a small bit of a short story I guess.
Zee sat on his bed, texting in the group chat. Tría, of course, hadn’t responded for three days and Sarith was hanging off every word he sent. Zee fell asleep texting them. The next morning he woke up to 36 texts straight from Sarith. He had slept right through them. Wonderful. Now he felt bad. He sent a quick “sorry sar fell sleep last night” and put on a crop top Sarith had bought him and some a mini skirt. He didn’t bother trying to deal with his hair. He didn’t wash it last night and now the normally shiny rose gold was dull and puffy. He was tired, but at least It was the weekend. He hurried to The Spot. When he got near it, Sarith was leaning against a wall, dressed in a leather jacket, ripped jeans, a neon tank top, and doodling with black-blue pen on his arms. Octopi. Always the dumb cartoon octopi he loved.
“hey. I’m here.” Zee hugged his friend. Sarith was wearing platform boots, almost 2 ½ inches plus some extra from the tilt. Zee didn’t know how Sarith dealt with them. He had tried platforms for 15 minutes and had ankle pain for two weeks. “Zee. Princey. If you ever vanish like that again I’m driving four miles to see that you’re fine. I was scared you….sigh.” Sarith didn’t need to finish his sentence. He gestured wordlessly at the desolate garden ahead, the abandoned place they had found more than plants in. Together they stepped into it.
“You know I wouldn’t. I’m past that.” Partially the truth. Hopefully the truth. “yeah. Yeah. Sure. Just…next time don’t stay up so late. Please.” Sarith’s blue hair caught the light and made it look like a thin glow covered him. “Sarith. I’m fine. But yeah. I’ll sleep early tonight….”
they walked in silence for a long moment. Then Zee found the stump. They sat down. Sarith first, then Zee awkwardly kinda on top of his lap. A flash. Then they stumbled into a thin white hallway lit only by the empty picture frames on the walls. They walked to the blue door at the end.
inside was a small room with two white couches, an armchair, and a large bookshelf. In it were scrolls, not books. Ray was lounging on the couch, tría draped elegantly over the armchair, playing with a pen. He seemed to have gotten his braids freshly redone by the shine and smoothness in them. And new beads. Ray was half asleep and jolted awake. Trui was nowhere to be seen yet. Well, it was 5 pm for him. And he was much busier than the others, living on a farm in France where his father was dependent on him.
As for the people now chatting about what life they’d live today….the story rooms were the only places they could feel safe. Be it from life, from fear, or simply from their own heads. A place they could be anyone, anything, as long as someone had dreamt it to existence at some point or another.
