cw: s/h and relapsing. sentence before and after will be in bold. once again, its written specifically to be intense and uncomfortable and is not representative of everyone's experiences, only my own. please look after yourself.
Backstage led to yet another theatre, but this one was far more extravagant. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, bathing the ground below in pale yellow light, creating shadows under the velvet chairs to make them look like demons crawling out of the wine-red carpet. The stage was decorated with two sofas that were in line with the seats, and fake walls held family pictures and an antique painting.
It was creepy enough that the set on stage was a poor imitation of your living room, but what made it creepier were the people there. They had no faces and were positioned and dressed like mannequins in a clothing shop—a horrifying blend of natural and unnatural.
You couldn't wander around, as a path had been carved out for you by wooden planks full of sharp yet rusted nails and blades that would no doubt cut your skin and infect you with tetanus. You didn't feel brave enough to risk climbing over—sure, the soles of your shoes were thick, but you didn't feel like risking it. Knowing your luck, you would probably slip and impale yourself.
Wandering closer to the stage, your muscles grew colder underneath your skin. The mannequins faces' were slowly changing, morphing into familiar features that took your breath away. When they started to speak, you couldn't help but take a step back.
The way the mannequins spoke was robotic, almost like it had been written and performed by artificial intelligence. It was ever so slightly cringeworthy and reminded you of old TV shows that had over ten seasons, and each renewal came with a drop in quality as ideas ran thin.
'I'm so glad we decided to stay childfree,' said one of the mannequins in a feminine voice. 'It's given us so many options. We can do whatever we want!'
The mannequin next to the feminine one added, 'We have so much extra money,' in a stereotypical masculine voice. 'Thank God we don't have a child to spend it on. We would never be able to afford nice cars if a child was draining our bank accounts.'
The two mannequins turned to face each other, fingers intertwined, like they should have had a sickly, love-filled look on their faces, practically drooling from how in love they were, but of course, the faces stayed blank. Wedding bands glistened on their plastic fingers, and you took a step closer as vague recognition filled your chest.
I see...of course they're supposed to represent my parents. Typical.
On the sofa opposite, there was another couple, but you had no idea who they were meant to be since their faces were turned slightly to an angle, obscuring any recognisable features from your sight. You assumed that the mannequin sitting alone was Frankie, since it was positioned closer to your 'parents', which you took as a sign of emotional closeness, but the other two? You genuinely had no idea. The one on the left was sitting normally, with its ankles crossed, while the one on the right was leaning against it, clinging onto its arm like it would shatter into pieces if separated.
'I'm also glad that you didn't have a child,' the one on the left said. 'School would have been so boring if they were my friend. Isn't that right?'
The mannequin next to it said, 'It is. We don't need another person in our friend group, and they would probably interfere with us.'
'Everything is perfect as it is.'
Disgust filled your nerves as you recalled the friend group you were part of from Year Four to Year Eight. A girl whose father was a school governor had inserted herself into your friend group, and you were convinced she only did it to get back at you for taking her place as 'smartest student in class'. She had latched onto James like a leech, making your friendship incredibly rocky and bringing it to a boil in Year Six, when you finally confronted him about how he was being dragged away by a girl who sucked the life out of him with every breath. He finally started to laugh again once she moved countries two years later.
'Why're you here? Fucking bitch,' you muttered, letting some of the aged venom back into your words. 'Piss off.'
As if it had heard you, the mannequin representing her added, 'Our dynamic would be ruined if we had another person in our group. It would have all of your negative traits and none of the good ones.'
The mannequins all laughed together, sounding like a broken recording that played in the background of an old sitcom. The noise made you feel sick to your stomach, and it was a miracle that you didn't actually vomit.
Once the laughter died down, it was time for Frankie's mannequin to speak and rile them all up again, much like he used to do with jokes: tell another and start things back up.
'Can you imagine if that was true?' the mannequin asked. 'If your child got all of your negative traits, what would it be like?'
'Annoying piece of shit.'
'Useless.'
'A pain in the arse.'
'Ugly know-it-all.'
The vile yellow poison that flowed from the mannequin's mouths worsened with each syllable, and it wormed its way into your heart like a flesh-eating parasite. Worthless. A waste of space. A waste of money. A waste of time. Every self-deprecating thought that had ever entered your head was spilling out from the people closest to you—Frankie, your parents, and, most painfully, James. (You didn't care what that girl thought.) As they laughed about what could have happened if your mother had decided to keep her first child, you sat there and listened, dumbfounded.
It wasn't true, of course. You knew that. You had been planned; you had been told that multiple times, but your brain soaked up the scene in front of you like a sponge. And then—
A compulsion arose. An urge. An itch.
You knew it was a terrible idea. You knew that, yet you did it anyway. Lifting up your sleeve, your nails dug deep into the skin of your arm, raking up and down in desperation to feel something other than the torturous pain that this weird world brought. The movements were frantic and sloppy, not slow and agonising like they were before you quit, but the same result was achieved either way as a familiar, itching pain blossomed just underneath your epidermis.
A strange sense of euphoria flooded your sense, taking you to a breathless high that made you feel like you were on Cloud Nine, blissfully unaware of everything around you and the emotions in your chest as your nails dragged against your skin, leaving a trail of irritation in its wake. Your head lowered slightly, staring down at the floor as your body became as light as a feather while your heart slowed for a moment.
And then...and then it all came crashing down. Your cloud evaporated in a flash of lightning, and you became hyper aware of everything, right down to the debris under your nails. The sting on your arm lingered, almost taunting you and calling you a failure for fucking up so badly. Your chest tightened, and you yanked down your sleeve before your hand wrapped itself around your arm, further covering up the scratch marks as you tried your hardest not to cry.
How pathetic.
Who was saying that? You, or your mother?
I can't believe that you have the audacity to feel upset over being abandoned and hearing the truth.
Was that Frankie? His voice didn't sound right.
Of course people around you are going to die. It's the only way to get away from you.
Oh...James.
You wanted to curl up into a ball and die, or to shut your eyes and cover your ears so you could neither see nor hear the evil in front of you. In a desperate attempt to escape, you ran back to try and push through the heavy curtains that separated the two theatre halls, but the red fabric refused to budge. Banging your fist against it, you punched and kicked the scarlet wall, possibly trying to claw your way through, but to no avail. You were, essentially, trapped.
Shit. Looking around frantically, you couldn't see any other doors or windows, so it was pointless to try and climb over the spiked planks. Shit. Shit. Shit! The voices of the mannequins were picking away at you, chipping off pieces of your patience and stability, making it harder and harder to think.
In a move that could have been a dumb idea or a stroke of pure genius, you turned to face the stage, breathing in deeply before yelling at them and unleashing some of the thoughts that had been festering in your mind for years. Were they listening? No. They continued to talk over your shouts, but at that point, you didn't fucking care.
'I get it; I'm a horrible person! I suck and I should be dead! But you don't get to say that shit about me, especially when I did my best to help! I helped budget and find cheap alternatives when money was tight, and I was the one who didn't want new clothes. I was the one who made sure that James was okay when that bitch did her silent treatment and guilt-tripping. It was all me!' You were rambling at this point, releasing a confused mess of words and emotions as your skin felt tight from crying. 'I made sure that Frankie knew what to do with my school, so I took the right classes. I was the one who took all that hardware home to try and save James!' Tried and...failed.
Just like always, your burst of energy disappeared as fast as it had arrived, and your throat constricted and halted any words in their tracks, leaving you sobbing silently in front of the stage.
'I'm sorry,' you whispered hoarsely, 'I'm so sorry. I never meant to mess up and fail. It's all my fault you're dead.'
BEN would have a fit if he heard me say all this negative shit...I wonder what he would do? This train of thought led to yet another wave of crying and sadness as you momentarily imagined how BEN would swoop in and fix a mess you had never created, which then caused you to wonder when you had become so dependent on him.
'You've never been able to do anything by yourself,' jeered a mannequin, reading your thoughts. 'You always need to have someone around for reassurance and praise, don't you? That's why people never stick around for long. You're a hassle to be with.'
...Was your jaw aching?
anyone got any weird crack headcanons about ben? my favourite is from when i got into vocaloid and thought 'hey he looks like ben drowned!' upon seeing kagamine len for the first time, which moved onto ben being an idol. anyway ! the next chapter is scheduled for 10th december, so see you then !
- k.
p.s. no ai was used to generate the mannequins' dialogue, just me and my awkwardness, baby !