every sunday night, my roommate Jordan and i play rock paper scissors to decide who takes out the trash. loser does it for the whole week.
i have lost 212 times in a row. i counted. four years of sundays.
at first i thought it was bad luck. then i thought i was cursed. i tried everything. i changed my order. i closed my eyes. i let a friend pick for me. i threw scissors out of pure desperation. nothing worked.
jordan never even gloated. he'd just say "thanks for taking out the trash" and go back to his laptop like it was the most normal thing in the world.
last sunday i decided to figure it out. i set my phone on the shelf and recorded the whole match. one round, same as always. i threw paper. he threw scissors. i lost.
that night i watched the video in slow motion, frame by frame.
on "three," my hand comes out. his is still a closed fist.
then, about half a second later, his fist turns into scissors...
I Gave This Company Five Years of My Life, and They Fired Me Like I Was Nothing.
I was laid off today after working for the same company for five years.
No warning. No prior notice. No appreciation. Just one unexpected meeting and a sentence I never thought I would hear.
"Unfortunately, we've decided to let you go. Today will be your last working day."
I honestly thought it was a joke.
For five years, I gave that company everything. I missed family gatherings, cancelled personal plans, worked late nights, covered for absent colleagues, and even sacrificed important moments in my personal life because I believed I was building something meaningful.
Whenever they needed someone to stay late, I stayed.
Whenever there was an emergency, I showed up.
Whenever the company needed extra effort, I gave it without complaining.
I defended that company as if I owned it.
But today, when I asked why I wasn't given any prior notice, HR simply said, "It's a business decision."
Five years of loyalty reduced to a few minutes of conversation.
I packed my belongings quietly while my colleagues watched. Some couldn't even look me in the eyes.
On my way out, I passed the office where I had spent countless nights working overtime. I suddenly remembered turning down a better job opportunity two years ago because my manager had promised me a bright future with the company.
I almost laughed.
The hardest part wasn't losing my salary. It was realizing how much of my life I had sacrificed for people who could replace me without a second thought.
But one thing became clear today:
A company may appreciate your hard work, but never sacrifice your entire life for a place that can discard you without a second thought.
I lost my job today, but I hope I haven't lost myself in the process.
This isn't your average treasure hunt 💀
Forget goldthey’re racing deep into a 16th-century conquistador’s tomb for a telepathic alien relic. The prize? Human history itself. The stakes? Saving Marion Ravenwood
#IndianaJones
THE NIGHT THE RAIN BROUGHT HIM BACK TO HER
Rain blurred the city beyond the loft windows. Elena stood barefoot in his shirt, arms folded, telling herself she could wait. That she didn’t need the way Marcus looked at her like she was the only quiet place left in his loud life.
The door opened. He didn’t speak at first. Just set his keys down carefully, as if noise might scare her off. Then he crossed the room and rested his forehead against the back of her neck, breathing her in.
“I almost didn’t come,” he admitted, voice low. “I kept thinking you’d be better off without the mess I bring.”
She turned. “And I kept thinking the same about you.” A small, tired smile. “We’re both terrible at being alone.”
His hands slid under the shirt, slow and searching. When he found her already wet, something in his expression broke open—relief, hunger, something softer. He lifted her against the cool glass, mouth at her throat, then lower. She tangled her fingers in his hair and let herself fall into the heat of him.
When he entered her it was deep and careful, the kind of closeness that felt like answering a question neither of them had dared ask aloud. They moved together until the sharp edge of need softened into something almost gentle. She came with his name on her lips; he followed, burying his face in her shoulder as if he could hide there.
Some people wash their cars, but this one has decided to give the engine a proper bath. 😭😂
I hope the engine knows it’s bath time and not time to develop a new problem.
Because the mechanic’s number is what he will be dialling tomorrow!
2:47 A.M.
The first thing I noticed was the ceiling fan, turning slowly in the dark like it had all the time in the world. The second thing I noticed was a hand sliding across my chest.
I blinked. The red numbers on the alarm clock read 2:47.
"Jess?" My voice came out like gravel in a blender. "What's wrong? Is something wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," she whispered, her breath warm against my ear. "I just can't sleep."
"Do you want water? Tylenol? Is it the neighbor's dog again?"
"Wes." She said my name slowly, the way she does when I'm being adorably clueless. "Wake up. Think."
I propped myself up on one elbow, squinting through the dim glow of the streetlight leaking past our blinds. Jess was propped up too, her dark hair tousled, one eyebrow raised, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth that told me everything my sleepy brain had failed to figure out.
"Oh," I said.
"Oh," she agreed, grinning.
Here's the thing about Jessica Marlowe. She's an ICU nurse in Denver who works twelve-hour shifts and has the discipline of a drill sergeant. She sets three alarms. She meal-preps on Sundays. She has never, not once in four years, been late to anything.
But every once in a while, usually when she's had a hard week and the stress finally drains out of her, she turns into somebody else entirely. Playful. Bold. Mischievous. And that version of Jess, I'll admit, is my favorite person in the world.
"I have a seven o'clock meeting," I mumbled, mostly out of reflex.
"You have a four-hour window," she whispered back. "I did the math."
"You did math? At 2:47 in the morning?"
"I'm very resourceful."
I laughed, which turned into a yawn, which turned into her laughing at me. And just like that, the sleep fog lifted. I looked at her properly then, really looked. The soft shape of her in the half-light. The oversized Broncos T-shirt she'd stolen from my drawer two years ago and never returned. The way her eyes were bright and wide awake, shining at me with that look that still, after all this time, makes my heart do something clumsy.
"Come here," I said.
"Thought you'd never ask."
I'll spare you the rest. A gentleman keeps some things between the sheets and the ceiling fan. But I will tell you this: nobody has ever made a cold, dark bedroom feel as warm as she does. We laughed more than we did anything else, which is probably the real secret to us. At one point she got her foot tangled in the comforter and nearly launched herself off the bed, and I had to bury my face in a pillow to keep from waking up the entire building.
And at some point after that, with the world quiet and the clock creeping toward four, we lay there side by side, both staring at the ceiling, grinning like teenagers who'd gotten away with something.
"Thank you for waking me up," I said.
"Anytime," she said. "Literally. Anytime."
She fell asleep first. She always does. Her head rested on my shoulder, one arm thrown across my stomach, her breathing slow and even. I stayed awake a little longer, listening to it, thinking about how strange and wonderful it is to be wanted like that, to be reached for in the dark by someone who knows every one of your flaws and picks you anyway.
When I was twenty-three, I thought love was supposed to feel like fireworks. Loud, dramatic, impossible to miss. Four years with Jess has taught me it's closer to this. A hand finding yours at 2:47 in the morning. Someone who sees you half asleep, hair a mess, breath questionable, and still says, there you are, I was hoping you'd wake up.
The fan kept turning. The streetlight flickered once and held.
My alarm went off at 6:15. I groaned and swatted at it like it owed me money.
"Regretting it?" Jess mumbled into the pillow, not even opening her eyes.
"Not even a little."
"Good." She smiled into the cotton. "Because I might do it again tomorrow."
"Tomorrow's Thursday."
"Thursday's got a 2:47 too."
Back then when I was in high school, I hated the sound of my father’s old car.
It was a small, blue sedan that made a loud noise whenever he started the engine. The paint was fading, one of the windows barely worked, and the passenger door had to be opened from the outside.
My father had owned that car for almost fifteen years.
I was sixteen when I started becoming embarrassed by it.
Whenever he came to pick me up from school, I would pretend not to see him. Sometimes, I would walk several streets away before calling him to say I was ready.
He never complained.
He would simply wait until I got into the car and ask how my day went.
I usually gave him one word answers.
Things became worse when some of my classmates started making jokes about his car.
One afternoon, a friend saw him waiting outside the school gate and laughed.
“Is that your dad’s car? I thought that thing belonged in a museum.”
I laughed along with them, even though I knew it wasn’t funny.
That evening, I told my father I no longer wanted him picking me up from school.
He looked at me for a moment before asking why.
I told him I was old enough to take the bus.
He nodded and said, “Alright. Just make sure you get home safely.”
From that day, I stopped allowing him to come near my school.
For the next two years, I took the bus home, even on days when it rained heavily.
My father continued working as a mechanic at a small workshop. He wasn’t wealthy, but he always made sure I had everything I needed for school.
Whenever I needed money for books, school trips, or examination fees, he somehow found a way to provide it.
Still, I never appreciated those things.
I was too busy wishing he could be like the fathers of some of my classmates.
On the morning of my high school graduation, my father asked if he could attend the ceremony.
I hesitated before saying yes.
He arrived wearing his best shirt and an old pair of brown shoes. He even shaved his beard that morning.
When I saw him standing near the entrance, I felt embarrassed again.
I quickly walked past him and joined my classmates.
During the ceremony, I noticed him sitting quietly at the back.
He didn’t have a camera like some of the other parents. He simply watched as students received their certificates.
After the ceremony, my teacher asked me to come to the staff room.
She handed me a small brown envelope.
“Your father asked me to give you this after graduation,” she said.
I opened it, expecting money or perhaps a simple congratulatory message.
Instead, I found several photographs.
They were pictures of me at different school events.
My first debate competition. My inter-house sports day. My science exhibition. Even a photograph of me receiving an award in my second year.
I was confused because I had never seen my father at most of those events.
Then I noticed something written on the back of each photograph.
“I watched him win today. He looked so happy.”
“He was nervous before going on stage, but he did well.”
“I wish I could have taken a better picture.”
I looked at my teacher.
She quietly explained that my father had been coming to school for years.
Sometimes, he arrived during his lunch break. Other times, he came straight from the workshop before his shift ended.
He never wanted me to see him because he knew I was uncomfortable around him.
🧵
My boyfriend invited his best friend over for drinks, but I never expected the evening to turn into something that would change our relationship.
We were sitting on the couch when his friend started making comments about how affectionate we were.
Friend: You two act like nobody else exists whenever you're together.
Boyfriend: "That's because she's my girl.
I laughed, but his friend wasn't finished.
Friend: Interesting. I wonder how you would react if someone else started getting her attention."
My boyfriend looked at him.
Boyfriend: "What exactly are you trying to say?"
Friend: "Nothing. I'm just curious."
The room suddenly became quiet.
A few minutes later, my boyfriend stood up, went to the kitchen, and returned with three glasses.
Then he said something I wasn't expecting.
Boyfriend: "There's something I've wanted to ask you both, but I don't know how to bring it up."
I looked at him.
Me: "What is it?"
He glanced at his best friend before answering.
Boyfriend: "He told me something about you last week. Something I think you deserve to know."
My smile disappeared.
Me: "What did he tell you?"
His best friend slowly put down his glass.
Friend: "I think you should hear the truth from him."
I looked between the two men, completely confused.
Then my boyfriend unlocked his phone, opened a conversation, and placed it on the table.
The first message I saw made my heart sink.
Because apparently, these two had been discussing me for months...
And neither of them knew I had already discovered their secret
This is my neighbour son that lost his life tragically to this accident, hearing this morning really broke me down, i came online to search about this incident only for me to realize that most of our bloggers are not aware of this incident, most of them were aware but didn't report it because it won't give them clicks and likes, sad country we live in!!! Just pray make Nigeria no happen to you. May his soul rest in peace 💔