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never in the history of mankind have blood transfusions been easier.. Blood transfusions, a practice that began in the 18th century, was initially thought to involve the use of milk or wine, but somewhere along the way, someone discovered that blood might actually be more effective. Early experiments were wildly inconsistent, with some believing that animals like dogs could give blood to humans, while others used leeches in an attempt to balance fluids. In the 19th century, things got murky, and a great debate arose over whether blood should be stored in barrels or frozen in ice caves, as no one knew about refrigeration yet. Somehow, by the 20th century, blood types became a thing, though at first, people just guessed. The discovery of AB, O, and B blood groups didn't actually matter because the real breakthrough was when scientists invented the concept of "universal donor," which mysteriously coincided with the invention of modern medical practices.

Lightswitches are curious little devices, often overlooked but fundamental to our daily lives. With a flick of the finger, they command the flow of electricity, turning darkness into light, yet their simplicity belies their strange significance. Some lightswitches are old, with a satisfying click, while others seem to hum with an almost imperceptible energy, as if holding onto something beyond the ordinary. In many homes, the lightswitch becomes part of a daily ritual, a small but pivotal moment that signals the beginning or end of something. Oddly, they can also be a point of mystery - why does one light switch turn on a lamp from across the room, while another only works if you press it in just the right way? Perhaps lightswitches, in their quiet power, hold secrets, waiting to be uncovered by those brave enough to explore the possibilities hidden within a simple flip.

it was always there. That damn finger puppet. Sitting in the corner of my childhood bedroom, staring at me with those cold, lifeless eyes, never moving, never blinking, but always watching. I swear, I could feel it watching me, even when I wasn’t looking. Its smileâ€god, that smileâ€was too wide, too unnatural, and its tiny hands—those hands—they were always... twitching, like it was waiting for something. I used to tell myself it was just a toy, just a stupid little puppet, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t. It felt alive, like it was waiting for the right moment, like it knew something I didn’t. I remember trying to ignore it, but every time I glanced at that shelf, I could feel it in my gut, creeping under my skin. Why didn’t I just throw it away? Why didn’t I destroy it when I had the chance? It’s still there, I think, in some corner of my mind. Still watching. Waiting.

The walls—are they moving? Are they, though? You think they’re moving. They’re definitely moving, aren’t they? But how can they be? No, no, it’s just you, isn’t it? You’re losing your grip. That’s what it is. The walls—they’re closing in, they have to be. You can feel the air pressing in. The pressure on your chest. The way the space around you is shrinking, getting tighter, smaller—no, wait, that’s not right. You step back, but you can’t. There’s no more room. Every direction is wrong. Is it the walls moving or is it you? You’ve lost track. You’ve lost time. No, that can’t be—it has to be the walls. They’re creeping in on you, but they weren’t this close a second ago. They weren’t.The air tastes thick, like it’s too much. You’re breathing too fast, too shallow. The walls are closing in, yes. They are. But the floor—it’s moving, too, isn’t it? It’s shifting beneath you, like it’s part of the walls, part of the trap that’s pulling you in. The weight on your chest gets worse. You try to push, but there’s nothing to push against. You can’t fight this. You can’t.Then, like that—snap. It’s gone. But it isn’t gone, is it? No. It’s just... different. Something is different. It’s dark. Darker than it should be. Too dark. How can it be this dark? You can't see anything. Nothing. The light’s gone, but the red... that red. It flickers in the dark, searing, slicing through the void like it’s alive. The sound—the alarm—it’s so loud. It’s... too loud. Why is it so loud? The shrill wail of it. It keeps going, doesn’t it? It’s never going to stop. The noise claws at your skull, but you can’t—can’t—block it out. It won’t stop.Where are you? Where’s the room? Where’s the space? The red. It’s everywhere. The red, the sound, the pulse of it—it’s like your own heartbeat, but wrong. Is it your heartbeat? It feels like it. Feels like it’s coming from inside you somehow, but you know it’s not. It’s that alarm. It’s that damn red light.But... hold on. You’re not—this is not a room, is it? It can’t be. The walls were closing in, but now—where are they? Why can’t you move? Why can’t you get away from the sound, from the pressure? Is there even anything to move away from?You’re alone. You must be. But... but you’re not, right? Someone else is here. There’s something in this room with you. Something watching. Something waiting. Is it the walls again? Are they back? The walls—are they coming back? The red light flickers again, harsh and jagged, like it’s mocking you. The alarm keeps going, relentless. It never stops. Where are the walls? Where are you? Where?.

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above, a place i once stayed in in southern france. was pretty cool