Marionette Strings: A We Happy Few Story

How to be Out of Tune and Still Save the Day: Exclusive Edition

As I whoosh down the chute, lights pass me. I feel my heart pounding quickly with adrenaline. The air is strangely thick and smokey. It's a challenge to breathe, and I'm not just winded from the fall. I continue to fall for what feels like forever. My stomach is still back at the top of the slide and I'm pumped. I reach the bottom, landing on something soft. It crinkles beneath my movements. The air is thick and I cough as I try to breathe. The room is dimly illuminated by a dull red-orange glow coming from an adjacent room. I struggle to stand up, whatever I've landed on is slippery, but not wet. It must be some form of plastic. I roll off the pile of– whatever that is– and shamble to the archway where the dull glow is coming from. Sally and Ollie are sitting on the floor, staring warily across the way where a large fire is blazing. Why it was so hot... I take a seat behind them, staring at the fire as well.

"I'm running the numbers right now," Sally says, tenderly.

I relax my stance, the fire roaring and glowing in the distance. Ollie rifles through his bag, pulling out another syringe. He repeats the same process from earlier, stabbing himself in his forearm then throwing the syringe in front of him. Sally mumbles to herself a string of numbers as she adds up the statistics:

"One exit. Said exit is blocked by a fire. If we could get into the ventilation units, we could sneak into the testing facility. Chances of us getting burned, eighty-eight percent. Chances of us getting killed, seventy-four percent. Chances of the person we're searching for being alive, twenty-seven percent..."

She continues to rattle off the numbers. I stare at her as she works out the thoughts. I wish I were smarter. Jerry was always the smart one. I have the looks (and fashion sense), he has the brains. It's worked for this long, but I wish I were more independent. Ollie starts to grumble something to himself again.

"Margaret," he begins, "I'm sorry I couldn't 'ave been a better father to you. I'm probably going to be joining you soon. You and mom in that dollhouse in the sky. You always did love dolls, I think I'll bring you one."

I scoot away from them a moment, wishing I had a connection with something besides myself. For the first time ever, I decide to talk with myself. Perhaps a madman talks with himself, but a heartbroken one talks to his lost lover.

"I'm sorry I couldn't have saved you," I whisper to myself, "Jerry, I was never strong. At least not strong enough to help you. I'm such a failure to think I could've come in here to help. I'm... I'm sorry I lost you this way. I'm sorry I failed you."

I hang my head in remorse. So, we all sit there. Sally still running the numbers, Ollie talking to this Margaret from his head, and I? I'm sitting here, regretting everything I've done. I should've forced him to leave Wellington Wells. I didn't even want to go at first, did I? I wanted to stay, I wanted my Joy. I just want my boyfriend back. The feelings of regret and fear and something else, something I haven't felt in a while. Hope. Hope that maybe we can do something. But as the dull glow of the fire grows brighter and the air becomes thicker, it seems almost hopeless. Almost useless. Like me.

I'm about to give up entirely, tell Sally I'm done, that I'll just run into the fire, when there's a loud whirring noise, and even louder voices yelling over them. I sit up slightly, craning my neck to try to see what's making the noise. Through the smoke and fire, a large metal machine emerges. A Jubilator. Usually used to clean the streets of Wellington Wells. The large white body is scorched while the long tube (which strangely resembles an elephant's trunk) is sucking the smoke from the air up. The machine plays its distorted tune as it approaches us. Inside is one woman and two men. The men hop out without a thought or fear of being hurt meanwhile the woman climbs down daintly. Sally sits up taller, while the men join each other's side.

"Doctor Faraday?" Sally calls.

The woman nods to Sally.

"Sally," she says flatly, "Oliver."