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We Can't Bear the Thought of Losing You 1053 words 8.1 minutes
My wife and I waited to die. That's what parents do when their kid is a blessed one: they die.
This series of events has played out multiple times in the past: The blessed one forms a bond with their teachers and friends, and eventually, will learn how to overcome the evil that left them an orphan.
Clara and I preferred to leave this world a swift and painless way. Being struck by a powerful dark magic spell, for instance, or a sharp axe to the neck. If we are unfortunate, then we might perish slowly in the hands of a villain as they try to syphon vital knowledge about our child.
I lifted stones every morning since Clara was pregnant with Bailey. I exercised to stay in shape, but over time my practice allowed me to become the neighborhood’s strongman. Could my strength thwart fate? No, but it would at least allow me to knock out several of her teeth.
My daughter’s school headmaster was the first to give us the awful news.
“The academy’s staff decided your daughter’s potion and alchemy crafting abilities stretch beyond exceptional. In fact, the school nurse frequently uses dozens of her remedies,” he said.
Clara and I smiled. Our little girl was going to better the realm.
The headmaster continued, “I must advise, our current king is not well. Rubbish politics plagued the court with each chancellor trying to off another for his favor. One proposed a blessed child will lead a rebellion against the throne. At first, the king chuckled at the thought that such a child would be present in his lifetime, but he grew worried after the idea baked into his mind. He now hunts children who boasts any skills that may cause a threat to his reign.”
“Do you believe she’s gifted enough to be blessed?” I asked.
The headmaster nodded.
“Outside her talent, Bailey is close to a small group of diverse friends. They will aid her as she grows up and overcomes life’s woes. Including our power hungry king, your daughter owns the ingredients to become the next blessed child. All except for one.”
Clara and I pouted.
“Is there any way that part can be left out?” Clara asked.
The headmaster frowned. “Fate is steered by the Higher Grace, and not once has He allowed the parents to live in this scenario.”
Clara teared up and clenched my hand. “We don’t want to die. We’ve talked about hiking mountains and seeing plays. My husband has always wanted to learn martial arts, and I’ve wanted to learn how to play the viola. People believe parenthood is a finish line – that their entire life is wholly tethered to their child. But that’s far from the truth, we have our own dreams in addition to raising Bailey.”
“I understand how you feel,” the headmaster said but we argued that statement. The old man owned more decades than most people in the kingdom. He’s lived a feast, but as a young couple, Clara and I had only eaten samples.
The old man allowed us lash out against his news. He spoke after we grew fatigue from crying.
“As you know, other’s will be in dangers way until you two perish. But there is a way to keep them safe until you fulfill your fate.”
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The headmaster had a cabin built for us a few miles outside a secluded town. That way, there would be less collateral damage to nearby citizens if the king raided our new home.
It took living near the small village for five years before Clara and I felt comfortable enough to loosen our parenting grip. We enrolled Bailey in a local school two miles west. We knew and trusted the community to raise her after our encounter with fate.
Clara and I took shelter in our cabin when our daughter attended school. We expected that would be the prime moment for the king to strike. Our child would discover her home set ablaze with our charred bodies trapped inside. She’d weep and scream curses to the Higher Grace, and after many years, she’d avenge our death. Her life story was as predictable as a simple math equation.
Every night, we awaited our daughter to return home. The waiting became the hardest part during the short days of winter. The absent sun exasperated boredom. I practiced the Oxen Way – a defensive martial arts tailored for people who excelled in strength than agility – to pass the time. Clara taught herself how to play the viola. Horribly, that is. Every note emitted a high frequency scream as if Clara’s hands caused the instrument pain.
One evening, Clara went to the front window and strained her eyes.
“Is there a festival tonight? There’s a strange sliver of orange glowing over the town,” she said.
A sinking feeling in my chest appeared. Sweat formed on my forehead. I rushed towards the front door and stepped outside. I looked closer at that distant orange stain. It wasn’t accompanied by music, cheering, or any joyous sounds.
There was only silence.
My god, did we do this all wrong? I thought to myself.
I ran westward; Clara followed with a medicine kit. We reached the town in thirty minutes, but we were too late. Deceased bodies scattered around pillaged buildings. The king's frayed banners stood tall on top of ashes.
I screamed my daughter’s name but only produced a whisper. I drew in a short breath and continued running towards the school.
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Clara bawled when she saw me carry Bailey’s limp body. She took out the medicine kit and scrambled to apply our daughter’s handmade miracles, but it was too late. Bailey had passed for some time now. Her remedies were meant for the unwell, not the dead.
Clara and I wept for the rest of the night. When the sun rose, we were the ones who cursed the Higher Grace. When has an evil king slayed a blessed child? Why did Bailey have to be the first? The idea of my daughter passing never crossed my mind. It was a thought too heavy for me to carry.
We left the village and hiked our way back to our cabin. Like us, it physically remained unscathed.

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Quick note, I use 12800 dpi so that is why there is a sens multiplier. Use 1 if you have 1600 dpi. The low point of the sens starts at 57.727 cm/360 aka a 1.5 sens in OW.
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I have used mouse accl fairly regularly for nearly 2 years. I turn it off every once in a while for a good stretch of time and seem to always come back to it. I don't believe mouse accl is some secret to good aim as a preface. Actually I believe the opposite, for 99% of players, it will make your aim shit. See the way mouse accl works, sure it can magnify the good in your aim, but also it can magnify the bad. Jitters in your aim, with accl they will be amplified. A bad flick is now so wide its unbelievable. But if you have good aim, you can have quick corrections, and smoothing, and ROM all at the same time.
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I started with the typical approach to try to make accl feel as close to a fixed sens as possible. I used offsets, 2 level type curves, slow to accl curves, etc. What I found though is that you need to embrace the accl to actually see benefits. A natural gain curve feels the best, utilizing that extra rom by starting with a super low sens, but also not pushing the curve too wide from the slowest to fastest. You need to adapt your aim to work with accl. Some adaptations I noticed.
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1.) I heavily rely on smoothing and control to make accl work.
2.) My swipes push towards the max speed I can physically manage, this is actually a good form of laziness. You learn that if you want to put the least effort in total, you really need to make speedy swipes. This is great for your aim.
3.) Again noting that the difference between a the max and mins of the curve is not too wide. Wide curves CAN work but it becomes hard to really feel the curve's shape and intuitively aim with it. Usually just a little widening of the range of effective sens is enough.
4.) Flicks are completely doable on a curve. I have 3 main aim styles. Plant shooting where its all about the click and minimal movements. Soft tracking where the flick that you then have to make is small. Or sharp flicks. Sharp flicks are harder to master. You saturate the top of the curve but what I find is again the faster you reach that, the better. An oddity in my approach is that I also press into my mouse pad are counter tense my muscles to really stop and go into the slow part of the curve at the end of the flick. I feel you need a high level of visual acuity to make this work. I see or sense the amount I have wide flicked and then see the shot at it slows down so that I can click at the right time or micro adjust the end portion to make a shot.
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That is pretty much all there is too it. Precision when you need it, speed when you don't.

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Humans are Weird – Lava

“So the commander of the central flight wants to make a formal ceremony of the act of gratitude,” Forty-five Clicks informed the human who was busily strapping something onto his legs. “He-“
Forty-five Clicks stopped speaking as he realized exactly what the human had been trying on. Just to make sure he flew up to the top of the backpack the human was loading and chirped in, sounding the fragrant depths.
“Why are you packing up this personal heat shielding?” Forty-five Clicks demanded.
He wasn’t sure why all the fur on his body stood on end but by the gum of the mother tree he had learned to trust that instinct.
“I need it to get the samples,” the human replied cheerfully.
Forty-five Clicks wasn’t one to perch on ceremony, even by the loose standards of his people. He leapt up and threw all of his forty grams of mass in the face of the human and dug his winghooks into the soft flesh under the human’s ears. This let him glare furiously into one of the cavernous pupils of the larger mammal.
“What. Samples?” Forty-five Clicks demanded.
“Of the lava,” the human said quickly. “Hey, winghooks man.”
“Why?” Forty-five Clicks pressed.
“For fun,” the human replied.
“Where are you going to get lava from?” Forty-five Clicks demanded as slowly as he could.
“That volcano that just popped,” the human replied, gesturing in what Forty-five Clicks assumed was meant to be the direction of the former mountain.
It wasn’t. How did they survive in nature on their own the poor directionless things?
“The volcano,” Forty-five Clicks said. “The one that nearly killed three flights. The one that took down not only our silverwing atmospheric flyers but also one of your near indestructible helicopters. The one that utterly destroyed hectares of land. The one that is currently spewing ash, gas, and liquid magma.”
“It isn’t magma after it gets to the surface!” The human insisted.
Forty-five Clicks groaned and loosed the human. He slid down the human’s chest until he was caught in the broad hand. The hand that was covered in scars so thick any one of them would have utterly incapacitated his wings, and a fresh cut that he knew the human had gained in the rescue operation. Forty-five Clicks sighed and rubbed his eyes.
“You are not going to collect magma-“
“Lava.” The human corrected hopefully.
“Lava samples from the volcano.” Forty-Five Clicks said as firmly as he could. “For fun.”
“And why not?” demanded the human.
“I just can’t right now,” Forty-five Clicks said. “Just go ask the commander.”
“Will do then,” the human said cheerfully as he set off.
Forty-five Clicks flew up and passed over the backpack once again. He glared at the thermal armor. He had assumed it was only for rescue missions. His mistake.
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Humans are Weird – Trees are for Climbing

Seven Trills fluttered along the outdoor recreation area just over the soft green groundcover as he listened to his assistant. The larger Winged was going over the list of guests that would be attending the opening of the new consulate. Seven Trills tried to pay attention but the scorching heat of Sol was stinging his sensory horns dreadfully. He wondered how his assistant was ignoring it. He angled himself over to one of the solitary trees the humans kept in the area hoping for shade. His assistant followed willingly and Seven Trills soon perched on an exposed root in the clear area around the trees base.
“And I think it would be best if we instituted a general search protocol to avoid insult to the delegate.” His assistant said.
“Oh yes, yes,” Seven Trills replied.
His assistant was annoyingly, persistently right about these things. The protective shade provided by the tree was suddenly disturbed by a movement in the branches over head and both Seven Trills and his assistant angled their eyes up to see what had made the disturbance in the oppressively still air.
“Is that a human?” Seven Trills asked.
“Is that human spying on us?” his assistant demanded.
Seven Trills heaved a sigh and took flight. His assistant followed.
“How would he know we would come to this tree?” Seven Trills asked.
“Ping,” the assistant granted him.
They had now reached the human and any question was put to rest. The human had braced his massive form against the trunk and branches and was blissfully sleeping away. His arms were sprawled over other branches. Seven Trills grabbed a handy perch and swung down to a resting position. His assistant joined him shortly.
“I don’t think we should risk waking him,” his assistant said in a tone they had determined humans couldn’t hear.
“A fall from this height would be disastrous for a human,” Seven Trills said.
What the human was doing here at all was the question.
“I checked the duty roster against his name,” the assistant said after a moment spent working at his tablet. “This human is in a rest and recreation period but due to the increased security he can’t leave the base.”
“Bored humans,” Seven Trills suggested.
“The base has more entertainment options than any of the surrounding communities,” his assistant pointed out.
At this point the human’s heart rate accelerated in the way that usually proceeded waking and both Winged fell silent. The human twitched, stretched, and yawned. His eyes opened revealing interwoven blue and green irises contrasting his deep black pupils. The colorful muscles dilated and contracted a few moments before he focused on them.
“Hey,” the human said, pulling his lips up in a smile.
“Greetings,” Seven Trills said. “Perhaps you can satisfy our curiosity.”
“Sure?” the human replied.
“What are you doing up here?” the assistant demanded.
The human glanced down at the ground far below and then up at him. He face seemed to pass between confusion and curiosity a few times and then he showed all of his teeth.
“Trees are for climbing little friend. Trees are for climbing.”