THE PARADOX OF CHARLIE AND MELODY

“I’m not happy. I’ve been trying to tell you to ditch your fucked-up aunt for years now and look where it got you. To be fair, you aren’t dead or anything, but you definitely aren’t free. Like, you got so close to killing that manipulative bitch once and for all, but you just had to fuck it up at the last second, didn’t you?” “W-well, she said that it would be a…” “Oh, so you trust her over me? Did you forget that she SHOT YOU IN THE BACK OF THE HEAD!?” “N-no, I…” “Well, why are you acting like it huh? Are you just that much of a soft bellied little doormat or, are you just some fucked up little freak who gets her rocks off taking self-destructive orders from some vile cunt.” “Hey, I don’t!” “Shut the fuck up, bitch!” “…” “See? You’re doing it again! I swear I couldn’t get a more obedient dog, if I put a gun to your head!” “I…” “Hey! What did I tell you about talking bitch!” *whimper* “Ha-ha, even your little noises are fucking pathetic.” “…” “What the fuck did I just tell you? Are you that fucking braindead? God, I wish I could just fucking beat you senseless. I few bruises would probably give you some perspective.” “…” “Huh? Not gonna say anything, little bitch? Cat got your tongue? Or maybe it was an ant? Just came up and took it and you were too much of a loser to squash it. God, what would your mother thin…” “Hey, don’t talk a…” “DON’T EVER INTERRUPT ME DOORMAT!!!” “I…” “Maybe you didn’t hear, but I said SHUT THE FUCK UP, BITCH!!” “…” “Aww… what’s wrong, is the little baby gonna cry?” *sob* “Oh… look. The little doormat is crying. Aww, maybe it thinks I’ll be nicer if it just curls up in a little ball and rocks itself back and forth.” *sob* “Well too bad. Maybe if you weren’t such a disgusting little weakling, you’d get off the floor to get people to stop walking all over you. Cause let me tell you something. Your little tears… they're a feature of a high-quality doormat. A predator sees you and thinks: No matter what I do to this little bitch, she’ll just bear it, even if she cries, she’ll still bear it. Hell, you’re such a pathetic loser I bet even if someone SHOT YOU IN THE BACK OF THE HEAD! You’d still not stand up for yourself.” *crying* “Go on, keep crying. Everyone likes a doormat that washes their shoes when they step on it.” “…” “Don’t you fucking dissociate on me again you piece of shit!” “…” “Do you hear me in there?” “…” “Charlie, listen to me or I swear to each and every fucking god and goddess that I’ll find a way to crawl out of here and… … … ….”

I woke up from what could only be a nightmare. I was curled up in bed, hugging my pregnant body from behind. Both of my bodies were crying. The voices were screaming at me from the back of my mind, like a howling wind battering the walls of a house, demanding entry. I clung tightly to myself, hoping desperately, it would stop before breaking down the walls. I don’t think it had ever been this bad. I just wanted to not be here. Not be anywhere, just… not exist. Wasn’t there a way to do that? Just… stop. I watched listlessly as the girl lay there, unmoving. Her two bodies curled around each other. A voice screaming in her head. The voice sounded angry. Maybe she was in trouble. Oh well. Something happened. Maybe. It’s pretty hard to tell like this. Things kept happening, it was hard to tell what they were. Maybe someone could try and find out what those things were. But that probably wouldn’t happen. There was some sort of pressure building up. It should be released then. Shouldn’t it? It’s hard to say, something says it’s wrong to release the pressure, but it has to be done. Or it’ll release itself. Maybe that’s how it works. Just wait till it releases itself. Ah… it’s gone now. That’s nice. More things change. Or maybe not. I wake up again. The first thing I notice is that I feel… miserable. I’m so thirsty and hungry and I really need to use the bathroom, although I don’t have to pee, and… oh… gross. I groan with both bodies. It’s happened again. I hover out of the bed, I now need to clean, with both bodies and go immediately to the shower… okay poop, then shower.

Ignoring how my morning started, today isn’t actually turning out all that bad. I mean, sneaking my soiled bedsheets into the laundry without anyone noticing was rather stressful, but seeing as I could make solid objects move through walls and become invisible, I just had to kinda float down to the laundry room, and stick them in with a load of whites. And after stealing fresh stuff, my bed was in pristine condition… is what I would say if it didn’t still smell like pee. Okay, maybe today wasn’t the best but I was making the most of it and that had to count for something. But back to my problem… I need a new mattress, and I have no idea where to get one. Well, that’s not true, I know where to get mattresses, a furniture store, the real problem as I don’t know how I’m going to transport a giant fluff-pad, preferably unseen, through the mansion. It kind of made me miss home. I mean back there; I didn’t have to worry about preserving my dignity. Whenever this happened, the staff already knew how to take care of it, and I’d have a clean bed within the hour. Not to mention how they always wore masks and never spoke made it easier to not really think of them as people which, now that I’m thinking about it, is kind of a messed-up thing to think of someone, but it’s true; they never spoke, and I never saw their faces. Which made it easier to forget that they probably gossiped about me behind my back.

I was pacing through the halls while thinking this when a new problem with my mattress acquisition plan struck. I needed money. Mattresses weren’t free, and were, quite frankly, expensive. This is a problem when it comes to having to acquire a new one. Maybe I should just give up on dignity and ask for it to be cleaned… wait. I have an idea. I skittered through the halls towards the kitchen and asked for something very specific. The kitchen staff, obligingly, completed my request in record time and handed me the object of my design. Smiling evilly, I practically sprinted back to my rooms. I threw open the door, approached the bed smiled, and recklessly dumped the full glass of orange juice over the already stained mattress. Perfect, now I can just say I spilled orange juice on the mattress, and the strong smell will help cover the other… strong smell. Dignity defended; I summoned the staff. Then I began looking at my pregnant body floating in the room just above the bed, while waiting for someone to arrive. It looked like some sort of dark ritual being performed. That image in my head, I rolled my eyes as far back as I could and started wiggling in the air like I was possessed by a demon. Giggling at my own antics I heard people coming down the hall and immediately made my pregnant body invisible. A few seconds later, I heard a knock on the door. “Come in,” I said. The door was opened and in walked a girl about my age with a cart, she was dressed in an intricate French maid uniform, had dark skin and black hair. In the cart was a plastic bag and a portable vacuum. “Hello, sorry for the mess,” I said, feeling guilty for shoving my problems onto someone else. “No, problem,” she said. Quickly stripping the bed of its sheets. It was at that moment I wondered how she planned to get the large mattress through the door. I watched with interest as she took the plastic bag from the cart, and fitted the mattress into it like it was a giant sheet, afterwards she attached the hose of the vacuum cleaner and began sucking the air out. And to my surprise, the mattress shrunk in the vacuum bag. I didn’t know mattresses did that. It was also surprising just how small it got. When she was done sucking the air out, she just rolled up the wrinkled sheet the mattress had become and with a grunt of effort heaved it into the cart. “I’ll be back with a new mattress in about twenty minutes,” she said before leaving the room.

You know, in hindsight, this whole situation has been a bit… I don’t know, petty? Now that it’s over I feel like it really wasn’t that big of a deal. Sure, I’m not that inclined to let the staff know about my problems on day one, bit in all honesty they’re probably going to find out eventually. Like, what’s the point of keeping it a secret if they’re going to learn about it anyways? I’m under no illusion that I am not the sort of person who is capable of keeping a secret like this indefinitely. I sigh and look up to where my pregnant body hangs invisibly in the air. Makes me think of some of the other secrets I’ve been keeping. And honestly, I don’t even know why I’m keeping this one. I doubt anything bad will happen if the staff find out about my whole situation. I sigh. Then, I take out my phone and begin whiling away the time until the girl gets back with my new mattress. Eventually she does, this one all rolled up and vacuum sealed She flops it out onto the bedframe and then removes the plastic, revealing the shriveled-up mattress. “Okay, the mattress should be fully expanded in about half-an-hour, is there anything else you need from me?” she asked, rolling up the plastic vacuum bag. “No. Thank you,” I said. She just smiled and nodded before leaving the room with her cart. So… thirty minutes huh?

So… childbirth. Apparently, it’s the most painful thing a human being can experience. I always had my doubts about that, like something that literally kills you has to be worse right? Like when I got shot in the head it was a massive burst of pain followed by nothing and I’m pretty sure most people wouldn’t know what it feels like to die, so it wouldn’t end up on the list. Although, unfortunately, all my doubts have been… assuaged. When all was said and done, my formerly pregnant body just kinda lay there, splayed out, breathing and trying to recover. I’d prepared for this and had several healing potions on hand, which likely made this whole process far more bearable. Oddly enough I wasn’t tired from giving birth, but from the potions, while I was left there to look… at myself. It was the same feeling I had when I looked at myself for the first time, but also different. I was just this little, tiny baby with black hair and super tiny hands, still a little covered in blood and mucus. I was looking up at myself, some titan with shoulder-length messy black hair, a little stringy from sweat. I reached out a tiny hand and then grasped my own finger. A warm smile crossed my faces. I was so cute. Then I laughed, I was now my own mother, and my own midwife. It was so weird, I had literally given birth to myself, It was such an impossible thing. How could someone be their own mother? Apparently, life finds a way. As I am now, literally, my own biological mother. It was like some sort of weird paradox. I was born from my own womb. I was there, I saw it happen in all it’s gross, mucus-covered glory. My teenage girl laughter spilled out into the room, mixed with my adorable baby laughter, and the tired chuckles of my third body, fresh off healing potions. I had three bodies again. I smiled. I was whole. It was an almost indescribable feeling of completeness. Something a normal person would probably never feel. The closest I could imagine is someone who lost their arm a long time ago, long enough for them to get used to it, finally getting the money to pay for the healing required to regenerate it. That feeling of regaining something you had lost so long ago you just got used to being incomplete. Like if a pit to the underworld opened up in your living room floor. At first it would be a big deal, but eventually it would just become that part of the floor you don’t step on. If that rift closed up, you would almost have to re-adjust to it being normal. That’s what it was like. The feeling of once again being the way I was supposed to be. I couldn’t stop smiling, even as I dumped thousands of dollars’ worth of high-quality healing potions down the throat of my pregnant body. I didn’t know how long the birthing process took, but when I looked out the window, I noticed the sun was rising. Wow. This had all started around noon yesterday. My little baby body floated around. It was so fun. I always liked flying, but this was somehow better, with my newfound tininess, I suddenly had so much more space to fly around in. I whirled through the air spiraling and giggling as I made laps around my room.

When the new girl, Charlie, moved in; I didn’t think much of it. The mistress often had visitors staying in guest rooms, this one being around my age was odd, but nothing out of the ordinary. She’d arrived with her mother or guardian after all. And like I was anticipating; it wasn’t that big of a departure from my expectations. The girl was quiet, confined herself to her room, and despite certainly being some spoiled rich brat, was actually rather pleasant. She didn’t really treat me and the rest of the staff as nice as some of the mistress’ other guests, seemingly treating us as her own personal employees. This isn’t a bad thing, it just means she kept a certain professional distance, and seeing as we were getting paid to be here, I personally had no qualms about that. Despite that, she generally tried to not make our jobs any harder and was rather polite in any interaction. She wasn’t outdoorsy, spending most of her time cooped up in her rooms, like I said before, but she did venture out to get her own food from the cooking staff. She kept her rooms clean herself, unless she ran into something she couldn’t handle on her own. Like a week or two ago, she asked for help with her mattress. I’d taken it down to Grandma May, who wasn’t actually my grandma, but everyone called her that, even the mistress, who used magic to sanitize the mattress, which I then took to storage and got her a new one. Rich people were picky like that, like the mattress was perfectly fine, but apparently if something was stained once it was utterly unusable, to be fair she did pee in it, like she tried to hide it with orange juice but I could still smell it, the worst one was this other girl who was here a year or two ago, oh she was awful, her name was… Juliette… something, it started with a Conz and sounded really pompous, but I digress. Either way I got the new mattress, brought it back and set it up. I figured that would be the end of it, and I wouldn’t see her again for a good while. Which I was right about, I didn’t see her again. I was busy with my job, and she was an aspiring hikikomori. Well… until about six hours ago. I was cleaning the halls in the mostly unoccupied wing of the manor where she lived, which is just the job Miss Mariele hands out to the staff who’ve been annoying her. Basically, just sends us as far away from the servant quarters as she can, which I totally deserved for the record. I had managed to set up the old bucket of mayonnaise on a slightly open-door trick and caught her in it. It was hilarious… to me that is, she was pissed. Anyways, I was cleaning the hall outside her bedroom, and I heard screaming. So, like the responsible maid I am, I came running, with the sound of the screaming I thought she could be dying. But when I burst into the room…. You know, I’m still not sure if I saw what I thought I did, everyone always said I was a little cooky, maybe they weren’t just joking, and I had finally cracked, because not only were there two of her, one of them was apparently in the middle of giving birth and the other was well… delivering the baby, I don’t even think she noticed me over the sounds of her own screaming, and all the goo and, oh so wonderful, lakes of blood. It was like, a lot of blood. Like, “forget the ambulance and just call the coroner ‘cause this chick is dead,” levels of blood.

I kinda want to know if she’s okay and only partially want to determine if I’m going, or have gone, completely bat shit. If there was that much blood, there must still be some sign of it if I sneak into her room and check. So, that’s why I’m currently inconspicuously dusting a fancy rich people thing, that looks like a nightstand, that’s in the hallway right now. Waiting for her to leave the room. I’ve been dusting this thing for thirty minutes. I’m pretty sure if I dust it for much longer, I might start stripping off the lacquer. Okay, have I complained enough yet? At some point I’ll reach critical mass, and the scene will have to progress right? No? Ugh, don’t you just hate it in books and movies and whatnot when the scriptwriter or vanilla writer or director or whoever, is obviously padding out the runtime? Like personally I think it’s horrible it removes all the tension and pacing set up previously, and don’t get me started on random jokes inserted in dramatic moments. Like when the chips are high and the stakes are down, the last thing I want is some schmuck to make some lame beard joke, that isn’t even funny, and just kill the drama. Like, nice job Steve people are literally dying but you got to make your dumb quip, It’s basically as bad as the whole as you know thing in movies. Where it’s so obviously for the audience that it’s ridiculous. Like, is there anything you hate more than some peon explaining to you the stuff you already know? Like, Fun Fact: Photosynthesis is the process plants use to synthesize sugar from water they get from the soil, carbon dioxide they get from the air, and light they got from the sun or, in absence of sun, grow lamp. This process is…. Oh… she’s here. See! I knew it, if I stopped being entertaining, the scene would progress. Because whatever exec responsible for this crap got that chill up his spine when he sensed the box office numbers falling.

Anyways, I listen as Charlie walks by me, paying me little mind aside from a casual “good afternoon,” she tosses my way in her stride. I give her a hum of acknowledgement back, and she continues out of the hall. I wait a few more seconds to make sure she’s gone and then… I strike. I wander to the door and place my hands on the knob. It’s locked. Fortunately for me, I had the forethought of becoming a maid in this establishment and so, I have access to all the rooms. With a flex of intent, a trickle of magic from the key bracelet on my wrist enters the doorknob. The mechanism relinquishes its hold on the secrets I seek with a gentle click. I have to restrain myself from knocking on the door, years of maid training engraved into the very core of my being. (It’s a commentary on the state of the working class and how the completion of menial tasks for insufficient pay degrades the mind, body and soul, until there’s nothing left but despondent contentment and hopeless compliance.) But then I remember this is sneaky, sneaky time and the room is empty anyways. I open the door. Huh… so you remember what I said about the room being empty twenty-four words ago? Yeah… that was apparently a load of horse poo, because I am now standing face to face… with Charlie. But Charlie just left, I saw it, it happened in the next set over. In that one scene it took way too many takes to film because the actress playing me couldn’t get my mannerism quite right enough to satisfy the director. I have no idea who this actress is by the way, but I hope they get someone who actually looks like me, you know someone tall, hot and intimidating, like… Evelyn Tarth, or… wait, no, bad A.D.H.D.-brain I know it isn’t your strong suit, but I kinda need you to pay attention.

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The Charlie girl hadn’t moved, simply staring at me with a look of horror on her face, but I decided I had seen enough. In this town if you were an inconvenience to the wealthy, they would probably have you killed. So, as the sensible, self-preserving biological organism I am. I, very slowly, backed slightly towards the hallway. Like one might back away from anything that might kill and, eat you, not necessarily in that order. There are kind of a lot of monsters that eat things before killing them. Like there’s this big sand worm in the desert that…. I cut off my rambling mind by slamming the door shut and sprinting down the hall. My shoes landing with the sound of hardened… wait, what are my shoes made out of? Is it leather? I don’t think so, it’s too hard and not skinny, sorry, skin-y enough to be leather. Is it rubber? No, rubber’s pretty rare since the refinement process was lost. I hook my hand on the left-corner where the hall intersects another and use it to help swing me around the bend. So, if it isn’t rubber then what is it? Because I know back before the new calendar, people apparently had super cool technology, like rubber and carbon fiber and enough metal to be able to build entire cities out of the stuff, and now whoever didn’t skip this cutscene to get back to the gameplay knows that too. See, you can stick worldbuilding in wherever and whenever you want, no matter how jarring it is. I nod to myself contented by the knowledge that whoever is controlling me like a puppet is know more knowledgeable about the backstory of the fictional world in which I live.

Continuing my desperate sprint for my life I come across a problem. See we’re in the left wing of the manor. Charlie’s room being lined up along the exterior wall of the left wing. When I ran, I ran north, towards the back of the manor. Before turning left… towards the wall. This would be fine since I, in my infinite wisdom, knew there was an exit here that would lead me out into the gardens where I could escape over the fences and then, control could be returned to the player… or maybe this whole escape sequence could be under player control. Actually no, I know for a fact that the game devs are lazy and will just half-ass it, and as we all know, escape sequences are super hard to get right. Anyways, the problem is, I am coming up to the exit that would lead to the gardens, as well as a right turn that would lead to the back of the manor. The back of the manor is a death trap in which I will certainly get caught. Unless I want to jump out a window, which I very much don’t. The exit on the other hand leads into the garden…. I don’t have outdoor shoes on. These shoes would be absolutely ruined by the gardens, and I can’t afford to replace them because the mistress apparently wants her staff wearing impractically expensive shoes while indoors, shoes that need to be changed when going outside.

Now, at every servant’s exit, such as the one I’m sprinting towards, there is a shoe-rack containing shoes for the staff to change into when they are going outside, but this is an escape sequence; the manor is practically coming down around me, one crumbling piece at a time… and exactly one at a time, very slowly, preferably in a big scary wave just behind me, with lots of rumbling and dust to communicate to the player it’s time to gtfo. What was I talking about? Oh right, so the point is, I’m arbitrarily cornered. For all I know, it might be time for a boss-fight, and there are big, unexplained energy barriers keeping me away from the freedom of changing my shoes in peace. Yes, I can see them now. I skid to a stop, my impractically expensive shoes making note of their aforementioned impracticality, as when I said “skid to a stop” twenty-five words ago, I neglected to mention the skidding took place, face down on the tiles. I really hate these shoes. I climb to my feet, my cheeks at my normal skin tone, (don’t rotate the camera) and turn to face my adversary. I let out a sigh, no way to get out of this. Please ignore how me doing this is a plot hole. (It’s an allegory on the illogical nature of humanity, and how one can make choices against their own ideals and judgements.) I tap my hated shoes against the ground and drop into my combat:idle animation just as I see my enemy round the corner.

“I have nowhere left to run,” I say. Right at the same time Charlie yells something. I couldn’t quite tell what it was because I was also talking. “What?” We both say at the same time. Damn it writing team, what the hell is this? I was just talking about how it’s a bad idea to undercut dramatic moments with inane humor like one-thousand three-hundred eighty-five words ago, and now you go and pull this stunt on me? I sigh, disappointed. “Amateurs,” I curse under my breath to the player like the quirky fourth-wall breaking protagonist I am. “You first,” I say, slightly before Charlie does, which means she goes first. “Alright, well… twins? I… um, have a twin sister,” she said, very unconvincingly. I call her out on her BS like the quirky BS-calling-out protagonist I am. “BS. No normal twin-haver comes running down a hallway after the innocent staff like they’re about to use their wealth to make them disappear,” I said. (It’s a metaphor on the duplicitous nature of those in power, and how they use their influence and connections to suppress any threat to said power. It does not ignore how if one who was not in power were to suddenly gain it, they would likely do the same, or perhaps even worse to keep hold of it.)

“Wait, what? I…. That is so wrong in so many ways I don’t even know where to start. Like, for one: I’m not actually rich, my aunt is, I don’t actually have my own money. And secondly: I’m not going to make you disappear. I don’t even know how anyone would go about doing that.” “I don’t know. Maybe call Echelon?” I say. “Who’s Echelon?" “They’re like, a gang. I’m pretty sure they’re the ones the rich people use whenever they want to make it look like someone was killed because of criminals,” I foreshadow. “Okay, that’s… dark. But… would a gang of criminals even have a phone number? Like some sort of assassination hotline?” “I don’t know, you’re the corrupt, morally bankrupt rich girl with drill hair who’s been super mean to me for reasons unexplained unless you read the source material. You probably do those aristocratic villainess laughs all the time, like the ones where you assume *this pose, and go; Oh, ho, ho, ho.” *ED—“This pose” refers to a common trope in Japanese media, wherein a character, generally matching the previously stated depiction, will strike a pose involving the dominant hand partially covering the mouth, palm outwards at a fifteen-to-fifty-degree angle from the ground, pinky finger curled (Optional) and perform the distinct laugh. This is commonly used to mock the hero/heroine after…. “I… what does half of that even mean?” “Well, if you didn’t interrupt the comment from editorial, you would know,” I accused. “I… I get the feeling that even if you start talking about the stuff you saw, no one will believe you.” “Hey, are you saying I’m crazy? That’s rude, I get enough of that from Miss Malerie… and Grandma May… and the rest of the cleaning staff… and the cooking staff… and the gardeners… and my Mom,” I said, trailing off. “Huh, I think I got all of them,” I said. “Uh… good for you?” she said. “Yes, it is good for me. Remembering stuff is very important. Like how I remembered the name of Miss Malerie, a character who will only be mentioned in this scene, for this gag and the other time I mentioned her before, and never be mentioned again, nor will she appear in person. You know, like that one dude with the bowl-cut’s mom who went the whole series without being seen.” We stood there staring at each other for a few seconds in silence. “I’m going back to my room,” Charlie said, with that same exhausted tone everyone had after the conclusion of combat. And with that, the boss fight against Charlie something-or-other, was complete. I dusted imaginary dust off my shoulders with the duster I was still holding. A small spattering of dust entering the air. Wait what? Why was there dust on my shoulder?

I flop back onto my bed. I just had the weirdest conversation in my life. I think my secret is safe, seeing as the girl I was talking to is either insane, or weird enough to just bring up random things and pass them off as truth. Either way, no one should trust a word she says. Like, what was that whole thing about editorial and Malerie about? I snicker. She was also dressed weird. The cleaning staff here generally wear comfortable uniforms with an eye for appearance. It’s clear that the clothes they wear are designed to get dirty, but even so, they are still the cleaning staff of someone of high-society, so they have to look the part. Their cloths are well fitting and well made, but not something you can’t just toss into the washing machine. The girl, on the other hand, wore an overly embellished maid outfit; covered in frills and intricate iridescent patterns embroidered into the, otherwise black and white, fabric. From a distance it would look like any normal French maid outfit, but up close it looked like… expensive cosplay. Really expensive cosplay. She was also using an honest to goodness, feather duster instead of something normal like a damp rag. She was very short, had long black hair that was pulled into a ponytail, dark olive skin, and was probably at least 3% freckle by weight. Although now that I think about it, she seemed familiar. I’d probably seen her around somewhere before. I kinda liked her. She was definitely weird, but like the fun kind of weird, if that made any sense. Although, I didn’t know what her name was. Hmm. My other body entered the room at that point carrying lunch. I handed the tray to myself before going invisible and floating back out of the room through the walls. I figured I might as well just ask her what her name was, and even if I didn’t find her, I could just ask anyone, they’d probably know. Fortunately for me, I found her quite easily. The weird maid girl was peeking around the corner, apparently having watched me enter the room. I was going to just appear out of nowhere, but now I kinda wanted to mess with her. So, I snuck up behind her and materialized.

Leaning in close I asked softly. “What are we looking at?” She squealed. Leaping into the air, before taking a defensive stance. “Oh, jeepers. Don’t do that, my bladder can’t take the stress, and I personally want to take good care of my lissosphincter so it’ll, in turn, take good care of my undies which will take good care of my hoo-ha and by extension, me,” she said. “Is that how you start any conversation?” “No, why would I? Not all people start a conversation by sneaking up on me with their creepy ghost powers,” she said. I froze, wait, does she know? “Why are you standing there like I just coincidentally said your secret out loud and you’re mentally panicking before ultimately deciding to either call Echelon’s assassination hotline, that totally exists, and you were just playing dumb about earlier, or you’re going to start looking into Echelon to see if they do actually have an assassination hotline?” “What’s your name?” I ask, changing the subject with tact and subtlety. “Huh… so you do have ghost powers…. Freaky. Anyways, my name is Georgianna, but I go by, Georgie, George, Anna, Annie, Gia, Gina, Gigi, Anne, Orgi, Geo, spelled G-E-O even though it just sounds like Joe, Gianna, Geo, Nana, Rigi, but not Georgianna, only my mom calls me Georgianna and you’re not my mom,” “Okay… uh, is there a particular name you prefer or…” I trail off. “Hmm,” The girl with too many names said, putting a finger to her cheek and tilting her head in an exaggerated thinking pose. “Nope, not really. Honestly there are just a lot of options for everyone to use matching their personalities. I have a spreadsheet determining in great detail what each name chosen, or combination of names chosen means. Oh, and by the way, you may have inferred this already, but you will be judged based on which name you choose so choose wisely,” she said smiling. Okay… so… names huh? I don’t know, Gina, I guess? I don’t really feel like overthinking this, not to mention how whatever insane criteria is used in this process is something I’ll never be able to understand. “So… uh, nice to meet you… Gina, I’m Charlie.” I said, sounding unsure. Her smile broadened. “Nice to meet you too, Charlie. Although I did already know your name. I am part of the staff and it’s part of my job to know who you are, although I don’t know why that’s important. Like, why should I know your name? How does that help me with my job? I don’t know, it doesn’t actually make all that much sense. Not to mention personally, I would find it super weird if people already knew my name before I met them. Oh… I just did that didn’t I. Sorry for being creepy, but in my defense you did it first. Sneaking up on me with your ghost powers, and by the way, what exactly are your ghost powers? Can you walk through walls, or fly, or go invisible, or make the room super cold, or appear in mirrors right after people look away from them briefly, or slam doors, or throw objects, or pan the camera away from someone while the strings climb just before the aforementioned someone screams and then their blood gets splattered across whatever the camera was focusing on after it panned, like a wall or a family painting, especially a family painting, but really it could be just about anything?” “Okay, please slow down. Also, I don’t have ghost powers,” I said, I don’t even know why I bothered. “Sure, sure, you want to preserve the reveal for a more dramatic moment, I understand,” Gina said, nodding sagely. “You know what, screw it. Fine I have ghost powers! You happy now?” I said. Gina frowned. “You were supposed to wait for a dramatic moment where you have the choice to either save me, and reveal yourself, or let me die. And while you mull over it for longer than it would take for me to die, if this movie followed temporal logic properly, before finally choosing to save me, whereafter I reveal that I knew all along and just thought you were bad at hiding it, or, even better, I didn’t bring it up because I thought you would tell me when you were ready or something like that.” “I’m going to go take a nap,” I said. Before walking directly through the wall.

I floated into my room through the wall and collapsed onto the bed next to my baby body. I groaned. As much as I wanted to keep talking to Gina, I couldn’t. My phone still sat on my desk next to my other body where I had left it after getting the text message that sent me here. My aunt wanted me to do something. She didn’t tell me what, but it couldn’t be anything good. Either way I would find out tomorrow. I curled up as I felt the whispers of the voices coiling in on me. Like a million little spiders crawling all over me, they bit into everything I was, and did, and tore at it, berating me, calling me names. And I couldn’t… I couldn’t take it. Why does this always happen? I don’t like listening to this, every second of every day, in the back of my mind telling me I’m useless, I’m a failure, I’m weak, I’m a puppet, a doormat, a bitch. I… I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be anywhere. I don’t want to… exist. The last thing I here before I stop being me, is all the voices, all the whispers, coalesce into one voice and speak one short statement. “Fine, then I guess we’re doing this the hard way.”

A hand reaches over from the side of the bed and wraps fingers around a girl’s throat, squeezing with tremendous strength. The person standing over the girl on the bed glares down at her then she grabs me and pulls. I scream as my mind is slammed back into reality. No, no, I don’t want to be here, I…. “Shut the fuck up Charlie,” I say, standing over my- NO, It can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be….

She says, standing over me. “Oh, so that’s how we’re going to do this then? You little freak,” she says, looking down at me with utter contempt. “No, I…” “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” She shouts, loud enough that I worry about others hearing it from halfway through the manor. I whimpered, scrambling back across the bed to get away from her. “Look at you skitter away like the fucking cockroach you are. Gonna go hide under the toilet bitch?” she says in a mocking tone. I grab my baby body, cradling myself as best I can, and run to the door. I try to pull it open, but she’s already there, she kicks the doorknob with enough force to slam it shut. I scream, as she doesn’t do anything to avoid hurting my hand in the process. “Oh, I can finally give you those bruises,” she says, a dangerous malice entering her voice. I shoot across the ground flying as fast as I can for the bathroom. I fly into the bathroom and slam the door behind me. Breathing heavily as I put all my weight against the door. A heavy slam sends me towards the ground, but I catch myself with flight. Rolling I turn to face her. As she stalks into the bathroom. She clicks her tongue at me chidingly. “Wow Charlie, I didn’t know you were this much of a pussy, no wonder your aunt keeps fucking you,” she said. “Y-you’re not real,” I say. “No, no, I’m pretty sure I am,” she says opening the cupboard under the sink and taking out a large bottle. She leaps lightly into the air, stopping up the sink and dumping the full bottle of bleach into it. “What are you doing?” I asked worried. “Fixing some shit,” she said. She flipped over the sink and lowered her head into it. “No!” I screamed running at her, I tried to grab her, but I passed right through. “What are you doing with my hair?” I shrieked. “You know exactly what I’m doing,” she said. As I spun to face… her. She rolled over slightly to make eye contact. “I’m not letting you fuck this up anymore. I think it’s time for a more… direct approach. Hope you like bruises,” she says. Then she laughs to herself. “Although, I’m pretty sure a masochistic bottom-bitch like you would love some bruises,” she said vitriolically, “Either way. That can come later. First things first. We’re going to kill that bitch,” Melody finished.