prattlepeach

salted slug to nun

I often daydream about joining a convent. Being surrounded by women and devoting myself to a life with a structure that is outlined for me. Just obeying someone else’s directions and not having to decide what to do all the time. Being quiet a lot of the time.

I don’t know most of the time whether I believe in God but I do believe in the universe and maybe it’s all the same thing. I know this is the main thing that I would have to come to terms with. I know I would need to make this final decision to live a life with less decisions.

I feel like a slug. Like someone hit me with salt but didn’t finish the job. I want to take the rest of my limbs off and just lay down and not speak, pull my thinning hair up and away hidden behind the coif and veil and cap and never worry about it again.

I could be the first salted slug to become a nun.

I feel a weight on my chest sometimes as if I am running out of time to do this. I will never do this. I am almost 30 and the age limit is 35. They won’t take me any more, the nuns. I’ll be too old and too full of responsibilities and too far from God.

exit party

I fluffed the synthetic lilacs and anchored the purple foil balloons across the arch, careful to avoid contact with the sheer blue depths within. The Party Room had no windows. She’d selected ‘sunlight’ as her light filter, so I set it to 2 p.m. in Tuscany. I walked over to the connected sterile prep room to check on the prefab cake, which was beginning to cool from being taken out of the oven.

The celebration specialists would soon add icing in whatever color was indicated in the file. The scent would drift into The Party Room, and it would smell like confetti cake. Vanilla, that is to say.

I reached into my briefcase and pulled out her final file, mentally checking off the boxes. Lita Navarro, 28. Hobbies: jigsaw puzzles, poetry, old jazz records. No next of kin. She chose the “garden party” theme, knowing it would be held underground.

All of the standard compliance and waiver forms were signed, with photocopies stapled to the back of the file. The Final Statement was signed with looping cursive. Her request was to hold her party alone, which was unusual. There was an approval from the Department Head written neatly in red pen. Request: solitary celebration approved in 2 of 10 cases this quarter.

I was just replacing the folder when I heard the hiss of the seal of the main door disengaging.

She was early.

No one ever arrives early. No one wants to.

I walked out of The Party Room to the hall, waiting.

There is the soft padding sound of ballet flats on the composite tile. She rounded the corner, and I saw her frizzy hair first. Her dress was grey with a faint light stain spreading across the hem, accidental like sun-damaged car paint. She smiled.

“Hi,” she said.

I cleared my throat, extending a hand in greeting. “Ms. Navarro. I am the Final Approver for the Department of Departures. Pleased to meet you.”

“I didn’t want to be late,” she said, taking my hand and giving a light shake. Her eyes scanned the room. “Is it ready?”

“It’s… yes. Almost.” I motioned toward The Party Room, humming with soft jazz music. The scent of vanilla had just begun to seep in, sweet and pleasant. “Do you need time to review your file?”

“No.” She walked past me, stopping just shy of the doorway. “I know what I signed.”

She said it intentionally, looking up toward the simulated sky, blinking hard.

“It does feel kind of like Tuscany.”

“You’ve been?”

She didn’t answer. Then she said, “I’d like to start early, if that’s allowed.”

Technically, it was. But I hesitated. In my experience, people usually stall for the first few minutes. Sometimes they even asked for more time. It was rare to request to begin a Final Celebration nearly fifteen minutes ahead of schedule.

“Sure.”

Lita walked slowly around the perimeter of the garden simulation, her fingers trailing through the holographic bushes. She touched them like they were real.

“You know,” she said, “I used to want a real garden. But then I killed a basil plant in college and gave up on growing anything ever again.”

“You’re not alone,” I offered. “Most people do.”

She didn’t smile. Just sat down on the iron café chair beside the celebration table, which was draped in white lace and topped with a single unlit candle, awaiting its cake counterpart to become whole. Her file stated that there were to be no guests, only the specialists. So it was just me.

“Do you want me to review your Final Statement out loud?” I asked. It was the closest people got to a eulogy in these situations.

“No.” She glanced at the cake, being placed carefully on the table by a specialist and now iced and decorated with edible flowers, as per her file. “But I’d like a piece of that. Is that weird?”

“Not at all.”

I cut her a slice and passed it over. She took one bite, chewed thoughtfully, and placed the fork down.

“When was the last time you had confetti cake? It tastes so good,” she said. “Like the kind of cake you eat at a school birthday party, where everyone gets that one skinny slice of pizza and a Capri Sun.”

I marked the statement in the file. Subject accepted ceremonial cake.

“You can sit if you want,” she said, not looking at me. “You don’t have to hover.”

I sat across from her. I was trained to make it as comfortable as possible.

“Did you ever have a party like this? When you were alive?”

“I’m not—” I began to say. But stopped. It wasn’t worth the correction. My mind went to a memory of a picnic in a park with my girlhood friends. I shook my head, no.

“I mean,” she continued, “did you ever get the kind of celebration that felt final? Not like a birthday, but something else. Something where you knew, this is the last one of these I’ll ever get.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Unless you’re choosing to undergo this, I don’t think we usually realize it’s the last time until it’s already passed.”

“That’s the trick, isn’t it?” she said, wiping her mouth with the napkin. “Knowing it while it’s happening.”

She stood and ambled over to the digital pergola, where the sun cut little diamond shapes on the floor.

“Do people usually cry?” she asked. “In here?”

“Sometimes. Not always.”

She nodded. “I don’t think I’m going to.”

“I believe you.”

She reached into her dress pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper, folded in half twice. “This isn’t my Final Statement. It’s something else. Do I need to file it with you?”

“No. You can read it, if you’d like.”

She looked down at the paper. Her hands were steady.

“This is me,” she said. “Down to a little piece of paper.”

She didn’t read it aloud. Just stood there. Lips moving. Silent.

Then: “I’m ready now.”

I rose, smoothing my coat. The console readout was green.

“Would you like to activate the Sequence yourself?” I asked.

“No. You do it. You’re the specialist.”

I nodded and turned to the control panel. Keyed in the authorization code. A shimmer passed across the edge of the Party Room like heat haze. The depths of the arch glowed a deeper, opaque blue.

“Thank you,” she said. “For making it pretty.”

“You did most of it yourself,” I said.

Lita turned to face the digital sky. The light filter glowed golden.

“Here,” she said, stretching out her hand to me. “I think I do want someone to read this, after all.”

I took the paper and nodded at her, placing it in my pocket.

I pressed BEGIN FINAL CELEBRATION SEQUENCE.

I lit her candle. I cued her playlist. I closed the hatch behind me.

There would be a few minutes until she would be instructed to walk through the archway.

When the room was sealed, I unfolded the note:

I never did anything remarkable. I never made any meaningful relationships. I worked and had a decent job and was comfortable in life, but it wasn’t really enough. Not for anyone else. If my comfortable life felt hard, there wasn’t a single person in the world who cared to hear about it. In the end I had no one close enough. I had enough to live and do the things I wanted, but no one to really enjoy it with.

I was liked just enough by my family, my friends, my boyfriend, my coworkers, to be a person in the world. But what a meaningless existence. If I shared anything deeper about who I was, they just offered me advice. Here’s how you fit in. Here’s how you fix you. You are something that needs to be fixed.

I am someone who will always be told they need to be fixed by others, and I don’t think that I actually do. I think that what’s waiting for me through the arch is better than anything I could strive to achieve here. I hope this body will be put to great use, because I loved her very much. I thought she was enough.
I think what comes next is where I’m meant to go. That’s why my party is just for me, because I want to selfishly enjoy it. This is my last day and I finally get to let someone know how excited I am. I feel good. I want everyone to feel this excited about their lives as I do now for this. This is what I think my life was always supposed to lead to, and I’m ready.
Lita Navarro

I clutched the letter in my hand until the Sequence ended. Then I said goodbye to someone the world never really saw at all.

the listener

I am always the listener.

And I do listen.

I try to help by staying quiet,

So they can feel felt, and be seen.

Even miles away, I am listening.

I am listening to everyone.

I am listening

To everyone but me.

And no one else is listening either.

I open my mouth

And another voice drowns mine out.

And I am forgotten.

When they are done being heard,

They are done using me

Using my extraordinary ears.

Done sitting on my heart

And pushing the air from my lungs,

Making me feel small.

They leave me.

They go back to whatever it was

They were thinking about that wasn’t me.

It is never me.

And when they go back,

They do not think about how much I listened,

Or how their throats are dry from speaking so much.

They cannot remember my responses,

Because I barely spoke.

Because I cannot be allowed to speak.

It must be a crime, you see

Punishable by law

For someone to listen to me.

And so, I forget

What it feels like to be heard.

I forget that people are supposed

To want to do that, too.

I forget.

And I forget.

I forget what it feels like

To be the one who is loved,

And not the one doing all the loving.

And my well is dry.

I thought the tap was endless,

But there is no more water

To give.

prattle peach bookcast episode one

The Prattle Peach Bookcast has launched, featuring cozy discussions and personal insights. The first episode covers “The Girl on the Train” by Paula Hawkins. Highlights include my evolving view of Rachel, gaslighting by her ex, and a chilling Sylvia Plath reference. The book receives a peach rating of 4 out of 5.

Hi friends. I’m officially doing the thing. I’ve been thinking about starting a podcast forever, and Prattle Peach Bookcast is finally live. It’s cozy, honest, a little messy (in a good way), and just me doing my usual rambling but in audio format.

For the first episode, I’m kicking things off with The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins. It’s a psychological thriller that had me begging the main character to stop being so messy and rethinking first impressions.

episode highlights:

Why I didn’t like Rachel at first… and why I changed my mind
The moment I realized her ex-husband was the biggest gaslighter of all time
A Sylvia Plath reference that gave me chills
A peach rating system you didn’t know you needed

the best quote:

“I want to ring Anna up and remind her that Assia ended up with her head in the oven, just like Sylvia did.”

introducing the peach scale:

I gave The Girl on the Train a solid 4 out of 5 peaches…“ripe and delightful.” It’s twisty, fast-paced, and gave me lots to think (and rant) about.

listen now:

You can find the episode on Spotify here, or at the top of the blog.

If you’ve read this one too, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Did you guess the twist? Were you Team Rachel or ready to throw the book across the room like I was (momentarily)? I read this book on my iPad so I couldn’t actually throw it because that would have been monumentally disastrous. But you know I thought about it.

And if you have recs for what I should read next, leave a comments.

Until next time 🍑

the silent car

Sarah’s commute spirals into a nightmare as she discovers fellow subway passengers eerily frozen, their vacant stares sending her into a panic. A haunting message awaits her: “Wake up.” Is it reality or a sinister dream?

Sarah slid through the closing subway doors just in time, glancing through the windows at the platform, happy to be heading home. The soft chime alerted the passengers that the train was leaving her stop. She sunk into the closest seat, feeling the cold plastic chill her legs through her jeans, sighing as she rubbed at her tired eyes with her palms. It felt good to finally sit down after such a long day. Her body lurched gently as she was transported through the underground tunnel. She had a long ride, even with the trains running express after midnight, and all she wanted to do was sleep. Her usual routine involved reading books to stay awake on her commute home, but even holding her book felt like too much work tonight.

The car was silent, but there were more people than she would have expected. There must have been some kind of event because usually, the only other people taking her subway this late at night were the kind that you had to worry about. But they looked like regular people, just a few stragglers making their way back home. Glancing around, she noticed the other passengers were seated quietly, probably just as tired as her. Their eyes were fixed blankly ahead on the seat in front of them or watching the dark, steady blur of the tunnel pass by outside of the train windows. Sarah settled in for the long ride, slumping deeper into her seat.

She opened her book, staring intently at the first paragraph. She willed the comprehension of the words to come to her, but the words just looked like symbols, refusing to form meaning in her brain. Sarah sighed, closing her book again. She glanced up, making eye contact with a middle-aged woman across the row.

Automatically, she turned her gaze away, but something felt off. The woman was still looking at her, gripping a handbag on her lap. Sarah snuck another peek, wondering what this lady’s problem was. Her eyes were open, but she was staring past Sarah, at the space where she sat, motionless. Feeling uneasy, Sarah leaned forward slightly.

“Are you… are you okay?” Sarah called out gently. The woman looked like a statue, not blinking or moving once. Urgency cut through Sarah’s tiredness.

No response. Sarah felt her cheeks get hot, as she tended to flush red when she was nervous. This was weird, in a bad way.

She turned to the next person she could see, finding a college-aged young man beside her. He wore baggy jeans, and had a big pair of earphones around his neck. His eyes were fixed forward with the same vacant stare. Her voice shook now. “Hello?”

A cold sweat flashed across the top of her lip. She swiped at it as she stood abruptly. The book that had been in her lap tumbled to the floor. Panicked, she made her way to the next person. She checked passenger after passenger, professionally dressed men and women, younger looking students or interns, even a woman with a little dog on her lap. Horrified, she found that the dog was frozen too. She started with polite taps and a low voice, and built up to violently shaking shoulders, pleading for someone to just say or do anything. She dreaded the same look on every face, present yet utterly absent. The lights were all on, but no one was home.

The subway hit a turn, and Sarah was propelled sideways. She grabbed a rail, gripping the cool metal and using it to help her keep her balance as she rushed to the end of the car. She shot a hand out for the door handle that connected her car to the next one. Her stomach dropped as the handle refused to budge. Locked. She pounded on the glass, but the next car appeared equally motionless.

The train lights flickered, and for a brief moment, she could not see as the car was plunged into darkness. She held her breath as her heart hammered against her ribs, threatening to jump out of her chest and escape. When the lights returned, her skin crawled with dread. Every passenger was now standing, perfectly still, staring directly at her. She backed against the door, her mind spiraling.

“Please,” she whispered. She wanted to close her eyes. She couldn’t, though. She was too afraid of what might happen if she looked away.

Instead of words, she heard whispers. Soft at first, like the jostling and whooshing noises from the train in motion, but quickly growing louder. They filled the car, echoing unintelligible murmurs. The voices were angry, thick with accusation in her ears. What had she done to upset them?

“Stop!” Sarah cried. She jammed her fingers into her ears, plugging them. It didn’t help. The whispers grew louder and louder, judging her and taunting her and blaming her. For what?

Suddenly, the subway jolted sharply to the right, knocking her off balance. Sarah fell. She felt herself falling for too long, waiting for the impact of the dirty car floor.

She gasped sharply, jerking awake. Her head had slipped against the rail between her seat and the subway door. The train rocked as it slowed down, approaching her station.

She heard the familiar subway voice announce, “This is Franklin Avenue. Transfer is available to the 2 & 3 trains…”

Sarah glanced around, frantic. Passengers chatted softly, scrolling through phones or listening to music. Normalcy surrounded her.

Her heart still raced. She didn’t trust it yet, but had it just been a dream? She took deep breaths, trying to will her panic to go down. Be calm. You are safe, she thought. Just exhausted and stressed out from work. She gathered her belongings, relieved to see her book on her lap, not scattered across the floor.

As she stepped off of the train, her nose and lungs were assaulted by the belly, muggy platform air. The grimy realness of the familiar gross platform felt like it was bringing her back to reality. Her legs were a little shaky, but she was grateful to be moving, to be able to leave and put the strange nightmare behind her.

Sarah made her way out of the station towards the stairs. She climbed up and out, feeling her phone vibrate. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, squinting at the notifications. Someone texted her from an unknown number.

She opened the message and read: “Wake up.”

Sarah froze, her pulse quickening again. Anxiety surged back, sharp and biting. Her fingers trembled slightly as she glanced back toward the departing subway. She saw them again. Watching her. Through the windows, all of the passengers stood motionless, facing her. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise and waited until the train vanished into the tunnel and the people were out of view.

Sarah ran up the remaining stairs, emerging onto the street, desperate for the cool, open air and clarity. She continued to run, pumping her legs as the sense of unease lingered. She glanced repeatedly at the people passing by her on the sidewalk, wondering if they were going to have that haunting, identical expression on their faces.

She made it to her walk-up apartment, sprinting up four flights of narrow stairs, quickly unlocking the door, and shoving herself inside. Sarah double-locked the door and pressed her forehead into the wood as she looked out of the peephole. What if they followed her home? She waited, forcing herself to breathe as quietly as possible to see if they would appear at the top of the stairs on her floor.

“Come on,” she said out loud to herself. “Get it together.”

She opened her phone again, rereading the unsettling message: “Wake up.”

She typed back cautiously: “Who is this?”

The reply was instant: “You know who. You saw us.”

Her breath caught in her throat, fingers gripping the phone so tightly her knuckles whitened. Sarah tried to will the nightmare away, but the vacant faces, whispered accusations, and the locked subway doors all followed her.

She stumbled to her window, looking down at the street below. Cars rushed past, their honking sounds reaching her window. New Yorkers moved briskly at their quick walking pace, looking like dozens of little ants with places to be. As she stared, her reflection in the window twisted subtly. For a split second, her own eyes stared back, wide and vacant, mirroring the subway passengers.

Sarah gasped, jerking away from the glass. She collapsed heavily on her couch, pressing her shaking hands into the cushions to try and ground herself. There’s no way that was real, she told herself. Her vision was tunneling, blurred by exhaustion and fear. Her breathing came manually. In and out, she willed herself. In and out. In… and… out… In… And…

Submitted into Reedsy Contest #293 in response to: Start or end your story with someone looking out a car or train window….

meant to be

Caught between exhilaration and paranoia, a woman’s secret obsession blurs boundaries as she stalks a man, immersing herself in forbidden fantasy, grappling with the thrill and fear of being discovered.

I’m driving home and I can’t stop looking in the rearview mirror, making eye contact with myself.

I know your secret, I think to her, to the woman in the mirror with the dilated pupils.

We don’t usually pay attention to what other people are doing in their cars. Eyes on the road, and all that. But I think everyone can see me, and they all know. They know my lips are slightly swollen, like I had just been kissed for hours and hours and hours. They can tell my palms are sweaty. I might as well have a big neon sign on the top of my car, with an arrow pointing right at me.

I feel like a criminal. My heart is thump thump thumping in my chest, my cheeks just a smidge too pink for the weather. We’re having a warmer fall and I look like I am flushed from the cold. I blast the air conditioning in the car to try and clear my mind. I feel like I just got away with committing a murder and I am fleeing the crime scene. My heart can’t tell the difference between a high-speed chase and the fact that I just missed my turn because I am so oblivious to the world around me.

I don’t want anyone else to know my secret. It’s mine. I want it to be mine for as long as possible. But I also want to scream out the window and honk my horn and swerve my car and laugh and whoop. I want to run victory laps and phone the newspaper, this is front page news. I want to wrap up this silky feeling and weave it into gold like Rumpelstiltskin, and wear it proudly as a chain around my neck. I am just as greedy as the man in that story. I want all of this, as much of it, forever.

I park the car in my spot and notice brown leaves on my windshield from the big oak tree outside of his house. They must have fallen overnight. I have to clear them off before I drive anywhere else, because someone will know these are not the same leaves as the trees in front of my house. They’ll take one look at my windshield and just know that I wasn’t at my friend’s house last night like I said I was. She also has different leaves, and I wouldn’t want anyone to wonder.

I feel like reminiscing, so I think of the first time we met. We were at the grocery store, and the line was moving so slowly. He was in front of me, buying flowers. He kept sneaking eye contact at me, and then looking away as if I wouldn’t notice. I knew he wanted me to say something, and found it sweet that he was so shy.

“Lucky girl,” I said, nodding at the bouquet in his hands.

“They’re for my mom,” he replied, looking bashful. He glanced at the line in front of him, as if wishing it would move even slower so we could have our moment.

“Well,” I smiled, showing him how happy I was that he was single. “Lucky mom.”

They opened up another lane then, and he was forced to leave too soon. He gave me a passing smile as if saying how unlucky he was, after all. I met his disappointed look with one of my own. As he walked by, I caught the scent of him. He smelled like toothpaste and a musky cologne.

I sat in my car in the grocery store parking lot long after he left, gripping my purse with both hands. I needed to make sure I remembered every second of this moment. I repeated his words in my head until I could match his exact tone. Understated, but sure.

They’re for my mom.

I rolled the phrase over my tongue, whispering it under my breath until it felt like something I had said myself.

I didn’t follow him home that night. That would have been too much. Too soon. But the world is so small, and fate has a way of bringing people together. A few days later, there he was, standing in his front yard, tying up a bag of leaves. I had just been driving by, just happened to be on this street. Coincidences like this are what picture-perfect, big-screen movie romances are made of.

I slowed but didn’t stop. That would have been too obvious. Instead, I memorized the details: the color of his house (dark brown with white trim), the shape of his mailbox (arched, like a tiny chapel), the make and model and license plate number of his car (Honda, silver, a practical man). The way his white T-shirt clung to his back where he was sweating from the yard work. The pinkness of his neck from the sun that the big oak trees in his front yard couldn’t shield him from.

That night, I parked two blocks away and walked back, pretending I was just one of the neighbors going for a walk. I just wanted to see his living room. Did he have a real couch or one of those bachelor futons? What kind of life did he live when he thought no one was looking?

And now, weeks later, I know him.

I know that he leaves for work at 7:45 a.m. sharp, but he always sits in his car for an extra two minutes before pulling out, checking something on his phone. I know that on Mondays, he takes the trash bins to the curb and then stands outside for a few minutes, looking up at the sky like he’s waiting for something. I know that on Wednesday nights, he watches a movie alone, usually comedies, and he has such an underrated sense of humor.

I know he eats toast for breakfast.

I know he sleeps with one pillow.

I know he hasn’t brought a woman home in weeks.

Last night was the closest I’ve ever been to him.

I parked across the street for longer than usual, watching the shadow of his movement inside his house. He brushed his teeth at 11:03 p.m., I could hear the faint hum of his electric toothbrush through his slightly opened bathroom window. I pictured myself next to him, brushing my own teeth. Him wrapping his arms around me from behind, looking at us in the mirror and laughing.

Instead, I was in my car, huddled underneath a blanket I keep in the backseat for picnics I never go on. I chewed on my lower lip, my worst habit, and cracked the windows down to keep the glass from fogging up. The oak tree above me swayed, the wind whistling through its leaves. I whistled lowly with it, joining it in making music. I imagined that if he heard the sound, he would think it was the wind. Not me. Never me.

And then, something unexpected.

He stepped outside.

Barefoot, his T-shirt wrinkled from falling asleep on his couch again, he stood on his porch and stretched. I saw a flash of his hipbone as his shirt rose up. He exhaled a deep breath that I could almost feel on my cheeks. I shrank down in my seat, gripping the steering wheel. I breathed quickly and quietly, afraid to blink. He rubbed his hand over his face, looking out at the street like he knew something was there.

Like he could feel me.

For one electric moment, I thought he might walk toward my car. Knock on my window. Ask me what I was doing.

And I would have told him the truth.

Lucky girl.

I would have told him everything.

They’re for my mom.

But he only sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and went back inside.

I didn’t leave until the first light of morning.

Now, sitting in my own driveway, I trace my fingers over the brown leaves on my windshield, proof that I was there. Proof that he was close enough for the wind to carry something from his world into mine.

I bring a leaf to my lips and kiss its dry, crinkled surface.

I will go back tonight.

And maybe this time, he will see me.

Maybe this time, he will understand.

Maybe this time, he will finally let me in.

This story was originally submitted for Reedsy contest #290 under the prompt “Write a story about love without ever using the word “love.”

the solution for a claustrophobic astronaut is to give him more space

Alien: Romulus is the ninth film in the Alien series, and it’s a mixed bag. The plot lacks depth, but David Jonsson’s performance as Andy the Android was a highlight. Rain, the main character, and her gang get into trouble with aliens while trying to escape their grim mining colony. Overall, I give it a 7/10.

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Review for Alien: Romulus (2024) – 7/10 – SPOILERS AHEAD!

Alien: Romulus is the ninth movie in the Alien franchise, set right between Alien and Aliens. If you need the lore, I’d recommend checking out Alien and Prometheus before seeing this movie, solely because those are my favorites.

I have to give this movie a solid 7/10, and it would be a 6/10 except for the performance of David Jonsson, who plays Andy the Android. In general, the plot was lacking substance, but I was excited to see a sci-fi with body horror and suspense elements. I think the ending could’ve been taken even further, and I’ll explain what I wish happened.

The main character is Rain (Cailee Spaeny), a girl who lives with her “brother” Andy, an android (aka synthetic human) in a sad mining colony on an unhealthy planet. Her friends, who all seem like kind of awful people with big problems due to the living situation sucking so much, convince her to break into a ship that is floating around their planet’s rings to steal cryostasis pods that they can use to ship themselves to a better planet. Plot twist, aliens are on the ship and want to kill them, and do. That’s pretty much the whole plot.

The cast of characters includes:

Tyler, the only semi-rational character other than Rain, played by Archie Renaux. I really loved him in Shadow and Bone so was excited to see him in this film. I love him as a love interest, though I thought his character was a little boring.
Tyler’s sister Kay is a mostly ineffective character who reveals she is pregnant and that the father is “some jerk.” Her actress is Isabela Merced, who was also Dora the Explorer (iconic!!!) in the live-action films. Though she’s very popular online (she has 4M Instagram followers), I’ve never seen her act before. I kind of hated this character because pregnant Hispanic woman in space was meh. As a Hispanic woman myself, I wish she was just mentally a stronger character or more capable generally.
Bjorn, aka “some jerk”. He’s British, unintelligible, has anger issues, and hates Andy because his parents were killed in one of the mines when an android made the decision to sacrifice some people to let more live. I wish there were subtitles when he spoke because I did not pick up on all the lines he delivered. The actor, Spike Fearn, was great at portraying the angry guy who makes poor decisions. Side note, I think this guy should play Sid Vicious if they make another biopic.
Navarro is either also romantically linked to Bjorn or just a friend of the squad, and she had the earliest death and probably the least amount of screen time. For those reasons, I feel neutral about her actress, Aileen Wu. She dies a true facehugger-to-chestburster death, and that’s the last of her.
Rook is the last character, a synthetic human engineer who works for The Company. This character is kind of Andy’s spirit guide, while also leading to the subplot of the Black Goo of Life. Alien: Romulus used AI to bring back the late great Sir Ian Holm’s likeness for this android, and although I don’t think it was necessary, I didn’t find that it distracted me or hurt the film. It was more of a huh, okay, moment.
The Thing that Kay gave birth to was really creepy, and cool, and this is where I wish things had been taken so much further. It goes to its mother and I wish it had done something truly awful like breastfed or started crying for her to hold it. The best part of the movie was this sickening creature, and instead, we wasted time on things like introducing and killing Navarro for 0 reasons.

There were some great suspenseful moments in this film, like when Rain and Andy find themselves in a scary, aliens-are-all-around-us-and-could-come-kill-us-at-any-moment passage and Andy is having the equivalent of an android seizure. You want him to be okay, and you’re worried about the aliens who seem to be able to just fly down from these really tall corridors at any moment.

I didn’t find that I cared that much about any of the characters’ deaths because they chopped through them so quickly. The only character I was rooting for was Rain, because you kind of just knew everyone else was meant to die.

I give it a 7/10 because it was cool and thrilling and set in space, and for Andy.

dreams never made us kings and queens, our dragons did

House of the Dragon Season 2 thoughts

I just finished House of the Dragon season 2 and although I feel a little blah about the ending, I think it was really interesting and the characters developed well throughout the season. I have read the A Song of Ice and Fire series, but I have not read Fire & Blood, so I am basing my opinions purely on the show. Spoilers below!

I love that Daemon Targaryen finally bent the knee to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen. I really wanted them to be a power couple in this series – I imagined there would be a beautiful scene where Daemon and Rhaenyra would fly Caraxes and Syrax side by side, gazing across the sky at each other and sharing a look of trust before diving into battle. It was disappointing that he was off having bad, even gross dreams and wandering the spooky grounds of Harrenhall and lowkey (highkey?) attempting to take the crown for himself. Meanwhile, Rhaenyra had to prove she was worthy of the title to people who questioned her because she was a woman even though aside from rather recklessly tossing Targaryen bastards in front of dragons, she’s been fairly levelheaded.

If he had supported her sooner, I don’t think she would have kissed Mysaria aka the White Worm aka MISS DO NOT TRUST. I really hate that since Daemon was off on his vision quest, Rhaenyra put a lot of trust into this questionable whisperer. I don’t think she will end up being a good character but we’ll see. Her nickname worm is foreshadowing to me, no one good was ever called a worm. Also, she banged Daemon and Rhaenyra is just like let’s be besties hehe let’s kiss too?!? Are we just going to let that slide? You’re telling me no one in that whole castle doesn’t think this is weird? I just know looksmaxxed Prince Jacaerys Velaryon would have some things to say to his mom and jut that sharp little chin out while he says it. I can hear him saying, “My uncle Daemon’s dragon is called Blood Wyrm, then he bedded the White Worm, can’t we let worms/wyrms be his thing? Why must you, my Queen, also be into worms?”

I feel like we needed some more episodes to truly feel some of the more emotional parts of the season like the loss of Princess Rhaenys. She really is my Queen Who Never Was and she died fighting like a true dragonrider, but I didn’t feel the impact as much as I might have if we got to see her relationship with Rhaenyra develop more. I would have liked to have seen more screen time between the two (ideally less wormy, more Rhaenys). Only 8 episodes really didn’t feel like enough, I think it should have been 12 episodes and I hope they make future seasons longer.

I liked the way the golden dragons looked, especially Sunfyre (RIP?). When I watch fantasy shows or read fantasy books, I think this is how every dragon should look. Sunfyre is so beautiful and magnificent to watch. Syrax is a close second for me, her deeper gold scales and the intelligent look in her eyes complement Rhaenyra’s aesthetic well. This season, I particularly liked seeing how the dragons’ personalities mirror their riders’ personalities and I’m looking forward to seeing those interactions more in season 3.

I, like everyone else, am waiting patiently for Ser Criston Cole to be killed but I like that his character got quieter so he was less annoying the second half of the season. No new remarks from me that can’t be found in any other comment section.

I am ready for Queen Alicent Hightower to be punished for marrying Rhaenyra’s dad, having his kids, deciding last minute to develop a serious comprehension issue and not questioning that Viserys Targaryen would suddenly not want his beloved daughter to be queen, royally fucking over her childhood friend and starting this whole war. For being such a misogynist, I think she’s a bad mom, and really that should be the only thing going for her at this point. I didn’t like when she forced sweet, witchy weird Helaena Targaryen to march behind her dead son and get overstimulated and mobbed, especially after forcing her to marry her degenerate himbo brother Aegon Targaryen. I super didn’t like that Alicent neglected Aemond Targaryen for years and contributed to him becoming a rizzy asshole with mommy issues. She doesn’t really support Aegon, kind of leaving him on a deathbed after he was burned, so it just feels like I’m wondering who does she support, besides herself? I will caveat that even with all her faults, it’s creepy and wrong that she was abused by Larys Strong and that she has to live in the same castle with him hanging around. That probably means that she just never really feels safe anywhere, since she doesn’t really have anywhere else to go in the middle of the war and that is sad. I feel like the final scene in the season finale between her and Rhaenyra was a bit of a waste, since there wasn’t anything new or redeemable for Alicent. She isn’t good for her family, isn’t good for the realm, and everyone is rejecting her as her opinions hold little to no power now so let Syrax eat her, and let’s move on.

I like that Helaena seemingly has some supernatural or otherworldliness to her. I wasn’t sure where they were taking her character, though she did always seem dreamy and trancelike in a Luna Lovegood type of way. I hope she has some powers like Bran the Broken or the character Alys Rivers who helped Daemon see that he needed to chill out and take a knee. I loved seeing her speak up to Aemond and am excited to see more of her in season 3.

Let me know what you think! Maybe I’m wrong and some of these characters are totally redeemable.

plane people

I generally feel neutral or indifferent towards strangers until I am on a plane, and then I realize I actually carry a deep hatred of two specific types of Plane People:

The Touchy Couple

You know when you purchase an aisle seat to get those two more inches of extra room, but then you’re sat next to Kat and Kameron Kissface? Why does the man always sit in the middle and why does he spread both his arms over the arm rests and open his legs out so you have to awkwardly scoot your legs into the aisle to avoid touching him when we all know it’s common courtesy to keep your hands and feet inside the middle seat. And Kat won’t stop touching him, can’t keep her hands off Kameron, and if they don’t play with each others hair and hands and faces every 30 seconds they might die. And every time Kat adjusts in her seat and complains, Kameron bumps you again and you want to flush them both down the airplane power toilet.

The Awful Family

Arrives late
Don’t know how to put a carry on in the top compartment
Spills water down the aisle
Screaming baby
The baby is still screaming
Makes me never want kids
Also babies should not be allowed on flights where do they need to go that badly, keep them low to the ground until they’re 7.

Everyone else is fine.

on comfort and reassurance

Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person; having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but to pour them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then, with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away.
George Eliot

When you finally muster up the courage to look inside and realize why do I feel this way and choose to open yourself up to someone and share, there is an opportunity for that other person to say I will make sure I do everything I can to make sure you don’t feel this way. I think that is what George Eliot is referring to in his wonderful quote above, and doesn’t that feel like safety? I read it and I feel a whisper of safety inside, like someone might one day hear me when I am feeling fragile and say I will hold onto all the cracked parts with you and let you know you have nothing to worry about – the cracks are only in your mind.

It’s a different feeling when you open up and are met with no reassurance, no comfort. For me, I wrap myself in the gates I mistakenly opened and cauterize myself shut. I build a defense and cover it in plaster until my wall is even deeper than it was tall, and the gate is nowhere to be found.

If I can’t open I won’t need comfort, if I can’t feel the need for reassurance I will never need to be reassured again. It is such an effort to dig through again and again, bleeding under my nails from scratching and peeling through the layers of plaster to find the gate every time I think this could be different, you were right to open the gate. I think the breath of kindness is here, the one sentence that could change everything bad I feel and wrap it up in a warm blanket and heal the wound with safety.

But it is only a very lovely quote that is very nice to daydream about and imagine the whispers of safety could be reality one day.