And No, They Are Not Blind

Two weeks ago I met a beautiful young man who changed my life forever.

I first saw him in front of a Monorail station while he was about to cross the road to the other side. It was a red light, nobody tried to stop him and some pedestrians even stepped on his walking stick by accident! Sighted people are always too busy walking fast they do not even realize the possibility of having a disabled person walking/standing right in front of them.

Nobody had courtesy to apologize neither did they offer him help to cross the road. I quickly went to him and asked, "Abang nak ke mana? Saya boleh tolong." (translation: Brother, where are you heading to? I can help you."

He is a 5 feet 3 Malay chap, soft spoken and humble looking. He told me he wanted to go to KL Sentral to have his lunch at KFC. I smiled and said, " I will take you there. Do not worry."

The blind man introduced himself as Ridzwan and asked me what was my name. As we entered KL Sentral, Ridzwan asked, "Would you know where I could find thumb drives?"

Tati: I am not so sure if they sell any here in KL Sentral but I will find out.
Ridzwan: How about camera shops? Do they have camera shops here? Maybe they sell thumb drives there. If you are in a rush, it is OK. I will try to find it myself. No problem.

Tati: Oh no! I am more than happy to help you! Hang on! They do have a camera shop! We'll go there OK?

The camera shop had no thumb drives but the staff helped us find a small computer shop at the departure hall.

At the stall...

Tati: Hi, do you sell Thumb Drives?
Shopkeeper: Yes we do. Which ones would you like?
Tati: It isn't for me. It's for my friend here. It's best if you explain to him the models in detail.
Shopkeeper: Sure, no problem. How can I help you Sir?
Ridzwan: Hi. Hello. What sort of thumb drives do you sell?
Shopkeeper: Ok, we have 1 gig, 2, 3 and 4...

After discussing with the shopkeeper, Ridzwan decided to buy a 1 gig SanDisk thumb drive priced at RM28. The shopkeeper gave him a RM3 discount. Ridzwan took out his wallet (a wallet which I used to have when I was 13) and took out a RM50 note.

Ridzwan: Sir, how much is it?
Shopkeeper: It is RM25.
Ridzwan: Oh, I meant the note. How much do I have in my right hand now?
Shopkeeper: Oh sorry! You're holding a RM50 note.
Ridzwan: Ok, let me get a smaller note.

After taking out a few notes, Ridzwan paid the shopkeeper with the RM50 instead as he did not have any small change.

Ridzwan: I am so sorry for the big note. I wish I had some small change.
Shopkeeper: Oh no worries.Thank you so much. Please come again.
Tati: So, where shall we go now? You must be hungry yes?
Ridzwan: Yes, I'd like to have lunch at KFC. I hope I am not disturbing you. If you must go please, I do not mind. I will find my way. You are so helpful.
Tati: Oh, no worries. Please, I really don't mind. However, can I ask you a question?
Ridzwan: Sure, ask me.
Tati: You just bought a thumb drive. Do you know how to use a computer? I thought you are blind? Forgive me if I sound offensive but I am just very curious.
Ridzwan : (Smiling) Yes, I do know how to use the computer. We have a special software called JAWS. It's a software that tells us every letter that we type and every word is also pronounced by a computerized voice.
Tati: Oh wow... that is amazing! Good stuff. Technology ehh? I am impressed. So you can send emails and 'read' them too?
Ridzwan: Yes I can. I just have to memorize the keys that's all.

OK, the first time this blind man impressed me was when he took out his wallet. Not that I am judging him. The wallet was so simple- something you could buy for RM5 at night markets. It was an item I used to have when I was in primary or high school. And why would he care how the wallet looks like? All he wants is something comfortable and inexpensive.

While he was talking to the shopkeeper earlier, I actually took the time to observe this blind man. He was clad in a simple pink cotton shirt and a pair of earthy brown pants. Simple bag. Simple shoes. And yet, he was a happy man.

Look at me, I thought. There I was, fully sighted and yet, super ungrateful about many things. OK, that was the first. The second time he impressed me was when he was asking the shopkeeper about the note he was holding. Unlike most notes in other countries, Malaysian Ringgit have no Braille dots on it. I felt bad for Ridzwan as this is one of the things he has to go through daily. If only Malaysian notes had Braille dots on them, it would make Ridzwan's life a lot easier.

The third time he impressed me was when he told me he knew how to use the computer and the internet. I was already in tears by the time he told me this and I thought to myself, " Hey I am studying Industrial Design! I could probably design something for the blind!".

As we were walking towards KFC, I told him that I could only bring him to the food counter and that I had to leave him there as I had to rush for class. My class was scheduled at 2pm and I only realized that I was late when he said, " Oh it's 2pm already. That's fast."

Tati: How do you know it's 2pm? Your watch is digital?
Ridzwan: *Smiling* Yes it's digital and it has a computerized voice which tells me the time.
Tati: Wow! Impressive!
At KFC...
Tati: Ok Abang, I have to leave you here, is that ok with you? (Abang means Big Brother in Malaysian language)
Ridzwan: Sure. Oh you are still studying? Where are you studying?
Tati: I am studying in Subang.
Ridzwan: Oh that is nice. May I ask, what course are you taking?
Tati: Oh. Indus.. I mean Product Design. (Product Design is a more common term than Industrial Design and so I said the word 'product' instead)
Ridzwan: Oh WOW! That's nice. So cool. Does that mean you get to design 3d in computers???
Tati: *laughs* Yeah, I use a special computer 3d modeling software and it's really interesting.

I was about to say "I could teach you too...", but I forgot he was visually impaired.

Ridzwan: Wah... Computer 3d modelling? Wow! Sounds so nice... so cool...

When he said that, it broke my heart. I was already crying in KFC in front of so many people. I felt so bad for him for he is blind and yet still hungry for knowledge.

Tati: Ok Abang, I leave you here OK? I have to go now. Will you be alright on your own?
Ridzwan: Yes I will. Thank you so much. It is a pleasure meeting you.
Tati: Likewise. Till we meet again. Be careful OK? Assalamualaikum (peace be upon you)
Ridzwan:Ok. Waalaikumussalam. (peace be upon you too)

On the way to college after that, I cried non stop. I felt happy to have met such a wonderful person and at the same time, I was ashamed of myself for being so silly, ungrateful, and inconsiderate about certain things in life. You name it.

I tend to complain about some things, well not always but I know I do at times. I am choosy with the things I buy such as clothes, bags, books, food etc and this blind man cannot even afford to choose yet he is still so happy.
Ridzwan is my new hero. He has totally changed my world.

The week after, I told my lecturers, about my ideas on creating a special device for the blind. Initially they were not impressed at all, thinking 'WHY?'.

Then, after I told them about my encounter with Ridzwan, their faces changed completely and that gave me some hope. Industrial Design students at our school are participating in this years Malaysia Young Designer Award. It is my first time and I had no clue of what to create earlier on but I think I know what to create now.

Last Friday I met another interesting blind man. He is a Sarawakian lawyer who became blind at the age of 14. Imagine this: he still remembers how colors and his favorite things looked like. I will post his story tomorrow.

I hope Ridzwan's story will be an inspiration for you too. If only Malaysians paid more attention to the disabled community. Unfortunately, the disabled are seen as unimportant to many. Please visit http://mab.org.my/ for more details on the visually impaired in Malaysia and ways on how you can help them through donations, volunteer work etcetera.

And no, they are not blind... In reality, it is us (the sighted) who are blind.

(By TatiAmbia)

The White Goat

I don’t have too many memories of my childhood home on Foxtrot Lane. Considering my family moved quite often, I’d say it was one of the least memorable homes I had stayed in. Whenever I’d try to think of details from the old house, I’d only ever imagine washed out colors, a yard of dead grass covered in brown leaves, and old kitchen appliances. My mother, on the other hand, loved the house on Foxtrot Lane. She spoke of it frequently, recalling all the wonderful stories of when I was little. She would then finish up with the line, “Ohhh, you were too young to remember. ” And she was somewhat right—I could only ever recall bits and pieces. But even though my memories were somewhat fragmented, they were still always there. I remember the times we made whirlpools in the above ground pool, or when I’d practice ballet up and down the hallway near the front door, and those tiny yellow plastic chairs I’d sit on while eating macaroni and cheese in the living room. The memories were all still there—just a bit faded. Which is why I was surprised when my mother, going on one of her many story telling tangents, mentioned a portrait of a white goat that hung up in that old house. 

Apparently, I was obsessed with this portrait, “from the moment I laid eyes on it,” she said. She told me how I would spend most of my time sitting in front of that painting, either drawing or writing. Some days I would just stand there for hours on end staring at it, examining the minute details. “There were times you’d even ask if your father and I could get you a pet goat,” she chuckled. “All those little girls your age wanted ponies and horses and all you wanted was that white goat in the painting.”

I couldn’t understand why I had no recollection of this painting whatsoever—a painting in which I supposedly spent a great deal of my time with. There was even a point where I wondered if she was making the whole story up to test my memory. But that thought was quickly extinguished when she pulled out an old family photo album.

"How can you honestly not remember?" she asked while flailing an old polaroid in the air. I grabbed the photo from her hand, examining the face of the little girl, wondering if it was actually me. And without a doubt, it was. I was wearing a small, pink jacket with the hood on, and blankly staring at the camera. And oddly enough, I was standing in front of a painting of a scene of a white goat standing alone in a dark forest. The trees in the distance were slightly arched over, as to form a tunnel leading into the darkened woods. And the goat, well the image of it sent chills down my spine. Its eyes—there were no pupils, just two completely white circles staring directly at the viewer. I looked through the rest of the photo album, and the others were no different from the first.

"W-what happened to it?" I stammered.

"Oh, it’s probably still hanging in that house on Foxtrot Lane," she replied nonchalantly, as though the portrait was no different than a painting of a sunny meadow. "Anyway, it’s late and you should be getting to bed," she said as she grabbed the album out of my hands.

That night, I had terrible dreams, dreams that paralyzed my entire body. I envisioned standing in a dark house, staring up at that damned portrait. My eyes could not shift away, and I felt as though it were now burned into my mind, planting strange and horrible thoughts. I dreamt that I began to follow the white goat into that darkened pathway, so deep into the forest that I could no longer see its ivory coat and could only navigate by the sounds of its hooves rustling the dried leaves. I wanted to turn around so badly, but I was no longer in control of my body when finally, the sensation of cold droplets on my skin woke me up.

I was standing at the edge of the forest, my feet covered in dirt. “Lucy!” I could hear my mother calling from the front porch. “What are you doing?” I had to gather my thoughts before I realized that I had sleepwalked all the way out of the house. I turned around and began running toward the front door as the rain began to pour. “What on earth are you doing?” My mother asked again as I reached the porch, but before I could give her an explanation she continued, “Why did you stop?” I looked at her confused, and without saying another word, she lifted her arm and pointed to the forest. And that’s when I saw it. Two completely white eyes staring at me from deep within the woods.

"Why did you stop walking?" she asked.

—
Credits to: robotsynthesis (terror-tortellini.tumblr.com)

The Gravestone of Adelaide

 

Henry O’Neill was a perfectionist. Every morning, he would make his rounds through White Oak cemetery. He ensured that every hedge was impeccably cut, that there were no dead flowers scattered about, and that every headstone was in pristine condition.

In his 20 years of grounds keeping for White Oak, he developed quite a spectacular memory for names. Not once had he ever confused Richard Wyatt for Wyatt Richards, or made his way to Tanya Michael’s gravestone instead of Tonya Michael’s.

One afternoon, after finishing his rounds, Henry decided to take a walk on the very outskirts of White Oak cemetery. It was during this very walk that he stumbled upon something that resembled a small bush made of creeping vines and white pennycress.

Intrigued that in all his years he’d never noticed this bush until now, he decided to look closer, realizing that the bush was not a bush at all, but a gravestone obscured by overgrown vegetation. Henry was shocked to know he had been neglecting someone’s resting place for so long. He immediately began pulling weeds up, wondering why this grave was so far from the rest.

Behind the foliage stood a crooked, aged headstone, badly cracked and weathered with just a single name engraved across—Adelaide. Henry knew of an Adele and Adelia—even an Adeline, but the name Adelaide was one not yet introduced to his memory bank.

The sun began to set and Henry decided to retire for the day after spending hours in an attempt to restore the peculiar tombstone. He managed to pull up all the weeds and trim the area around it, but the crack was beyond repair.

The following morning, after his daily rounds, Henry walked along the outskirts of White Oak cemetery to find the gravestone of Adelaide. But something was not the same as before. One of the letters that were so deeply etched into the dark stone had vanished. The last letter of the name was completely gone, as though it had never existed. Sure, the name would still sound the same, even with the missing vowel, but it was unlike Henry to ever misspell a name.

Henry brought this phenomenon to the funeral director’s attention, who laughed at the idea, then checked his books to come to the eerie discovery that no one by the name of Adelaide had ever come to White Oak cemetery. The funeral director was sceptical, and though he knew Henry was not the type for tomfoolery, still asked to be taken to the grave site. So they travelled to the outskirts of the cemetery and just as Henry had said, there lay the crooked headstone.

Henry looked over at the funeral director, surprised to see that his expression was not what he expected. The director didn’t seem shocked to see that there was a grave all alone at the periphery of the churchyard. Sure, the true peculiarity of it all was that a letter had vanished, but the funeral director was not witness to this and Henry chalked the whole incident up to a silly misspelling.

It wasn’t until the next morning that Henry was certain he made no mistake. Another letter was now missing from the stone. The funeral director was in awe, and being a man with a strong curiosity for the great beyond, was eager to know what was to come. He instructed Henry to document the strange events happening at the cemetery. He had hoped that within this evidence, they could unravel the mystery of the vanishing letters. And so day by day, Henry and the funeral director marvelled at the odd, crooked stone, photographing the strange phenomenon, and watching as one by one, a letter from dear Adelaide’s name disappeared in reverse until only a blank slate remained.

Henry was fearful what would happen next, hoping that his name would not be engraved into the mysterious stone the following day. He did not sleep that night and instead found himself nervously examining the photographs, certain that nothing good could come from the grave.

Early the next morning, before the funeral director arrived, Henry decided to walk to the outskirts of White Oak cemetery to see the grave of Adelaide. But to his surprise he could not find the tombstone. He circled the cemetery grounds multiple times, but the mysterious stone had vanished, just as the letters had. Henry knew this was no act of theft or vandalism for the graveyard grounds remained undisturbed.

He quickly phoned the funeral director who was not pleased to be awoken so early. Henry frantically explained to him that the grave of Adelaide was now gone. He explained how he searched the grounds as thoroughly as he could but to no avail, the stone was nowhere to be found—vanished without a trace. But the funeral director’s response was not what he expected.

“Adelaide?” he questioned.

It took about five minutes within Henry’s frantic explanation to realize the funeral director had no recollection of Adelaide, or the mystifying gravestone—as if the disappearance of the stone also took all thoughts and memories along with it. “But the photographs!” Henry thought to himself, desperately patting down his coat pockets. Henry pulled the polaroids from his jacket, only to reveal that they were nothing more than pictures of an empty plot of grass—that by some twisted, supernatural feat, the gravestone of Adelaide managed to erase those as well.

But Henry was not one to ever forget a name, and every day, after his rounds, wondered if the body of Adelaide had vanished along with the stone—or if it was still buried somewhere in the outskirts of White Oak cemetery.

—
Credits to: Robotsynthesis (terror-tortellini.tumblr.com)

Toxins

Daniel Cranston was the oddball of the neighborhood—the one that never ventured too far from his house or stopped for a chat. His sightings were on the verge of a rarity, and the only time people were ever really reminded of his existence was when he would be outside tending to his lawn. The few who did know him would say he was unhealthily fixated with that perfect plot of grass, and that if his behavior were ever properly diagnosed, it would read as borderline obsessive compulsive.

Other than the town grocer, Daniel often took to the local hardware store to rummage through the gardening center. It had been his fifth trip this week, but today was different. Today he would purchase a new product—“Bug-B-Gone.” The new formula had just been released and he was more than eager to try it out.

“You’ve bought enough of this stuff to wipe out all the bugs in town,” the clerk chuckled nervously as he looked at Dan with a slight hint of concern on his face.

“It’s okay,” replied Daniel flatly. “It’s not like the bugs matter anyway.”

The idea of a bug free lawn had Daniel smiling from ear to ear as he practically jumped out of his car upon entering the driveway. He immediately went to the yard and started spraying like a madman—his eyes and smile growing wider as he saw the insects turn over on their backs. Passers-by were fearful as they witnessed Daniel’s maniacal behavior and kept their distance, watching from across the street, behind closed windows. Dan would sleep well tonight.

After hours of thoroughly inspecting his lawn, Daniel retired to bed feeling accomplished—but his thoughts were quickly interrupted by a small chirp, similar to that of a cricket. His eyes opened wide as he traced the sound back to his bedroom window. It was there that he noticed a small beetle-like object clinging to the outside of the pane. Daniel was furious, immediately running to the garage to get his beloved Bug-B-Gone. But as he walked downstairs, he heard the familiar sound once again, only this time much louder, as if it were right behind the front door. He slowly pressed his ear against the cold oak and was instantly bombarded with the loud and unrelenting chirping. Panicked, he quickly ran to his bedroom and stayed there, frantically covering his ears from the unbearable cacophony of insects.

Daniel sat there until dawn, half awake with hands firmly pressed against his ears. It wasn’t until the light from outside hit him that he realized the noise had stopped. Still in his pyjamas, Daniel quickly made his way to the car and drove himself straight to the hardware store where he picked up every brand of bug spray available. The cashier made a quick remark, but Daniel paid no attention. Instead, he threw his credit card on the counter and hurriedly wheeled his shopping cart out the door. All he could think about was getting home and trying out the deadly cocktail of new poisons.

He then began spraying, covering his entire lawn in a thick cloud of fumes. The vapours were hard to endure, as the neighborhood children coughed and gagged upon passing by, but Daniel was not phased by the insufferable toxins, and continued to spray until he was sure nothing could possibly survive.

That night Daniel went to bed with a satisfied grin on his face. But as he began to drift off, he was awoken by a strange, sweet-smelling substance in the air. Daniel followed the scent to the window, and sitting there, clinging to the inside of the pane, was the same beetle-like object from the night before. Daniel raised his hand in anger to squash the mysterious pest when suddenly, the honeyed fragrance grew stronger, causing Daniel to become lightheaded and dizzy.

Daniel stumbled around before falling hard on his bedroom floor. And right before blacking out, watched as thousands of insects emerged from the vents, all spraying that same strange, sweet-smelling substance.

—
Credits to: Roader (terror-tortellini.tumblr.com)

The God Drug

Since the discovery of Dimethyltryptamine, countless clinical trials have been put into action to gain further knowledge on what people refer to as, “The God Drug.” Scientists have seen various results from DMT, ranging from mild hallucinations to full blown near death experiences. Test subjects have claimed that while under the influence of the drug, they were sent to alternate dimensions or given the ability to speak to animals or other worldly beings.

However, the most interesting and bizarre cases stemming from the drug were those of the “faceless man.” Scientists have learned that when given a specific dose of DMT, test subjects would have hallucinations similar to mild trips; however, all subjects would also report witnessing a faceless man who they were unable to communicate with. Because DMT is known to cause such various experiences, the discovery of a consistent vision within test subjects was an extraordinary revelation.

In 2007, a scientist by the name of Ralph Leighty continued studies with DMT, giving his test subjects the same dose as those who had seen the faceless man in previous trials. Before allowing the patients to receive the dose, he left with them colour pencils and paper and asked them to draw whatever they experienced. All subjects, unknowingly, drew the same image of the faceless man. Most drew him appearing somewhere in the distance of their visions while others drew him very close, or hovering overhead, but all depicted the same character.

In March, 2008, a female test subject began experiencing extreme, abnormal behavior. She claimed that she continued to see the faceless man while off the drug, in her dreams and while awake. She reported feeling a deep sense of disturbance while in his presence but could not comment on anything further. The following month she committed suicide and any further clinical trials dealing with that specific dose of the drug were cancelled.

Some people have theorized that since the drug re-enacts near death experiences, that the faceless man could possibly be God. Others have said that the man is someone that we are not allowed to know of. Some believe that his appearance in multiple test subjects was purely coincidental. The identity of the faceless man remains unknown to this day.

—
Credits to: Robotsynthesis (terror-tortellini.tumblr.com)

The Lost Children of Fairfield

In the small town of Fairfield, Pennsylvania, during the summer of 1989, seven random couples reported their new-born children missing. The parents claimed that they put their babies to bed and awoke the next morning to an empty crib with no signs of intrusion. The police were baffled by the disappearances, unable to find any witnesses to interview. The news of the disappearances launched the town into turmoil and fear and caused a media sensation promoting a new ad campaign known today as the Fairfield Lost Children Campaign. By the end of the year, with no leads or witnesses, the cases were ruled cold.

The following year, on June 23rd, a nurse working at the Fairfield Veteran’s Hospital called police to examine a tin box she had found taped beneath the bed of one of the rooms. The box contained ten different x-ray films, all of dismembered infants that matched the age category of the missing Fairfield children. Though there was no hard evidence that the films belonged to the missing children, one x-ray in particular showed an infant with dextrocardia, a congenital defect which was present in one of the families’ babies. After closer examination of the films, noticeable anatomical differences were seen within each body, totalling to a body count of ten infants, though three parents did not step forward to report the disappearances. Investigations continued for three more years before being closed as a cold case, yet again.

On April 28th, 2007, an elderly woman named Nadine Kelly called police on multiple occasions to report the sounds of babies crying in the forest behind her home. She claimed that the moment she spoke to the operator, the cries would cease. When police found no evidence of children in the woods, Mrs. Kelly decided to investigate herself. She said that when she heard the cries again, she left her house and followed them into a clearing in the woods where she believed the sounds were the loudest. Terrified, she marked the trees in the area with red spray paint and ran home to call the police. The next morning, the skeletons of ten infants, seven which belonged to the missing Fairfield children, were found buried beneath the soil in the location that Mrs. Kelly had marked. The placement of the bodies led police to believe that the children were used in some sort of ritual killing. The skeletons were buried with the clothing the infants had on the night of their disappearance.

No evidence has been found to determine the persons responsible for the kidnapping and gruesome murder of the ten children. And though the bodies were found, the residents of the town still refer to the victims as the Lost Children of Fairfield.

—
Credits to: Robotsynthesis (terror-tortellini.tumblr.com)

Enraged with Fear

Enraged with fear, I sit impatiently staring at the clock. As every second ticks on, I shake even more. I’m awaiting the instructions that never seem to come. I glance at my cell phone, at the clock, then back at the phone.

He was supposed to call five minutes ago, but he hasn’t yet.

She’s waking up. She was supposed to be gone by now! She’s starting to scream through the tape. This went on for what seemed like forever. I begged her to stop, but she wouldn’t. She was making me lose focus.

Finally, just as I was about to snap, the ever so familiar ring tone “Come on Eileen”, started playing. I knew it. “Too-ra-loo-ra-ay.”, I sang along.

I knew he wouldn’t leave me in a time like this. I needed him. I needed him to tell me what to do. He gave me clear instructions.

I grabbed the handsaw and severed her head. Blood went everywhere. I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect any of this, really. It was never a thought. I just got the call, and I did as I was told. I wrapped her head in clear plastic wrap, and put it in a cooler filled with ice.

As soon as I closed the lid to the cooler, containing her cranium, the police broke down my door. They didn’t give warning or anything. They just broke down the door and came rushing in. One of them saw the body, then saw the cooler. He looked at me with evil eyes. I was so confused, and I must have looked like it, considering the look he gave me afterwards. He slowly opened the cooler, while the others stood staring at me, with their guns pointed at my chest. Once the cop caught sight of what lay beneath the lid, he gasped and stumbled back.

He looked at me, with that evil look again, “Book ‘em!”, he yelled to his comrades.

”No! No! He told me to do this! It was him! He made me do it!!”, I pleaded with them.

They started to mirandize me. They weren’t listening to me. Why weren’t they listening to me?!

”Check my phone! Check the last number that called! It’s him. He made me do it!!!”, I pleaded with them, again, almost crying.

I guess they were just trying to get me to shut up, but they appeased me and looked.

It was the cop who looked in the cooler, that looked at the cell phone. He looked at the other cops and nodded to them. They started putting hand cuffs on me.

”NO! What the hell? What are you doing? Don’t you see the number!?”, I asked, yelling, while trying to break free from their grasp.

He shoved the phone in my face, and yelled, “The last phone call you got was over two years ago!”

He grabbed my shirt collar, and pulled me close to his face. “I’m gonna take you down, sicko!”, he said in a low grunt. ”Get this fucker out of my sight!”, he yelled to his team.

The next thing I remember was waking up here, in this room. It’s not so bad, I guess. I get a bed, food, and a toilet. They won’t let me out, though. I don’t know why. I wonder whatever happened to that girl…I ask about her, but they just look at me with disgust.

—
Credits to: Courtney W. © (http://x2k5a7yx.tumblr.com/)