Left ankle fracture icd10

First of all: This is an adopted dog, we don't know much about him. - i don't know his breed, he looks American Stafford mixed with Pitbull, or perhaps Pitbull mixed with something else. Picture 1 - we don't know his age specifically, the vet best thought is 1 years and a half maybe less. (That's a year ago) - neutered. - weighs 33kg - I am based in Spain, I'm posting this and it's close 6 a.m, so if I didn't reply in the comments please give it sometime
Now to the juicy part: I'm going to break down everything in Parts, as I think it all start a 3 weeks ago,
[Part 1] After a normal walk in the morning before work, including a game of fetch, I left my dog in his safe room, as per usual and went to work. When I came home, my dog was limping from the left back leg a bit. I didn't pay to much attention to it. Because it was just a bit, he walked fine but sometimes he just picks it up. I thought maybe he just hit it someone or stepped over something, Visibly there was nothing, I checked his paw and I saw nothing.
I remember that night was horrible, because Very late at night I heard a cry from him after accidently touching it while rolling in bed. And the 2nd toe on that same leg was swollen like a Banana Picture 2
In the morning I ran to the closest vet, and she was not sure what's wrong, the nail seems bending towards the other nail and she x-rayed him, she confirmed nothing was broken or fractured but it seems that the swelling bended the nail to the side a bit. So she prescribed antibiotics and antiinflammatory pills for 4 days , and a revision after. With a the instruction of No running. (So no more fetch)
After 4 days. I caved and let him run after another dog in the park because he seemed better and the swelling went down.
By the next day, after work, he was limping again and it was too late to go to the same vet, AGAIN. I called a close friend who has more experience with dogs than I am, she came over and saw him, she noticed he mostly reacts when his nail is touched. Yet, there's nothing visible or too obvious. I couldn't stop thinking of what's wrong and I decided to cut some of the hair around the nail perhaps I see something, but nothing. Although there was a tiny bit of clear liquid coming out near the nail. Picture 3
[Part 2] In the morning we went to the vet, with all the information I gathered. Again she was still not sure what was going on, but decided to prescribe more antibiotics and antiinflammatory, but stronger ones, to bring down the swelling before doing anything. We continued with the medicine for 10 days. Before revision again, The swelling went down , the limping stopped, and she gave us the clearance to run and play again. BUT. we still don't know what's wrong, so she just asked to keep an eye on him.
Immediately by the next morning, the toe was swollen again, He wasn't limping, but you can see that it's becoming like a small ball. Again I went to the vet. And she didn't want to give him more pills, she just asked to put his leg in cold water from time to time. I did, and it didn't seem to do anything. The swelling became different, it made a head like a zit that's ready to pop. Picture 4
So I left him again to go to work, came back in the evening, and the zit popped already. Picture 5 Some blood is visible, again the vet was closed, so I just cleaned it with Betadine solution, diluted with water. And more kept coming also some clear liquid like puss . Picture 7 We went out that day and he ran a little in the park, and I noticed he was picking up the right back leg sometimes while stepping. And I should have not ignored the signs which brings us to part 3 and the present day
[Part 3] As per usual, we went out in the morning for the usual walk, and again I still see him picking up the Right leg and not stepping on it sometimes.
I went to work. I came back home, and he completely won't put it down. Now here's the curious thing... It was again the SAME 2nd toe, just the other leg, swollen and touching the nail seems to hurt him a lot to the point of crying. Picture 6
This time I ran and caught the vet open, but she wasn't in. Only her assistant, she prescribed anti-inflammatory for now, till Monday when we see the usual vet.
But HOW , HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE I am losing my mind It was supposed to be our 1 year anniversary together today (1st of April) And we can't even run or play I am so devastated , and sad, I feel helpless and don't know what to do
Please, I just need guidance, a 2nd opinion, anything could help

After 2 torn ACL, MCL, meniscus, and fracture knee cap. My left leg has never been the same. It is healed now but can’t squat with a regular stance with out my knee popping and sounds like grinding. But I can do wide stance no pain. I’ve got 405. On the smith (all my gym has) but noticed with a wide stance, going to 90 degrees is less range of motion than normal stance. Should I keep doing what feels pain free, or start from scratch and transition to regular.

This might be a long post, sorry for all the words.
I have pretty vivid dreams pretty much every night. They can range from beautiful, to weird, to terrifying. While I generally don't have bad dreams or nightmares, there is a recurring theme that occurs often and I can't seem to understand why, and the one I had last night had me so scared it made me write this post.
Now one thing you need to know about me is that I am pretty scared of swimming in the open water. I'm perfectly fine with being in swimming pools, but when it comes to oceans, rivers, and even tiny ponds, I will not go into the water deeper than my knees. I'm not sure why this is, but I've always had this fear, and I'm fairly certain it was even before I watched Jaws.
However, I do love the water, and having grown up along the coast, I've learned how to sail and windsurf and really enjoy it. When it comes to being in the water, however, it's a different story.
I woke up at 5:42am this morning, and because my alarm usually goes off at 6am, I figured I would use those last minutes to get some more sleep in. This dream took inspiration from a previous one I had (maybe a few months ago) where I was floating on a board in a river and I could see thousands of gators ranging from tiny to very large swimming in the water under me.
The dream I had this morning had me swimming in the same river, and having remembered it from my previous dream, I got a bit worried that there might be some gators or sharks in the water. However, the scenery was beautiful and there were many people swimming, surfing, and sailing that I dismissed those concerns and kept going further into the middle of the river.
I decide to pause right next to two people so I could take a quick break, and that's when someone exclaimed "crocodile!" or "alligator!" or something like that. I turn my head to look, and right behind the person farthest from me (about 3 feet away) is the head of an alligator (I'm going to go with that for now). It growls and dips its head under.
I immediately know it's very bad news for me, and I consider just booking it to the nearest riverbank to get out of the way, but before I can even move, I see the alligator's huge body swim right under me. I bend my knees in the water so my ankles are parallel to the surface and I can still tread, and I can feel the alligator open its mouth and put its teeth right on the front of my left ankle.
When I tell you I fully expected to die at that moment, I really mean it. I could feel how hard its teeth were, how cold the water was, how quiet everyone else was being. I'm writing this post at the end of the day and I can sill remember what those moments were like.
Anyways, then my dream gets less realistic and somehow I'm able to get away and float on these balloons back to the mainland. I think right before I finally get back to shore, my alarm goes off. After I wake up, my heart is beating like crazy and I'm on the verge of sweating (which isn't that far-fetched, since I sleep with two blankets on).
So to get to why I'm writing this post in this sub - that was the most intense 18 minutes of my life. Even if it wasn't real, there is no question that it affected me, so I want to know if anyone on here can help explain to me if this is normal and if there's any way to stop this from happening again? Has anyone else with vivid dreams experienced something similar and found a way to avoid having them?
Let me know if there's a more appropriate subreddit to post this on, and thanks for reading!

Hey y’all, I was wondering if anyone knew what the SOP was for a fractured ankle? I can still work but like obviously I can’t walk. I have reports and stuff showing my fractured ankle, (along with my swollen hanging ankle lol).

I (17 F) recently celebrated my older sister's (33 F, who I will call Ally ) birthday, my sister birthday was this past Thursday so to celebrate my other Sister who I will call June (26 F) put a "night/late barbecue" together and invited a few of my family and friends to come, eat and drink. Now I think it's important to mention the fact that earlier that day I fell on my way to University and due to a long medical history of ankle sprains and what not, my dad was very concerned. Now onto the context, I got back from University quite late since I had to go to my campus nurse to check con my ankle and picked my cousin on the way back since our driver asked me if that was okay and I accepted. When I got there there were a few people, there was my dad, aunt, dad's friend, June's boyfriend, Ally and June on the grill already cooking, I got there and went to my room to stay there since my dad insisted that I rest my ankle due to the fall. I could hear a few knocks on our door and heard a few more voices but I was concentrated trying to do other things. I did go downstairs for a glass of water and say hi to my cousins who joined us but that was that. Now it´s important to mention that nor June or I are from the city we currently live in, we come from a small town that is quite different and I personally love that, my dad still lives in that city and brought me some dishes that I love, in my town we love to this dish eat alongside with barbecue, since I had a long day and was missing my town I decided to reheat that dish and serve it with barbecue to eat. I was happily eating in the kitchen while everyone was outside and even shared a little bit of this dish with another of my cousins when June came in and gave me a disapproving look, the very loudly said "Are you seriously going to eat that when there is a lot of food left?". I look at her dumbfounded ' cause i didn´t understand and continued eating while she made more comments on her way out. I finished eating and proceeded to ask Ally if she knew why June was so mad about me eating, Ally told me that June had actually invited more people than there actually was so she calculated and cooked a larger portion than needed therefore there was a LOT of remaining food. I didn´t know that and I guess I could have eaten a bit more but probably would have still eaten the dish since 1. It´s my favorite and 2. It´s made mainly with rice and various condiments which meant it could go bad at any second and i didn´t want that to happen. My dad and Ally reassured me that I did nothing wrong but June has been acting mean and cold towards me so I have really been overthinking. So people of Reddit, AITA?

As the title says I'm searching for the Stick of Truth. But and it's a big but, I'm searching for the German version for PS4. I know there were some code give aways with the Box release of "the fractured but whole", but I bought my version 2nd Hand and the only Version available on the PSN store right now is 70€ for both game, which is quite to much. I really want to replay the game, because it's one of my all time favourites, but my Xbox 360 left me and my PC isn't capable to run it. So if you have the code lying around or the game and are willing to part from it for a reasonable price I would be really thankful. I tried some code selling sites, but they mostly sell EU Codes with a warning that it won't work in Germany.
Tldr: searching for German "stick of truth" for PS4

34M, 190cm, 98kgs.
I recently had surgery to fix up a scaphoid fracture in my left wrist. This happened a couple weeks ago, about ten days after the incident that caused it.
As far as I know, surgery went all fine, and I appear to be healing well.
Now about ten days after the surgery I’m out of the cast and in a plastic splint which I can remove to carefully wash my arm, but otherwise an instructed to remain in at all times.
What I’ve noticed since removing the cast is that there’s numbness/tingling in a coin sized area of my palm near where it meets my wrist. Is this something I should be concerned about?

My horse had a fall about 4 weeks ago and went severely lame on her left front. The vet initially diagnosed radial nerve paralysis and thought she had an abscess given that she wasn’t putting much weight on her foot. After 2 weeks, when no abscess emerged we did some x-rays and found she had fractured her coffin bone. We got her to the equine hospital the next day and had her hoof in a cast the day after that. Within a couple of days she was able to put weight back on the leg and within a week she was able to stand on it long enough the we were able to trim and shoe the opposite foot, as well as check for deterioration in that foot. She’s standing 100 times better since getting the cast but she’s still pretty lame at the walk, though slightly better the last two days. The team at the hospital would like to see her appearing mostly sound at the walk before moving forward. I’m having trouble finding any videos or information about horses in early recovery from an injury like this. Wondering if anyone has had a similar experience? And if so, how long before your horse was walking at least somewhat normally?

My horse had a fall about 4 weeks ago and went severely lame on her left front. The vet initially diagnosed radial nerve paralysis and thought she had an abscess given that she wasn’t putting much weight on her foot. After 2 weeks, when no abscess emerged we did some x-rays and found she had fractured her coffin bone. We got her to the equine hospital the next day and had her hoof in a cast the day after that. Within a couple of days she was able to put weight back on the leg and within a week she was able to stand on it long enough the we were able to trim and shoe the opposite foot, as well as check for deterioration in that foot. She’s standing 100 times better since getting the cast but she’s still pretty lame at the walk, though slightly better the last two days. The team at the hospital would like to see her appearing mostly sound at the walk before moving forward. I’m having trouble finding any videos or information about horses in early recovery from an injury like this. Wondering if anyone has had a similar experience? And if so, how long before your horse was walking at least somewhat normally?

I live in a townhome across the street from a cemetery. It’s a small-town cemetery, with a little over a thousand tombstones. There is one looping road that circles the perimeter. To get to the gravesite, most people have to park, and walk. It seems to me that there’s not much room left for any more burials. The lot is dense with corpses. Sitting at my desk, I can see the entire cemetery from my bedroom window. There are five streetlamps spread out along the road. Four of them are sodium orange lights, but one, in the very distant corner, next to the sharpest curve in the road, is an old green streetlamp, shorter than the others. At night, before bed, I open up my window, turn out the lights and just stare. Sometimes I listen to a little music, but normally I like to listen to the silence emanating from the cemetery. That sort of silence can both relaxing and unnerving.
There are times when I will watch a burial, but I don’t make a regular habit of it, simply because most of those are during the day, when I’m either in school or if its Saturday, hanging out with my friends. There was one particular burial I didn’t want to miss though. Shannon Taylor, a cheerleader, had died in a car accident. It took them three weeks, with volunteers and cadaver dogs to find her body. Her prick boyfriend had been drinking and lost control of the car, skidding off of Devil’s Elbow and into the Cumberland River. Devil’s Elbow is a treacherous narrow winding road, with a steep embankment. Kevin Williams had convinced her that he was alright to drive. He was a piece of shit, so I didn’t really care much if he died. With his passing, a good number of people at that school had their lives exponentially improved. I mean he was a sadistic bully, not just your ordinary run-of-the mill bully looking to release a little stress. No, this guy loved causing other people pain. He loved causing misery. Shannon, on the other hand, was the nicest person I had ever encountered, and she was gorgeous. I had a serious crush on her. I loved everything about her, her style, her looks, even something as simple as her mannerisms, or her walk. How could someone so perfect love such a douchebag? I couldn’t understand it.
I didn’t know Shannon that well. I was too shy to ever approach her. I hated myself for being such a coward, but I’d rather not know for sure if I had a chance or not. I’d rather live in an unsure fantasy than a certain sad reality. I heard she was buried in her cheerleading outfit, which offended me, because I thought to summarize her whole life as nothing but a cheerleader was to trivialize who was she was as a person, plus I just thought it was dumb as shit.
All the popular kids were there, feigning sincerity at her passing. I couldn’t see the coffin, but I could tell when she had been lowered into the ground, buried under the earth. There was a visible wave of grief as those who truly loved her realized that she was gone forever. There’s something about packing down that last batch of dirt that evokes weeping.
I stayed in my room watching the scene unfold, until the last person was gone. I remember looking at that fresh mound of dirt and feeling a deep sense of loneliness. I walked down to her plot and said a little prayer. There were wreaths and flowers littered about her grave. I saw one with a picture of her and Kevin at a waterfall. I took the picture and put it in my pants pocket. Her plot was right under one of the orange lights. I thought how gawdy to have her grave under a streetlamp. I wish she would have been under a tree, maybe a beautiful oak, anything but a streetlamp. She deserved a peaceful, serene setting.
After some time, I walked back home. I cut Kevin out of the picture and threw that half away. I gazed at the photo of Shannon for a good while and then placed the picture in my sock drawer. The guys and I were going to a throw-back arcade, with pinball machines and retro video games. I get lost in that place. It’s like meditation without effort and the uncomfortable stillness. I don’t have to chase thoughts away. The ringing and the lights put me in another mental state, a peaceful nothingness, separated from the anxiety of life, but that night I couldn’t enjoy it. Shannon had intruded upon my Nirvana.
When I got home that night I went straight upstairs to my room, got her picture out of the sock drawer, and sat at my desk. Her grave was illuminated under the orange light. There was a weird anticipation on my part, like I expected something ghastly to happen. I couldn’t move my eyes from the plot but to my surprise something did happen, not where I expected, but under the green lamp. I saw passing under the light a girl dressed in what seemed to me a cheerleading outfit. She was pacing back and forth. I could only she her when she was under the light, but when she ventured outside the light, she was invisible. This went on for about five minutes and then she was gone for good. I reasoned that I was sleepy and probably hallucinating, that there was nothing there. I waited for a few more minutes but nothing else happened. I went to sleep and thought nothing else of it until the next night.
The next night I was too curious not to look. I couldn’t sleep, so I got up and sat at my desk, moving the curtain aside to get a clear view of the green light in the cemetery. Nothing at first but after some time elapsed, she appeared. This time she wasn’t pacing but looking in my direction. She motioned for me to come to her. It had to be Shannon. I just knew it. I closed the curtain and crawled back into bed, but again, I couldn’t sleep. I got up and got dressed. I looked out the window, but she wasn’t there.
I quietly made my way downstairs, doing my best not to wake up my mom. I got through the creaking front door without any trouble. The hinges on that front door sing like hysterical banshees. There was no way anyone would ever be able to break in through the front door without alerting me to their presence. My mom on the other was a deep sleeper. The house could burn down, and she would never notice. I walked through the front lawn and across the road. It was a clear night and there was a full moon. It had been a sweltering hot day with no rain, but when I stepped into the cemetery the ground was saturated with water, pools of dark murky water scattered throughout, reflecting the moon’s light. I sloshed through the mud to the back end of the lot, near the green streetlamp. I looked up at the sky and it seemed like it was undulating. I felt as if I was looking up at the surface of a river, while trapped on the bottom. My chest was throbbing, and I started to choke for air. I moved toward the green light. It was all I could see now, my vision clouded, the light scattered by an ever-thickening fog.
From the light I could see a hand reaching out towards me. The skin hung loose, wrinkled, and pale, the last two fingers broken and bent upward. The hand grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me into the light. I immediately gasped for air. I could feel my lungs working, the blood moving throughout my body with much needed oxygen. I fell to the ground and gazed upward. It was Shannon but she wasn’t beautiful. What was left of her blond hair was thin and matted, exposing much of her bald head. One eye was missing, and the other eye was bulging, skin and eyelid eaten away by some unknown scavenger. Her skin was a pale blue, with deep bloody gashes in her face, arms, and legs. She was dressed in her cheerleading outfit. She began to speak. It was difficult for her to enunciate through her mangled mouth, upper lip missing, broken and missing teeth, an eternal damnable smile.
“Kill him.”
I was shoved out of the light and back into the darkness of the cemetery. The ground was dry, and I could breathe. There were no pools of water, no movement in the sky other than the few wispy clouds that skirted in front of the moon. I made my way back home, with the thought of being trapped in a car underwater lodged in my head. It made me anxious. I felt I couldn’t move. My muscles were atrophied. It took all my energy to get back home and into bed.
The next morning, I woke up late to the sound of activity in the cemetery. I got up and looked out the window. The scene looked familiar. I watched as family and friends gathered around the grave of a loved one, exactly where Shannon had been buried. I was confused. I got dressed and rushed down to the grave. I noticed Shannon’s parents wailing and some of the people from school listening to the preacher. There in front was the wreath, attached in the middle, a picture of Shannon and Kevin with a waterfall in the background.
“What are you doing here?” I heard an angry whisper. It was Melissa, another cheerleader, but one with a nasty disposition. I just ignored her and started walking back towards my home. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed someone in the woods behind the cemetery. Someone watching, waiting, looking for an opportunity to say goodbye.
I changed my course and started walking towards the woods. I got closer than I imagined I would have without being noticed. The spying person looked up. We looked each other in the eyes. It was Kevin, alive and well, perfectly fine. He was teary eyed, and his face expressed a tangible fear. He turned and ran deeper into the woods. I didn't want to follow him. I didn't want a confrontation. I was pondering whether or not I should report him to the police. I hated him but I also feared him.
That night, whatever damn night it was, as I lay sleeping in bed, I heard the front door open. The hinges screaming in ecstasy, piercing my ears, and shocking me out of sleep. I laid there for a while, working up the courage to check and see who was in our house. I finally made my way out of bed and went to the landing. Downstairs the door was wide open. A trail of wet footprints went from the living room hardwood floor to the kitchen, and back through the living room and up the carpeted stairs. They went past my room and to my mom’s room. I saw that her door was open. This was odd and out of character for my mom. She always locked her bedroom door for fear of intruders. I walked over to the door and peered inside. Standing over my mother was a water drenched witch, in a cheerleading outfit, with a knife in hand, ready to stab my mother in her sleep. Shannon turned her gaze in my direction and lowered the knife.
“Kill him.” Shannon backed into the dark corner and was gone. I turned on the bedroom light. No one was in the room, the only evidence being the wet footprints.
“What… what are you doing?”
“Nothing mom. Go back to sleep. I just thought I heard something.” I shut off the lights and closed the door.
The next morning, I woke up early. I went to the woods behind the cemetery and waited. The line of cars meandered through the road and in front of the gravesite. People slammed their car doors. There was muffled conversation. I hid in a patch of brush, knowing exactly where Kevin would be. I could hear the preacher start the ceremony. I had brought a hammer with me. In the distance, amidst the trees, I saw Kevin sneaking up the trail. He positioned himself so that he could watch without being noticed, bent down and out of sight. I waited and kept my focus on Kevin. After the burial he watched everyone leave and then waited what seemed to be an hour more. He stood up and jogged over to the gravesite. He just stood there, looking and weeping. I felt sorry for him. I didn’t know exactly what had happened. I imagined several different scenarios, but the most reasonable to me was that he felt guilty. I didn’t see him as a killer, just a dumb drunk teen who wasn’t able to save his girlfriend. Then again, I really didn't know. He grabbed the photo off of the wreath and started to leave. As he came to the trail, I let him get a little in front of me. I wrestled myself free from the brush and snuck up behind him. I stepped on a stick, it snapped, he turned, and I reflexively hit him in the forehead above his left eye. He fell to the ground unconscious. I knew he wasn’t dead; I could see his chest moving up and down.
I dropped the hammer to the ground. I couldn’t believe I had done it. I had changed my mind but at the last second, I had swung without thinking, only reacting to the situation. I had no time to panic or feel sorry for myself. My one chance was to dump him unconscious into the river near Devil’s Elbow. Let the authorities find him where they had expected him to be. I ran back home and got the car. I drove on the cemetery road all the way around to where the woods were. I had to pull off the road and into the grass to get the car as close to Kevin as possible. I popped the trunk. Kevin was heavy, but I could feel the adrenaline pumping. I dragged him by the ankles to the back of the car. I picked him up like a fairytale maiden and dumped him in the trunk. I went back and retrieved the hammer.
When I got to Devil’s Elbow, I had to drive down past it to the bottom of the hill and closer to the river. I parked the car on the shoulder of the road. A couple of cars passed. I waited until it was clear and made haste, opening the trunk and dragging Kevin out onto the road. I could hear another car coming, tires rubbing against the road, atop of Devil’s Elbow. I wouldn’t make it in time so I dragged him as fast as I could to the other side of the car, out of sight. I quickly popped the hood and acted like I was broken down.
The car passed without even slowing down. I left the hood up, thinking that another car would be approaching, and it would be best to keep the charade going. I went and started the arduous task of getting Kevin’s body into the river. I grabbed his ankles and heard him moan. I couldn’t do it. I thought about grabbing a rock and crushing in his skull, but he would suffer. I closed the hood and the trunk, started the car and drove off.
I was looking in the rear-view mirror as I drove away. I knew this was the end for me. I was going to jail. I saw Kevin get up and stagger out into the road, not realizing where he was. Coming down the hill was a motorcycle, doing about a hundred miles an hour. People loved taking motorcycles down Devil’s Elbow. It was a game, a thrill to brag about. This guy just happened to choose a day when a zombie pedestrian had been unwillingly installed into the course. The motorcyclist didn’t see Kevin until the last second. He swerved trying to miss Kevin, but instead the bike wobbled and blasted right into him, tossing Kevin and the cyclist into the air and over the side of the embankment. I stopped and pulled off to the side of the road. I could see both their bodies being swept down the river, neither appearing to be alive. There was no effort to swim back to shore. They were faced down in the water, looking into the void of the deep moving river.
I drove home, parked the car, and went to bed early. Later on in the night, I heard my mom watching television downstairs.
“Devil’s Elbow got another one. Some motorcycle lost control and went into the river. Oh, and they found that boy Kevin. He wasn’t too far from where the motorcycle went in. Weird, isn’t it?”
I walked upstairs and sat at my desk. I pulled the curtain back. There under the green cemetery light, stood a cheerleader, with what was probably her boyfriend. She had her back turned toward me, but the guy was looking in my direction, motioning to me, inviting me to come into the green light. I looked down into the waste basket and saw a picture of Shannon and Kevin, standing in front of a waterfall.

When I was six years old, I followed a red bird into the woods. I didn’t think much about it, it just made a funny sound and I wanted to look at it. So I wandered off. My mother had fallen asleep on her sunbed after toting about in the garden, she was usually very attentive. Once the bird flew away I tried to turn back, only to realize I’d wandered off the trail, and I had no idea where I was. It was the first time I truly feared for my life. The forests of West Virginia can be so dense that they eat your screams; no one could hear me calling for help, and I couldn’t hear my panicked mother looking for me.
I ended up moving further and further into the forest. I went the wrong way. The sky slowly turned dark as the hours passed, and I found myself following a river. I was thirsty. It eventually got so dark that I couldn’t see my own feet.
At some point, I put my foot down wrong and twisted my ankle. It just broke me. I couldn’t straighten my leg out or put any weight on it. I just sat there by the river, completely devastated. I cried my eyes out, screaming for help, but no one came. It was just me, and the dark. And the dark was ready to eat me alive.
​
In the darkest hours of the night, as the fear had reached into the back of my heart, I just sat there; shivering. It was as if the panic had subsided into a sort of revelation. I imagined Death waiting for me at the other side of the river. I knew it was there.
I never saw it, but I painted a picture of it in my mind. I figured it had a really long arm, with a single painted nail. If I looked at it, or talked to it, that arm would grow longer.
But it wanted me to look. It wanted me to know it was there.
“Look-a-me,” it whispered. “Look-a-me, little boy.”
​
Sometime during the night, I passed out. They found me by the river just before sunrise.
And although my leg healed, my mind didn’t. And from that day forward, I’ve always had the sense that something lurks in the dark, just out of sight. Something that wants me to look. To find it.
To reach me.
​
Ever since, I’ve had an anxious relationship to the dark. Some would call it nyctophobia. A sort of fear of the unseen. I’ve always held that gnawing feeling of something waiting on the other side of the river, just out of reach; but one misstep, and it would get me. Even as an adult, I still get that sense of dread. An all-encompassing panic. The sense that you’re not getting enough oxygen, despite hyperventilating. Blood rushing to your head so fast it starts ringing in your ears. And then and there, in my most vulnerable moments, I can still hear it.
“Look-a-me, little boy. Look-a-me.”
​
Over the years, I’ve been to various therapists. I’ve had treatments. And honestly, just being open about my fears has helped tremendously. I’ve faced my fears time and time again and channeled them into creative outlets. That’s how I eventually became a screenwriter.
I worked my fingers to the bone. Sometimes out of ambition, but most often just to distract myself from that all-consuming darkness that sneaks up on me late at night. I moved to the West Coast in 2011. An internship lead me to a position as an uncredited assistant screenwriter on a popular sitcom. I can’t name any names, but I’m sure there were quite a few nerds enjoying our fourth season.
I got my first job at a movie set in 2016. I mostly worked on last-minute edits and consultation, but it was the first time I saw my name on the silver screen. I’m sure some of you horror fans out there enjoyed it. And to those of you who’ve gained a lifelong fear of dolls; I’m sorry.
​
I worked several stray projects until 2018, when I met a very influential man. Let’s call him Patrick, or ‘Pat’ for short. Pat and I met at the wrap-up party of another project, and we got a bit too drunk. We started talking about horror movies, and the two of us ended up talking about our fears and anxieties. It was a “drinking red wine from the bottle at 3-am” kind of talk.
I ended up mentioning my trauma. It sort of just slipped out. I mentioned my sprained leg, and sitting there at the bank of the river. I mentioned a presence in the dark. The long arm, growing longer the more I tried to see it.
“Wha… what’s it called?” Pat asked, flabbergasted.
And in that moment, I realized I’d just pitched my first screenplay.
​
Pat fast-tracked the whole thing. He was aching for a producer’s credit, and he genuinely loved the imagery of the ‘Look-a-Me’. A creature lurking in the dark with an arm growing taller the more you paid attention to it. He thought it was absolutely chilling, and he kept hyping me up about it several times a week.
I had a rough draft ready in two weeks. I tried to channel my childhood fears into a cohesive story, but instead of a kid stuck by the river it was more of a classic horror setup. A group of young adults who got lost in the forests of West Virginia, being relentlessly hunted by this primal force. That first draft was rough, but I got a good outline.
I worked with two other writers for the second draft. Kellan, who mostly worked crime drama, and Morgan. She was a comedy writer who wanted to break into a new genre. There was a lot of late night rewrites. Morgan was also an amazing concept artist, which brought every piece of our story to life.
​
I remember one night as we worked on the second draft. Kellan was rambling on and on about what the ‘Look-a-me’ represented.
“It’s too simple,” he sighed. “It can’t just be death. We’re not making a… a Jason Voorhees. It’s something new. It means something.”
“I think it’s trauma,” said Morgan. “Like, how it gets worse the more you poke at it. The more you look at it. It’s painful.”
“What the hell kind of message is that?” Kellan scoffed. “Are we telling people not to confront their fears?”
“No, we’re… we’re telling them to not get… goaded into it. To do it on your own terms, you know?”
​
It felt like a good and bad conscience chattering into my ears. But at the end of the day, it was my script, and it came down to my decision. Kellan wanted to paint the picture of a threat, something symbolic. Morgan wanted to send a message, using the Look-a-me as a tool. Neither of them was getting the point.
“There’s nothing to it,” I finally said. “It is not a message. It is not a symbol. It’s there, and it hunts. Just like a bear, or a shark.”
“So we’re just making a monster movie,” scoffed Kellan. “Jaws 4, deep forest boogaloo?”
“There was a Jaws 4, actually,” smiled Morgan. “It was called The Revenge.”
“Oh please.”
They argued back and forth. They argued about how bad the script could get if we continued down this path. They argued about the clichés we were wandering headfirst into. And it dawned on me; they were just scared of the dark. They didn’t have control. I did.
“I got it from here,” I said. “Take the night off.”
So they did. They were still arguing in the hallway, on their way out. Moments later, Kellan turned back. He leaned in and gave me a final look.
“You know you have to show it, right?” he said. “No matter what, we can’t just have it hidden in the dark. We have to show it.”
​
That’s where my writing stopped. No matter how I twisted and turned it, I couldn’t picture the Look-a-me. All I saw was this long arm reaching towards me, coming out of the dark. A woman’s hand, with a single painted nail.
“Look-a-me, little boy.”
But the more I thought about it, the more my anxiety spiked. I knew I could see it in my mind, if I wanted to. I could. But looking at it too closely, in any way, would give it the power to reach me. My mind wouldn’t let me see it. My reptile brain was reaching through my anxiety to rattle me into looking the other way. To turn my mind away from the page.
I couldn’t describe it. All I got was that… that long arm.
And I could’ve sworn I felt it brushing against the back of my neck.
​
The second draft stalled for a couple of weeks. Pat was getting impatient. He called me into the office one rainy Wednesday afternoon to have a “serious conversation” about the rewrite.
When I got there, I was ambushed by a whole gaggle of writers. An entire team. A room full of people, who’d all been briefed. They all had printed-out copies of the first draft, and both Morgan and Kellan had told them about the issue with the rewrite. Pat wasn’t playing around; he wanted this done.
I barely got a word out before we were ushered into our seats and pushed into finishing the draft. There were about a dozen of us. Some were pretty big industry names, called in to give some pedigree to the script. One of them had worked on prosthetics for a big zombie show, and he came out swinging.
“Let’s just expand on what we got,” he suggested. “Instead of a long arm, why not several? Just… all arms.”
“Yeah,” someone chimed in. “Like it, a… saves them. The arms, I mean.”
“It adds to itself,” someone laughed. “A literal growing fear.”
“Ringu meets The Blob. Love it. Love. IT.”
​
They were all talking over me. Through me. Past me. They didn’t know any better, and as a collective, they all looked at the Look-a-me. Not literally, of course, but figuratively. They were bringing it into focus. And even there, in the bright lights of that film studio meeting room, I could feel that darkness coming over me. My breath growing shallow. My vision turning into a pin. And in the back of my mind, I heard it.
“Look-a-me, little boy.”
I ran out of the office, locked myself in the bathroom, and puked my guts out. I screamed into the toilet bowl, waiting for the panic to stop. I could feel that long arm reaching for me. And the more I thought about it, the closer it got.
“Look-a-me,” it hissed, its voice echoing off the bathroom tiles. “Look-a-me!”
​
I didn’t return to that meeting. I got in my car and went straight home to take my backup anxiety meds. I hadn’t used them in a while. I fell face-first into the bed and just collapsed into a nightmarish mid-afternoon nap.
Later that day I poured myself a bath and a glass of red wine (non-alcoholic); even brought out some bubbles. I figured I’d stay in for the rest of the day and get takeout.
Just a few minutes into the bath, my phone started buzzing. Turns out Pat had run out of patience. They’d finished the second draft, and they were going ahead with it; with or without me. I was invited to add to it, but they weren’t gonna budge on what the ‘consultants’ had come up with.
I skimmed it. And there it was.
​
They had been poking at the Look-a-me for hours. There was concept art, vivid descriptions, and even a storyboard sketch.
The Look-a-me. A hundred arms from a hundred victims. An eldritch Medusa. Ringu meets The Blob. They had comparisons, charts, mood boards… one of them already had a casting suggestion for the voiceover.
​
Then the power went out.
With a snap from the ceiling light, I was enveloped in complete darkness. In a heartbeat I went from a screenwriter back to a little boy; lost and alone in the dark. I imagined myself submerged in that forest river. I scrambled to get out. I kept slipping, as I felt the bathtub give way for river stones. I could feel them. I could smell the algae.
“Look-a-me, little boy,” the darkness hissed. “They gave me a body. They look, little boy.”
A long nail brushed against my neck.
“You made them look-a-me. And now I can reach much, much further.”
​
A warmth against my cheek, as something leaned in. Sticky lips parting, like slowly pulling off a band-aid. It was right there, in the dark.
“Thank you.”
​
As the lights came back on, I felt my heart skip a beat. Every square inch, every bathroom tile, every towel and shampoo bottle; it was all covered in handprints.
And for the first time since I was six years old, I screamed like my life depended on it.
Like a part of me was still stuck in those woods, hoping for my mother to find me.
​
Over the next few days, my fear of the dark kicked into overdrive. Every time I stepped out of the light, I heard it. Little remarks, snickers, and laughter. Just closing my eyes was all it took for the sound of tapping fingers to creep closer.
I couldn’t help but to imagine it. It was no longer just an arm in the dark, it was this… this amalgamation. It poured out of every dark corner of every room. It had so many more things to say, and its arms were so much longer.
And no matter how many lights were on, and no matter how much light I let in from the windows, I could still sense it. Out of every unseen corner, out of every closed door; it was there.
And it wanted me to look.
​
I was getting regular updates. They were on a third draft. Kellan and Morgan had completely taken over the writing, and I was turning more and more into a “consultant”. The project was running away from me. More concept art. More lines. More dialogue.
They were looking at it. I had pointed it out to them, and now they were all looking.
I was in a feverish panic. I could feel it growing stronger, bigger, more assertive. It was no longer just something lurking in the back of my mind, it was reaching across the river. And at every turn, at every corner, there it was.
“Look-a-me, little boy.”
​
I’ll be honest, some of those days are a blur. I remember a rainy evening in the middle of the week. I was sleep-deprived, exhausted, and mentally torn.
I don’t even remember going to see Morgan. I just had this drive to stop her from looking too closely. I had to stop her from whatever was going to happen if she looked for too long.
I had to save her.
​
The moment I put my hand to her door, it opened. Morgan looked at me with sleepless eyes, her hands shaking. For a moment, the two of us just looked at one another.
“I, uh… I thought you were sick,” she said. “They said you were.”
“You don’t… don’t look too great yourself,” I said, forcing a chuckle.
Every light in her apartment was on. Even her TV, a flashlight, and her laptop. Her curtains had been torn down and spread across the floor. It might’ve been evening outside, but her place was bright as day. I could put two and two together, but it felt strange saying it out loud.
“You’ve… you’ve seen it. You’ve looked, I mean.”
Morgan nodded, her head shaking up and down like a bobblehead. Poor thing was exhausted.
“It’s real,” she stammered. “How… how can it be real?”
​
She invited me in. I sat down on her sofa, on top of a flowery curtain. Morgan’s hands were shaking so bad I could hear the spoon in her cup of tea rattle back and forth.
“It, uh… started a few days ago,” she said. “And it just… it never stops. The more I try not to think about it, the more real it gets.”
“It wants you to look,” I said. “It wants-“
“It wants to become this… this real thing. It wants us to create it. It has lived in the back of your head for years, and now it’s clawing its way out.”
“That’s… yeah. Something like that.”
“So how do we stop it?” she asked. “What, do we… do we kill you?”
She sat down next to me, holding her cup tight with both her hands.
“I don’t, uh… I don’t think so. It’s already out there.”
“But we can’t un-look at it. It’s done. It’s… it’s happening.”
​
And the thought hit me.
What the hell would happen once an audience of thousands, or tens of thousands, or hundreds of thousands, watched it? How long would it grow, just from test screening? How far across the river could the Look-a-me get, if everyone was eager to watch it?
A cold chill went up my spine. Maybe this was the plan. Maybe this was what it wanted. Maybe it pushed me towards writing to begin with. Maybe it lived in me, putting me on a path to birth it onto the world stage.
I felt sick.
​
“I… I can’t let this happen,” I said. “If that… if it… if we shoot anything. A promo, a… a trailer. Anything. If we do the goddamn casting, or there’s a leak, or… or…”
“Oh my God.”
Morgan covered her mouth, her eyes going wild.
“D-do you think-“
I just nodded. We were thinking the same thing. This… this mind-creature, if brought to the public, would be unstoppable.
​
We got our coats and got out of the apartment. We had to see Pat. Maybe he was experiencing something similar. Morgan fumbled for her keys and almost stumbled over her own feet. I could hear her swearing with frustration.
The moment we got out of her apartment, it was as if time stood still. Morgan was right behind me, but something happened. There was this strange ammonia smell in the air. I slowly turned around, holding my breath.
I hadn’t thought about it, but the hallway light outside her apartment was broken. And for a moment, we were standing in darkness.
​
One by one, the lights in her apartment went out. Twinkling on and off, like dying stars.
A pair of pale fingers dug through her hair; a single painted fingernail poked out behind her ear.
So many fingers.
​
Morgan gasped. We looked at one another, breathlessly.
It could reach all the way across.
It could reach across the river.
​
In a heartbeat, the door slammed shut. There was a visceral tearing, and the sound of something rolling across the floor. And outside, the lights were starting to die.
“Look-a-me, little boy,” the dark said. “Look-a-me.”
Long pale arms crawled out of every corner, reaching for me. It wasn’t even dark yet. It didn’t care.
It laughed.
​
I refused to get trapped in the elevator, so I ran down the stairs , feeling the sole of my boots trample curious fingers with every corner I rounded. I could feel them nipping at my clothes, grasping for my neck.
I burst through the exit to the street level, knocking over a middle-aged couple as I scrambled towards my car. I didn’t even hear their insults. All I heard was my heartbeat, and that little voice growing louder every time I left the safety of the streetlights.
​
I drove past red lights, broke every speed limit, and went down the wrong end of a one-way street. I was in a frenzy and ended up frantically knocking on Pat’s front door.
I tried to compose myself, but there was no use. My eyes were wild, and I couldn’t stop my legs from shaking. My lips quivered, like I was hypothermic.
Pat was having a small party, just like the one I’d first met him at. He was about to invite me in, but he stopped himself. Clearly, I wasn’t well.
“We gotta… we gotta stop this, Pat,” I said. “We gotta stop production.”
“What are you talking about?” he smiled. “There’s no reason to-“
“No, you’re not hearing me. This… this is not a-a… a debate.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not going to let you talk to me like-“
​
I heard it. That snickering, pleading little voice. Asking me to turn around, to look into the dark of the night.
“Look. Look-a-me.”
​
I snapped.
I shoved the door open and forced my way inside. I picked up a small wine glass from a nearby table, stomped into the living room, and tapped it with my phone for attention.
It could be a thousand times worse. Ten thousand. A hundred thousand.
No.
​
I barely even noticed the glass breaking, and everyone staring. At least three dozen industry professionals. People I’d looked up to my entire professional career. Hell, one of them was an A-lister.
“We’re, uh… hi,” I stammered. “We’re cancelling all production of the, uh… The Look-a-Me.”
There was a murmur in the crowd. Little smirks and pitying smiles.
“It’s happening,” I said. “It’s done. It’s gone.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” groaned Pat. “I’m calling the police.”
“Do whatever you want, but if I see a single goddamn still from that production, I’m burning the goddamn studio to the ground.”
“You gotta be-“
I grabbed Pat by the collar and pushed him up against the wall, rattling his wine glasses.
“I’m burning. The goddamn studio. To the ground.”
​
Career suicide.
Complete, absolute, career suicide.
​
I collapsed back into my car, still holding the broken wine glass. I turned on the dome light to drown out the darkness, but it didn’t work. I flicked it a couple times, but nothing happened.
A pale hand pushed down on my door lock.
Click.
​
“Time to look-a-me, little boy,” a voice whispered from the back seat, as a cold hand stroked my cheek. “Time to look.”
I thought back on that night from so many years ago. That absolute terror. That certainty of death. And just like then, there was this moment where fear gave way to revelation.
Of course.
​
“You can’t kill me,” I said. “I’m the only one who’ve… who’ve really looked. I’m the only one giving you this reach.”
Cold fingers curled around my neck.
“That’s it, isn’t… isn’t it? It’s because of me. Otherwise you would’ve killed me. You would’ve stopped me from going in there.”
There was no response. Just a tightening grip. Long nails brushing my hair, grabbing at it.
“Without me, and without that show, there’s no one to look. All the drawings will be tossed. The script forgotten. It’ll just be you and me, and… and if I’m gone… there’s just you. And you’re nothing. You are, literally, nothing. You never were anything but… but nothing.”
And I turned around to look, at the look-a-me.
​
And all I saw was a pale white hand retreating into the dark.
​
​
Now, it’s… it’s been a while.
I’m no longer under a studio NDA, but I’m not taking any chances. No charges were pressed, no production came to pass. It was easier to just shut it down and move on.
You might’ve heard about Morgan. The details were graphic. And no, of course that’s not her real name. They said she had some kind of episode, and the results were… tragic. How you can do something like she did to her own head during an "episode" they conveniently left out. But I know.
I'll always know.
​
Some things out there defy our explanations. Our rationale. Some things aren’t a message, or a monster, or a theme. It just is. It exists because we make it exist. And it wants to be seen.
To me, I don’t know where the Look-a-me came from. Maybe it came from me. Maybe it is me. Or maybe it was just something that found me in the dark, and decided to stick around.
But now I know that as much as I will be stuck with it, for the rest of my life, at least that thing is equally stuck.
With me.

I’m from the U.S. (NYC) and on vacation in Puerto Rico. I am staying at a major hotel chain based in the U.S. and I fell at the hotel due to what I believe to be conditions that are the fault of the hotel (wet, slippery stairs).
Per my insurance app, there are no hospitals within 25 miles that accept my insurance, so I went to the closest ER. I have a fractured wrist and need a cast. I am receiving an injection and pain meds.
I plan to consult a personal injury attorney upon my return to the U.S. (it is currently Friday night and I return Monday).
I still have several days left on my trip and would like to enjoy them. However, I don’t want to risk any potential advantage I may have with the hotel covering my medical expenses and potential lost wages. I am fearful that if the hotel knows I ate at a restaurant within the resort (or something), they may argue that I am “fine.”
Is there anything I should be aware of over the coming days?

Eina broke through the surface of the water, barely able see for the mist clogging up her mask and the wide pitch-black cavern gaping in front of her, dimly lit by their headtorches. After a handful of futile attempts to wipe down her goggles, she ripped it off and clipped the damned thing onto her belt. Good timing too, considering the razor tentacle whipping out of the water towards her jugular. She threw herself aside, grazing her elbow on the cave wall and giving what she hoped would come across as a warning shout but likely was more of a frightened yelp.
Her squad leaped into action, Rum throwing a patronising arm over her shoulder and forcing her into a sprint. Marrow let loose a handful of blind blaster shots into the darkness.
“While I would rather you be fish food than me, Marrow, I suggest less shooting and more running,” Kystagg said with a grimace, already pulling ahead of the pack.
Eina did not dare spare a glance back to see what was chasing the four of them, she’d have plenty of time to do that later when she was digesting inside its stomach if she got caught. Or stomachs…
That cheery thought was chased by a snap at her squadmate, “Kystagg, would you be a dear and get those fucking lights on?”.
She answered by the furious but futile flicking of a switch. Darkness remained.
Eina pressed forward, blindly willing herself forward. Engulfing darkness, scrambling blind against a cave wall, hyperventilating over comms and some giant fuck-off monster at their heels. Not quite what she had in mind when she signed up to become a bounty-hunter but life was full of little surprises. Rarely good ones, in her experience.
The scrape of chitin on rock some way overhead alerted her to the fact that a) the whatever-the-fuck was closing on them and b) the cavern had gotten bigger. Eina broke her attention from the tiny spot of light illuminated in front of her and couldn’t help sparing a glance into the darkness, though it was as useless as she had anticipated. She turned back only to launch herself out of the path of a sweeping tentacle. Her torchlight rested on it just long enough to illuminate the glass-like armour, a hint of what looked like engravings or hieroglyphs scrawled onto the flesh beneath the crystal. They were in the right place then.
A throaty howl echoed from in front and Eina had trouble telling whether it was Kystagg or whatever scrabble of winged creatures that had descended upon her. A clatter. She had dropped it. Shit.
Marrow let out a long string of rare and exotic curses as he swiveled tried the age old tactic of spraying uselessly into the darkness again. Miraculously, it had the same effect as before. Jack shit.
Eina swung her headtorch around wildly, praying that she could see the lightswitch ahead of her but not daring to drop the pace. Scrambling blindly into the darkness, the hands of her wetsuit grasped at loose stone as she felt her way forward. Something slimed into her grip and she suppressed the urge to scream. She’d missed the switch. Hadn’t she?
There. A brief glance to her side and her headtorch light glinted from a small metal ball.
Guess it was all down to her again, but that was hardly anything new. She threw herself off the wall and rolled laterally onto the lightswitch, snatching it into her grip.
A growl emanated from the blackness behind her and she felt the air crunch as a tentacle missed her by an inch. Giving the silver ball a shake and damning the thing to every hell she could think of she pressed it.
The cavern burst into a brilliant golden glow, bathing ancient rose walls, littered with carvings, melting with time. Hieroglyphs matching the one scratched into the creature’s flesh adorned every wall. Dark openings lined every level of rock, the ancient city still watching out on the action below. Had it not been for the present circumstances, even Eina might have been impressed. The creature thrashed around temporarily blinded, launching out an array of untargeted attacks. Eina did not wait about for it to regain its senses and renewed her effort to catch up with the rest of the group.
Crack. Something latched itself around Eina’s ankle. The world fell beneath her as she crunched onto the tiled cave floor. She was tugged back agonizingly quickly, but she had enough wherewithal to whip her machete from its guard and hack into flesh. It took a couple of swings to free herself from the diamond incrusted whip, but it broke with a moan.
Eina wheeled round to face the beast and immediately wished she hadn’t. In the light, the creature did not look to dissimilar to a slug, if said slug was as big as a small spacecraft; was suspended by an uncountable number of crystalline crab-like legs; and was swaddled in a mass of mucus-dripping tentacles that occasionally lashed out violently from its crystalline chassis. The markings on its pale white skin had become all the more clearer in the artificial light, identical to the script that plastered every stone and statue in the cavern. Another defining characteristic which differentiated the beast from a garden-variety slug was the unclosing, gaping maw lined with a ring of eyeballs and brimming with rows upon rows of small teeth and Fizzments, various previous meals in various states of digestion and decomposition still clinging around its throat. Charming.
A small opening jutted out from beneath a particularly peeved looking old king with half an arm lying it his feet. “Over there”, Marrow said, redundantly, but the party had already began to bolt for the hole. The scraping of glass legs on the cave floor and a loud crash behind her made her all too aware that the beast had regained its senses.
From some way ahead, Kystagg was as witty as ever, “Are you done seeing the sights now Eina, or would you like us to wait for you in the shuttle?”
Eina ducked beneath another jagged glass tip of the tentacles, “You know, I think I’ve had my share of excitement for a day. Let’s get what we came for and get out of here”. She considered taking a few more pot shots at the thing now that it was in the light but had no idea where she had to shoot it to make it bleed and thought better of it.
As Eina burst through the opening and into the darkness, Rum let out an audible sigh, “You’re still focused on picking up that tech even if it means you’re lunch?”
Eina was suddenly serious, “Not one of you is leaving this shit-hole planet until I get it, understand?” she said roughly. Eina pretended she didn’t hear Rum’s muttered response and began to push on into the cave system, the wide street now substituted for a suffocating cavern. Even Eina had to crook her neck to avoid the ceiling, Rum was practically on all fours at points.
The adrenaline had abandoned Eina and left her with an oppressive, muggy air baking down on her and a desparation for a fresh breeze. Most of the squad had set aside their masks and zipped down their wetsuits, with the exception of Rum, who was as buttoned up as ever. No one felt much like talking, let alone trying to lighten the mood after that snide remark. Great job leading the team, Captain.
Venus trotted alongside her, wearing a summer dress and loose hanging blonde hair. “Well I for one believe in you captain”, her eyes twinkled even in the low light as she performed a mock salute with the grace and poise of a practiced militiawoman. Hearing voices and seeing ghosts now Eina. Always a good sign of a well adjusted individual, capable of leading a team.
Eina noticed Kystagg glance down at the radar on her wrist for the first time since entering these caves.
“We’re well off course, captain, but there should still be a route through that can get us to the bounty and through the ancient waterworks to avoid… whatever the hell that thing was, if these old maps are anything to go by,”
“The precursors were not exactly ones to skimp on details,” Rum said, “if the cave is intact then the map is correct,”
The party came to an abrupt halt as Marrow let out a sigh, “Funny story on that one chief,”
“Shite. Path to the tech is blocked, the only route forward takes us straight into the waterworks. There’ll be no way from there but open ocean.” Kystagg muttered.
Eina kicked a rock and immediately regretted it. She slumped down and thought.
Marrow started to placate her but Rum knew better than to try, “I don’t see any other option, we can’t go backwards. We still have a nice haul of artefacts we can sling from the dive down…”
“We go back,” Eina said.
Every other member of the team had various methods of expressing their disapproval. Kystagg shouted a few choice words; Marrow looked on the verge of tears and Rum just shook his head.
“We go back. Marrow and I will take on the beast while the two of you plant charges at the waterworks. After that we just have to survive the flood, make our way to the emptied waterworks and we’re out and a million marks richer each.”
“You’ll bring the whole place down on us, you mad bitch,” Marrow started, incredulously before catching Rum’s overprotective glare. She always hated when he did that.
“A controlled charge should break down enough of the barriers without compromising the integrity of the structure.”
“You’ll destroy countless ancient monuments, some of this city has been standing for thousands of years,” Rum said, rubbing his forehead in exasperation.
“Cry about it to your brimming bank account when we bring back this tech to the mob. Or to your broken knee caps and missing teeth if we return empty handed. We go back.”
“I can’t let you go. I should be the one to…” Kystagg began before realising the answer to her own comment and thinking better of it. “What I mean to say is, good luck captain”.

I’m a 19 F and broke both my radius and ulna in 2011 (I was probably at around 8 y/o when this happened). The breaks weren’t shatters, but definitely were visible to the eye and were far from just fractures.The only surgery they did to repair was externally trying to shift my bones, they never made any incisions, no pins, or anything invasive. My experience with those doctors are questionable, and we question how well of a job they did at that time fixing my arm. Fast forward it’s been around 12 years and I still have issues with it. I currently am having pretty uncomfortable pain coming from directly in the middle of my forearm, not from my elbow or a muscle. The pain comes and then goes and won’t appear for months. Many times, I have had to be put on weight restrictions on lifting objects at my job or unable to lift weights with that arm. Since the break, my right arm has been much more bony and I was never to gain the strength back, making it very difficult to carry weight with it compared to my left arm. I’ve been to the doctor a couple times since with the arm pain, and most recently last summer when they gave me a wrist brace and said there was nothing they could do. I believe I’ve had an X-ray done since it was healed in 2011 but no body is able to figure out what is wrong. The pain is dull and uncomfortable, and it feels like a rubbing or shifting, like a popping feeling but the pain is most definitely not in my elbow or a joint. Not only that, but I am unable to lay my arm flat on a surface (my wrist comes off the surface if I force my arm flat, or my arm and elbow when I force my wrist flat) and it causes pain to put force on it on a hard surface. It concerns me how after that long, that this pain just appears sometimes after nothing causing it. Please leave me some advice because I’d love to see if anybody else has had this same issue!

I’m a 19 F and broke both my radius and ulna in 2011 (I was probably at around 8 y/o when this happened). The breaks weren’t shatters, but definitely were visible to the eye and were far from just fractures.The only surgery they did to repair was externally trying to shift my bones, they never made any incisions, no pins, or anything invasive. My experience with those doctors are questionable, and we question how well of a job they did at that time fixing my arm. Fast forward it’s been around 12 years and I still have issues with it. I currently am having pretty uncomfortable pain coming from directly in the middle of my forearm, not from my elbow or a muscle. The pain comes and then goes and won’t appear for months. Many times, I have had to be put on weight restrictions on lifting objects at my job or unable to lift weights with that arm. Since the break, my right arm has been much more bony and I was never to gain the strength back, making it very difficult to carry weight with it compared to my left arm. I’ve been to the doctor a couple times since with the arm pain, and most recently last summer when they gave me a wrist brace and said there was nothing they could do. I believe I’ve had an X-ray done since it was healed in 2011 but no body is able to figure out what is wrong. The pain is dull and uncomfortable, and it feels like a rubbing or shifting, like a popping feeling but the pain is most definitely not in my elbow or a joint. Not only that, but I am unable to lay my arm flat on a surface (my wrist comes off the surface if I force my arm flat, or my arm and elbow when I force my wrist flat) and it causes pain to put force on it on a hard surface. It concerns me how after that long, that this pain just appears sometimes after nothing causing it. Please leave me some advice because I’d love to see if anybody else has had this same issue!