You’re born with the ability to see a person’s internal pain as if it were a physical injury. Most people have at least a few scratches, while some people look like they’ve fallen off of cliffs. One day, you see someone in the worst state you’ve ever seen anyone before.

Their fingers were mangled, scars riddled their body, bruises made their skin look darker than it was originally. Their eyes swollen shut, their legs shouldn’t have been working. Yet there they were crooked nose, from so many times it had to have been broken. Cracked and split lips parting to the missing teeth. Broken arms moving as if nothing was wrong.

Tears streamed over the open wounds on their cheeks.

“Weclome to burger shop what can i get for you!” came their cheery question but i was too stricken to speak. Her warm smile and cheery voice were so drastically different from what looked to be a nearly decapitated corpse. With their skin peeling off their face slowly.

The vision shifted and once again they were “normal”

“Uhm… A number 4 with special sauce please.” you utter a distracted reply.

“Small medium or large?” they ask again uncommonly cheerful. Their eyes shining with a dull beakness that makes you feel like the abyss was calling for their soul alone.

“M-me-medium please.” you stutter.

“And will that be for here or to go?” they asked curiously.

“To go.” you says with more conviction while the cashier hands you your cup.

“Here you go love, that’ll be $6.57.” they smile at you; But all you see is the pain as their nose starts to bleed profusely, visions of convulsing and a silent scream of angish.

“Your drink?” the question breaks your concentration.

“Oh right thank you.” you mumble after giving her a 20$. “Please. Make sure you keep the change for yourself.” you insist. You get the feeling they need it…

They stare at the money you gave them in shock as actual tears start trailing down their cheeks.

“No… No… I cant accept this” they insisted counting the change and handing it back to you. “I have 2 other jobs. With how things are in this world, i can’t accept this.” they shake their head while you watch on in pity.

*pity*

Sniffing they shut the drawer and walk away before you could do anything more.

————–

“Welcome to burger shop what can i get for you?” you ask the next customer as they walk up to you with the saddest expression on their face, not just that but the blindness in one eye, a scar that trailed down his neck well under the collar of their shirt.the missing ear… The more you look the sadder they seem.

“Uhm… A number 4 with special sauce please” they smile softly but only for a brief moment as if doing so hurt them worse than if they didn’t.

“Small medium or large?” you ask as cheerfully as you can muster. Hoping to brighten up their day, if only a little bit.

“M-me-medium.” the stammer looking away as if they did something bad. Their hands shaking almost violently. Covered in blisters and shallow cuts.

“Here you go love. That will be $6.57” you smile at them while you reach over to pick the larger cup.

Its when they hand you the 20 and stare at you one blue eye moving to see you better that you pause.

Please… Make sure you keep the change for yourself.“ they says sincerely.

The first thing that runs through your mind is the lack of food in your fridge. This would put something in it… If only til next pay period.

However… You cant take this money. That would be selfish… Wrong…

No… No i cant accept this… I have 2 other jobs” you explain while hurriedly counting the change and printing out the receipt. You press it into their hand before they can protest and insist more.

Your heart racing while you try to shake away the thoughts of doubt, anger, confusion…

You want to cry, scream… You sit down in the break area and stare at the ceiling while the sounds of the kitchen fade in and out of focus for you. You have another shift at the other restaurant to get ready for.

This is A R T

Getting the feels right now

@anxietyproblem​

i dont need a date i need cash

Jup...

Damn that’s so cruel . We need Justice 

#BlackLivesMatter

This is so brutal to watch, and you HAVE to see what happens. You have to know. I’m shaking, and all I’m doing is watching. How is this defensible? 

How are there still people thinking that there is no police brutality?!?

"Okay, so here's why girls don't get flattered when guys comment on their bodies."

A few months ago, you said I looked “objectively really hot, actually, you’re definitely the hot one of us.” I laughed and thanked you because we have the kind of relationship that allows for that kind of banter. Your phrasing amused me. I took a little bow.

You asked me why girls get upset when guys comment on their bodies, and wondered why my reaction to you was different than, say, a girl’s reaction to a random guy on the street. Why I was mildly flattered, instead of scared or angry. You honestly didn’t understand, and wanted to know.

I tried explaining, but I think I left you more confused than I found you.

I have a better explanation now.

The first time I can remember a guy staring at my boobs, I was in eighth grade. I didn’t even notice; I was still a kid and was largely oblivious to such things. My dad, however,didnotice, and started glaring at the twentysomething stranger ogling his thirteen-year-old.

I couldmaybehave passed for fifteen back then. There was no way anyone would have mistaken me for an adult. That wasn’t the issue, though. To that guy, it wasn’t about who I was or how old I was. I was a set of boobs to him, not a person, certainly not a child.

My experience is pretty common. Girls start getting unwanted attention at a young age, and it happens for the rest of our lives. Men yell things at us on the street and invade our personal space on the bus or trolley when there are plenty of other seats. They try to look up our skirts when we sit down. They don’t listen when we try to rebuff them. We see reports of yet another girl raped on her way home last weekend, another woman whose body was found in a ditch. We’re told not to go out alone at night, to take someone with us even if we’re only driving to the store or the library or the gas station. We’re told to carry our keys like weapons, to park in the lot instead of the structure because it’s better to get rained on than raped and murdered. We’re told not to walk alone even during the day. We’re told close friends might rape us if they’ve had a bit to drink because they’re men, that it’s wrong, but it happens sometimes and we should be on our guard.

Imagine hearing that from the age of five. Imagine being told from childhood that men are more likely to hurt you than women are. Imagine knowing that, though you might be smart and well-trained, men will almost always be bigger and stronger than you, and you wouldn’t be able to beat most of them in a full-on fight. I can best my brother at arm-wrestling, yeah, but that doesn’t have many practical applications.

Now imagine that one of the people you’ve been taught to regard as a threat to your body says he wants your body. If he really does, you’ll have a hard time stopping him, and people will treat you as an object lesson for others, like you’d done something wrong for “letting” him hurt you. They’ll ask why you didn’t do more to protect yourself, why you wore that dress, or walked into the parking lot at that time, or talked to that person. Why you went out after dark or flirted with someone at a party.

I’m not saying all men are awful. I’m saying that decent men should be the norm, but there are a lot of men who aren’t, and who make us feel unsafe in our normal lives. We can’t tell the difference between decent people and potential rapists by looking.

What you said to me was meant as a compliment, and I took it as such. That’s because I’ve known you since we were kids, and I know you didn’t mean any harm. We have the kind of relationship where words like yours are appropriate, and you’ve never strayed outside the bounds of what’s okay. I don’t have that kind of relationship with the car full of drunken guys I walked past on the way home from D&D last weekend.

Girls get upset when guys comment on their bodies because we’re being treated like sources of pleasure, not people. We get angry because we can’t go about our business without having to worry about sexual predation. We get scared because, when it comes down to it, if a guy tried to act on his shouts of “Hey baby, nice tits, keep it up” we probably wouldn’t be able to stop him, and some would blame us.

Girls get upset because we’d much rather be seen as people, not just bodies.

Finally in words