The BAWWWWW thread

Got any good pictures or stories that will bring tears to people's eyes? Post them here. The exact opposite of the funny pictures/video's thread.

I'll start off-



Do you remember me, Wolf?

I was 8 when I got you. You were so small. I was young but your head would fit into my hands. You were the cutest husky puppy I'd ever seen, with beautiful blue eyes. You looked at no one, no one but me. You were so scared when we got you. You sat there shivering, and I held you for the longest time. I swear, I thought you smiled at me. You had big paws for a puppy, I knew you were going to be a big dog. I named you Wolf.

I was 9 when they started arguing. I would sit in my room, you would sit there next to me. You'd push your nose against my arm when I was sad as if to say, "Cheer up, you'll always have me to protect you." Every time I heart them argue my eyes would fill up, you would never leave my side until they stopped. When I was laying in bed you would come and sit next to me, try to get me to play. I picked up one of your toys and tossed it across the room. You'd hop over playfully and swing it back in my direction. You were so smart and gentle, even though you didn't know many tricks.

I was 10 when things started to get violent. Awake in bed I watched you check on me every 30 minutes, circle my bed, then leave and sit at the top of the stairs. You would protect me from anything. I heart the drunken footsteps of him on his way to my room. "James! Get downstairs right now!" The door slammed open. I opened one eye, and there you were right next to me, your beautiful blue eyes fixed on him, one paw on my bed. You would never growl, never bark. Just stare at anyone who may want to hurt me.

When you were 12, you died. You fought for me. You locked me out so I was safe from him. You didn't want me to get hurt. You cared for me for 3 years, but in that time I have never loved anything more than I loved you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I could not protect you. I'm sorry I wasn't there fore you, James.

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Omg! I don't have any pictures or anything to share at the moment, but that was so sad!!!!! I really did get teary eyed. Okay, that's all I wanted to say...

(the goblin usually gets the purpose of the thread wrong, but if this is not right here, just delete it)


repost from elsewhere

the goblin on that day seemed to remember a time prier to that, when she put her cigarette down a second saying "...see, for all my smoking I don't get ill much, I fight it and, that way, each cold just turns into these..." as she had pointed to a few little inconspicuous lumps, and of course the goblin, if he was listening at all, had just casually taken it at face value, anyway, if she believed in it, it could well be true for her, besides, she just worked opposite him and the goblin had more important things to deal with, like learning the ropes and getting all that work done, though now on this particular day she was on maternity leave leaving the goblin with double the workload, while somewhere outside, part of that sunny London afternoon filtered into the the wide office which always seemed just as stuffy as it was busy, work mostly blinkered the goblin's senses away from all that though, no, here was a treadmill, and the deadline demanded attention, "...another booking flea, get to it, oh and be more careful this time..." the boss said handing over yet another telex written in a code predating the computer reading "16/06/82 15twb, 1swb, 2nts HB, Ramada" as the goblin would then off the date 16th June 1982, 15twin bedded rooms and a single bedded room, two nights, half board, in the Ramada hotel", "...right away..." the goblin replied as he first phoned the hotel to confirms things before sending a reconfirmation telex afterward, anyway loathing it, how he just hated his work, besides, he wasn't accepted there either, let alone appreciated, and all this would have, and should have just slipped into the goblin's memory by now, after all these years, save that the boss was talking on the telephone though all this noise, quite normally until after a minute or two into the conversation he thanked the caller replacing the receiver as if he was in slow motion, where turning he talked aloud, not so much to tell the goblin anything, more just to turn over in his mind what had happened again, saying "...that was the hospital, seems they had discovered a large tumor and had to operate, she's dead but the baby was saved...", the goblin's wife too, was pregnant at the time


57

from the goblin's dear all diary, 25th., November 1997

Dear all
The ticket still reads "Geneva-Bern Return" but the goblin didn't really want to go(while knowing he should protest) so he had said, "...hey, well I was too young for those Vietnam protest marches, in fact I've never protested in my life, sounds great(lying), well you know if you go I'll go with you...", etc., his excuse and exit ploy based on the fact that surely she wouldn't leave her book shop he had thought, the next scene is the two of them together with some others eating sandwiches heading towards Bern to protest the war, and yes, once there the mass sea of protesters reassured the goblin of his stance, yet even all that heated emotion couldn't hide the freezing cold of the day so the goblin gave up, returned to the warmth of Bern's station where boarding the train homewards alone he slipped the ticket into his pocket and slept soundly; a week later she was dead and her bookshop with her. Today, and so many years later, the ticket still conjures at her ghost who asks for nothing, "...it just was..." the ghost would say as she had said so often when there, somehow she was always like that the goblin remembered.

sin.,flea

56 "...hey don't drown before the boat sinks..." a line the goblin replied wondering if he was really saying that more for himself than for his mother on hearing her death-wish, somehow the worse moments was when she half knew, dementia ebbed away at her in waves of more and less awareness, and that awareness sometimes brought on despair, "...after all, you're looking so much better than last week...". "...am I...", she raised her hand toward him "...of course..." taking the hand firmly "...but you must drink more liquid..." said the goblin sensing that she was over it

repost from elsewhere, the lupusbots's "last post" thread

"...there is no thread on this whole wide Internet that I would rather read than this one then, oh and by now I am so many threads that it seems that there just isn't enough goblin to go round, but, when here, they all seem just chatter, or me being clever...." ventured the goblin, continuing "...no, here it's me listening, following each word of your posts for no other motive than you tell me something and I listen, and afterwards, an inner silence is returned to me each time I do, so the angel is not there to be nice, but perhaps her gift of sobriety is still a gift is it not, a taste of salt that helps one cede the superfluous here, same boat for us all xxxxx, but none of the other threads sees the boat like you lupusbots can, you pilot me then where we're no different, just that elsewhere sleeps on it seems..."

repost from lupusMCTD forum's "last post" thread, when it had an off topic section

the goblin often wondered how xxxxx and the lupusbots, could put up with him, but he liked it here, and them too, somehow the goblin needed to feel their courage, and take it for his own at times, for if they could "read on" then surely the goblin could "write on" with them then, "...well it's "the last person to post here wins" isn't it, and this site, together with this thread too is only for winners...." ventured the goblin knowing that winners needed something to win against, continuing "...and while one has this moment, which is after all, all that any of us really has anyway, one can't lose this game for one can always post back winning again, and again, and again, that is..." said the goblin ever sketching what he encountered, adding "...funny how this simple defiance of silence on my part, and of ones situation on your part, makes heroes of us all like this, who's for winning then..." asked the goblin as if already knowing the answer

"...we wish you a merry Christmas and a happy new year, good tiding we bring..." and on hearing that song now, the goblin was once more back at the Bookworm bookshop with the ghosts of his past, as the son stood by the counter and recalled, how he had received a postcard from someone who had died in the planecrash the day before, the mother, sat at the cashdesk, priced the books, and somehow, the goblin fitted as he hand-wrote his "dear all diary", or something else, wordless except for asking the spelling of something, until the droning carol music which had got on everyone's nerves there, had got to the goblin's too, so he paid his coffee, and started singing in tune "...we wish you a merry Syphilis and a happy Gonerear..." only to be "dirty looked" by the mother into silence who couldn't help herself bursting out laughing two seconds later, "...we are not the Red Cross you know..." she would say, but the bookshop was exactly that, and when she suddenly died a few years later this world collapsed, and within a year her son too, first having lost the battle to alcoholism, was found drowned in the river, so if they are reading this now their goblin friend misses them and his "dear all diary" should be theirs he feels

59) the goblin could see it coming, his mother in her 86th year had Alzheimer's and yet looking back it had been a fight worth waging for her. In fact he still thanked his wife and children for their understanding over those many months apart from them it had taken, that is, between its first state of simple forgetfulness on to that usual fully blown abusive state one sees rooted in someone not knowing who anyone was around them were. the goblin's nights had been long, he had had to make sure that she did not escape the house nor fall, meaning a watch that was each night every night. So between the goblin and his father they had gained his mother a year and half longer in her own home, and it was only until she had become featally incontinent too that they admitted defeat and placed her in a secure home. Looking back, his feelings were mixed, first off there were no regrets, he was happy at himself, he still is, and he had looked at this more as chance to say thank you to his mother than as any burden or bore, but he had also had to admit to himself that somewhere in all this his mother had already died, she was there and not there. Anyway if the goblin had to take a memory with him, it would be of almost the last time he saw her before he returned to Switzerland. You see hospitals in England are not allowed to restrain people and yet his mother would have only fallen if she tried to stand up, so they laid her back comfortably in a reclining chair in the sitting room while the goblin stroked her hand like a cat. "I want to sit up" she would ask, "in a moment" the goblin would reply knowing that it couldn't be, she would clasp the side of the chair, pull and then give up. "I want to sit up" again, the goblin felt like he was looking at someone drowning, "in a moment", again and again until that image stuck in flea's memory, it just seemed to sum up Alzheimer's for him

"...I couldn't help but be touched now, by someone else's post today..."explained the goblin, recalling that, during her looking out for pictures now, she had come across this one picture that had brought it all back to her, her losing the baby in the first week, those many years ago now, her little name, and the age she would be now, etc., so the goblin had quickly PMed her writing "somehow the illustrator's eye is a double edged sword it seems but still one that is better than remaining insensitive to pictures", in fact, she was probably the best picture finder the goblin knew of since only a true illustrator can see meaning in pictures where most people would just see like or dislike

Haven't posted in my thread for so long, sorry guys.

The cloaked man tipped his backbiter at the goblin, his face shielded by his mask of ice. "Your dedication is impressive." He said, smiling behind the cold exterior. "However, I believe those stories would have more effect if you told them without involving yourself so much into them. Just a thought." With that, he turned on the spot and vanished in a cloud of icy wind.

---

The last two years with my girlfriend had been perfect. We understood each other, loved each other, and took every opportunity to see each other. She told me, "I'll call you after work!" and I would nod, trusting her to do just that completely.

As the hours dragged by, I grew worried at the increasing silence as I began to glance at my quiet phone more frequently.

Her friend called me, his voice neutral as if he didn't know how I would react. There was a lot of noise in the backround.

It turns out she had been swimming with her friends. Living so close to the beach, it was not surprising. It was almost typical. I wouldn't have stopped her because we were around water all the time.

A rip tide had dragged her and another friend out to sea. They were separated after that, and the coast guard initiated a huge search. They found her friend.

She told me that as they struggled to stay afloat, she called my name repeatedly without stopping. Almost as if I could just reach that long distance to grab her hand. As she grew tired, she had started screaming my name, like I couldn't hear her. They were separated after that.

They found her body.

All that time, she had cried for me, and only me.

I will never love again.

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Here are some videos to keep this thread alive. You'd have to be rather heartless not to cry, though some of the scenes are over-dramatic.







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