I’ve been backing up some files and I’m paranoid that my files are being securely transferred.

What software do you recommend for uploading files via ftp, uploading clients to the internet?

A retailer needs to check for credit approval and social security and other such things. Is there any website that can handle this type of information securely? Before a retailer can send any free phone, a retailer needs to check for approval first if buyer is eligible.

I want to create a program that among other things.. will need to send a email containing sensitive info. I will most likely will be using gnupg for encryption, but want the email to be sent securely (through ssl/tls). I want the program to be as small as possible, so if i could do this with a batch script(or something like that) that would be ideal! However if not, is there a very small and very secure client that i could use?

I am trying to SECURELY send videos to my husband while he is away on deployment. They are too large to email, I would prefer not to have to pay anything, but I don’t want to download them onto youtube and have everyone see them. Does anyone know of a site you can download privately onto or an email account that handles large files? I tried photobucket but it didn’t work. Thank you!

It’s school HWK, I won’t bother putting my age down, just tell me, do you like it? It’s long and complicated so I won’t dare bore you with it all, ^^)

Thanks, x
Fear. What exactly is it? Everybody has felt a moment in their lives where they really are stuck for words – speechless, gobsmacked, whatever. Does one really know the cause of such anguish, why their adrenal glands actually secrete adrenaline into their blood stream, sending their bodies into ‘survival’ mode? Happiness is one of a small handful of feelings to be cherished during any one lifetime, others? Hmm, pleasure, love, passion. So why is it that fear, a measly feeling such as fear, has the longest lasting effects? Sure, everybody remembers the good times, when kids could run around in their own neighbourhood, shouting wildly at one another. Having the time of their lives. Until fear sets in. One summer’s day, an idiot, one moronic idiot thought, “What’s the harm in taking one of these ****** down to the woods and playing a few games, huh?” Oh, now everybody remembers that. The bad shall always outweigh the good, no matter how much of a good time you’ve enjoyed. One of life’s stories I learnt the hard way.

And as I stand here, gasping for breath; memories of the one I love, the one that shall always truly need me no matter what, the same being I cradled in my arms the day she was born – I feel sick to the bone. How could I have let this happen? Surely this is none other’s fault. I promised myself, my wife, and my daughter that they’d never be alone.

The sweet scent already faded, I clasp her pillow case to my chest, cradling it there. Sitting in this bare room, the walls loom so greatly over me. Walls I’ve put up in an effort to seize the flow of my emotions. I stand, feet rooted to the ground, and look around. That all too familiar mustery feel lingers in the air – the one that keeps you securely in that ever-lasting time warp of commotion. One could compare it to the opening of a very old box, being unable to close it so one loiters there, unwillingly but all the while intrigued. Her room: pink, bubbly, full of life and happiness. I begin to rummage in her draws, oh damn it, what’s the point anymore? There isn’t a secret key hidden between her favourite magazines, is there? The key doesn’t unlock a secret door in her panelling, does it? It won’t reunite me with my little girl. In all my efforts, can I truly call her that, “my little girl”? They grow up, all we are; apart from being their “annoyingly embarrassing parents” are their free rides to adulthood.

But hey, there’s no tellin’ what fate has in store for you, who thought that I’d be the one left in this world. Being the ‘father at home,’ I’ve let a lot of people down in my time. I’m on the winding path of trying to make amends. It seems as if life isn’t going my way. Failure, after failure, after failure; a very short sentence that sums me up very well. Now, I’m not one to believe in some sort of eternal being whether it be Buddha or that Jewish God, Adonai, though I’d once. I must admit these past few years I’ve been seeking out some sort of guidance, from whom? I don’t know, that lady up in heaven? Perhaps, silly.

The phone rings that melodic hum encouraging me to pick up, I check the caller ID, Kim: my sister. I let it go into voice mail, listening to my cheery voice asking the caller to leave a message, promising that I’d get back to them ASAP.

“Kyle, Kyle. Answer my calls, I know you’re there. You mustn’t blame yourself,” she says, as Claudia pretends she’s a fire-fighter – she just doesn’t understand.

CHAPTER ONE
I was aware that I was on my back, sprawled out like a bug, and my head ached like hell. Groaning, I propped myself up on my hands; I felt fake grass underneath. I pulled my knees up to my chest and lay my head between them, rubbing my temples. I finally reopened my eyes.
It was like being in some freaky dream. There were no walls as far as I could see, which wasn’t far, considering all I could see was darkness. It was the strangest thing. There was a light a few steps away from me, which I looked up at-the light hurt my eyes it was so bright-and found it came from a flat light bulb. I couldn’t see the sides or back of it; it was like the bulb was floating in space, pointing directly at me. It lit up a little circle of area around me, and I was indeed on fake green grass. I stood up, feeling fragile.
Very few thoughts went through my head. I knew I should be worried, questioning why I was there, what this place was, how to get out, how I got there; but I just couldn’t bring myself to hold any thought too securely. I kept drifting back into mental silence, a dream-like state. Maybe it was a dream, I decided, and for the moment my worries ceased. So I stood there, motionless for a moment or two.
It was then that I realized how silent it truly was.
I wasn’t breathing.
A bolt of shock flashed through me and I desperately tried to inhale. Nothing happened. I looked down at my torso, and had I been able, I would have screamed. There was dry blood all over me. I frantically clawed my shirt up and saw three bullet holes. I realized there was no pain, but I was not about to touch them. I felt my back, my hands shaking uncontrollably, and snatched my hand back away when I felt that the holes went all the way through. My eyes hurt because I couldn’t cry, but I still tried to, tried to scream. I was shaking all over, and pulled my jeans up as far as I could get them. I found no comfort in my chest being the only wound I held out my arms, felt through my hair, ran my hands down my neck, checked everything in a hysterical, silent, blur. I was bruised all over.
I fell to my knees, flailing my arms around, hitting the ground, helpless to the situation. It was torture not to be able to scream, cry, or even try to calm myself with deep breathing. I put my hands over my eyes, unable to stop my entire body from twitching with fear and shock. This couldn’t be real.
How was I still alive? A horrible thought kept trying to claw its way into my head but I wouldn’t let it in. Wouldn’t let myself think it.
When did this happen? I couldn’t have been shot. When was I shot? I wasn’t. But I had the wounds. Are they even real? I paused. I clung to that question in my head. Held it tight, for all hope.
They weren’t real. I was trying to convince myself. They didn’t hurt so it wasn’t real. I’m not breathing. How am I not breathing! Of course I’m breathing.
I’m not breathing. My heart is not beating.
I swallowed. Thank god.
I can’t swallow if I’m…I wouldn’t let the thought in. I tried to swallow again. Nothing happened. No! I tried again. I had no more spit.
I took my hands off my eyes and looked at my shirt again. I sent another wave of fear through me. I bent forward, testing myself. There was no pain.
I rubbed my eyes. They sill hurt. If I wasn’t producing saliva I wouldn’t be producing more tears. I’d have to keep that in mind. Close my eyes whenever I remembered. Keep them moist.
What was I thinking? I’m alive. I’m alive. I looked at my shirt again, this time trying to see it as fake blood. It looked really real. Like a scary movie. And it was a white shirt, so my blood-the fake blood, I corrected myself-stood out. My whole body shivered. My leg wouldn’t stop twitching. But I was still clinging to the only hope I could think of. This was a cruel joke. Of course I’m alive. Of course I’m breathing, producing saliva and tears. Of course this wasn’t my blood. I didn’t even remember getting shot.
I held my shirt out so I could see through the three holes. It didn’t look like someone cut them out with scissors.
I didn’t remember this happening. I stopped short.
I didn’t remember anything. Absolutely nothing, before today. Was it day? I rubbed my eyes again. I think they were getting dry. My head was still throbbing. I desperately wished I was dreaming. My back ached, too. This wasn’t a dream.
It was a horrifying, horrifying reality. And then the thought found a way in. I didn’t want it to, but it did.
I am dead.
I started screaming again, though nothing came out. My thoughts were incoherent. I stood violently and staggered towards the light. It stayed the same distance from me. I ran at it. I jumped. I am dead.
I don’t know how long passed until I became calm. Very, very calm, sitting on my shins, my hands folded, head drooped.
I felt numb. I wondered if this was what being in a state of shock was like.
My life didn’t flash before my eyes. I couldn’t remember anything from it. Maybe that
how can i have the sentences go better with eachother? and ya i noticed that too. i wasn’t trying too hard to make it flow yet, more get the idea in my head out first
CONTINUED

My life didn’t flash before my eyes. I couldn’t remember anything from it. Maybe that was good, in a way. I had nothing to regret, to miss. What was my name? I pulled my hair foreword so I could see it. It was a little longer than shoulder length, and a deep reddish brown. It didn’t bring back any memories.
I wanted a mirror. I wondered what color my eyes were. I probably looked pretty terrible, though. I was dead. Murdered. Three bullets to the chest. Was I murdered? It could have been *******. No, I was bruised. I’d been beaten then, too, I surmised. I didn’t even cringe at the thought. Someone killed me. Why? Was I a bad person?
I decided to stop thinking about my death. Death. The word was losing its meaning.
I started walking. I didn’t know where, but it was better than sitting wondering who I’d been. The light followed me. Or was I just not moving? Enough questions. My head hurts.

^^and that’s where chapter one ends. sorry. didnt realize it got cut off
thanks!!!

and bookworm, are you saying i leave the ending ‘Or am I just not moving?’? because i feel like it needs atleast one more kinda closing sentence after that.

question’s open to anyone! should i change the ending? if so, to what?