Marionette Strings: A We Happy Few Story

Corridors, Downers, and Other Fun Things

You never realize how good it feels to have something out of your system until you've removed it entirely. Sally and Ofello explained the entire happenings to me. What took place after I took the Blackberry. Ofello explained I started to seize, so he had to sneak me out through the ventilation unit; which us being Constables, both towering at about 198 centimeters, was no easy feat. He got me to Sally who cleared my system with a crash syringe, flushing out every last ounce of Joy from body. Thus why I feel so good. Joy is supposed to act as a happy drug, but there's always this heavy cloud over your head; a shadow of doom that just follows you everywhere. Being off Joy, that feeling's gone. My head is clear for the first time in years and it's a beautiful thing. Although, the screams and echoes of the past definitely make life a little... less enjoyable. Now, I am in my office, but I do feel on edge. Sure, this is a supposed, sacred place for me to be safe. Something about the previous events, Holland and Turner in the hall... sends shivers down my spine.

On my desk in the center of my office, sits the file I was going through. The crime scene photos are sprawled on the desk and I gather everything in a neat pile before exiting my office. I head down the hall. I refer to it as the Hall of Solitude, Vince, on the other hand, calls it the Hall of Indisposable Constables. Sometimes I think he just wants to get me into his bed, not to say that hasn't worked before. Flattery, however, does not compensate for other things. The hall is far too long. If I weren't planning on leaving Wellington Wells altogether, I would complain to the architect about the length of this damned hallway. Seriously, I reckon I can write at least three paragraphs (including this one) of thought processes. I'm not talking those moronic three to five sentences that you fuckers try to get away with for essays. No, no, no, I'm talking heavy ten to fifteen sentences. Long sentences, ones as long as this hallway.

So, I've got two paragraphs left, haven't I. Now, the history of hallways is long and tarried. Now, corridors are a very common thing, yes; but, did you know corridors didn't even become common until the 17th century. Crazy, right? Now, they're common, but it's not until the 19th century that they became used more often. Hallways are thought to be originally built to help transportation for workers in buildings and, I must say, it's very effective. They're also used as a sense of privacy (prih-vah-see), used to eliminate having to go through other rooms to get to one room. Therefore, reducing the amount of times you walk in on embarrassing scenes in one's bedroom. These days, corridors are quite the common occurrence, most if not all buildings have at least one for their layout.

Well, now that I've wasted your time on that paragraph (assuming I still have your attention), I get to waste your time on another one. I do believe you signed up for this when you were scrolling through this site and saw the book. You were probably thinking something crazy, like: "Wow, a We Happy Few story?! Awesome!!" Or maybe you were thinking: "I have no fucking idea what the hell this is, but I'm about to read it." Now, whatever the case may be, you've read through this much of it. Or maybe you just skimmed over stuff until you saw that I was cursing and decided you should read it. I'm an Englishman, what do you actually expect? However you stumbled upon this book, I'm glad you're here. Also, be aware that I'm not speaking directly to you, but literally every person who's reading this. You're not special.

The end of the hall! I suppose I was correct, wasn't I?

The end of the hall is no more welcoming than the end. Is any part of a corridor welcoming? I reckon it isn't at all. Hallways feel so lonely, if I'm being honest. Although, at this point, I'm more than certain you're sick of hearing me speak to you. I'll let this stop being so metta now.

"Constable Wright," Turner's voice worms its way into my head.

I turn around, face to face with the man who elicited Holland's demise. I take a step back, averting my eyes so I'm not caught off my Joy.