to talk Kevin into, but the money had gone a long way. Kevin was in a lot of debt, like most CO's Mark knew, and the cash he was getting from the little project was likely helping him dig himself out of it. At least, Mark hoped it was, but he really didn't care what Kevin spent the money on.
When the windows and familiar view didn't help, thats when Mark realized what he needed.
The chair was a piece of it, likely the most important, and as he set it down now, he felt sure this would be the moment he'd been waiting for.
He booted up the computer, reveling in the old clicks and clacks that the aged system made as it came up.
He watched the inmates press their faces against the glass as Sergeant Martin and Kevin, Officer Rack, began their count for the day.
He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes as he soaked in the ambiance, and knew that the moment had come.
He opened Windows office, selected a new document, and set to work.
An hour later, he slammed his head against the desk and cried.
The idea's wouldn't come.
This had all been for nothing, an expensive nothing at that, and now he had nothing to show for it.
He was sunk, finished, his candle quenched before it's time.
“Quite an impressive set up you have here.”
He jumped as the voice wafted over him, and spun to find the Warden leaning in the door to his shed.
The Warden was the last person he had expected to find here, and he stood up at attention before he could stop himself. The Warden laughed, striding in as he took in the scene. He was such an odd character, and the sight of him outside the walls of Stragview was a little alarming. The Warden never left the compound, at least, Mark didn't think he had ever heard of him doing as much. Now he was here, standing inside Mark's shed and judging his efforts, and Mark wasn't sure what he expected.
“Security footage, pictures of secure locations within the prison, a chair with the maintenance ID still engraved on it, I've got enough here to have the police put you away for a while. I could probably get Officer Rack too while I'm at it, but I've got a much better idea.”
Mark shuddered as he watched the man circle like a shark, still not sure what to expect.
“This isn't going to work, Officer Danbrey. This hollow shell isn't going to give you what you need, and I think you understand that now, don't you?”
Mark nodded, hanging his head in defeat.
“You need the magic that hangs around Stragview, something you can’t get from a chair and a desk. You happen to be in luck, because I need something as well.”
He stopped then, and as he smiled at Mark he could swear the man's eyes glinted like brimstone.
“I need staff that are loyal to me, loyal to Stragview. Staff who know that if they choose to desert me, I can take that which they covet at a moment's notice. You want to write, to continue to grow your star? You need Stragview as much as it needs you.”
The two stood and stared at each other for a count of five before Mark asked the question the old shark had been waiting for.
“When do I start?”
“Oh, you'll have to go through orientation again, since you've quit. You might even have to prove to your old captain that you belong in confinement again, but I think you'll make it back sooner than you think. Orientation for new hires starts Monday, and I'll expect you in the training building promptly at five am.”
Mark wanted to protest, but he knew now what the price for disobedience would be.
He nodded, watching as The Warden stepped out of his shed as he walked towards the road.
Mark saw no car, now means of conveyance, and wondered how the old imp had gotten here so quickly?
“And Officer Danbrey,” the Warden said, drawing Mark up sharply, “the next time you think about leaving to pursue greener pastures, remember how far the warden's grass stretches.”
The Warden left him to his contemplation then, smiling as he felt the weight settle on his newest acolytes soul.
None of them understood the magic of Stragview better than he.
It was why he had built the prison there in the first place.
Some of them might tap into that deep wellspring that lay beneath Stragview, but none of them would ever understand it.
It gave them visions, it helped them thrive, but in the end, it only added strings that the Warden could use to make them dance.
2023.05.27 01:06 Erutious Stragview stories- His Happy Place
“It’s out by the dumpster, you better send the money. I could get fired for this.”
Mark sighed as he read the message, pulling on his pants as he grabbed his car keys. He’d have to be quick before someone figured out what it was. Kevin hadn’t been wrong. He and Mark could get in trouble for what they were about to do. Kevin could get fired, but Mark could very easily be arrested for trespassing. He didn’t work at the prison anymore, and Stragview didn’t forget slights upon its honor like someone quitting.
It didn’t matter though, he needed that damn chair!
Mark had been working at Stragview for about two years when he finally hit the big time. When you were male and relatively consistent in your work schedule, it was only a matter of time before they put you in confinement. The Show, as many of them called it, had three quads, one of them being permanently sealed off for some reason, and was the bustling hub of the prison. The two guards he worked with, Sergeant Martin and Officer Rack, were solid as well, and they quickly figured out that Mark was a wiz when it came to paperwork and computer stuff. Both the old timers, both of his counterparts having ten plus years behind the fence, were more about flipping cells and keeping down problems than signing forms and housing new arrivals. As such, Mark was left in the bubble most of the time to run the nerve center of the unit while his new friends went to the floor for fun and games.
Mark got pretty good at keeping it all between the ditches, and that was when he discovered his real passion.
Mark had dabbled in writing for years, but something about being inside the epicenter of segregation really brought out the best in his writing. Mark found the process of bunking inmates to be pretty easy and the paperwork was tedious but not too complicated. He usually finished his work fairly early in the evening, which left him lots of time to hone his craft. He'd been working on the same novel for years, a bit of grim dark sci-fi set in his own little universe, but he had never really been motivated to finish it. The novel was a hobby, something to pass the time when he had nothing better to do, and now, as he sat and watched the two go about their daily chores he found that he suddenly had nothing better to do.
He fell in with both feet, and night after night found him at the keyboard of the dorm computer as he banged out chapter after chapter. The longer he worked on it, the more he realized that what he was writing was actually pretty good. Better than good, even. He was writing better than he'd ever written, and whether it was the ambiance or some latent ability coming out in him, Mark found the pages coming together easily. The story was great and the descriptions painted a picture of his universe he had never thought possible. The few people he let read it couldn't believe he had been the one to write it, and they had pressured him to submit it.
“Who knows,” Sergeant Martin said after looking over it before chow one morning, “you might actually make it out of shit hole like this with a story like this one.”
Mark had laughed at the time, but he couldn't have guessed how right he would be.
* * * * *
Mark pulled into the parking lot and looked for the dumpster.
Kevin said he had put it behind the green dumpster next to admin, and as he drove around the ominous wooden building, he saw the dumpster in question. The lids were open and Mark could see the flies swarming from here. The bags sat poking from the hole, black and glistening in the midday sun, and Mark hoped none of the smell would stick to his new chair. He had to be quick, he told himself, as he pulled up beside the dumpster and took one more look for anyone who might be watching.
This was private property, and if he was caught out here taking things from the dumpster, they could make trouble for him.
He climbed out of his truck, a bag of trash in hand as he approached the dumpster.
He was just some guy from admin who was tossing some truck garbage, nothing out of the ordinary.
As Mark came around to the side of the dumpster, letting the bag fly in a lazy arc, he saw what he had come to for.
The chair was beautiful, just as he remembered it. The wood on the armrests and the feet was stained a dark brown, the faux leather a deep reverent blue. It would support his back and head, cradling it for maximum creativity. It hadn't changed a bit, and he wondered how they had let Kevin take it to the dumpster at all?
A chair this pristine, this undamaged by careless boots and oversized backsides, came around once in a career.
He suddenly didn't care who saw him.
Mark lifted the chair gingerly and put it into the bed of his truck. He carried it the way he might his wife as he brought her over the threshold, and the blanket he had brought made for a fine buffer against the scratchy bed liner. As Mark lifted the tailgate, he couldn't help but smile at the chair as it lay there benignly.
He had it!
The last piece of the puzzle!
Now, he could finally get back to...
“Mark?”
Mark stiffened, turning around slowly as a smile stretched painfully over his face. He recognized the voice, but her name escaped him. The smiling brunette was only about a foot away from him, leaning out the window of her car as she greeted him. She'd been on Mark's shift, they had spoken many times on the occasions when he came to the captains office or found himself on the yard, and Mark might have even considered asking her out once.
Now she was an obstacle, one more thing to overcome so he could return to his work.
“I thought that was you. What's a big time writer doing in a place like this?”
Mark stepped close to her car, grinning as he leaned down and hoping it looked natural.
“Just had to come and talk to HR about the rest of my vacation time. They still hadn't paid me for all of it and I could use the money until my royalty checks even out a little.”
He prayed silently behind that smile that she wouldn't see the chair as it lay there in the bed of his F150.
It was his chair, and she couldn't have it.
“I'm so jealous,” she said, “we're so short handed that I doubt I'll ever get to use any of mine. How have you been?”
“Good. Just enjoying doing what I love,” he said, his mind screaming behind that smile.
He had to go, he had to get out of here, he had to get back to what mattered.
He made a little more small talk before she realized she was going to be late and told Mark she would see him around. He turned to go, glad to be free of her, when she suddenly called his name and brought him back around. He was like an overclocked spring, ready to snap if she so much as mentioned the chair. She had to have seen it. How could she not. It was beautiful, it was captivating, and anyone who saw it would have to have it. He'd kill her right here if she made him. He needed that chair and he'd snap her neck as she hung out her window if she...
“Could you sign this for me?” she asked, taking a copy of his book off the passenger seat, “I had been carrying it in the hopes I'd see you around. It would be great to have a signed copy.”
Mark sighed in relief, scratching his name on the inside cover before handing it back.
He waved as she pulled off, wishing him well as she rolled towards the employee parking lot.
She hadn't even found a spot before Mark was speeding out of the lot and back onto the road towards Cashmere.
No more distraction, Mark had work to do.
* * * * *
The book hadn't been an immediate success. No one had appeared to publish it, no fairy godmother had poofed into existence to make his dreams come true. Mark had shopped the novel around after proofing it for the fifth time, and found someone willing to take a chance on a first time writer. To their surprise, however, the novel had taken off after some shaky reception. It wasn't everyone's cup of tea, grim dark tales rarely were, but as it found its audience, Mark was astonished at the praise he received.
When the publisher called to let him know he had broken a thousand copies, he was tickled.
When they called a week later to inform him it was more like fifty thousand, Mark was astonished.
When he hit the New York Times best seller list, he had taken a two week vacation so he could do a few interviews and some local TV spots.
When his new agent called to let him know that Amazon was interested in a TV adaptation, Mark knew he had arrived.
By then, Mark was already writing his resignation letter. He was thankful for the prison and what they had helped him accomplish, but he would need more time to focus on his work. Amazon was hoping for his take on the script they were putting together, and there were already rumblings for a sequel. The show writers were interested in the chance of a sequel too, and Mark figured he better get to writing one. He'd already started the first couple of chapters, and as he said goodbye to Stragview, he thought his life might truly be about to begin.
Two weeks later as he sat in front of his brand new computer with nothing to show for it, he started wondering what had gone wrong?
Mark tried everything in his power, but the ideas just wouldn't come. He tried taking his laptop to different places. He tried consuming different kinds of media or music as he wrote. He tried immersing himself in different genres, but nothing brought the muse back. His editor was clamoring for new pages, but Mark couldn't give him what he wanted. The Amazon reps were complaining that his notes on the script were lacking too. They wanted big ideas, concepts for the show, but Mark couldn't come up with anything.
The more he racked his brain, the less work he seemed to do, and the only conclusion he could come to was that the last time he had found good output was when he had worked at Stragview. Mark cast that idea aside, though. That couldn't be it. The prison was such a hectic environment, and unpredictable setting. It couldn't possibly be conducive to a productive writing environment.
It had to be something else.
That's how it all began.
That had been the start of his madness.
* * * * *
He pulled his truck into the backyard and came to rest outside the large shed he had purchased. It was no humble storage shed, not by a long shot, and as he took the chair out of the truck, Mark felt giddy with anticipation. This was it, the final piece, the last thing he needed to make everything perfect.
As the door came open, Mark looked once more upon the monstrosity he had created and was proud.
When he had contacted Kevin about getting some things, his old partner had been hesitant.
Mark wanted pictures, layouts, specifics on brands of desks and computers, and Kevin had wanted to know why?
Once Mark offered to pay him, however, the questions became a little less important.
Mark had constructed the desk first. A long workspace made of Formica and wood, every chip and every ding the same as the one that sat in G dorm, thanks to Kevin's photos. Then the computer, an old two thousand five model that Mark had picked them up pretty cheap. Having it come with the same OS and programs was a little more expensive, but nothing too ridiculous. Then came every basket, every folder, every coffee cup and roach stain present in the booth. A microwave from a yard sale. A coffee pot from a Dollar General. Paper and flyers and all them custom printed. It took months of work, but when Mark finally looked at the finished product, he knew he'd done it.
When he sat down to work, however, he knew immediately that something wasn't right.
The windows had been wooden instead of metal, but the computer monitors that he played the security footage through were a stroke of genius. The footage had been hard to talk Kevin into, but the money had gone a long way. Kevin was in a lot of debt, like most CO's Mark knew, and the cash he was getting from the little project was likely helping him dig himself out of it. At least, Mark hoped it was, but he really didn't care what Kevin spent the money on.
When the windows and familiar view didn't help, thats when Mark realized what he needed.
The chair was a piece of it, likely the most important, and as he set it down now, he felt sure this would be the moment he'd been waiting for.
He booted up the computer, reveling in the old clicks and clacks that the aged system made as it came up.
He watched the inmates press their faces against the glass as Sergeant Martin and Kevin, Officer Rack, began their count for the day.
He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes as he soaked in the ambiance, and knew that the moment had come.
He opened Windows office, selected a new document, and set to work.
An hour later, he slammed his head against the desk and cried.
The idea's wouldn't come.
This had all been for nothing, an expensive nothing at that, and now he had nothing to show for it.
He was sunk, finished, his candle quenched before it's time.
“Quite an impressive set up you have here.”
He jumped as the voice wafted over him, and spun to find the Warden leaning in the door to his shed.
The Warden was the last person he had expected to find here, and he stood up at attention before he could stop himself. The Warden laughed, striding in as he took in the scene. He was such an odd character, and the sight of him outside the walls of Stragview was a little alarming. The Warden never left the compound, at least, Mark didn't think he had ever heard of him doing as much. Now he was here, standing inside Mark's shed and judging his efforts, and Mark wasn't sure what he expected.
“Security footage, pictures of secure locations within the prison, a chair with the maintenance ID still engraved on it, I've got enough here to have the police put you away for a while. I could probably get Officer Rack too while I'm at it, but I've got a much better idea.”
Mark shuddered as he watched the man circle like a shark, still not sure what to expect.
“This isn't going to work, Officer Danbrey. This hollow shell isn't going to give you what you need, and I think you understand that now, don't you?”
Mark nodded, hanging his head in defeat.
“You need the magic that hangs around Stragview, something you can’t get from a chair and a desk. You happen to be in luck, because I need something as well.”
He stopped then, and as he smiled at Mark he could swear the man's eyes glinted like brimstone.
“I need staff that are loyal to me, loyal to Stragview. Staff who know that if they choose to desert me, I can take that which they covet at a moment's notice. You want to write, to continue to grow your star? You need Stragview as much as it needs you.”
The two stood and stared at each other for a count of five before Mark asked the question the old shark had been waiting for.
“When do I start?”
“Oh, you'll have to go through orientation again, since you've quit. You might even have to prove to your old captain that you belong in confinement again, but I think you'll make it back sooner than you think. Orientation for new hires starts Monday, and I'll expect you in the training building promptly at five am.”
Mark wanted to protest, but he knew now what the price for disobedience would be.
He nodded, watching as The Warden stepped out of his shed as he walked towards the road.
Mark saw no car, now means of conveyance, and wondered how the old imp had gotten here so quickly?
“And Officer Danbrey,” the Warden said, drawing Mark up sharply, “the next time you think about leaving to pursue greener pastures, remember how far the warden's grass stretches.”
The Warden left him to his contemplation then, smiling as he felt the weight settle on his newest acolytes soul.
None of them understood the magic of Stragview better than he.
It was why he had built the prison there in the first place.
Some of them might tap into that deep wellspring that lay beneath Stragview, but none of them would ever understand it.
It gave them visions, it helped them thrive, but in the end, it only added strings that the Warden could use to make them dance.
submitted by Erutious to MecThology [link] [comments]
“It’s out by the dumpster, you better send the money. I could get fired for this.”
Mark sighed as he read the message, pulling on his pants as he grabbed his car keys. He’d have to be quick before someone figured out what it was. Kevin hadn’t been wrong. He and Mark could get in trouble for what they were about to do. Kevin could get fired, but Mark could very easily be arrested for trespassing. He didn’t work at the prison anymore, and Stragview didn’t forget slights upon its honor like someone quitting.
It didn’t matter though, he needed that damn chair!
Mark had been working at Stragview for about two years when he finally hit the big time. When you were male and relatively consistent in your work schedule, it was only a matter of time before they put you in confinement. The Show, as many of them called it, had three quads, one of them being permanently sealed off for some reason, and was the bustling hub of the prison. The two guards he worked with, Sergeant Martin and Officer Rack, were solid as well, and they quickly figured out that Mark was a wiz when it came to paperwork and computer stuff. Both the old timers, both of his counterparts having ten plus years behind the fence, were more about flipping cells and keeping down problems than signing forms and housing new arrivals. As such, Mark was left in the bubble most of the time to run the nerve center of the unit while his new friends went to the floor for fun and games.
Mark got pretty good at keeping it all between the ditches, and that was when he discovered his real passion.
Mark had dabbled in writing for years, but something about being inside the epicenter of segregation really brought out the best in his writing. Mark found the process of bunking inmates to be pretty easy and the paperwork was tedious but not too complicated. He usually finished his work fairly early in the evening, which left him lots of time to hone his craft. He'd been working on the same novel for years, a bit of grim dark sci-fi set in his own little universe, but he had never really been motivated to finish it. The novel was a hobby, something to pass the time when he had nothing better to do, and now, as he sat and watched the two go about their daily chores he found that he suddenly had nothing better to do.
He fell in with both feet, and night after night found him at the keyboard of the dorm computer as he banged out chapter after chapter. The longer he worked on it, the more he realized that what he was writing was actually pretty good. Better than good, even. He was writing better than he'd ever written, and whether it was the ambiance or some latent ability coming out in him, Mark found the pages coming together easily. The story was great and the descriptions painted a picture of his universe he had never thought possible. The few people he let read it couldn't believe he had been the one to write it, and they had pressured him to submit it.
“Who knows,” Sergeant Martin said after looking over it before chow one morning, “you might actually make it out of shit hole like this with a story like this one.”
Mark had laughed at the time, but he couldn't have guessed how right he would be.
* * * * *
Mark pulled into the parking lot and looked for the dumpster.
Kevin said he had put it behind the green dumpster next to admin, and as he drove around the ominous wooden building, he saw the dumpster in question. The lids were open and Mark could see the flies swarming from here. The bags sat poking from the hole, black and glistening in the midday sun, and Mark hoped none of the smell would stick to his new chair. He had to be quick, he told himself, as he pulled up beside the dumpster and took one more look for anyone who might be watching.
This was private property, and if he was caught out here taking things from the dumpster, they could make trouble for him.
He climbed out of his truck, a bag of trash in hand as he approached the dumpster.
He was just some guy from admin who was tossing some truck garbage, nothing out of the ordinary.
As Mark came around to the side of the dumpster, letting the bag fly in a lazy arc, he saw what he had come to for.
The chair was beautiful, just as he remembered it. The wood on the armrests and the feet was stained a dark brown, the faux leather a deep reverent blue. It would support his back and head, cradling it for maximum creativity. It hadn't changed a bit, and he wondered how they had let Kevin take it to the dumpster at all?
A chair this pristine, this undamaged by careless boots and oversized backsides, came around once in a career.
He suddenly didn't care who saw him.
Mark lifted the chair gingerly and put it into the bed of his truck. He carried it the way he might his wife as he brought her over the threshold, and the blanket he had brought made for a fine buffer against the scratchy bed liner. As Mark lifted the tailgate, he couldn't help but smile at the chair as it lay there benignly.
He had it!
The last piece of the puzzle!
Now, he could finally get back to...
“Mark?”
Mark stiffened, turning around slowly as a smile stretched painfully over his face. He recognized the voice, but her name escaped him. The smiling brunette was only about a foot away from him, leaning out the window of her car as she greeted him. She'd been on Mark's shift, they had spoken many times on the occasions when he came to the captains office or found himself on the yard, and Mark might have even considered asking her out once.
Now she was an obstacle, one more thing to overcome so he could return to his work.
“I thought that was you. What's a big time writer doing in a place like this?”
Mark stepped close to her car, grinning as he leaned down and hoping it looked natural.
“Just had to come and talk to HR about the rest of my vacation time. They still hadn't paid me for all of it and I could use the money until my royalty checks even out a little.”
He prayed silently behind that smile that she wouldn't see the chair as it lay there in the bed of his F150.
It was his chair, and she couldn't have it.
“I'm so jealous,” she said, “we're so short handed that I doubt I'll ever get to use any of mine. How have you been?”
“Good. Just enjoying doing what I love,” he said, his mind screaming behind that smile.
He had to go, he had to get out of here, he had to get back to what mattered.
He made a little more small talk before she realized she was going to be late and told Mark she would see him around. He turned to go, glad to be free of her, when she suddenly called his name and brought him back around. He was like an overclocked spring, ready to snap if she so much as mentioned the chair. She had to have seen it. How could she not. It was beautiful, it was captivating, and anyone who saw it would have to have it. He'd kill her right here if she made him. He needed that chair and he'd snap her neck as she hung out her window if she...
“Could you sign this for me?” she asked, taking a copy of his book off the passenger seat, “I had been carrying it in the hopes I'd see you around. It would be great to have a signed copy.”
Mark sighed in relief, scratching his name on the inside cover before handing it back.
He waved as she pulled off, wishing him well as she rolled towards the employee parking lot.
She hadn't even found a spot before Mark was speeding out of the lot and back onto the road towards Cashmere.
No more distraction, Mark had work to do.
* * * * *
The book hadn't been an immediate success. No one had appeared to publish it, no fairy godmother had poofed into existence to make his dreams come true. Mark had shopped the novel around after proofing it for the fifth time, and found someone willing to take a chance on a first time writer. To their surprise, however, the novel had taken off after some shaky reception. It wasn't everyone's cup of tea, grim dark tales rarely were, but as it found its audience, Mark was astonished at the praise he received.
When the publisher called to let him know he had broken a thousand copies, he was tickled.
When they called a week later to inform him it was more like fifty thousand, Mark was astonished.
When he hit the New York Times best seller list, he had taken a two week vacation so he could do a few interviews and some local TV spots.
When his new agent called to let him know that Amazon was interested in a TV adaptation, Mark knew he had arrived.
By then, Mark was already writing his resignation letter. He was thankful for the prison and what they had helped him accomplish, but he would need more time to focus on his work. Amazon was hoping for his take on the script they were putting together, and there were already rumblings for a sequel. The show writers were interested in the chance of a sequel too, and Mark figured he better get to writing one. He'd already started the first couple of chapters, and as he said goodbye to Stragview, he thought his life might truly be about to begin.
Two weeks later as he sat in front of his brand new computer with nothing to show for it, he started wondering what had gone wrong?
Mark tried everything in his power, but the ideas just wouldn't come. He tried taking his laptop to different places. He tried consuming different kinds of media or music as he wrote. He tried immersing himself in different genres, but nothing brought the muse back. His editor was clamoring for new pages, but Mark couldn't give him what he wanted. The Amazon reps were complaining that his notes on the script were lacking too. They wanted big ideas, concepts for the show, but Mark couldn't come up with anything.
The more he racked his brain, the less work he seemed to do, and the only conclusion he could come to was that the last time he had found good output was when he had worked at Stragview. Mark cast that idea aside, though. That couldn't be it. The prison was such a hectic environment, and unpredictable setting. It couldn't possibly be conducive to a productive writing environment.
It had to be something else.
That's how it all began.
That had been the start of his madness.
* * * * *
He pulled his truck into the backyard and came to rest outside the large shed he had purchased. It was no humble storage shed, not by a long shot, and as he took the chair out of the truck, Mark felt giddy with anticipation. This was it, the final piece, the last thing he needed to make everything perfect.
As the door came open, Mark looked once more upon the monstrosity he had created and was proud.
When he had contacted Kevin about getting some things, his old partner had been hesitant.
Mark wanted pictures, layouts, specifics on brands of desks and computers, and Kevin had wanted to know why?
Once Mark offered to pay him, however, the questions became a little less important.
Mark had constructed the desk first. A long workspace made of Formica and wood, every chip and every ding the same as the one that sat in G dorm, thanks to Kevin's photos. Then the computer, an old two thousand five model that Mark had picked them up pretty cheap. Having it come with the same OS and programs was a little more expensive, but nothing too ridiculous. Then came every basket, every folder, every coffee cup and roach stain present in the booth. A microwave from a yard sale. A coffee pot from a Dollar General. Paper and flyers and all them custom printed. It took months of work, but when Mark finally looked at the finished product, he knew he'd done it.
When he sat down to work, however, he knew immediately that something wasn't right.
The windows had been wooden instead of metal, but the computer monitors that he played the security footage through were a stroke of genius. The footage had been hard to talk Kevin into, but the money had gone a long way. Kevin was in a lot of debt, like most CO's Mark knew, and the cash he was getting from the little project was likely helping him dig himself out of it. At least, Mark hoped it was, but he really didn't care what Kevin spent the money on.
When the windows and familiar view didn't help, thats when Mark realized what he needed.
The chair was a piece of it, likely the most important, and as he set it down now, he felt sure this would be the moment he'd been waiting for.
He booted up the computer, reveling in the old clicks and clacks that the aged system made as it came up.
He watched the inmates press their faces against the glass as Sergeant Martin and Kevin, Officer Rack, began their count for the day.
He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes as he soaked in the ambiance, and knew that the moment had come.
He opened Windows office, selected a new document, and set to work.
An hour later, he slammed his head against the desk and cried.
The idea's wouldn't come.
This had all been for nothing, an expensive nothing at that, and now he had nothing to show for it.
He was sunk, finished, his candle quenched before it's time.
“Quite an impressive set up you have here.”
He jumped as the voice wafted over him, and spun to find the Warden leaning in the door to his shed.
The Warden was the last person he had expected to find here, and he stood up at attention before he could stop himself. The Warden laughed, striding in as he took in the scene. He was such an odd character, and the sight of him outside the walls of Stragview was a little alarming. The Warden never left the compound, at least, Mark didn't think he had ever heard of him doing as much. Now he was here, standing inside Mark's shed and judging his efforts, and Mark wasn't sure what he expected.
“Security footage, pictures of secure locations within the prison, a chair with the maintenance ID still engraved on it, I've got enough here to have the police put you away for a while. I could probably get Officer Rack too while I'm at it, but I've got a much better idea.”
Mark shuddered as he watched the man circle like a shark, still not sure what to expect.
“This isn't going to work, Officer Danbrey. This hollow shell isn't going to give you what you need, and I think you understand that now, don't you?”
Mark nodded, hanging his head in defeat.
“You need the magic that hangs around Stragview, something you can’t get from a chair and a desk. You happen to be in luck, because I need something as well.”
He stopped then, and as he smiled at Mark he could swear the man's eyes glinted like brimstone.
“I need staff that are loyal to me, loyal to Stragview. Staff who know that if they choose to desert me, I can take that which they covet at a moment's notice. You want to write, to continue to grow your star? You need Stragview as much as it needs you.”
The two stood and stared at each other for a count of five before Mark asked the question the old shark had been waiting for.
“When do I start?”
“Oh, you'll have to go through orientation again, since you've quit. You might even have to prove to your old captain that you belong in confinement again, but I think you'll make it back sooner than you think. Orientation for new hires starts Monday, and I'll expect you in the training building promptly at five am.”
Mark wanted to protest, but he knew now what the price for disobedience would be.
He nodded, watching as The Warden stepped out of his shed as he walked towards the road.
Mark saw no car, now means of conveyance, and wondered how the old imp had gotten here so quickly?
“And Officer Danbrey,” the Warden said, drawing Mark up sharply, “the next time you think about leaving to pursue greener pastures, remember how far the warden's grass stretches.”
The Warden left him to his contemplation then, smiling as he felt the weight settle on his newest acolytes soul.
None of them understood the magic of Stragview better than he.
It was why he had built the prison there in the first place.
Some of them might tap into that deep wellspring that lay beneath Stragview, but none of them would ever understand it.
It gave them visions, it helped them thrive, but in the end, it only added strings that the Warden could use to make them dance.
2023.05.27 01:02 Erutious Stragview Stories- His Happy Place
“It’s out by the dumpster, you better send the money. I could get fired for this.”
Mark sighed as he read the message, pulling on his pants as he grabbed his car keys. He’d have to be quick before someone figured out what it was. Kevin hadn’t been wrong. He and Mark could get in trouble for what they were about to do. Kevin could get fired, but Mark could very easily be arrested for trespassing. He didn’t work at the prison anymore, and
Stragview didn’t forget slights upon its honor like someone quitting.
It didn’t matter though, he needed that damn chair!
Mark had been working at Stragview for about two years when he finally hit the big time. When you were male and relatively consistent in your work schedule, it was only a matter of time before they put you in confinement. The Show, as many of them called it, had three quads, one of them being permanently sealed off for some reason, and was the bustling hub of the prison. The two guards he worked with, Sergeant Martin and Officer Rack, were solid as well, and they quickly figured out that Mark was a wiz when it came to paperwork and computer stuff. Both the old timers, both of his counterparts having ten plus years behind the fence, were more about flipping cells and keeping down problems than signing forms and housing new arrivals. As such, Mark was left in the bubble most of the time to run the nerve center of the unit while his new friends went to the floor for fun and games. Mark got pretty good at keeping it all between the ditches, and that was when he discovered his real passion.
Mark had dabbled in writing for years, but something about being inside the epicenter of segregation really brought out the best in his writing. Mark found the process of bunking inmates to be pretty easy and the paperwork was tedious but not too complicated. He usually finished his work fairly early in the evening, which left him lots of time to hone his craft. He'd been working on the same novel for years, a bit of grim dark sci-fi set in his own little universe, but he had never really been motivated to finish it. The novel was a hobby, something to pass the time when he had nothing better to do, and now, as he sat and watched the two go about their daily chores he found that he suddenly had nothing better to do.
He fell in with both feet, and night after night found him at the keyboard of the dorm computer as he banged out chapter after chapter. The longer he worked on it, the more he realized that what he was writing was actually pretty good. Better than good, even. He was writing better than he'd ever written, and whether it was the ambiance or some latent ability coming out in him, Mark found the pages coming together easily. The story was great and the descriptions painted a picture of his universe he had never thought possible. The few people he let read it couldn't believe he had been the one to write it, and they had pressured him to submit it.
“Who knows,” Sergeant Martin said after looking over it before chow one morning, “you might actually make it out of shit hole like this with a story like this one.” Mark had laughed at the time, but he couldn't have guessed how right he would be.
Kevin said he had put it behind the green dumpster next to admin, and as he drove around the ominous wooden building, he saw the dumpster in question. The lids were open and Mark could see the flies swarming from here. The bags sat poking from the hole, black and glistening in the midday sun, and Mark hoped none of the smell would stick to his new chair. He had to be quick, he told himself, as he pulled up beside the dumpster and took one more look for anyone who might be watching.
This was private property, and if he was caught out here taking things from the dumpster, they could make trouble for him.
He climbed out of his truck, a bag of trash in hand as he approached the dumpster. He was just some guy from admin who was tossing some truck garbage, nothing out of the ordinary.
As Mark came around to the side of the dumpster, letting the bag fly in a lazy arc, he saw what he had come to for.
The chair was beautiful, just as he remembered it. The wood on the armrests and the feet was stained a dark brown, the faux leather a deep reverent blue. It would support his back and head, cradling it for maximum creativity. It hadn't changed a bit, and he wondered how they had let Kevin take it to the dumpster at all?
A chair this pristine, this undamaged by careless boots and oversized backsides, came around once in a career.
He suddenly didn't care who saw him.
Mark lifted the chair gingerly and put it into the bed of his truck. He carried it the way he might his wife as he brought her over the threshold, and the blanket he had brought made for a fine buffer against the scratchy bed liner. As Mark lifted the tailgate, he couldn't help but smile at the chair as it lay there benignly.
He had it!
The last piece of the puzzle!
Now, he could finally get back to...
“Mark?”
Mark stiffened, turning around slowly as a smile stretched painfully over his face. He recognized the voice, but her name escaped him. The smiling brunette was only about a foot away from him, leaning out the window of her car as she greeted him. She'd been on Mark's shift, they had spoken many times on the occasions when he came to the captains office or found himself on the yard, and Mark might have even considered asking her out once.
Now she was an obstacle, one more thing to overcome so he could return to his work.
“I thought that was you. What's a big time writer doing in a place like this?”
Mark stepped close to her car, grinning as he leaned down and hoping it looked natural.
“Just had to come and talk to HR about the rest of my vacation time. They still hadn't paid me for all of it and I could use the money until my royalty checks even out a little.”
He prayed silently behind that smile that she wouldn't see the chair as it lay there in the bed of his F150.
It was his chair, and she couldn't have it.
“I'm so jealous,” she said, “we're so short handed that I doubt I'll ever get to use any of mine. How have you been?”
“Good. Just enjoying doing what I love,” he said, his mind screaming behind that smile.
He had to go, he had to get out of here, he had to get back to what mattered.
He made a little more small talk before she realized she was going to be late and told Mark she would see him around. He turned to go, glad to be free of her, when she suddenly called his name and brought him back around. He was like an overclocked spring, ready to snap if she so much as mentioned the chair. She had to have seen it. How could she not. It was beautiful, it was captivating, and anyone who saw it would have to have it. He'd kill her right here if she made him. He needed that chair and he'd snap her neck as she hung out her window if she...
“Could you sign this for me?” she asked, taking a copy of his book off the passenger seat,
“I had been carrying it in the hopes I'd see you around. It would be great to have a signed copy.”
Mark sighed in relief, scratching his name on the inside cover before handing it back. He waved as she pulled off, wishing him well as she rolled towards the employee parking lot.
She hadn't even found a spot before Mark was speeding out of the lot and back onto the road towards Cashmere.
No more distraction, Mark had work to do.
When the publisher called to let him know he had broken a thousand copies, he was tickled.
When they called a week later to inform him it was more like fifty thousand, Mark was astonished.
When he hit the New York Times best seller list, he had taken a two week vacation so he could do a few interviews and some local TV spots.
When his new agent called to let him know that Amazon was interested in a TV adaptation, Mark knew he had arrived.
By then, Mark was already writing his resignation letter. He was thankful for the prison and what they had helped him accomplish, but he would need more time to focus on his work. Amazon was hoping for his take on the script they were putting together, and there were already rumblings for a sequel. The show writers were interested in the chance of a sequel too, and Mark figured he better get to writing one. He'd already started the first couple of chapters, and as he said goodbye to Stragview, he thought his life might truly be about to begin.
Two weeks later as he sat in front of his brand new computer with nothing to show for it, he started wondering what had gone wrong?
Mark tried everything in his power, but the ideas just wouldn't come. He tried taking his laptop to different places. He tried consuming different kinds of media or music as he wrote. He tried immersing himself in different genres, but nothing brought the muse back. His editor was clamoring for new pages, but Mark couldn't give him what he wanted. The Amazon reps were complaining that his notes on the script were lacking too. They wanted big ideas, concepts for the show, but Mark couldn't come up with anything.
The more he racked his brain, the less work he seemed to do, and the only conclusion he could come to was that the last time he had found good output was when he had worked at Stragview. Mark cast that idea aside, though. That couldn't be it. The prison was such a hectic environment, and unpredictable setting. It couldn't possibly be conducive to a productive writing environment.
It had to be something else.
That's how it all began.
That had been the start of his madness.
He pulled his truck into the backyard and came to rest outside the large shed he had purchased. It was no humble storage shed, not by a long shot, and as he took the chair out of the truck, Mark felt giddy with anticipation. This was it, the final piece, the last thing he needed to make everything perfect.
As the door came open, Mark looked once more upon the monstrosity he had created and was proud.
When he had contacted Kevin about getting some things, his old partner had been hesitant. Mark wanted pictures, layouts, specifics on brands of desks and computers, and Kevin had wanted to know why?
Once Mark offered to pay him, however, the questions became a little less important. Mark had constructed the desk first. A long workspace made of Formica and wood, every chip and every ding the same as the one that sat in G dorm, thanks to Kevin's photos. Then the computer, an old two thousand five model that Mark had picked them up pretty cheap. Having it come with the same OS and programs was a little more expensive, but nothing too ridiculous. Then came every basket, every folder, every coffee cup and roach stain present in the booth. A microwave from a yard sale. A coffee pot from a Dollar General. Paper and flyers and all them custom printed. It took months of work, but when Mark finally looked at the finished product, he knew he'd done it.
When he sat down to work, however, he knew immediately that something wasn't right. The windows had been wooden instead of metal, but the computer monitors that he played the security footage through were a stroke of genius. The footage had been hard to talk Kevin into, but the money had gone a long way. Kevin was in a lot of debt, like most CO's Mark knew, and the cash he was getting from the little project was likely helping him dig himself out of it. At least, Mark hoped it was, but he really didn't care what Kevin spent the money on.
When the windows and familiar view didn't help, thats when Mark realized what he needed. The chair was a piece of it, likely the most important, and as he set it down now, he felt sure this would be the moment he'd been waiting for.
He booted up the computer, reveling in the old clicks and clacks that the aged system made as it came up.
He watched the inmates press their faces against the glass as Sergeant Martin and Kevin, Officer Rack, began their count for the day.
He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes as he soaked in the ambiance, and knew that the moment had come.
He opened Windows office, selected a new document, and set to work.
An hour later, he slammed his head against the desk and cried.
The idea's wouldn't come.
This had all been for nothing, an expensive nothing at that, and now he had nothing to show for it.
He was sunk, finished, his candle quenched before it's time.
“Quite an impressive set up you have here.”
He jumped as the voice wafted over him, and spun to find the Warden leaning in the door to his shed.
The Warden was the last person he had expected to find here, and he stood up at attention before he could stop himself. The Warden laughed, striding in as he took in the scene. He was such an odd character, and the sight of him outside the walls of Stragview was a little alarming. The Warden never left the compound, at least, Mark didn't think he had ever heard of him doing as much. Now he was here, standing inside Mark's shed and judging his efforts, and Mark wasn't sure what he expected.
“Security footage, pictures of secure locations within the prison, a chair with the maintenance ID still engraved on it, I've got enough here to have the police put you away for a while. I could probably get Officer Rack too while I'm at it, but I've got a much better idea.”
Mark shuddered as he watched the man circle like a shark, still not sure what to expect. “This isn't going to work, Officer Danbrey. This hollow shell isn't going to give you what you need, and I think you understand that now, don't you?”
Mark nodded, hanging his head in defeat.
“You need the magic that hangs around Stragview, something you can’t get from a chair and a desk. You happen to be in luck, because I need something as well.” He stopped then, and as he smiled at Mark he could swear the man's eyes glinted like brimstone.
“I need staff that are loyal to me, loyal to Stragview. Staff who know that if they choose to desert me, I can take that which they covet at a moment's notice. You want to write, to continue to grow your star? You need Stragview as much as it needs you.” The two stood and stared at each other for a count of five before Mark asked the question the old shark had been waiting for.
“When do I start?”
“Oh, you'll have to go through orientation again, since you've quit. You might even have to prove to your old captain that you belong in confinement again, but I think you'll make it back sooner than you think. Orientation for new hires starts Monday, and I'll expect you in the training building promptly at five am.”
Mark wanted to protest, but he knew now what the price for disobedience would be. He nodded, watching as The Warden stepped out of his shed as he walked towards the road. Mark saw no car, now means of conveyance, and wondered how the old imp had gotten here so quickly?
“And Officer Danbrey,” the Warden said, drawing Mark up sharply, “the next time you think about leaving to pursue greener pastures, remember how far the warden's grass stretches.”
The Warden left him to his contemplation then, smiling as he felt the weight settle on his newest acolytes soul.
None of them understood the magic of Stragview better than he.
It was why he had built the prison there in the first place.
Some of them might tap into that deep wellspring that lay beneath Stragview, but none of them would ever understand it.
It gave them visions, it helped them thrive, but in the end, it only added strings that the Warden could use to make them dance.
submitted by Erutious to libraryofshadows [link] [comments]
Mark sighed as he read the message, pulling on his pants as he grabbed his car keys. He’d have to be quick before someone figured out what it was. Kevin hadn’t been wrong. He and Mark could get in trouble for what they were about to do. Kevin could get fired, but Mark could very easily be arrested for trespassing. He didn’t work at the prison anymore, and
Stragview didn’t forget slights upon its honor like someone quitting.
It didn’t matter though, he needed that damn chair!
Mark had been working at Stragview for about two years when he finally hit the big time. When you were male and relatively consistent in your work schedule, it was only a matter of time before they put you in confinement. The Show, as many of them called it, had three quads, one of them being permanently sealed off for some reason, and was the bustling hub of the prison. The two guards he worked with, Sergeant Martin and Officer Rack, were solid as well, and they quickly figured out that Mark was a wiz when it came to paperwork and computer stuff. Both the old timers, both of his counterparts having ten plus years behind the fence, were more about flipping cells and keeping down problems than signing forms and housing new arrivals. As such, Mark was left in the bubble most of the time to run the nerve center of the unit while his new friends went to the floor for fun and games. Mark got pretty good at keeping it all between the ditches, and that was when he discovered his real passion.
Mark had dabbled in writing for years, but something about being inside the epicenter of segregation really brought out the best in his writing. Mark found the process of bunking inmates to be pretty easy and the paperwork was tedious but not too complicated. He usually finished his work fairly early in the evening, which left him lots of time to hone his craft. He'd been working on the same novel for years, a bit of grim dark sci-fi set in his own little universe, but he had never really been motivated to finish it. The novel was a hobby, something to pass the time when he had nothing better to do, and now, as he sat and watched the two go about their daily chores he found that he suddenly had nothing better to do.
He fell in with both feet, and night after night found him at the keyboard of the dorm computer as he banged out chapter after chapter. The longer he worked on it, the more he realized that what he was writing was actually pretty good. Better than good, even. He was writing better than he'd ever written, and whether it was the ambiance or some latent ability coming out in him, Mark found the pages coming together easily. The story was great and the descriptions painted a picture of his universe he had never thought possible. The few people he let read it couldn't believe he had been the one to write it, and they had pressured him to submit it.
“Who knows,” Sergeant Martin said after looking over it before chow one morning, “you might actually make it out of shit hole like this with a story like this one.” Mark had laughed at the time, but he couldn't have guessed how right he would be.
* * * * *Mark pulled into the parking lot and looked for the dumpster.
Kevin said he had put it behind the green dumpster next to admin, and as he drove around the ominous wooden building, he saw the dumpster in question. The lids were open and Mark could see the flies swarming from here. The bags sat poking from the hole, black and glistening in the midday sun, and Mark hoped none of the smell would stick to his new chair. He had to be quick, he told himself, as he pulled up beside the dumpster and took one more look for anyone who might be watching.
This was private property, and if he was caught out here taking things from the dumpster, they could make trouble for him.
He climbed out of his truck, a bag of trash in hand as he approached the dumpster. He was just some guy from admin who was tossing some truck garbage, nothing out of the ordinary.
As Mark came around to the side of the dumpster, letting the bag fly in a lazy arc, he saw what he had come to for.
The chair was beautiful, just as he remembered it. The wood on the armrests and the feet was stained a dark brown, the faux leather a deep reverent blue. It would support his back and head, cradling it for maximum creativity. It hadn't changed a bit, and he wondered how they had let Kevin take it to the dumpster at all?
A chair this pristine, this undamaged by careless boots and oversized backsides, came around once in a career.
He suddenly didn't care who saw him.
Mark lifted the chair gingerly and put it into the bed of his truck. He carried it the way he might his wife as he brought her over the threshold, and the blanket he had brought made for a fine buffer against the scratchy bed liner. As Mark lifted the tailgate, he couldn't help but smile at the chair as it lay there benignly.
He had it!
The last piece of the puzzle!
Now, he could finally get back to...
“Mark?”
Mark stiffened, turning around slowly as a smile stretched painfully over his face. He recognized the voice, but her name escaped him. The smiling brunette was only about a foot away from him, leaning out the window of her car as she greeted him. She'd been on Mark's shift, they had spoken many times on the occasions when he came to the captains office or found himself on the yard, and Mark might have even considered asking her out once.
Now she was an obstacle, one more thing to overcome so he could return to his work.
“I thought that was you. What's a big time writer doing in a place like this?”
Mark stepped close to her car, grinning as he leaned down and hoping it looked natural.
“Just had to come and talk to HR about the rest of my vacation time. They still hadn't paid me for all of it and I could use the money until my royalty checks even out a little.”
He prayed silently behind that smile that she wouldn't see the chair as it lay there in the bed of his F150.
It was his chair, and she couldn't have it.
“I'm so jealous,” she said, “we're so short handed that I doubt I'll ever get to use any of mine. How have you been?”
“Good. Just enjoying doing what I love,” he said, his mind screaming behind that smile.
He had to go, he had to get out of here, he had to get back to what mattered.
He made a little more small talk before she realized she was going to be late and told Mark she would see him around. He turned to go, glad to be free of her, when she suddenly called his name and brought him back around. He was like an overclocked spring, ready to snap if she so much as mentioned the chair. She had to have seen it. How could she not. It was beautiful, it was captivating, and anyone who saw it would have to have it. He'd kill her right here if she made him. He needed that chair and he'd snap her neck as she hung out her window if she...
“Could you sign this for me?” she asked, taking a copy of his book off the passenger seat,
“I had been carrying it in the hopes I'd see you around. It would be great to have a signed copy.”
Mark sighed in relief, scratching his name on the inside cover before handing it back. He waved as she pulled off, wishing him well as she rolled towards the employee parking lot.
She hadn't even found a spot before Mark was speeding out of the lot and back onto the road towards Cashmere.
No more distraction, Mark had work to do.
* * * * *The book hadn't been an immediate success. No one had appeared to publish it, no fairy godmother had poofed into existence to make his dreams come true. Mark had shopped the novel around after proofing it for the fifth time, and found someone willing to take a chance on a first time writer. To their surprise, however, the novel had taken off after some shaky reception. It wasn't everyone's cup of tea, grim dark tales rarely were, but as it found its audience, Mark was astonished at the praise he received.
When the publisher called to let him know he had broken a thousand copies, he was tickled.
When they called a week later to inform him it was more like fifty thousand, Mark was astonished.
When he hit the New York Times best seller list, he had taken a two week vacation so he could do a few interviews and some local TV spots.
When his new agent called to let him know that Amazon was interested in a TV adaptation, Mark knew he had arrived.
By then, Mark was already writing his resignation letter. He was thankful for the prison and what they had helped him accomplish, but he would need more time to focus on his work. Amazon was hoping for his take on the script they were putting together, and there were already rumblings for a sequel. The show writers were interested in the chance of a sequel too, and Mark figured he better get to writing one. He'd already started the first couple of chapters, and as he said goodbye to Stragview, he thought his life might truly be about to begin.
Two weeks later as he sat in front of his brand new computer with nothing to show for it, he started wondering what had gone wrong?
Mark tried everything in his power, but the ideas just wouldn't come. He tried taking his laptop to different places. He tried consuming different kinds of media or music as he wrote. He tried immersing himself in different genres, but nothing brought the muse back. His editor was clamoring for new pages, but Mark couldn't give him what he wanted. The Amazon reps were complaining that his notes on the script were lacking too. They wanted big ideas, concepts for the show, but Mark couldn't come up with anything.
The more he racked his brain, the less work he seemed to do, and the only conclusion he could come to was that the last time he had found good output was when he had worked at Stragview. Mark cast that idea aside, though. That couldn't be it. The prison was such a hectic environment, and unpredictable setting. It couldn't possibly be conducive to a productive writing environment.
It had to be something else.
That's how it all began.
That had been the start of his madness.
As the door came open, Mark looked once more upon the monstrosity he had created and was proud.
When he had contacted Kevin about getting some things, his old partner had been hesitant. Mark wanted pictures, layouts, specifics on brands of desks and computers, and Kevin had wanted to know why?
Once Mark offered to pay him, however, the questions became a little less important. Mark had constructed the desk first. A long workspace made of Formica and wood, every chip and every ding the same as the one that sat in G dorm, thanks to Kevin's photos. Then the computer, an old two thousand five model that Mark had picked them up pretty cheap. Having it come with the same OS and programs was a little more expensive, but nothing too ridiculous. Then came every basket, every folder, every coffee cup and roach stain present in the booth. A microwave from a yard sale. A coffee pot from a Dollar General. Paper and flyers and all them custom printed. It took months of work, but when Mark finally looked at the finished product, he knew he'd done it.
When he sat down to work, however, he knew immediately that something wasn't right. The windows had been wooden instead of metal, but the computer monitors that he played the security footage through were a stroke of genius. The footage had been hard to talk Kevin into, but the money had gone a long way. Kevin was in a lot of debt, like most CO's Mark knew, and the cash he was getting from the little project was likely helping him dig himself out of it. At least, Mark hoped it was, but he really didn't care what Kevin spent the money on.
When the windows and familiar view didn't help, thats when Mark realized what he needed. The chair was a piece of it, likely the most important, and as he set it down now, he felt sure this would be the moment he'd been waiting for.
He booted up the computer, reveling in the old clicks and clacks that the aged system made as it came up.
He watched the inmates press their faces against the glass as Sergeant Martin and Kevin, Officer Rack, began their count for the day.
He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes as he soaked in the ambiance, and knew that the moment had come.
He opened Windows office, selected a new document, and set to work.
An hour later, he slammed his head against the desk and cried.
The idea's wouldn't come.
This had all been for nothing, an expensive nothing at that, and now he had nothing to show for it.
He was sunk, finished, his candle quenched before it's time.
“Quite an impressive set up you have here.”
He jumped as the voice wafted over him, and spun to find the Warden leaning in the door to his shed.
The Warden was the last person he had expected to find here, and he stood up at attention before he could stop himself. The Warden laughed, striding in as he took in the scene. He was such an odd character, and the sight of him outside the walls of Stragview was a little alarming. The Warden never left the compound, at least, Mark didn't think he had ever heard of him doing as much. Now he was here, standing inside Mark's shed and judging his efforts, and Mark wasn't sure what he expected.
“Security footage, pictures of secure locations within the prison, a chair with the maintenance ID still engraved on it, I've got enough here to have the police put you away for a while. I could probably get Officer Rack too while I'm at it, but I've got a much better idea.”
Mark shuddered as he watched the man circle like a shark, still not sure what to expect. “This isn't going to work, Officer Danbrey. This hollow shell isn't going to give you what you need, and I think you understand that now, don't you?”
Mark nodded, hanging his head in defeat.
“You need the magic that hangs around Stragview, something you can’t get from a chair and a desk. You happen to be in luck, because I need something as well.” He stopped then, and as he smiled at Mark he could swear the man's eyes glinted like brimstone.
“I need staff that are loyal to me, loyal to Stragview. Staff who know that if they choose to desert me, I can take that which they covet at a moment's notice. You want to write, to continue to grow your star? You need Stragview as much as it needs you.” The two stood and stared at each other for a count of five before Mark asked the question the old shark had been waiting for.
“When do I start?”
“Oh, you'll have to go through orientation again, since you've quit. You might even have to prove to your old captain that you belong in confinement again, but I think you'll make it back sooner than you think. Orientation for new hires starts Monday, and I'll expect you in the training building promptly at five am.”
Mark wanted to protest, but he knew now what the price for disobedience would be. He nodded, watching as The Warden stepped out of his shed as he walked towards the road. Mark saw no car, now means of conveyance, and wondered how the old imp had gotten here so quickly?
“And Officer Danbrey,” the Warden said, drawing Mark up sharply, “the next time you think about leaving to pursue greener pastures, remember how far the warden's grass stretches.”
The Warden left him to his contemplation then, smiling as he felt the weight settle on his newest acolytes soul.
None of them understood the magic of Stragview better than he.
It was why he had built the prison there in the first place.
Some of them might tap into that deep wellspring that lay beneath Stragview, but none of them would ever understand it.
It gave them visions, it helped them thrive, but in the end, it only added strings that the Warden could use to make them dance.