text:
|Born in a poor area, you befriended a convenience store owner, who ended up leaving you the store after he had a stroke, with insinuations that he really wouldn't mind if you settled down with his kid. Hard work for someone who'd only just graduated high school, but with perks. Half a year later, you're married, your partner is starting college, the shop is doing just well enough to pay their way, and then the area goes to shit. A villain group sets up, and one small time villain is assigned to your neighborhood, to demand protection money... and they're making eyes at your partner. They bleed you dry and insinuate that if and when you can't pay, they'll take a few hours with your partner instead. You know where this is going, and you know the area is too poor and too out of the way to get any help. Yet help does arrive, a novice member of the Guild, dedicated to helping out areas like yours. Five knock-down, drag-out fights in two weeks, with your hopes on the line, and then a sixth... which you watch from a window as the hero, your would-be saviour, gets beat down, strangled, and killed.
|Once a trigger is used, remove completely from this list, and add to used triggers tab (see bottom of page).
Moronic, joke, and thoughtless triggers aren't as cool as you think they are. They just make everyone's experience less fun, and force us to reroll to get worthwhile stuff.
Sign your work.
|Your mom just bought a new powerboat, and is taking you wake boarding. You invite your best friend along, thinking this will be a great time. With your mom at the wheels, your friend takes the first turn. The boat makes a tight turn and throws your friend off the board and into the water. Just at that moment, the steering wheel jams. The boat circles around. You try to stop the boat, but you couldn't stop it before the boat runs into your friend. As you reached into the bloodied water to pull your friend onto the boat, you realized that your hand has reached inside a gashing wound in her abdomen. You trigger.
| Please Avoid:
* Peanut Triggers (Dumb)
* Dead/maimed child Triggers (Way overdone for a long while)
* Rape Triggers (Almost always badly done, overdone)
* Events that would never ever happen or...
* Contrived/stupid events that'd only happen with powers involved
* Note classifications below, write triggers to underpopulated
* Keep Trumps to 1/2 the number of the others.
|You always liked riding the bus. All kinds of novelty before you, people of all backgrounds and origins. Sure every now and then there'd be someone a little off, or the bus would run a little late, but all in all it was very enriching. Until the day you were mugged coming off the bus. Right in front of all those people. And no one did a thing. You lay, bleeding, behind the bus shelter for hours. You don't remember losing consciousness.
Keep track of resulting powers & classifications as triggers are removed from list:
Mover: 34.6
Breaker: 31.1
Master: 53.4
Tinker: 30.4
Shaker: 35.6
Blaster: 38.6
Thinker: 33
Striker: 33.3
Brute: 34.5
Changer: 33.4
Trump: 12.4
Stranger: 28.7
|It wasn't supposed to be like this! You and three of your friends were supposed to go camping for a few days, nothing more! What happened instead was right out of some book; your car malfunctioned, and when you all got out of it to try and fix it, it suddenly decided to start again. Unfortunately, it was still malfunctioning, only instead of shutting down, it began rolling down the cliff falling over it with all your supplies in it. Since then, you and your friends had tried to get out of this godforsaken forest, but with little in the way of food and no real survival knowledge, it was no surprise that one of you eventually ate something you shouldn't. The consequences for this lack of knowledge are clear to you, as you despondently stare at the grave of your best friend. The headstone is no more than a large piece of bark with name and dates cut into it with a knife one of your other friends happened to have in their backpack. As tears fall down your cheeks, you curse the decision to take this trip. You run a hand over the 'headstone', and collapse entirely on the freshly dug grave. As you choke back a sob, you grimly realize that you and your remaining friends are never going to go home. Trigger.
|You're mixed race, and it doesn't play well; a white father and a Sansei mother. The first-generation immigrants and refugees have a completely different cultural background, and take a dim view of your ethnic mix. There's a feeling of alienation among the white kids, though it takes a different form: being mistaken for a foreigner, having difficulty getting girls. You act out, but it's a secret from your parents, everyone at school. You hang with some Issei delinquents on the other side of town, drinking, smoking, doing drugs, the occasional act of petty theft or vandalism, miles away from home, while you tell your parents you're at a friend's "studying." There's a friendship and loyalty that grows, in the camaraderie of criminals. Your new friends actually think you're pure blooded Japanese, and you tell them you're Issei too, managing to fake it with what you've picked up over the years. Then it goes wrong. You get busted for public intoxication, along with your pals. Underage drinking, to boot. It's going well enough, in the drunk tank, until your father comes to pick you up. You can see it coming, but there's nothing you can do to stop it. "Who the fuck's that?" One of your friends asks. "I'm his father," your dad replies, his voice sharp, hard. Trigger as your house of cards collapses utterly.
|After being treated for your concussion, scrapes, bruises, and having your right earlobe stitched back to your head, you were taking comfort in the fact that finally the bullying was no longer disputable; that your injuries and witnesses meant that hard evidence existed and you wouldn't have to endure further gaslighting and disbelief. In the car on the way home from the hospital, your father informs you that he and your mother agree that you'd brought your injuries on yourself with your standard attention seeking antics, and they will be informing the school and other parents that they will not be pressing charges. You stare out the window and trigger.
|Visiting the country out on your cousins' farm, you tell a joke that they do not care for. You find yourself hogtied, dumped in the pig pen, and left. As you try to free yourself, you are jostled by the largest pig, and wind up with your face down in the mud. With some frantic struggling, you manage to turn your head to the side and clear an airway. Then it starts to rain. Then you start to drown in the puddle your head is stuck in. Then you realize you are dying. Then you trigger.
|"Prodigy" was the teacher said to your parents after two weeks of violin lessons. From a very young age, you've displayed an inherent talent for music that well exceeded other instrumentalists of your age, and eclipsed those of older students as well. Perfect pitch, muscle coordination, sharp memory, you've had it all from the get go of your musical career.
Not a single day in your life has been without some reference to music. Grueling practice hours, master classes with world-renown virtuosos, and orchestra rehearsals have come to dominate your life. And while you wish your parents would back off, you still made it work. You managed to graduate with dozens of offers for free rides from universities all over the country.
The drunk asshole driving sixty in a thirty five zone changed that for you. You were horribly mangled in the accident, and the doctors had no choice but to amputate. The shock of waking up and holding a stump to your face was only the tip of the iceberg. One by one, your scholarships disappear, the product of fourteen years and countless hours gone down the drain.
Alone in a dark hospital room, completely helpless on your own, the straw that pushes you over the edge is overhearing your parents talk about selling your instrument now that it doesn't have any value. Trigger.
|Crap. Shouldn't have had that last drink. There's no way your parents would be okay with you even going out (alcohol is a tool of the devil), but you caved, sneaking out with your pals. You know you're gonna be feeling rough in the morning, but at least there's no way your parents'll find out - if they even stay up past 7:30 pm they're being 'extravagant'. Or so you thought, until you sneak in the back door, and not only are your parents there, so is your aunt, your uncle, and Grandma Milly. You catch a moment of your mother's frantic, distraught cries to the police on the phone, right before they turn to you - You trigger as you see their expressions shift from fear and worry to outright fury.
|You were out hiking by yourself, a spur-of-the-moment (ie stupid) jaunt, when you slipped, your expensive hiking boots providing no help. Arm broken and leg caught between rocks, you've been staring up at the large rock hanging precariously over you for the last hour. With every movement, the rocks around you shift, and you're sure it will fall before you can free yourself or find help. Trigger as the boulder finally starts moving toward you.
|You always liked the local cape scene. Your spouse wasn't really into your hobby, and while you were the stay-home kind of person, they kept going to work, often very long, leaving you alone before they came back exhausted. Your marriage was still fresh, though, and they made sure to never let you feel left out. You were watching the news, waiting for them to come home before starting dinner, and see that one of the heroes has arrived at the hospital with the media all over the place. Only a few minutes later the message comes out, the cape is dead. Your phone rings half an hour later, as you were preparing the table, and you pick up. "Hello," a man says, and introduces himself as a PRT official. "I am calling about your spouse..." - It seems that they kept a secret from you. And piece after piece falls into place. The cape that died, it was them, and they lied to you. You didn't realize they lied to you, and now they're dead, risking their life for the people of this city, and couldn't even have told you with their dying breath.
|You wake up naked, drenched in sweat and dizzy, the smell and taste of vomit burning in your nose. Trying to force yourself up, you realize that you might have overdone it with the party yesterday. Dizzily falling to the bed again, you turn around and see someone sleeping there. Touching their shoulder, you catch a glimpse at their face. You trigger as your parents rush into the room, screaming and raging at finding you naked in the same bed as your sibling. All that in their room, of all places, while the headache is growing worse.
|A strange email alluded to private things between you and your partner. It weirded you out, and it weirded you out more when your partner acted squirrely about it. You did some digging on their computer, and what you found was a website. You knew your partner had a submissive side to them. What you discovered, however, was that your entire relationship, they haven't been making any of the calls. When and what sexts to send you, what to wear, what to do on dates, how and what decisions to make on a personalized present they gave you, the night you did anal. There are scripts for what to say on dates. Crowdsourced decision making, and to help them make the right calls, your partner's dished all the details on how you eat, sleep, talk, fuck, what you wear. People have been speculating on who you are, some quite creepy, and it looks like the team of people running the site (there's a team!?) are trying and failing to stay on top of it. You hear the key in the door. You meet your partner, and you see them smile, as they always have. This time, however, you hear them speak the words to greet you, and you feel horror mixed with violation as you hear not her voice, but the tens of thousands of detached internet users speaking through them.
|Your 15 year old brother straddles the railing of the balcony, 16 floors up, holding all of your photography equipment. He used too much data on the phone service you shared with him, you cut him off, and now he's threateing to jump and take thousands of dollars of your equipment with him, if you don't cave to his demands. The equipment doesn't matter - his life does. You say you're going to call the cops, he threatens to jump if you try. Left with no other option, terrified, you concede and agree to turn his cell phone back on. Your parents get home, and you tearfully explain the situation. They give your brother a short lecture, then make the online payment for the cell phone for him. Nothing else. He smirks at you. The trigger happens the next day, when you don't let him have the TV remote. A threat of suicide, a precarious perch on the side of the balcony, to the point where you worry he really will fall. Knowing you have no out (too poor to even leave home), terrorized, knowing this will happen again and again as he uses the nuclear option to win every time he wants, you trigger.
|College hazing. End of a long week of head games and bullshit, you get drunk with the rest of the fraternity. But there's a final task: you're taken to the basement, made to strip, and given tweezers. The head of the frat dumps a box of rainbow sprinkles on the floor, telling you you're supposed to sort it by color. Groan-worthy, especially when you're drunk off your ass, but when your group finds the light switch, it's a strobe light. Your cries of being epileptic are dismissed as another head-game, you're called a mole for the frat, believed to be a final obstacle by people who are so drunk they can barely stand. Your blind struggles to reach and turn off the light switch are stopped by the others, the light flashes against your closed eyelids, and the pattern is making your brain hot, your personal tell for when a grand-mal is coming on. Probably more than the one. It's going to fuck your brain up, maybe permanently.
|Years and years of preparation, schooling, scheming and schmoozing is all it took to land your competitive dream job. Well, almost land. You've survived a lengthy interview process, and it's down to just three people- but your friend on the inside tells you you're the frontrunner by a mile. You pack a bag and head to New York for the final interview, supremely confident- so confident you take a nap and miss your plane. Screaming and pleading with the woman at the desk, she tell you that there simply is no way you'll be able to make the interview. You know this no-show will lose you the job- Mr. Hardin hates unreliability. You trigger as she tells you to move out of line.
|Your mother died five years ago. You were catatonic, barely able to even go to ID the body, as the last surviving member of your family. Lately, you've been rebuilding your life, and as a homage to your mother, you intended to get married in her wedding dress. After going on a pre-wedding vacation with your fiance, you return home just in time for halloween, only to find out that your cousin, who knew damn well what the dress meant to you, decorated it in fake blood for her costume. She thought it would wash out, and panicked when it didn't, scrubbing it with bleach and destroying beading and lace in the process. It takes you right back to the day you found out, unable to deal on any level, as you stare at the thing draped over the back of a chair, which looks more like a used tampon than a dress.
|The cops show up at your front door, heavily armed, PRT vans right there too, and they serve you an arrest warrant. As you're taken into custody, confused, they start reading you your rights. They've apparently gotten you confused for some local villain, and they're charging you with a laundry list of crimes. An M-Scan "confirms" that you have a corona pollentia, reassuring them that they've got their man, and they've got enough circumstantial evidence that they might actually be able to convict. As one of the cops practically screams in your face, demanding you just fucking confess already, you trigger.
|You can't help it: you're jealous. It's been a problem in past relationships, but your current SO seems to be surprisingly willing to check in every hour, to cut off opposite-sex friends, and everything else you demand. You're still anxious and worried that they'll leave you, but things seem like they may go well this time. Then it happens. They don't check in. You give them a minute or two, then call. And call. And call. No response. They're fucking around behind your back, you just know it. You thought they might have been the One. Trigger.
|You'd heard the joke "how many 8 year olds can you take on" from one of your more sordid friends, but you didn't ever think it'd happen literally. Parahuman power? Whatever caused it, you were walking by the local playground on your way to the store when they swarmed you, excited - for your flesh. As a swarm of the little angels start to bite and dig in with fingernails, you thrash and panic, but they've got weight of numbers, and as you go down, you realize, despite the horrific method of your death, you're probably going to end up as a gag headline somewhere. Trigger.
|You have a fight with your partner, an argument that turns into a screaming match. They say that you never contribute, that you're lazy and selfish. Maybe it's true, maybe it isn't, but it's something you always worry about, that you're not doing your fair share, and having those words come out of your loved one's mouth... it's just too much. You step out, not able to take it, and just wander, their words going through your head over and over, as you turn your life over piece by piece, trying and failing to find objectivity as you analyze everything. The sheer stress of it, the feeling of uncertainty, and the repeated running over some of your worst moments in order to try to figure out the truth is enough to make you trigger.
|Your psycho ex has it out for you. Every new partner, every person you date, they send them a long list of smears, lies mixed with truth - even some photographs of wounds (self-inflicted, you assume) - and that's it for that relationship. You met a wonderful person at the bookstore, and they lived on the other side of town, so your ex didn't find out about them at first. You mostly talked and texted, with their busy schedule; finally, after a month, you managed to both find time, and went on a wonderful date with them. You kept talking and texting, had another date, then two. Got too cocky, perhaps, because your ex found out and sent them the same band of lies they'd sent to everyone else. You'd hoped they would believe you, that your connection would be enough, but their sobbing, betrayed tone of voice on the other end of the line, as they call you to break up with you, makes it clear that they didn't. A few minutes after that call ends, your phone rings, and you recognize the number - your ex, probably calling to taunt you or to demand that you take them back. Trigger.
|You've figured it out. The people who run the government, who run the *world*, they do it right out of that building there. You watch it, day and night, a long, silent vigil, taking notes on who goes where and does what. Days and weeks of staking out the building start to add up, but no matter how hard you try, you can't quite work out who's really running the show. It could be any of them, from what you can see. You think you're on the verge - it's just a matter of who comes in during the night today. You struggle to stay conscious, but your body is no longer nearly so cooperative as it was when you first started, junk food and sleep deprivation taking their toll. You pass out as the sun goes down, and by the time you wake up, you've missed your window. You fucked up, and who knows how long you'll have to wait for another opportunity to present itself? Your frustration reaches an apex, and you trigger.
|Your parents homeschooled you, but you never really fit in with the other homeschoolers. Sure, your family are pretty devout, but you're an only child amongst families of ten and twelve children at the homeschool co-ops. What's more, you aren't in quite the right denomination, your family doesn't follow the right homeschooling leaders, and more. All the little things make you stand out. You thought that was bad, but then your parents agree they can't teach you everything you need to know. You get enrolled in public school. This is no Mean Girls, and you're no Cadi Herron. Most people pay you no attention; a few mock your clothes, the way you talk, but to most people you might as well not exist. Until one student, older than you, takes you under her wing. She always seems to have time for you, sits with you at lunch, takes you shopping. You're never going to be popular at school, but under her guidance you're blossoming into someone other people...well, talk to. Your parents though, they're worried - you're dressing differently since you started going to 'that school', you're talking back to them, and now you've even started swearing. They forbid you absolutely to spend time with your one friend. Caught between your parents, the only constant in your life, and your one and only friend, the choice is impossible. Trigger.
|You're on the run. You fucked up, bad, pissed some powerful people off, and they're going to make an example of you - they'll kill you and make a show of it. Every day's another agonizing one of anxiety, bouncing from city to city, the cash you took slowly dwindling. Once or twice, they've gotten close - you've heard about people asking around for you, showing your photograph, and had to pick up and move again. It's exhausting, psychologically and physically, to be chased for weeks. You can't tell people, you don't have any help, it's just you and them, and millions of warm bodies for you to try to hide between. You trigger when you spot one of them step into the restaurant you're eating at.
|Back in highschool, you were a drinker, and looking back, you know you were an alcoholic. Your 'rock bottom' was when you got blackout drunk and got in a fight with your friends, hospitalizing one. You went to court, got community service, and had to attend meetings. It was the talk of your high school for a long while. Now with a six year chip in your pocket, you still want to drink every day, but you hold off. Someone out there, however, doesn't want you to put the past behind you. A package arrived on your doorstep. You opened it, and found a bottle of whiskey, your favorite. It took willpower, but you emptied it into the garden, then discarded the bottle in the recycling bin. A strange situation, but not a problem. Until you got home from work and found the second package, this one with a note. 'Every day you come home, you'll have a drink waiting for you.' This isn't an isolated incident - it's a campaign, and you know it's one that's going to break you, or catch you on a bad day and ruin you. You trigger.
|You're at the bar, you're having a good time. Everyone's laughing, looking good, and the place is lively. You take a sip of your drink, nothing seeming amiss. A few minutes later the room starts to spin, your limbs feel weak, everything going blurry. "Whoopsie," a blurry figure says near you. "Looks like my friend here's had too much to drink." That was your first drink of the night! You can't even muster the energy to get up out of your chair, and your "friend" says "I'll make sure they get home safe and sound," waving off the concerns of the other patrons. You've never seen this person in your life, you're sure of it, as they lift your arm up over their shoulders and drag you out of the bar, and a thought works it's way through your murky mind - you've been drugged. No! No! You attempt to struggle, raise a shout, but all you manage to do is trip a bit and moan. You're not getting away under your own power. You think you hear the person carrying you chuckle, and you trigger.
|You always knew there was something rotten in your little brother. Something wrong with him. Then he killed three people. No real reason, as far as the cops could tell - he just likes hurting people. They don't catch him, he kills again, and the net starts to tighten around you. He's hiding out somewhere, and of all people, you ought to be the one to know - but you don't. Your parents long dead, you having been your little brother's guardian for the better part of a decade, you're a ready made scapegoat for the police and the rest of the locals, in equal measures blamed for his behavior and accused of shielding him somehow. Then you get the letter, finding it slid under your door during the night. "Miss me?" It's written in your brother's handwriting. Your hands shake as you read it, and you break down sobbing in your kitchen, not knowing what to do. Trigger.
|You knew dating a gang leader was a bad idea, and dangerous besides, but hey, they're sweet, and don't look half bad besides. Well, all your fears and trepidations come to pass one day as you're on your way to your car, snatched in the parking lot and jabbed in the side by a taser, your vision fading to black before you have the chance to panic fully. When you come to, you're lying prone in the rear of a van, a man with a bandana covering his lower face, decorated with uneven, serrated fangs. He's on the phone, and the fabric over his mouth does little to mask his tone of sadistic glee. "Quiz time! Question number one. We've got a special guest on our show tonight. Hint! She soooounds a little like –" he taps your exposed thigh with his forefinger, and you feel it -shatter- at the touch, your scream echoing in the cramped interior of the van. "Well, you get the point. Question two! Whaddaya think is gonna happen to our lovely guest if you don't show up in time? He lays his index and middle finger almost gently on your clavicle, and you flinch. As the timer ticks down, he recites the seconds as they pass, savoring each passing minute with unbridled delight. Finally, you have a minute left, then seconds. "Oh, it looks like they're not coming," the masked man says, mock pity in his voice. Trigger.
|You're an informant, a narc, whatever. Something of the sort. Unfortunately, you don't cover your tracks well enough, and the people you squealed on manage to get their hands on you. Now you're in the rear of a van going over a hundred on the interstate, with the doors open. You're being suspended by the scruff of your neck as the asphalt peels out in front of you, screaming and blubbering incoherently in response to their questions, and then one man leans forward, pressing your hand into the road, and you screw your eyes shut as your fingers abrade off, flesh stripped away in a matter of seconds, bones torn from knuckles. You white out from the pain, partway through, jolted back to reality by your other hand being violently scraped off by the pavement - and then, feeling a pressure on your neck, you realize your face is the next to go.
|You knew your dad was messing around with a girl half his age, who was probably only interested in him because of his money. Then he got killed. It turns out he was a villain, a Breaker who split into three complementary forms, and all three were destroyed in a single blow. His savings - hundreds of thousands of dollars, earned from years as a villain - fell into your hands. The problem is that his old girlfriend knew who he was - he told her, apparently, wanting to impress her - and she knew you'd inherited his money. She started blackmailing you, threatening to sell you out to the same guys who'd killed him, and she isn't letting go easy. She bled you dry, and when the money ran out, she didn't believe you. She confronts you outside your house. "I need the money, bitch. If you won't pay, I *will* tell them. Don't think I won't." Trigger.
|Your spouse makes the money, and you... well, you sit at home and you look pretty on their arm at events. It's not a *bad* life, per se, and it's one you opted into, wanting the security that they could provide you. Two years in, you're so bored at home, you take up a hobby, one thing leads to another, and you've got a job offer doing something you love. You tell your spouse, and there's a cold look on their face for a moment, but they seem supportive. Then the job offer seems to evaporate into thin air. Weeks later, you accidentally stumble on an email that was trashed on your main account, offering you the job. Another, asking why you weren't responding. A third, telling you they'd given the job to someone else. When you tell your spouse, they inform you that your job is to stay at home and keep yourself looking good, and they were just looking out for you, deleting those mails. The sheer depth of the betrayal flabbergasts you and makes you trigger.
|You break into homes for a living. This one, maybe you shouldn't have. You got in, started rifling through the family jewelry, and then you heard the gunshot, felt the pain in your arm, as a spray of blood coated the wall in front of you. You were sure that nobody was home - you turn to look, and you see it, a shotgun, attached to some wires and other mechanisms. A fucking trap? Fuck this, you think, moving to leave, quickly exiting the gun's line of fire. As you get ready to leave, you notice several other guns, also attached to mechanisms, that you somehow managed to avoid setting off on the way in. You trigger as you realize you have no idea how to get out.
[inspired by Soulpelt]
|There's a quiet pride to a job well done. But there's just as much joy in the doing, in carving your victims into pieces as they scream fruitlessly for help. Your latest victim is laid out carefully, tightly taped and tied to the table, and then you get a call. You leave the room, letting him scream his lungs out, and take it. When you get back - he isn't on the table. You look hurriedly around for him, and that's when he tackles you, clocking your head on the wall and sending you to the ground in a haze. You trigger in agony as he slams a knife - one of *your* knives - into your gut.
[inspired by Soulpelt]
|You tried to mug somebody with a knife. It turned out really poorly for you. They held back the knife with one hand and jammed their fingers into your eyeball, making you gag and retch, the pain and disorientation incredible, before reaching in and just popping the damn thing out. As you struggle to keep your balance through everything, wondering if doctors can put the eye back in, you trigger.
|You worked to be popular, one of the cool kids; it was nice. Operative word, "was." Then certain facts you would have preferred remained a secret... well... didn't. It was a shockingly precipitous fall, as all your friends abandoned you. You keep your head down, or try to, but it doesn't really work. The weird kid in one of your classes - pretty much the least popular, most bullied kid in school - makes a snide comment at your expense, getting laughs from every other student in the room. You trigger as you finally realize just how far you've fallen on the social ladder, just how much all that work to get where you were was wasted.
|They found Charlie, his spine broken in three places, his eyes staring at nothing. A few days later, Mark was dead too. All you fucking do is deal to junkies and protect some working girls, but apparently some psycho has decided you need to get taken out. You want to get out, but you don't really have the means, so you're sitting, tense as fuck, day after day, watching the girls work, handing out drugs to the junkies, your hand constantly pawing at your weapon. One sleepless night, you hear scrabbling at your door, and as you reach for your gun, you find it missing. Trigger.
|You're in love with a guy in another gang. Deeply, incredibly in love, the strongest you've ever felt. The problem is that there's a guy in *this* gang who seems to think you should be his. When he finds out about your late night rendezvous, he doesn't take it well. Held at gunpoint and pinned by some of his buddies, he chops off one of your toes, "so that you'll remember him every time you take a step." He warns you that it'll be worse if he hears about you messing around with your boyfriend again. It's ironic, because right now all you want to do is curl up with your boyfriend and cry. Terrified, maimed, and *still* being held down by his buddies, you trigger.
|Your older sibling was always a fuckup. Couldn't keep a relationship going more than a month, money problems, the works. You, on the other hand, were the together one, with good grades, a good SO, and all the prospects in the world. You let them stay over in your apartment for a few weeks, trying to convince them to put their life together, and that's when you found out they were a parahuman, a Changer who could change their appearance trivially. Some time later, you take off a summer from college, hitchhiking across Europe to find yourself, and when you get back... well, things aren't good. Everyone's angry at you, your bank account's empty, your SO won't answer your calls, and based on everything you can put together, there's only one conclusion: your older sibling stole your face and wrecked your life while you were gone, probably not even on purpose. Trigger.
|You're out late one night, walking home alone. Seemingly from nowhere, somebody grabs you from behind, and you feel cool metal on your neck, your eyes going wide. "Don't scream," he warns you, his voice a whisper. "Don't make a noise. Just be nice and quiet, and nothing too bad has to happen." You don't listen to him, the worst possibilities running through your head. Instead, you flip the fuck out. You struggle against him, and in the process you accidentally cut your own throat on his knife. Trigger.
|Your daddy's the coolest person in the whole wide world! He can just stop being one place, and then, whoosh! He's someplace else! It's super cool, but you're not allowed to talk about it, except with daddy's friends, who all own guns and really like to smoke. You think it's stinky, but you still like them. You're on your way to school when somebody calls your name from a car, saying they're your daddy's friend. You stop to chat, and then one of them gets out of the car and grabs you, puts a bag over your head, ties your hands behind your back, and tosses you in the trunk. You don't think these people are your daddy's friends at all! You kick and scream but you can't get out, and you're scared you'll never get out. Trigger.
|It's a fairly simple trick. Your SO and fellow magician gets in the box, tied up, and is suspended ten feet in the air. Then water starts to pour in and they escape their bonds, and the box itself, to rousing applause. Only this time, they aren't getting out. They're lying, motionless, at the bottom of the box, and you scurry to try to save them, getting the crowbar you keep for just this occasion, climbing as quick as you can on top and trying to pry the lid off. As you do, the crowbar just snaps in half ("Made in Thailand," some part of you thinks), the hook toppling off the box to the ground. In a panic, you strain to open it with your bare hands, but you can't get the grip you need. Trigger.
|You were a twin, always pit against your sibling. Every social interaction was made out to be a victory on one side and a failing on the other. The grades you got were the same, as were the people you dated, the way you dressed, who grew taller first, who gained weight, who did the best in sports. Always a competition, always a matter of comparison between you and them. At a certain point, you rose above, you pushed beyond it, and fought to excel in hobbies, in work, and in school. Your sibling gave up, they seemed to fade as you grew. Until they killed themselves. You weren't sure how to feel. In a way, you killed them, you grew as they faded. In another way, you can finally breathe. The comparisons stopped. You were fine, you could breathe for the first time in your life. The mixed emotions left you in shock for the funeral service. Then, at the wake, you hear it. The comparisons. Your sibling was so nice, so kind, so good at heart... you feel it in your core. So long as you live, you will never measure up to the memory.
|Things haven't been good with your spouse, lately. They got fired, their mom passed on, and they've slipped into a malaise that doesn't seem to end. You know it's not their fault, so you try to support them. You get home one day, calling for them, and when they don't answer, you go looking for them. You find them in the bedroom, caressing a firearm, and you know - you just know - that they're going to try to kill themselves. On autopilot, you rush them, trying to grab the gun from their hand, and they start to struggle against you, trying to pull it away, to point it at themselves. Terrified, in tears, begging them not to do it, you trigger.
|You're dying. It's been a reality for half your life, and things have finally reached the point where you're feeling your mortality. You need a kidney, and while you waited, you gave up hours of your life every day to have your blood filtered of toxins. Then you hear - a second cousin who attends the same school you do is a good match. You reached out, asking for help, and they agreed, but they asked you to wait a few months for the summer break, to give them a chance to wrap up their university classes and think things over. That was a year and a half ago. Since then, they've manipulated and blackmailed you, fucked with you, milked you of cash, all while dangling the organ out of arm's reach. The time you spend every day hooked up to the dialysis machine gradually increases, your overall health wanes, your vision getting worse, and there's nothing to do in those times but stew, simmering with loathing and hatred that accumulates over time. The breaking point comes when you talk to your cousin, and they casually mention they have a friend they want you to fuck. You don't have to, of course, but... and you know. You can't walk away without consigning yourself to death, and you can't ever get your organ, because your cousin will never give up this power they hold over you. You trigger.
|A parahuman who can turn into a whirlwind of death killed your spouse... or at least, that's what you thought. They disappeared at the right time and in the right place, and a lot of people were killed by that monster, still more missing. You're surprised when, a week later, your spouse stumbles up to your front door, looking haggard and wounded. You let them in, happy, worried, and they stumble onto the couch. They explain that they triggered and got a power they couldn't really control, turning them into a monster. But they've got it under control now, they think, so they came back to you. It's then that you take a glance out the window, and see PRT vans pulling up. You're already panicking, whispering to your beloved that the cops are here, and you can watch as their hands fragment into ash and they inexorably - and involuntarily - shift states. Trapped between two impossible options and afraid for your life, you trigger.
|You work a simple desk job, and it's not as easy as people would think. Because of what the people you work for do, sometimes you get angry people coming in, yelling and screaming and making threats, as though that'll get them what they want. A guy walks up to your desk, looking calm, and he tosses something at you that you scramble to catch, then he just walks away. You look at the device in your hands and realize it's an IED, and you're reasonably certain it's about to go off. Trigger.
|You actually don't remember the event itself. You woke up in the hospital, feeling like absolute crap, confused and panicking. When you calmed down, it was your mother-in-law who told you in a tearful tone that your spouse was dead. The two of you were attacked, violently - you fell into a coma for four days, they died. You apparently suffered mild brain damage, because you don't remember anything about the attack itself. Somebody mentioned something about a video of it, and you couldn't help yourself. You managed to sneak a smartphone out of somebody's purse; later that night, you turn it on, finding the video online. Apparently one of them was recording you, and made some edits - blurring their faces, distorting their voices - before putting it up on the web. You watch the video again and again, watching as they mock you and your beloved, as they beat the two of you into death and a coma. After something like the dozenth replay of the video, you finally trigger.
|Your home life was awful. You parents are the worst kind of disciplinarians - you've got the scars, mental and physical, to prove it. That's why you ran away, only, you don't have the money to take care of yourself. You wind up in shelters, only a few changes of clothes to your name, and you can't manage to keep things together financially. It becomes increasingly clear that, unless you're willing to risk your life and health in unsavory ways, your only remaining option is to return to your home. You go to your family's house, your hand half-held up, ready to knock, your whole body almost shaking with anxiety as you imagine just what your punishment will be. Trigger.
|Your older brother was a parahuman, a Shaker who created a field of warped space that heated up people who moved within it, causing increasing pain until they stopped. He was a Ward, then a Protectorate hero. You looked up to him, saw him as perfect. You took up martial arts, studied law and criminology, modeled yourself after him even in everyday affairs, mimicking his little word choices, trying your best to be as much like him as it was possible to be. Then it happened; you were watching the local news, and the story came up. He'd been caught working with one of the local gangs, passing them info in exchange for money, drugs, and a few rounds with some of their girls. There's even video of it, caught on camera as he takes cash and white baggies from some scumbag or other. You realize all that effort spent trying to be like him was wasted, and just how pathetic your mewling hero worship really was. Just how pathetic *you* really are. You trigger as you watch him walked into the back of a PRT van, hands cuffed together.
|You're out doing humanitarian work. There aren't many doctors in this area, and parahumans run roughshod over most of the local logistics. A patient comes in - a young woman, carried in by one of the local major villains. She's been shot, several times, and he tells you in no uncertain terms that if you fuck this up, you'll be in very big, very lethal trouble. You get the vague impression she might be his younger sister, or his wife, or something like that. You manage well enough, treating the wounds and stopping the blood flow, but the antibiotics must've been bad or something, because they get infected. Every passing hour sees your patient get that little bit closer to death's door, writhing in a mixture of agony and painkiller-induced confusion, and you're increasingly certain she's going to die, and you're going to follow her shortly. The two of you trigger simultaneously.
|You and your spouse were kidnapped. Apparently they were in pretty deep debt with a local gang, and didn't bother to tell you anything about it. You're taken to some quiet secret parking lot and blindfolded. You hear the sound of a gun firing, your spouse's body hitting dirt. Rather than what you expect to come next, though, you're knocked onto your side by a sudden, strong force. Your blindfold is knocked off enough for you to see, and you see some kind of humanoid figure wearing armor made of material that looks like something between bone and metal, cleaving gang members in two as they try in vain to shoot it to death. It's your spouse, you realize. Bullets ricochet and ping off their armor, again and again, and you start to hope that maybe, just maybe, the two of you will make it out alive. Then there's a sudden squelching noise, a spray of blood out of your spouse's head, and they fall over backwards, not moving. "Fucking clean this mess up," the boss says, gesturing to both you and your spouse's inert body. Trigger.
|Every time you swallow, you can feel the collar wrapped around your neck press tighter against your throat. Daphne tried to fiddle with hers, and it blew up, shredding her throat and leaving her to die drowning in her own blood. You're not going to try fiddling with it, you're just going to keep working and doing what your 'masters' say. The cops will come. They have to come. That's what you think, until you and the others are loaded into a shipping container. You know what it means. They're taking you out of the country. You're just going to disappear, forever, into some dark corner of the world, with no hope of rescue. You trigger as you feel the crane grab the container, the shift in gravity telling you just how inescapable your situation is.
|Being stuck in solitary confinement for months will do horrible things to a person. In your case, it's anxiety; a mixture of constant unease and insomnia, punctuated by apexes of intense panic. You've lost track of how many anxiety attacks you've had in here - dozens or hundreds, you couldn't really say - and another one comes on when you hear a noise in the hall like something being dropped. Possibilities varying from the mundanely awful to the completely bizarre run through your brain. You start hyperventilating, your chest pounding, and you struggle to breathe. All the factors come together to push you to trigger, your brain shutting off for a moment, but nothing's solved by it, and you trigger again as confusion and panic hit you even harder in the immediate aftermath. 1.5 trigger events.
|You hadn't been at the school for long. You were the new kid, joining halfway through the year, and everyone was already divided up into unique little cliques. When one group seemed to be making moves towards accepting you, you were overjoyed. Then they told you about their initiation. "Walk over the grate on the old well," seemed simple and easy enough, but then you see the thing: A rusted, dented, wide square, easy to fall through. Nervous but determined, you decide to go ahead with it - cautiously inching your way over the grate. Then the first stone flies. You turn to see the whole group clutching rocks, ready to wing them at you. Realizing the whole ordeal was just an excuse to bully the new kid, you stare at them in horror - only to receive a fist-sized stone to the face, knocking you off-balance and sending you tumbling through the grate, dislocating an arm in the process. Horrified, in agony, and plunging to immense pain or death, you trigger.
|There was a man who often came round to your house. Your mom told you he was a doctor, here to deliver her medicine. You never thought that was quite the truth - they always spent such a long time alone together, and locked you in your room whenever he came round. You hated that. One day, it took longer than usual. You weren't sure whether they forgot you were in there, that you couldn't get out, but you were stuck in your room for hours. The pressure in your stomach built up, and the pain became excruciating - you had to relieve yourself in your bedroom, shitting in one corner. It was still hours as the stench filled up the room, making you nauseous, woozy. Eventually you hear an exclamation - "What the fuck is that smell?" - and the man enters your room, immediately seeing the turd in the corner. Furious, he slams you against the wall. "You think it's funny, to shit in your own room? You like shit so much, you try it!" He rubs your face in the leavings, and as the disgusting stuff fills your nose and mouth, the grip on your neck agonizing, you trigger.
|The plan was for you to put the bomb at a key point in the building, then escape before it went off and made the whole building come down on everyone inside. You must've fucked up the timer, because it goes off way too soon. As the building collapses to rubble, your leg gets pulverized and ripped apart by falling stones. You're in agony, your ruined limb keeping you from escaping the scene of the crime. You trigger along with one of your victims, who is trapped inside and having a claustrophobic attack.
|You're sick of your family - and that's fair, every teenager goes through that phase. But it resonates a little more strongly within you, and you decide to take matters into your own hands, delivering an ultimatum to either attend a boarding school your next year of high school or drop out. Your grades aren't bad, good enough in fact to get you into a maths and sciences oriented school four hours away from home. The first few months, you relish your freedom, your new friends, the novelty of a new environment - and you hate to admit it, but you're slipping. Little things, at first, reminders that you're unable to live on your own. Not showering for weeks on end because you hate the gross, filthy public showers. Forgetting to brush your teeth, their condition worsening from all the candies and sweets you're buying, now that you're purchasing your own groceries. And what really damns you is the coursework. Skipping classes to stay in the dorm and play video games, shoot the shit with your new buddies - initially a lapse committed out of boredom, gradually becomes a habit, racking up disciplinary infractions for unexcused absences. Your grades fall below the minimum requirement and you don't even notice, up until the counselor pulls you into her office at the end of the semester and tells you you're being expelled. It takes awhile to process the ramifications, but when you do, you realize that worse than discarding all the friendships you've made over the past several months is the fact that you delivered an ultimatum to your parents - implicitly saying you'd be better off without them - and failed miserably. Trigger.
|When you crash your car, skidding on a sharp curving ramp into a roadside ditch, you get off scot-free. Not a scratch on you. Your friends tell you you've got the devil's luck. Well, your car, she ain't so lucky. It gets towed to a shop, and for the next few months you're constantly bumming rides off your college buddies, trying not to miss too much class. Well, inevitably, your grades suffer, but what really compounds the stress is calling up friends or family to help with the costs, and the repair shop. Three months after the fact, you finally get word that the car's been totaled. Faced with the reality that you need a car to get by, looking at the damage that's already done, and struggling with a slew of stressors you haven't had the time nor mental fortitude to tackle, you find yourself wishing you'd've died in the crash. Trigger.
|You thought it was just innocent fun. A one night stand, and a fun one at that. S/He seemed decent enough, and you never really liked condoms anyway. A month later, a knock at the door, a police officer. The man had been arrested for purposefully spreading HIV to multiple partners. S/He was even audacious enough to keep up a blog about it, full of pictures, s/he didn't even bother to use fake names! You kick the police officer out, distraught. Betrayed and upset, you get tested the next day. Now you're holding the results in your hands. Lost in the possibilities, your hopes and fears all hinging on this letter, you trigger before you can even open it.
|You were kidnapped, held by some psychotic stalker. You don't think you'd ever even spoken to them, before, but they blathered about how you were theirs as they kept you chained up in their basement. They scarred you, physically, long work with a hot poker to slowly and irrevocably etch their name into your skin. You couldn't have said how long it was, with the lack of sun. When the cops found you, you were taken to a hospital, where you convalesced. The scars never healed fully, leaving their name written on your skin, mocking you every time you looked in the mirror. Disgust at your own body wells inside you as weeks turn into months, until you finally trigger.
|You like to think of yourself as a Machiavellian mastermind, coldly manipulating everyone in your friend group to your own ends. You drag others down to raise yourself up, cut throats for the slightest advantage, and generally work your ass off to take everything you can in the zero sum game of life. Then it happens. This one bitch who thinks she's so sweet and nice takes a position you wanted. You don't let it lie, of course, immediately beginning a campaign, dragging her down with constant petty barbs, escalating into false accusations of cheating on her boyfriend when that doesn't work. It has exactly the opposite effect from what you wanted, though - everyone turns on you, recognizing your behavior for the selfish, manipulative garbage it really is. Exiled from your friend group, your self-conception and understanding of the world shattered, you trigger.
|Your spouse keeps you living in a constant state of fear. Screaming, hitting, insults that bite to your core, they keep you living in terror of them. It only escalates, never getting any better, and finally, you get a gun. Just to defend yourself, you think. In case it ever gets that far. It's not a month after the purchase, though, that you completely snap. They tear into you, leaving you battered and bruised in the bathroom, before just stomping away and going to bed, telling you to sleep on the couch. You can't fucking take it. You grab your gun from its hidden spot, and shoot them in the head while they sleep. As you stare at their corpse, a dead, dull feeling in your chest, you wonder if your life is over. Trigger.
|Your parents are force-feeding you water as punishment for some misdeed, real or imagined. What they don't realize - and for that matter, neither do you - is that this is potentially lethal: water intoxication can cause death. Your head starts to spin, you feel nauseous, your vision becomes blurred, and you're having trouble breathing. Your parents don't care, just shoving another water bottle in your mouth and forcing you to chug it. You trigger when you start having a seizure.
|Your spouse used to be a bright, intelligent person - someone you admired and respected. Then... then they were kidnapped. You don't know quite what happened to them, but two years after their disappearance, the police found them in a storage container along with dozens of other people, apparently having been taken and used as slaves. They were never the same. Not even close. A shell, not talking or writing, needing you to take care of them. Every night, they wake you up two or three times with screams and fits from nightmares. You try to take care of them, like you would hope they'd take care of you if your situations were reversed, but it wears on you, constantly. You can't abandon them, but at the same time, you don't know how much longer you can take this. Trigger.
|When your sister was born, the umbilical cord cut off her oxygen for a long while. She was born without a heartbeat and recusitated shortly after. Everyone talked about how she was such a miracle in surviving, but the reality was that she was mentally disabled. Her being around made everything so very hard, from eating to sleeping to finding time for yourself. When you joined junior high (7th grade), you thought it was all over when your sister tried kissing/slobbered on a guy in your grade a week into classes. You pretended you didn't know her, and chased her off. You spelled your name differently, you made up a family, and somehow got into the group of cool kids. Everything was fine for so long, but a 7th grader isn't very good at lying, and the lies came tumbling down - your sister came to greet you after school, shouting your name in that voice of hers, and it was like a nightmare. Someone asked her who she was, and she called herself your sister. In your shock, you could barely refute it. All the cool kids were staring at you, looking disgusted. Your social life for junior high and high school, utterly destroyed.
|You want friends. You really do. But when you talk to people, your brain runs itself in circles, fucking you up with paranoia and stress. You can't just "be yourself," because "yourself" is a neurotic mess in any conversation with someone outside your immediate family. You stew on it, disgust at your own patheticness welling up inside you along with the crushing loneliness, until you finally trigger.
|An accident left you temporarily paralyzed from the neck down. The doctors say it's recoverable, but for the moment, there's nothing you can do but lie in your hospital bed and talk with family. You're watching television when you hear it - a crack like fireworks going off, a scream. More cracks, slowly approaching you. Your heart pounds in your ears, possibilities running through your mind, but you can't move or do anything. Then the footsteps come to your door, and a figure shoves it open, a gun in hand. As he levels it in your direction, knowing there's literally nothing you can do but scream fruitlessly, you trigger.
|You were a con artist, and you milked a lot of old ladies out of their money. You were careful, though, not leaving enough of a paper trail to be followed. Your partner got picked up, though, and he squealed. Stupid. Really fucking stupid. You got grabbed a few days later, taken to the local police station to be booked. The same one as your partner, actually. You're told just how much he ratted on you with, and you know it's not bullshit to get you to confess. Enough specific details to be sure he really did squeal. As you're carted around the police station, you happen to see your partner, and you scream at him, hurling invectives, angry at his betrayal and his stupidity, and you can see it cuts at him. In a blind rage, your life in tatters, you trigger - and so does he.
|It's this damn modern culture. You just want to wait for marriage - is that so terrible? Apparently. Every person you go out with, every SO you have, it ends after a few months, at most, when it becomes clear that you really mean it when you say you won't put out. You meet someone, they're absolutely wonderful, sweet, kind, perfect, and when they start to make moves... suggestions... you don't want them to leave you like all the rest. You know you'll never meet anyone better. The morning after you lose your virginity, you wake up to find them missing. You feel dirty, disgusting, as if you betrayed yourself (because you did), your brain struggling to decide whether the person you loved just got up to do something quickly or if they just fucking left you here like a spoiled piece of meat. Trigger.
|Water drips from the ceiling, again. You have no idea where you are, but that damn drip has been your only ambience for quite some time. You've been locked in this room, beaten, tortured, and mutilated, for no reason that you can think of; Maybe they're doing this just for fun. What feels like years, but was probably just weeks ago, they forced you into their van, injected you with something. Since then, this room has been your life. Each day, they take another piece of you. A finger. A hand. Until there's not enough left of you to fight back, any more. Today, one of them comes in again, and tells you this will be your last conversation. They hold a gun up to your head, and ask you to confess your crime. You have no idea what you did, but looking down the barrel of a gun, stuck in this fucking torture room, less than half the person you used to be, you trigger.
|Your SO was controlling. What you wore, what you said, what you thought, they wanted to control every last bit of it. It was smothering - you felt like you couldn't breathe under the pressure. So you broke things off, cut contact. You run in the same circles, and they've managed to dress it up as some sob story. Everyone around you is now pressuring you back into a relationship with them, and no matter how you try to explain it, nobody listens. Unable to bear the constant pressure, trapped by your social group, you finally, sulkily, go back to them. As they put one possessive hand on your shoulder, you trigger.
|Your kidnapper hasn't spoken a word to you, in the days you've been stuck here, handcuffed to the bed. He just watches you, still and silent, no matter what you say. He gives you food and water, then sits back, staring at you with cold, calculating eyes. Finally, one day you wake up and find him missing. You call out, trying to determine if he's actually gone, and when there's no response... you start trying to worm your way out of the handcuffs. You don't know if they're coming back or not, and you don't care, you need to get out, now. You scream, you struggle, you cry, and all it does is give you a hoarse throat and bleeding wrists. As you work against your bondage, blood splattering your face in the process, hours pass. Finally exhausted, you collapse on the mattress. You wake up an indeterminate amount of time later, finding your handcuffs replaced with a new, immaculate pair, your kidnapper right back where he was. Trigger.
|It's too much, everything is too much. Every day you're that little bit more miserable, slowly ground down by the reality around you, and you just can't take it any more. You clamber into your bathtub, turn on the water, and dig a razor blade into the flesh of your forearms. As your life starts to seep away, though, you suddenly come to the realization that your life is not quite that bad, not so harsh as to be inescapable, that all your problems are solvable. You stumble out of the bathtub, blood dripping out of you still, and you lose your balance, hitting the floor. You try to drag yourself towards your phone, but it's too far, and you're too weak from blood loss. Trigger.
|Your best friend did something stupid and bad, and it hurt you. You got into a really big fight with him, and your parents dragged you apart. That night, you prayed he would die so that he could go to hell and be punished for what he did. You woke up the next morning, and your mother hugged you tight, tears on her face. She told you, crying, that your best friend is dead, that he got hit by a drunk driver and died. It's all your fault; if you hadn't prayed for him to die, he'd still be alive. Trigger.
|Your life partner was a wonderful person. Same-sex marriage wasn't legal in your state, but you lived together, in spite of their family's opinions on the matter. Then the accident happened, and they suffered severe brain damage. Bad enough to get them declared legally incompetent, but not quite so bad that you couldn't still see the love and affection in their eyes, that you couldn't hear their slurred 'I love you's directed to you. Unfortunately, their family never approved, and they're their legal guardians, now. They cut you off completely from contact, and as you struggle desperately to fix it, to get back in contact with your beloved, you become increasingly aware that you won't get to see them for years, if ever, legally. Trigger.
|Your mom and dad don't understand. You're a deer! They call it a 'ridiculous fantasy' and talk about taking you to a psychiatrist when they think you aren't listening. But you know, deep down inside, that you're a deer, you have a deer's soul, you were supposed to be born a deer and not a human. You paint your face to look more deerlike, you refuse to eat meat, you study deer, you work and struggle to be more in tune with your deer brethren. Your father tells you that after school today, you're going to go to the psychiatrist, and you freeze, like a deer in the headlights. As he shuttles you off to school, you're already making plans to escape, to run away from your oppressive horrible parents and live in the woods as a deer. In the middle of the school day, you make your escape, prancing off into the woods to finally live free the way you were truly meant to. It's not two hours into your sojourn when you realize you're completely and utterly lost and have no idea where the good spots are to eat grass. This is all your stupid parents' fault! If only they'd accepted you, this never would have happened! Furious at your parents for their part in your current situation, you trigger.
|You've gotten more and more exhausted, lately. Twelve hours a night asleep, feel exhausted all day, sometimes a mid-day nap of a couple hours too, on the weekends. It's been costing you at your job, and you don't know why it's happening. Caffeine only halfway helps, shoving that twelve hours of sleep around, this way and that. There's a big presentation coming up, and you know you're going to fuck it up, given just how exhausted you feel, but you can't pass it up. In front of your bosses, you try to run through your presentation, but you can't help but yawn, feeling like garbage. It all comes to a head when you actually fall asleep - just for a couple seconds - in the middle of the presentation, losing your balance and almost falling down. Everyone's glaring daggers at you, as you struggle to regain your balance. You trigger as you struggle to remember where you were in your presentation.
|A monster. That's the only word for it - it's a person, but it's a monster. Skittering across the walls and ceiling, coating this warehouse in some strange, viscous material that covers the windows and the doors, blotting out sound and keeping you trapped. It's obssessed, and it's taken you, the object of its obsession, here. The food is the unappetizing, prepackaged kind, and it doesn't trust you with so much as a kitchen knife, so you're eating soup and fruit out of cans, along with the occasional biscuit. It tries to be nice, sweet, some odd alien purr to its voice, but you hate it. You've begged it to let you go, tried to escape yourself, but it's smart, it's good at what it does, and you can't get free. One day, weeks into your ordeal, its sticky, slimy fingers grasp your shoulders, then your chin, forcing you to look at it. It presses its equally sticky snout up against you, its long, alien tongue trying to worm its way past your lips. It's trying to kiss you, you realize in horror and disgust. Trigger.
|You met someone, someone decent and kind, and you came to feel affection for them, wound up getting married. They were more into the sex than you, but hey, that's normal, different people have different sex drives, right? Maybe it's not, you realize now. After a couple years of marriage, building a life together, you meet someone else. Being with them is electric - it feels like you're on fire, almost, burning with desire that was always subdued or absent in lovemaking with your spouse. The difference is that the new person you met is the same sex as you. You're gay, you realize, far far too late. You do care about your spouse, but not in that way. You don't want to hurt them - and you know it will, if they find out - but lying to them about this isn't easy, or kind, or right. It tears you up inside. You lie awake one night, staring at their sleeping body, your mouth struggling but failing to form the words, trying to admit the truth to them. Trigger.
|Your big brother is kind of a jerk, and he has been, for most of your life. Hogging the TV, being rude, not playing with you even when you ask - you put up with this for years. Now you're in middle school, a little more world-wise (so you'd like to think) and you figure you can get him back for all the crap he's put you through. You call the cops on him, after figuring out he's been toking on the reg, and sure enough, the boys in blue come on over and throw your big bro into the slammer. It's good, at first, more peace and solitude, but the demeanor of your parents noticeably shifts, growing more and more distant. Bad parenting? They talk amongst themselves when they think you aren't listening, and the conversations invariably get heated. When your parents raise the idea of a divorce, you know that it was your actions that led to this. Combined with the growing weight of responsibility you feel for your brother's incarceration, dreading the day when he returns, you trigger.
|You're just a low-level thug in a cape gang, pushing drugs and pimping on occasion. It pays well, but the higher-ups are making a push for more power, influence, assets. They go fucking nuts, hitting pawn shops, jewelry stores, escalating - until the local heroes confront them on one of their jobs, with backup from a full complement of PRT squaddies. You get involved with the shootout, but it's completely one-sided. Your gang gets crushed, and as you shout for mercy, one of the PRT agents coats you in foam. It hardens rapidly, stuck in your mouth, horrible and acrid. Your mouth is forced open, saliva pooling, you can't spit and you can hardly swallow. What's worse, though, is when they spray the solvent on you. It makes its way past the foam into your mouth, dissolving a small amount as it passes, and it starts collecting at the back of your mouth. You retch and gag, but more and more liquid starts to pool, coughing and thrashing impotently, still trapped in the foam. Waterboarded by a mixture of dissolved containment foam and solvent, you trigger.
|They were a hero; they saved you, talked to you, took care of you in your time of need... it was almost love at first sight, for you. They wanted you to help them clean up the city, so you set up a meeting with some local criminals. The plan was for them to use their teleportation power to pop in, take down the baddies, and call the cops afterwards. It didn't go right - too many thugs, and you wound up revealing your true allegiance in the fight. Your hero teleported away, up to a high perch, out of reach of the thugs. The thugs surround you, wailing on you, venting their anger on you. You stare up at your hero where they sit, still and silent, watching you as you're being beaten to death, no expression on their face. You trigger from the betrayal, and the raw physical trauma.
|P.T.S.D., it rules your life. You weren't the same when you got back from your tour of duty in the military, but that could be seen by anyone clear as day. What made it really obvious is when someone dropped a pot at a family cookout and you almost strangled your brother to death. You got counseling, your family supported you through it, and you swore you would never freak out that way again. Even when that mugger caught you and your brother in that alleyway, even as he was shouting at you, spit flying out of his mouth, you remember your counseling. That's why you find yourself unable to take action as he stabs your brother in the gut. Then turns to you and does the same while you stand frozen. You recover from the wound after intensive care. Then the physician comes in to say that your brother didn't make it. You trigger knowing that if you had gone all out you could have saved him.
|Times were tight before your significant other lost their dream job. After that they were downright horrid. You scraped by, month after month, sliding deeper into debt. Everything would have been okay if they had managed to get another job, but application after application and email after email came back, rejecting them. After the first couple of months, they stopped applying, sinking into depression. Some days they didn't even get out of bed, when they did they were barely more than a robot, blankly going through the motions. None of your encouragement makes a difference as you watch them waste away, all while working yourself to the bone.
That is until one day, when they get out bed with a spring in their step. They're lively and animated, a far cry from the shadow they'd been for the last few months. You head off to work, hopeful for the first time in ages. Even the parking-lot traffic on the freeway can't get you down. Until you spot a familiar figure on the edge of an overpass. You scream in panic as they step up onto the ledge and your recognize your other half, before leaping into the open air with a smile on their face, before plummeting towards the sea of cars below. Trigger.
|They said it was going to be the worst storm in decades, but they always said that. You'd be fine with a few sandbags and a shotgun to keep the looters away. You didn't know they were right until the rain started pouring down, filling the streets up to your knees, then your waist, then higher still. You try to get out when you realize the truth, when the muddy water sweeps into your house and it starts to flood, but by then it's too late. You climb into your attic, desperately searching for a way out. There's none. The rain pounds down above your head as the water wells up into the attic, lapping across the floor, submerging you more and more as the minutes tick by, your screams for help drowned out by the storm. You press yourself against the roof as the water rises to your neck. You choke on the last breath as the cramped attic fills to the brim and you dip beneath the floodwaters, your lungs screaming for air. Trigger.
|Your friends bet you a significant amount of money to drink a liter/quart of soy sauce within a good 20 minutes. You, never really bothering to look up the symptoms of sodium overdose, took the bet. At first chug, you managed to down a good portion of it, and only slowed down after the taste was getting to you. You wanted to vomit, but pulled through, since vomiting rendered the deal void, and you didn't want to lose the money. 5 minutes before the time limit, you finished the last drop in the bottle, and everyone cheered for you. Unfortunately, the overdose took full effect around that time, making you incredibly dizzy, with a whooping headache. You try to stand up, but your legs give way and you end up banging your head on the floor and making the headache even worse. As you feel your heart beating so fast it's painful, you notice that your friends aren't trying to help or even call an ambulance, instead just staring at you in shock. You trigger in pain and confusion as you slip into unconsciousness.
|You were raised by parents who taught you the value of politeness with screamed expletives, so you took it upon yourself to be the image of perfect calm. Years passed by at school and home and the facade held true; people called you nice, lovely, a good person. You loved it at first, smiled at the thought of being better than your parents. Now, however, years later, it's dawned on you that this act can never end. Your friends don't know who you are and neither do you. Is this your fate, to be acting the part of someone you aren't?
Unsure of your own identity, you struggle on. You make occasional strange outbursts at friends who look at you differently afterwards. The final straw comes when your partner of many years drunkenly tells you that you are the most boring person they have ever met. Still smiling a fixed grin, you feel mental control being swept away by a furious urge to express yourself. You're frustrated by the fact that you don't know how, and aren't even entirely sure of who that self is.
|It started happening about the time your partner left you, they probably gave you something. Itchy, uncomfortable little warts growing on your skin. They started on your hands, unbearable in a way that only itching things can be. Scratching and doctors alike did nothing to ease the feeling. Eventually you found blessed relief. Pain, though awful, was somehow more bearable and wholesome than that fucking itching wrongness. Using needles and tweezers and small sharp knives you pried them out of you one by one. Weeks and months go by and they keep on coming back. When a picture of your partner comes up on your social media feed looking as happy and carefree and pretty as ever you decided to get rid of your infestation once and for all. Laying the itching hand on the tabletop you carve and rend and maim until you trigger with tears run down your screaming face.
|It started with you going online during a sleepover with your school friends. Anonymous, no face shown, flashing people and running an ongoing auction so that your audience could bid on the things they wanted you and your friends to do. You and your friends split the cash, but the online transaction left a trail, and one of the perverts who were watching sent you an email. They listed your contacts on social media, your mom, your dad, your -school-, and showed you some of the video they'd recorded, where you let a glimpse of your face appear. Do as they say, and they won't send the video out to everyone you know. They tell you if you try to get them arrested, a dead man's switch will ensure the video goes live. They send you a list of instructions - stuff that involves more videos, giving them even more ammo. Your friend's boyfriend gets hit by a car, dying, and the blackmailer goes utterly silent. Faced with a deadline you can't hope to meet, vividly imagining the disappointment and humiliation that will affect every last part of your life, you trigger.
|You triggered at the local pool. You and your brother wound up in the deep end, and you both panicked, realizing you couldn't really swim, worried you'd drown. To keep yourself above water, you shove him under, using him to buoy yourself up. He does the same to you, and you trade like that, you forced under the surface of the water, then him, and back again. You're certain you're going to drown, and from your angle you can see the lifeguard, just sitting at his post, not even paying attention, but you can't get air long enough to scream, in the two of you's panicked fighting to live. Trigger.
|You enjoy being a lawyer quite a bit. Helping people through the legal system, thinking of arguments, the mental engagement, it's definitely your dream profession. There's just one teensy weensy little problem - you never passed the bar. You've got no license to practice law whatsoever, and that's a big nono. You get around it by operating in bumfuck nowhere towns, and moving often, because there's the other small problem of having never been to law school either. You win all your cases anyway, but that probably wouldn't make a whole lot of difference to the world at large. It's all fine and dandy, until a small no-name case blows into something huge, as your client goes off the deep end for an entirely unrelated manner, and next time your show up in court for it, state troopers are there to take you in as well - they finally decided to check your credentials, and found them wanting.
|It's a long drive, but you and your buddies have made it before, and you decide to just drive through the night. There's enough of you that you can just sleep in shifts, no problem. Driving on the interstate, though, you hit a spot of construction, the highway down to two lanes, concrete bunkers on either side. A trucker on your right, hitting a wet patch, maybe falling asleep at the wheel, you don't know - he loses control, swerving, and the trailer of his 18-wheeler jackknifes into your sedan, smashing it against the bunker. You get a brief moment to scream as the chassis crumples, a brief moment to realize you're going to be pasted against the wall at three am in the middle of nowhere. Trigger.
|You've finally gotten your dream job, finally suffered through all the troubles and trials needed to get to where you've always meant to be. The six years leading up to it were arduous, to grossly underexaggerate, college, blackmail, backstabbing, sucking up, greasing the wheels, multiple instances of consecutive all-nighters - you've put yourself in debt, taking out loans for education and bribes alike, and you've neglected your health, unwilling to let such trivialities impede you in your unrelenting pursuit of the goal. Well. You've finally made it, and two months in, you realize that nothing's changed. You're still on the same path of unending drudgery, slowly being ground to dust by a system you've invested far too much in to escape. In the same situation as before, tearing yourself to pieces to move forward, save for the fact that you now lack a goal to impel you, unable to afford to cut your losses with all the debt you accrued, you realize you'll be stuck in this job until it breaks you - unless it already has. Trigger.
|You're walking back from a date party, you and your date still pleasantly drunk. Who knows, maybe you'll - There's a screech, a scream of metal, as a pickup truck tries to overtake another car in the street, hitting them instead. The driver of the truck loses control, and it's happening fast, too fast, as the end of the truck comes whipping towards you. You're in the street - there's blood everywhere - people screaming - you're on the pavement? - why is there so much blood - you see your date being loaded up - where are they taking you - ambulance, this is an ambulance. It all fades to black, and you wake up in a sterile room. You're lucky, the doctors tell you, your partner cushioned the blow. A couple of broken ribs. They don't mention what happened to him, avoid the subject for a few more minutes, but they tell you when pressed. He didn't make it. Too much blood loss. They pulled the plug this morning. You trigger.


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Prince's Sister Tyka Nelson Storms Out of Family Meeting. Why?
- 10:57 AM, Apr 29
66th Cannes Film Festival - amfAR's 20th Annual Cinema Against AIDS - Arrivals
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|Home > Azim
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What does Azim mean?
Azim /az-im/ as a boys' name is of Arabic origin, and the meaning of Azim is "protector, defender". In Islam, one the ninety-nine attribute names of Allah.
Azim has 3 variants: Aseem, Asim and Azeem.Kreatif forms:
(male) Anim, Arim, ..
(female) Azie, Azimie, ..
How popular is Azim?
Azim is an unusual first name for males but a very prominent last name for all people (#51233 out of 150436, Top 34%). (2000 U.S. Census)
Shown below is the birth name statistics of Azim for boys. Azim has yet to be recorded in the list thus far. (Top 2000 Names, 2014)
Similar Names
Azim is pronounced similarly to Acim, Azam, Isam and Wasim. Other recommended names are Abia, Abid, Abie, Abir, Achim, Acie, Adam▼, Adem, Adi, Adil, Adim, Adin, Adiv, Adom, Afi, Afif, Ahim, Aime, Akhim, Akil, Akim, Alem, Ali▲, Alia, Alic, Alik, Alin, Alix, Am, Amid, Amil, Amin, Amir▲, Amit, Ani, Aram, Ari▲, Aric▼, Arie, Arik, Arin, Ario, Aris, Atif, Atim, Avi, Avia, Aviv, Axil, Aziz, Azria, Azur, Haim, Jim▼, Kim▼, Naim, Sim▼, Slim, Tim▼ and Wim. These names tend to be more frequently used than Azim.


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Key things you need to know aboutStuart Nesbitt:
Stuart Nesbitt's Experience
Research training, expertise and qualifications
Stuart Nesbitt's Specialties
- Surgical Assistance
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Likelihood of recommending Stuart Nesbitt to family and friends is 5 out of 5 5 1 1
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Patient satisfaction surveys provide a standardized way of reporting about healthcare experiences. But there can be more than meets the eye when reviewing scores. Here's what you should know
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6 Reviews
These were very good. I made them for OAMC and I love pulling them out of the feezer for a quick lunch/dinner. I will definitely make these again.
Dang, these are good! I made these calzones with the intention of freezing them, but we ended up eating them before they made it to the freezer. They were just irresistible! I used Jack Daniel's Barbecue Sauce; I wish I'd had enough left over for dipping, but alas, I had just enough to mix in with the chicken, onions, and bacon. I will definitely make these again when I have plenty of bbq sauce!
This was delicious! I made them with a plum and chipotle BBQ sauce, which gave it a fantastic sweet and smokey taste, but I'm sure it would be just as amazing with regular BBQ. Thank you so much for posting it!
Wonderful! Everyone loved them. I will be making this comfort food again many times. The pizza dough that I used had about 13 oz., which enabled me to cut the dough into 6 pieces to make 6 servings. Did not increase any other ingredients and it turned out great. Each serving was very generous.
This was a nice easy dinner on a busy day.
I can't believe I haven't rated this! We made these a couple weeks ago and they were delicious! I made individual sized calzones instead of the bigger ones. Easy delicious recipe and a real kid pleaser. Thanks for sharing!


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baby wont take pacifier
Anyways, if someone have any suggestions on how to make him take it.... he cries a lot and I think it would help relax him
Thank you!!!
Some babies like it while others don't.
My first loved her paci and it was great for me it helped her to relax and fall asleep at night and sooth her in the car. She actually had it till she was almost 3. My 4 month old refuses and actually blows raspberries when I try to give it to him. I bought them thinking he'd like them like my DD did. Nope but he sure likes to nurse. So when he's fussy he latches on. I work full time and he does fine at daycare but when I'm around he loves my boob.
So at this point I've given up trying but I still have them.
No advice on getting him to take it, but I had no luck with either of my girls taking it. I think each took it once or twice HUGELY begrudgingly. I just nursed and honestly, once I accepted it, life got a lot easier and now I cherish all that wonderful time I had with them snuggled up with them.
mine wont take them either. just let her nurse nurse nurse. or you could let her suck on your knuckle, or finger tip. or try the airplane trick....babys on tummy/side facing outwards, one of your arms between her legs and the other between her lower shoulder/head with both hands meeting on her stomach, swinging her left to right.
amy rebecca 12/30/10
baby on the way 8/31/12
Yeah, the boob is the original paci, so they tend to like that better! :) My LO doesn't take a paci either, but I think it's fine because it has meant more bonding time together.
my daughter wouldn't take one either, ever. we tried a bunch of different kinds. gerber nuks were almost successful, but no. just not a paci kid I guess.
my pregnancy forum for the painfully logical
- mom to Josephine (June 2010) and Olive (May 2013)
will he be going to daycare? neither of my kids had any interest in a paci until they started daycare at 4 mo old. both times, the daycares requested we bring in paci b/c our babies each tried to take other kid's pacis. i guess the peer pressure starts young, LOL!
Kate & DH
Izzy '04 ( * Y * ) Diamond, Dylan Jude 9/8/10 (.Y.) Platinum
Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans. -John Lennon
Neither of my kids took a pacifier. With DD, the pediatrician showed her to put her fist to her mouth and this seems to work when we're out. Most of the time at home, I just give her my boob though. :-)
Traci Married to Chris; Mommy to Christian 10/11/06, Angels 6/09, & 12/09, Annaliese 12/31/10, & Scarlett 9/20/12
Mama to my beautiful blue-eyed boy: Maxwell James, 3/14/11 (c/s)
and my sweet sunshine girl: Lillian Grace, 7/29/13 (VBAC!)


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To order images and/or obtain permission to use them commercially, please contact the KSHS Reference Desk at email@example.com or 785-272-8681, ext. 117.
For more information see the Copyright and Permission FAQ.
This photograph shows Amelia Earhart Putnam and Laura Houghtaling Ingalls, descending from a TWA "Sky Chief" airplane that stopped briefly at the municipal airport in Wichita, Kansas. The two female aviators were headed for Los Angeles, California.
Date: August 19, 1935
Item Number: 559
Call Number: B Earhart, Amelia *4
KSHS Identifier: DaRT ID: 559
Business and Industry - Aviation - Airlines
Business and Industry - Occupations/Professions - Pilots
Collections - Photograph
Community Life - Community services - Airports and Railroads
Date - 1930s - 1935
Objects and Artifacts - Communication Artifacts - Documentary Artifact - Photograph
Objects and Artifacts - Distribution & Transportation Artifacts - Aerospace Transportation, Equipment - Airplane
People - Notable Kansans - Earhart, Amelia 1897-1937
People - Notable People - Ingalls, Laura
Places - Cities and towns - Wichita
Places - Counties - Sedgwick
Thematic Time Period - Great Depression and Dust Bowl, 1929-1941
Transportation - Air Travel - Aeroplanes
Type of Material - Photographs


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Two year old child is hit by car
Updated: 08/10/2009 - The Whitley County Sheriff's Department has confirmed that a two year old child was hit by a car Monday evening.
Updated: 08/10/2009 - The Whitley County Sheriff's Department has confirmed that a two year old child was hit by a car Monday evening.
Posted: 08/10/2009 - One woman says a frequently traveled road in Knox County is in need of repairs, and now she is trying to bring attention to the problem.
Updated: 02/05/2010 - The economy is making it tough for some people to care for their animals.
Posted: 08/10/2009 - A woman had to be airlifted to a hospital after being hit by a car while riding her bike!
Posted: 08/10/2009 - A Magoffin County teen is dead after a dirt bike accident over the weekend.
Updated: 02/05/2010 - Election officials have rejected a petition by an eastern Kentucky country club for a wet dry vote.
Updated: 08/10/2009 - Thousands of illegal drugs and stolen items are seized from one home in what police call one of the biggest drug busts in Pike County.
Updated: 08/10/2009 - Fire investigators are stumped after a Bourbon County mansion burns to the ground and nobody reports the fire.
Posted: 08/10/2009 - New data released from the Kentucky Department of Education shows the state's ACT scores could use some work.
Updated: 08/10/2009 - Bravo Company, 2ND Battalion, 147Th Aviation and Charlie Company 169Th MEDEVAC left today to begin their year-long deployment to Kosovo.
Posted: 08/10/2009 - SAN FRANCISCO (AP) - Consider it e-haggling. Hundreds of California GM dealers will allow consumers to negotiate prices of new cars and trucks through eBay.
Posted: 08/10/2009 - FRANKFORT, Ky. (AP) - Kentucky lawmakers are looking at options for the General Assembly to consider during its 2010 legislative session intended to curb the state's soaring prison population and free up cash for other productive expenses - such as education.
Updated: 08/10/2009 - Police in one Eastern Kentucky County say it's the largest and most successful drug bust in its history.
Posted: 08/10/2009 - CHATTANOOGA, Tenn. (AP) - The Tennessee Valley Authority is preparing plans to convert its coal ash operations from wet storage to dry storage in the wake of a massive ash spill from a retention pond last year in Tennessee.
Updated: 08/10/2009 - A gas leak at an apartment building in Jessamine County sent two people to the hospital and forced an entire building evacuation.
Updated: 08/10/2009 - The granddaughter of a man missing thanked those who have spent the past three days searching the Kentucky River for him, and asked for help from anyone else available. Her grandfather hasn't been seen since Friday and is believed to have fallen in the water.
Updated: 08/09/2009 - Scott County Middle schoolers are remembering Seth Carnahan, who was drowned in Elkhorn Creek.
Updated: 08/09/2009 - A Lexington mother of three is moving into her new home thanks to Habitat for Humanity.
Posted: 08/09/2009 - Blue Grass Airport officials are preparing to auction off several unused items, but the attorney general's office won't allow them to sell merchandise returned by former executives under investigation for excessive spending.
Posted: 08/09/2009 - A report says a roller coaster at the Kings Island amusement park has reopened a day after the death of a man who had been riding it.
Posted: 08/09/2009 - Officials say a southern Illinois man has drowned at Kentucky Lake.
Posted: 08/09/2009 - A police chase in Eastern Kentucky ends in a crash and an officer jumping into a river to catch the suspect.
Updated: 08/10/2009 - An Eastern Kentucky school needs money again, and this time it means the school may not open this year.
Updated: 08/09/2009 - Saturday was a perfect day for the second annual Travis Fryman memorial scholarship fundraiser.
Posted: 08/08/2009 - Defense attorneys attacked the credibility of a key witness in a federal bid-rigging case during a hearing Friday to determine whether secretly taped conversations can be used at an upcoming trial.


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FTN Financial Chief Economist Chris Low sees more trouble ahead as he gives some insights on the challenges facing the recovering economy.
CPA Idea Exchange: Economic Recovery?
Economic Crisis: Excerpts from a recent AICPA Webcast (2008)
Economic Crisis: Arleen Thomas, CPA - AICPA
Financial Literacy '09: Lyle Benson, CPA, PFS
Financial Literacy Month Message from Barry Melancon (2009)
Economic Crisis: Barry Melancon, CPA - Fair Value Update
IFAC President Bob Bunting, CPA on the Economic Crisis
SC '08: Economic Forecast
Financial Literacy '09: Michael Eisenberg, CPA, PFS
Barry Melancon, CPA - Year-End Message (2008)
Views from the Financial Sector: Monica Sonnier, CPA, CFA
SC 09: Financial Regulation Reform Round Table
David Walker Addresses the Economic Crisis
Economic Crisis: Barry Melancon, CPA - Welcome Message
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CIMA President Myriam Madden, FCMA, CGMA, talks about how to stay committed to the ongoing development of skills in an ever-changing, complex world. For more infomration, go to:
Susan S. Coffey, CPA, CGMA - AICPA Senior VP, Public Practice and Global Alliances, discusses the many tools and resources available to assist firms with enhancing governmental and single audit quality.
Did you know AICPA section members get up to 8 hours of free CPE every year? Learn how you can upgrade your AICPA membership to include CPE and tools tailored to your area of expertise for only $99. http://membership.aicpa.org/free-cpe/
The AICPA Women's Global Leadership Summit is helping women forge mentor relationships, network and build necessary skillsets to advance to senior leadership in the accounting profession.
See how Elizabeth Pittelkow, CPA/CITP, CGMA, DTM uses the AICPA I CIMA Competency and Learning website to develop and hone skills.
The AICPA National Commission on Diversity and Inclusion has set a new course to address best practices and develop tools to help members and firms succeed in their D & I efforts. See how Inclusion Solutions can support your inclusion journey.
Learn about the AICPA's roadmap for enhancing audit quality.
In its most recent installment of the What's at Stake series, the AICPA presents highlights from a March 2015 American Accounting Association Public conference that featured a federal deficit dialogue.
AICPA CIMA Professional Development Is Here
It's tax time again! Did you know that having your tax return prepared accurately by a knowledgeable tax expert, like a Certified Public Accountant (CPA), can save you both time & money? Here are a few tips to help you find the preparer best for you.
Learn more about the AICPA Annual Webcast Pass--offering travel-free CPE and unlimited access to an extensive lineup of events--all at an incredible discount.
In this interview with CPA Letter Daily, AICPA President and CEO Barry Melancon, CPA, CGMA, addresses the profession's successes in 2014 and provides insights on the opportunities and challenges for 2015
Bill Balhoff, CPA, CGMA reflects back on his year as AICPA Chairman of the Board (2013-2014), siting individual, organizational and accounting profession commitment to quality and development of future leaders as the keys to future success.


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Orchestrations by Sir Henry Wood - Bach, etc / Braithwaite
1 CD / Lyrita / 2007-07-01Works: Johann Sebastian Bach: Toccata and Fugue for Organ in D minor, BWV 565; Frédéric Chopin: Sonata for Piano no 2 in B flat minor, Op. 35 "Funeral March"; Franz Xaver Scharwenka: Polish Dances...
Conductors: Braithwaite, Nicholas
Ensemble: London Philharmonic Orchestra
New recordings! Sir Henry Wood (1869–1944) is one of the most beloved figures in British musical history. For half a century he conducted the popular...continue...
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This profile was last updated on 9/13/15 and contains information from public web pages and contributions from the ZoomInfo community.
Mike ColvardWrong Mike Colvard?
Social Marketing Coordinator
Local Address: Clovis , California , United States
Fresno American Indian Health Project
1551 E. Shaw Avenue Suite 139
Fresno , California 93710
United States
Company Description: The Fresno American Indian Health Project is a culturally sensitive health access and advocacy program designed to enhance the health and well being of the American... more
ProPub_Iteration_NT.411[04] SEIDXWK-19


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Every culture has one - the horrible monster fueling young children's nightmares. But for Tim, the Boogeyman still lives in his memories as a creature that devoured his father 16 years earlier. Is the Boogeyman real? Or did Tim make him up to explain why his father abandoned his family? The answer lies hidden behind every dark corner and half-opened closet of his childhood home - a place he must return to and face the chilling unanswered question does the Boogeyman really exist?
About Boogeyman (2005)
Year: 2005
Starring: Lucy Lawless, Robyn Malcolm, Eddie Campbell, Scott Wills, Edward Campbell, Olivia Tennet, Emily Deschanel, Skye McCole Bartusiak, Tory Mussett, Philip Gordon, Aaron Murphy, Barry Watson, Andrew Eggleton, Lee Foreman, Gene Hollins-Werry, Noah Matthews, Andrew Glover, Caden St. Clair, Charles Mesure, Jennifer Rucker, Michael Saccente, Louise Wallace, Brenda Simmons, Josie Tweed, Ian Campbell
Director: Stephen Kay
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