Chapter Text
When the lights dim just before the show starts is the moment your heart rate spikes, your skin itches and your breath is held tight in your throat in anticipation of the curtain call. You fix your suit, you slick your hair back and accept the microphone handed to you at the last moment. Breathe in, breathe out, and finally, as the audience erupts in applause and the live music starts, watch the curtains lift, the stage lighting blinding you on the spot. Don’t let it startle you: after all, you have been waiting for this for so long.
I take a step forward, the sound of my steps drowning in the cheers of the excited audience. Just as we practiced, I bear the bright light on my face and smile, hands spread widely for the whole world to greet me as I emerge on stage for my debut. The thrill of it all, the buildup of nights after nights of practicing in front of a mirror and-
[Perfection, Friend!]
The sound of Braun’s hands clapping rings in my anxious head as I catch my breath. Another rehearsal, another praise, another uncertainty binding my tongue as I try to untangle my own hesitant thoughts. It was always so awkward for me to find just how to reply to the Host’s continuous compliments. Hearing him, his words coating me like honey, would always bring a smile to my face and yet… with the smile came hesitation. Was my amateur performance really befitting Braun’s ambitions and faith in me? With a tight grip on the microphone, I would sit down at the corner of the stage after every run-through that had become our routine and hesitantly undo the suffocating tie under my collar. Pristine velvet fabric always felt so grounding and smooth: never before had I indulged myself in dressing for others quite as much as Braun insisted naturally suited me.
[You were made for the stage, Mr. Roe Deer.]
On those nights when my doubts were hard to mask, Braun would always take his time to sit down with me. It would always go through the same script: soft words of encouragement, a distraction, a genuine laugh over a joke and a light pat on my back, reassuring and comforting. And all in all, it always led to me looking at the empty audience rows and imagining myself standing before hundreds of people with a confidence matched only by the Host himself.
“Thank you,” were the words I had the courage to add last night into the mundane script we had established. Braun’s screen lit up in a gasping emote.
[Whatever for, Friend? If there is anyone here deserving gratitude that would be you.]
Again, with the praise. And yet, all I could do was smile and tell myself that if Braun believes this is where I am meant to be - I would give him the best debut he could dream of.
The lights shifted and as my eyes followed in their directions, an arm reached to me, inviting, as we had practised so many times before in the comfort behind closed doors.
I am to follow, take his hand and bow, my head low as Braun announces his new co-host to the fans. I am to rise up, smile and, without breaking eye contact with the audience, repeat the lines I took so much care to memorise. Taking a step forward, feeling the soft fabric of his gloves wrap around my fingers, I reminded myself: tonight will be perfect no matter what.
[Please, give your utmost love and your warmest welcome to the new co-host of your favourite Talk Show!]
If it wasn’t for the familiar line, the familiar voice and the familiar tune of the show’s theme played by the faceless band, I would most certainly have considered fainting on the spot. There was so much, too much: the lights, the laugh, the applause, the strong baseline and the loud drums spiraling my own heartbeat out of control. And then, there was a light touch of Braun’s thumb on my hand in his, tapping lightly, drawing small circles on my sweaty skin as if reminding me to snap back to reality from the trap of my own thoughts. I took a breath, finally releasing my iron tight grab on his fingers, straightening up and flashing a smile. I knew I could do it. There was nothing in the world that could set off course what had been written in our script and rehearsed so diligently.
“Thank you, thank you so much, dear guests and, of course, dear Host!”
All I had to do was relax, go with the flow. How many times had Braun told me that the script I was given was written as if to predict my own actions. At the point we were in, Braun seemed to know me better than I knew myself, and so, with the microphone in hand, I had to place my faith in the faith he had placed in me.
[With today marking your debut on stage, I am sure our audience can already feel just how special this evening truly is!]
Walking forward, right on cue, I followed Braun as he sat down behind his desk, but instead of taking a seat myself, I walked over to the guest and leaned towards him over the backrest of their armchair. Putting the microphone close to the face of the middle aged man, dressed like he just finished his afterhours at a mediocre office, I eyed the audience with a hint of an acted mischief in my eyes. After all, what mattered the most was the amusement of the crowd.
“Our dear guest here has been keeping so much from us tonight, it really can not do! Look,” I lightly nudged the man to turn around towards the audience who erupted in cheers. I could still feel the sweat on his cheek as he smiled ecstatically at all the attention he was getting. “The audience is dying to hear more about -
The chatter.
The banter.
The sense of belonging as the Host and I exchanged the jokes and questions with the audience. I stepped back as the attention shifted and the limelights were not on me, grasping at the fabric of my shirt, feeling my heart bursting in my chest with every painful pump of blood.
And there it was: the deep breaths punching the air out of my lungs with every expanse of my lungs, leaving me ecstatically lightheaded. The ringing in my ears drowned the noise of the crowd as I looked at a face after face in the audience, basking in their praise. In this very moment, I was the centre of it all, I was the laugh, the joy, the sight of it all. And never before had I felt like I wanted anything as badly as just then all I wished for was to pick the microphone once more, just to go on, to never let this moment end. I turned my head and laughed, unable to bear it anymore, I let it all out, tears in my eyes, reaching for Braun’s hands to grab mine and raise them high above my head. All of this was for me. The stage was mine and I could not imagine myself feeling as empowered as I did when Bruan’s arms tightly squished my shoulders in a silent congratulation. I looked up and his screen lit up with a smile. There it was, the moment we both waited for: the undisputed success. Tonight, there will be no more rehearsals. Tonight, we will laugh at it all, and talk the night away about many more nights like this to come.
[Dear guests, surely you understand now just why this night was so special! So special I feel like it would be cruel to just end it here, so please, lean back on your chairs at home, give a moment to our sponsors and we will be right back after a quick break!]
Just there, in our usual rehearsals, this was the moment I would release my breath and feel exhaustion of the endless practice wash over me. Tonight, however, it only made my heart beat in anticipation. My hand found Braun’s and lightly wrapped around his index finger, pulling him to the side. Waving his last goodbyes to the cameras that were still on, for just a moment, as if unwilling to leave me without a response, his head turned and flashed a dim, barely noticeable wink, unseen by the cameras and the audience. For just a moment there I knew that I was not alone.
With a grin, I squeezed his hand and waited patiently for the endless seconds of the pre-commercial tune to end.
[You were magnificent, Friend! Later on, please do honour this Braun and let’s sit down to rewatch your debut. You simply must see just how natural you look on stage!]
Unable to hold the surge of emotions, I laughed. Just now, Braun’s flattery was finally undisputed and I felt like finally I was free from my own doubts.
“I would love that, but only on one condition,” I added after taking a quick sip of water offered to me by a faceless staff member. Behind the stage, under the shadows of heavy velvet curtains, the workers flawlessly attended to our needs: flowing around us in a well rehearsed pattern like a well oiled machine. I gave the glass back and put my face under the swiftly moving hands of the makeup artist. Feeling the soft powder brush on my cheeks leave, I gave a side glimpse to Braun whose faceless gaze seemed fixed on my every move.
[Anything for you, Friend.]
“I want constructive criticism, Mr. Host,” seeing Braun’s hand go up, I quickly added, shutting down his attempts to dispute. “Your words of encouragement are everything to me, really, and tonight I truly understood what you meant. But still, there is so much for me to learn.”
Braun listened quietly, only letting the murmurs of the distant crowd mix in with my words.
“Watching you on stage, watching you behind it, from any perspective…” embarrassed, I hoped the heat on my cheeks was from the performance, now hidden in the darkness. “I want to be more like you. In a way, I guess I now understand what you meant by me making a place for myself here… I thank you, truly.”
The words poured out from my mouth, voice shaky and quiet, though I knew Braun heard me. At the end of the day, he didn’t even need words to understand me. He knew the meaning behind my poor phrasing better than I did myself. Quickly but carefully, Braun moved the hand of a staff member working on adjusting his suit, moving just a bit closer, cutting the distance between the two of us as I watched the faceless staff members leave us.
[Mr. Roe Deer,] his voice was, in its usual uplifted manner, quiet and yet so clear in my head as if he was speaking directly… into me. [It is you that makes you unique. It is you that all the way back at the Quiz show has shown me that there is more to this show and even myself.] Braun’s big heavy hands laid lightly on my shoulders in a move that was now so familiar it was starting to get subconsciously comforting. [Please, Friend, trust me when I say, nothing about you needs to change to fit this spot that is so uniquely yours.]
I felt like at this moment all the highs of the show were starting to drop into exhaustion. The warmth of his hands, the stiff air backstage, all of it was lulling me to sleep, and with my eyes half closed I smiled.
“I understand. I will do my best to understand.”
Saying I was unused to compliments was an understatement. Braun alone had given me more I had received in my whole life, his words bordering on worship.
[For now, Friend, just be yourself. Back there on stage, all eyes were on you because they wanted to see you. The real you. Having a star so bright next to me, it promises a bright future for us!]
“Thank you for letting me be a part of your show,” the feeling of his hand leaving my shoulder as the staff started pushing us back towards the stage left me with a sense of anxiety.
[Our show, Friend.]
Through the drapery, through the thin crack between the curtains, the band’s melody seeped into the backstage rooms, and I took a deep breath. Casting one more side glance at Braun the familiar frame felt reassuring: the broad shoulders, the spotless fabric of the brown suit. The very embodiment of confidence and control.
‘I envy you. If only even a part of me was more like you, would you still say I belong here?’
The curtains lifted, and without a directive, right on cue, I stepped back onto the polished wood of the stage, the noise of the audience immediately filling me up with excitement.
‘I will be myself, if this is what you want.’
They are here. They are watching me. What are they thinking? I felt the eyes of the masked DayDream employees piece through the curtains at where I was standing, their criticism heavy on my heart.
Leaning onto the metal frame in the back of the stage, I tried to catch my breath, the way their words rang in my head pushing something in me I had pushed back to make space for the glory of tonight’s debut. After the talk with the D squad during the commercial break I felt so dizzy my mind was blurry. What was it, what is it scratching at the back of my mind… Why can’t I breathe?!
Involuntarily, I felt the grip of my hand on the tie knot tighten. It was suffocating. Slipping away from the lights towards a shaded corner of the stage, I tried to calm down. Breathe in, breathe out, again and again only to realise I was holding the air in, my lungs burning at the painful sensation. Behind me, Braun was going through his cards with the light jokes on to excite the audience for the next episode, to tease them about the new guest we had invited. I had invited. I wrote those jokes. I felt a smile creep onto my face, a warm sense of pride tugging at my heart, but in just a moment I flinched, realising it was growing into a sharp brutal pain, like a dull tip of a kitchen knife dragging across my arteries. Bending in half, feeling my nails scratch the surface of the curtains, gripping hard, trying to ground myself with the intentionally inflicted pain, I felt like whatever has been holding my air back was suddenly letting loose. A burst of air hit my throat as I gave in and let out a pained cough, trying my best to be as quiet as possible, the hoarse groan drowning in the sounds of the show.
It’s alright, it’s just a panic attack. Not the first, won’t be the last.
‘Calm down, it’s all over now, think of the evening.’
I tried to close my eyes and imagine myself on the stage alone, with just Braun watching over my rehearsal, his screen lit up with a smile as always. Quiet, isolated, controlled and scripted.
[You were born for the stage,] his comforting voice chanted in my head like a mantra.
I straightened my back and let go of the curtains I have been crumpling with my shaking hands. At the movement, my lungs twisted and sent a wave of pain all over my body, spreading over like melted iron in the intertwined net of veins. I felt something warm stream from my lips down the chin, dripping down onto the dark floor. Hastily, I took off my gloves and wiped the saliva off, noticing how dark the stain on the palm of my hand was, almost black in the shadows. Mechanically, I swallowed, putting the glove back and feeling an attentive arm of the makeup artist already working on fixing my face.
Pushing through the pain, I took a strained step forward, then another. Yes, I told myself, just like that. Not tonight, tonight was special. Tonight was perfect.
[You are perfect.]
And nothing would change that. Nothing would get in the way. All I have to do is…
[Be yourself, Friend.]
Yes. As my feet dragged onto the lit stage, my face grimacing under the lights, I mastered a smile, turning to the audience in a slow unnatural twist of my body.
Tonight I will be myself. I will be the co-host Braun wanted to see. I will answer his kindness with raw sincerity.
Dismissing the ache in my chest, I bowed, feeling as if my movements, now lighter than ever before, sent a wave of relief over my tired body. As if my tense muscles relaxed, my joints moved unrestrained, my arms itching for movement. In just one single moment I felt like the grip of unknown restraint let go…
[And if that sounds exciting, then please, do not be discouraged - we will be back with more in just a week!]
A crack, a twist. I sprang to my feet, feeling so light and so heavy at the same time. I felt like my whole body was a twisted knot of hard muscles. Every millimetre of my flesh screamed to be stretched, scratched, relieved of its confinement. In this sudden adrenaline rush I threw my hands up, feeling more and more audience members turn their attention to me. One by one their heads would turn, their invisible mouths shutting silent in their undivided attention.
I smiled, I laughed, I felt like it was not enough even if I screamed and so forced my brows to twist, I felt tears dropping from my eyes, my fingers twitching in the air as if trying desperately to grab onto something.
“Ha ha ha!”
How I wanted to scream, my pained sniffs drowning in the trumpets, in the slowly quieting cheers, in the soft baritone of the Host.
Crack.
Snap.
With a dull pop, one after another the buttons on my vest tore off, and finally able to breathe, I took in the air with a relief of feeling my lungs finally stretch unconfined.
Creek. SNAP.
More. Deeper, wider. I felt an insatiable hunger for… everything. I gripped onto the shirt and pulled at the edges, feeling the fabric rip as my torso finally spilled out. The touch of cotton under my fingers felt distant, numb.
‘It’s not enough.’
As if all sounds, all sensations finally dimmed and the pains disappeared, I looked around, feeling my head heavy and light at the same time, turning around to see the silent gazes of the crowd on me.
‘It is me. I am here. The real me.’
Turning to the side, I took a few steps, my legs dragging on the ground floating weightless.
‘Please, see me! Look at me!’
And there, just a couple meters from me, Braun’s figure was so straight, so comforting, so small…
‘Please, I am right here! Why aren’t you saying anything, why won’t you look at me?’
Reaching out slowly, I wanted to touch, I wanted to feel, I wanted to be felt.
In the silence of the studio, the microphone fell to the floor with a deafening alien noise of the heavy metal hitting the wood. The soft buzz of the projectors, the quiet hum of Braun’s screen twisted in a static deafening to the ear. In just a second, the silence creeped again, the soles of his shoes scratching at the floor as the Host took one step after another.
Backing away.
‘Mr. Host?’
I took a step forward, feeling chill on the back of my neck.
‘Braun?’
His dark screen felt lifeless, reflecting the glimmer of the lights above us. The familiar gloved hands twitched in silence, as if forgetting they were no longer holding the abandoned microphone. Behind him, the crowd moved in waves, as if distorted at the unexpected break in the script. This is where they would bow their final bow to the crowd before disappearing behind the stage. There would be a long night chatter, there would be a celebration, there would be the awkwardness of overwhelming success.
But all there was was deafening silence.
‘Say something.’
The dark screen looked at me unmoving.
‘You are always so loud, please.’
With a hesitant shake of his arm, Braun reached out.
‘Have I done something wrong?’
I lifted my arm to meet the familiar fingers, craving that corporeal warmth.
Crack.
My arm muscles gave up, my arm lighter than before springing into the air, slamming right into the white glove.
Before I could understand what happened, Braun jolted his arm back, gripping onto the stained white fabric: through his fingers dark, ink like stains were seeping through, a few light drops falling to the floor. I felt my heart skip a beat.
I hurt the Host.
“Braun, I am s-”
With a gurgling sound, the words spilled from my mouth onto the floor, the stains left by Braun drowning in the growing pile of jet black dampness.
“Brau-”
I bent in half, feeling the tickle of something dislocating, lightly scratching at my skin from the inside, pushing all the way into my throat as I threw up. Wave after wave, without much pain, I watched unable to tear my eyes off: in the inky black the ribbons of my intestines, the clump of my liver, the softness of my lungs all squeezed through my mouth and splashed onto the floor into the puddle, sending the drops flying, staining the pristine polished shoes of the Host.
‘Oh please, no,’ I felt my eyes tear up as I tried to look up, pushing away the mindless concerns.
As I spit out the last mouthful and took a deep breath, feeling the air filling in the random parts of me, bubbling up under my skin.
What a complete fiasco. Hesitant, I looked at Braun, his screen still dead and watching me from a few steps away. I tried to call to him, crying out in desperate call for comfort.
‘I am sorry, I am so sorry, this night was not meant to go this way.’
The idea that the one being who put blind trust in me, bathed me in reassurance and encouragement was now staring at the remnants of everything we had built together was unbearable.
‘Please, just say something!’
Finally lodging forward, I cut the distance between us, looking down at the now vulnerable looking silent Host.
‘I am sorry, I am so so sorry…’
I felt like crying, I felt like in that very moment I was reduced to nothing but a mistake, eager but hopeless to do anything right.
‘Please, I will do better!’
I leaned forward, my arms lifting to hold onto his frame, desperate for connection.
‘Please, don’t leave me.’
I wanted to bury my fingers into the fabric of his suit, deeper into the skin until I could feel myself fixed to the only friend I ever truly had.
‘Please, don’t send me away.’
Braun’s frame jolted, his face finally looking down from me onto the spreading dark stains on his shoulders. Two long slim branch-like black shadows were wrapping around his arms, twisting and turning, curling around his torso in a tight grip, leaving a trail of familiar ink all over the pristine fabric.
Under my gaze, the branches stopped and loosened slightly. I felt the warmth spread over my arms, bringing back the memories of the comforting touch we would share behind the stage.
‘I just wanted to be myself for you…’
Slowly, Braun’s hand reached to the shape and gently, almost feather like, traced over the sharp thorn like pieces that were stabbing into his arms.
[Friend?]
I saw Braun’s screen light up with a dim smile, unstable and barely visible. His hand, signaling to the camera behind himself, commanded the operators to approach. In the corner of my eyes I saw the big screens above the stage change their angles, picture shifting as I wouldn’t dare to look. Slowly, step by step, he walked towards me, as I suddenly felt the weight of all the eyes on me. Isn’t that what I wanted?
[Friend, please look over here,] I saw the lens of the camera closest to me zoom in more, focusing on my face. [Yes, just like that.]
It was as if under all the light of the studio I was the only being not belonging in the spotlight.
Crack!
My spine gave in and I collapsed on the floor.
/
If my senses haven’t wronged me, the soft ticks of the clock in the room have measured about an hour now. More, perhaps. With how fast my heart was beating at the start, I would not bet on the accuracy of my estimation. Now, crumpled in the dark corner underneath a wooden dresser in a room I had never been to before, all was still. The evenly paced mechanical ticking, the light scratch of my body on the wooden floor with every twitch of my limbs, the absence of the sound of breathing - in the solitude of the moment I closed my eyes, trying to focus on the senses of my skin rubbing on the wood above me. Taking in a deep silent breath, I felt my flesh blow, expanding over my limp soft bone structure: now in disarray, leaving scratch marks over the flooring upon some of my less controlled movements. My skin, lightly dribbling with scentless dark sweat, squeezed into the space between the wall and the dresser, reaching higher, wider, spilling over the side edges, enveloping the wooden corners into a feather light embrace. I tried tensing my muscles, feeling my skin shake, sending waves over my frame, almost threatening my now up standing flesh to knock the dresser over. Hastily, I held my methodically even breath and focused on the muscles in one precise spot of my back, feeling the flesh underneath harden and pulsate. It has been a solid half an hour of my hiding that I spent on trying to take control over my own form. Now, gently, trying not to involuntarily contract other… parts of me, I pushed my body off the wall, feeling my limbs drag over the floor, agonisingly slowly. Squeezing from under the dresser, I let my body out a couple centimeters, just enough for my eyes to slowly adjust to the lights. Turning parts of my face around, I spotted one of my limbs: covered in dust, bent in at least five spots, it lazily twitched without my consent. Focusing on just the tip of the long finger, I forced it to lay still. I tried to twist my neck a bit further to inspect my body more, but the bottom of the dresser pressed onto my forehead leaving me no choice but to move further out. This time, I kept my eyes open, trying to recall the feeling of running just a bit over an hour ago. The speed at which all of my limbs moved in perfect coordination driven by a mix of adrenaline, contamination and survival instinct, gave me a bit of courage to attempt dragging myself out manually. Something to the left side of my body pricked at my skin, leaving to scratch at the floor as I forced my back limbs to synchronise. Two, five, approximately six appendages of uneven structure and length started simultaneously gripping into the cracks between the floorboards pulling my body further from my hiding spot. It was not so much as difficult due to the weight of my body, as it was due to the focus it required. Suddenly, I was reminded just how intuitive and automated a lot of human movements are. With that thought, I reminded the front of my body to expand, pulling in the air I was not even certain I needed. Now freed from the corner I crashed into on my way here, I looked around, spotting where the ticking sound was coming from. The time in the studio was always hard to predict. The first weeks I had spent here were the worst to accustom to, until eventually the simple trust about the local timeflow shaped itself.
Time exists when there is need for it.
And so, as long as I diligently counted the seconds, kept my no-longer-existing ears out for the sound of the clock-hands, as long as there were the pre and post show rush hours - the time would flow as needed. And right now I needed it to draw and give me a moment to compose myself.
The clock hands signaled it was, as expected, a little over an hour since the stage fiasco. I knew that it would take about that time for the post-performance hassle to wrap up. Normally, this is where Braun would take me to his office to run over the script.
The neatly sorted papers, his fingers outlining each question in succession, his screen turned off in the manner that signaled his utmost attention to my every word. I would comment on every line, give my remarks, hear his out, take notes and, sometimes, he’d take me to the tall floor mirror in the corner of his room.
[Now Friend, it is your turn.]
His hands on my shoulders, his screen looking right at the reflection of my much smaller body in front of his.
The room I was now in was familiar despite me being there for the first time. Simple as always, the guest rooms in the studio were each a copy of the other. Slowly, I dragged myself over the floor, struggling to lift my limbs to not trip over the rug, feeling the fabric of it tickle at the lower part of my face. Ticklish.
In what felt like an exhausting hour, counted by a minute worth of clock ticks, I saw the tall wooden frame leaning onto the backwall. Carefully, as if not to approach at the wrong angle, I took a small detour, positioning myself just a bit to the side of the reflective surface. Carefully I extended one of my front limbs.
In the mirror, the dark pitch black thin silhouette stretched from the side, twitching lightly, obeying my command. It lowered, gripped onto the floorboard, twisting into a more deformed shape at the tip, spreading around like hypha, all to pull me closer. Little by little, bit by bit, my face leveled with my reflection.
The mass of skin, stretching over my upper body, covering the small stretchy black limbs, was shaking out of balance. Full of hollow depressions, it shivered at each of my manual breaths. I pulled some air in, watching my form expand, breathing out fully to test my limits. Shrinking further and further, it almost felt like a little more and my skin would suck around my bones, but it just kept helplessly deforming, dropping on the floor when my legs gave in. Turning lazily to the side, I watched the way my numerous eyes stood fixed at the reflection, the flesh around them rearranging. With my limbs in the air, I tried to see if I could stand up. Forcing the muscles in my back to contract, I estimated where my lower abdominal would be, trying to straighten into a sitting position. One push, two, inevitably I closed my eyes and felt my body droop.
‘I have no spine.’
My limbs - jointless. My torso - boneless. My skin - while still holding some tactile response, no longer felt like my own flesh.
I am no longer myself.
As soon as the time lost its meaning in the studio, the calming state of stasis fell upon the darkness. Lying on my back, eyes closed and limbs outstretched to the side, I refused to measure the passage of fleeting minutes, hours, days. The footsteps behind the door would come and go. First soft and methodical, then heavy and hesitant, passing in circles around the entrance to the room. He knows I am here. Of course he does. Gently, I scratched circles around on the floor around my body with the thorny parts of my legs. I knew even this would not go unnoticed by the master of this domain. Every item, every object, every “living” being inside this place, the moment the curtains of the show would fall, would be nothing more than a direct extension of the Host’s script.
Carefully, I rolled to the side, my limbs readjusting, shifting to support my weight, lifting me up. Now that my heartbeat evened out and the possible pursuit had left, it was time to assess the situation to the limit of it. Gently, I extended my limbs up to grab onto the top of the dresser I hid under, pulling myself up, careful to balance avoiding the structure tumbling down. From the top of the dresser, I slid down, falling hard a few meters onto the floor. Feeling no pain on impact, I sensed my structure expand, absorbing the impact of the fall like a thick liquid. My flesh wobbled before coming to a calm. No pain, just an odd sense of my insides flipping under my loose skin. I tried to shape myself back up, but all the effort only wrapped my skin around my limbs into what looked like a centipede in the mirror. My reflection stared back at me with many dark eyes as I waddled away.
Next, I had to test something else. Purposefully shaking myself up and down, balancing on my extending and retracting feet, I could feel something alien inside me move within. As soon as the objects came in touch with the inner side of my skin, I opened up and spit out the contents of my tattoo. A couple nostalgia candies and a pack of blue churros dropped on the floor. I knew there was more inside me that got stuck somewhere between what I assumed to be my broken ribcage, but for now even getting this much out was a relief. I aligned my body with the nostalgia candy and did my best to unwrap the packaging. Now, the issue presented itself: I had no mouth and clearly simply absorbing the contents back into my shape was not the same as digesting it. If I even had a concept of a digestion system anymore. I aligned my face with the candy and gently absorbed it close to my face - the most stable part of my body I was conscious not to morph too much. Then, I absorbed the rest of the food without the packaging into the same part of myself. If I was capable of consuming any of them, it would matter little if they were all mushed together at this point.
Step by step, I approached the exit door and looked up at the handle way above me. The creativity of the task was almost amusing. First, I extended one of my limbs to wrap around it, but the further it would go the harder it was to control so it just wobbled in the air hopelessly before I retracted it back. Then, I tried to pull in as much air as I could to expand in size enough to reach the handle, but the more I tried, the more my shape would stretch over the floor instead of rising up. Looking at the handle, I let go of the air and flattened myself to the floorboards, taking a moment to just rest before carefully pushing myself closer to the under-door gap. Relaxing the rest of my body, I kicked one last time, feeling myself slip through the barely noticeable gap, rearranging back to “normal” in the corridor.
To the left was the soft dim of corridor lights, to the right was a pile of clothing packs, freshly rearranged after the show with the band outfits. I passed by and tried to retrace my steps from the night before, careful to slip under the shadows, hiding under trolleys and taking detours whenever I heard steps approaching. I know Braun can see where I am, but there is no need to attract attention I already got plenty of. In a way, I knew there was no need to come out, but the sense of stasis was starting to get to me. I needed to confirm at least one thing.
Carefully, I slipped through the vent I knew led to the backstage. I grabbed onto a corner of a pile of boxes, dragging myself up and slipping through the filtration bars, reassembling myself and moving through the pipes, hoping my general sense of direction was not too off. The light of one room after another guided me further until I spotted the familiar bright projector lights at the end, signalling there was nowhere left to go. Of course, real ventilations would still have access outdoors, but considering I was in a darkness, I desperately ignored any crossroads leading into darker, colder, wind filled outstretches of the system. There was no knowing where the outside of the studio would connect to, and I was not in the state to risk finding out. I did note it down, however, if push came to shove.
Slipping out, I blended in with the shadows, but overestimating my field of view, one of my legs didn’t connect to a metal beam and slipped down. My weight, my whole body devoid of balance and structure, slipped down, tumbling down through the beams. I felt my legs and skin bend each time I hit a beam hard, leaving indents in my flesh, as I closed my eyes waiting to reach down and drop on the floor. But it never came. Instead, I looked around, still suspended in the air a meter or so above the ground, my body involuntarily rolled over a few sharp metal beams. Assessing the situation, I started to unwrap my bent form, untying the knots and picking up parts of myself from where they would get restrained and misshapen. At the last twist, I came tumbling down, spilling onto the floor with a soft ‘thud’. Quick as to not attract attention, I slipped into a transportation cart and hid in one of the boxes, extending my legs to push the trolley while peeking through the box handle hole. Rolling closer and closer to the curtains of the backstage, I heard the familiar rustling of the crew cleaning up.
[No need to do this, Friend,] Braun would gently take boxes away from me, placing them to the side.
[It is time you remember - you are no longer part of the backstage crew. Starting next Thursday, you are the front stage star.]
It was a few weeks that I would help around the backstage seeking comfort in being as useful as I could. As the time of my debut would approach, there was a sense of nostalgia over manual labour, one that Braun tried to ease with the optimism of the potential he saw in me.
Lightly, I dropped from the cart and slipped through the curtains, grabbing onto them and pulling myself to the upper supporting beams to oversee the whole stage. Here I could not be noticed by the staff or cameras, only wondering if Braun was watching. The show was wrapped, the chairs covered, the band’s instruments packed into the cases, the stage swiped and cleaned off the remnants of my fiasco. I looked down and spotted a cardboard box one of the staff members was taking away. A pair of stained white gloves and a pristine brown jacket were tossed inside, taken away from my sight.
The life at the studio returned to normal. As if nothing ever happened, the traces of tonight were to be washed away, put on the shelves in the form of rolled up film, likely with some parts edited out, cut out frames disposed of. I felt like a leech, hiding away and only watching, so slipping down the curtain, I pushed myself onto the stage and rolled off the stairs to follow the employee, navigating from one dark spot to another. In this smaller deformed shape it was harder to keep up, I felt like my legs, while not giving any sense of exhaustion, were ready to give up any moment after all the running.
Pausing at the technical door, I realised I never truly explored the staff corners of the studio, afraid that their “rendering” would be outside of the scope a human could handle. But in this form, it didn’t really apply to me, so I went in before the door shut in front of me.
In the barely lit room, the blue fluorescent lightbulbs gave off a soft buzz, accompanied by the rustling of the machinery. A row after row of washing machines, each rolling in so fast it was impossible to say if there was even anything inside. For all it was worth, it could be yet another facade to mimic the buzzing life of the backstage. I watched the staff member paused by an already working machine, opening it without hesitation and throwing in the dirty clothes, paying no attention to the spilling water. As I watched them walk away, I quietly backed into a corner, waiting to be left alone. This would be a good spot.
An existence that contributed nothing to the show should not get in the way.
The soft vibration of the endlessly running machine lulled me to sleep, in a sudden wave all my anxiety and panic coated me in raw physical exhaustion as I closed all of my eyes and forced my body into rest.
Soft steps pierced into my calm sleep, bringing me back to consciousness. I felt like in addition to the soft ambience of the laundry room, a new and yet familiar humming sound entered and paused close to me. I opened the eyes somewhere on the back of my body, trying to investigate without giving away that I was awake. Subtle movements in the corner of my vision flashed the familiar dark brown of the clean suit as a white glove neared my face. I forced my body to relax, feeling the instinctive clench of my muscles tense. A light, almost feather-like touch on my skin, probing, careful, exploring.
[I know you are awake, Friend.]
I opened my eyes, too tired to move, knowing that running was pointless. This is Braun’s domain. Expecting him to allow me to stay was stupid.
Contribution to the show defines your contribution to the studio.
[Let’s take you somewhere more comfortable, Friend.]
Carefully, his hands slipped under my body, lifting me up, bringing my body closer to his and wrapping around. I felt like my misshapen body would slip and fall, but Braun’s arms supported me in a way that held me safe and secure. As I did my best to tense my body and keep it in place, a quiet ripping sound came from where my skin touched Braun’s suit. Becoming aware of my limbs scratching at the fabric, I tried to retract the sharp thorn-like appendages, but it was too late. My eyes were staring right at the ripped cotton, Braun’s skin peeking through. I was relieved to see my thorns weren’t long enough to hurt him. Afraid to move even a little, I tensed up and allowed myself to be carried away.
[You can sleep more if you want.]
Looking up, I saw Braun’s face avoid meeting mine. I closed my eyes and tried to drift back to sleep.
I was put on a velvet couch, a soft blanket placed on top, almost sliding from my smooth skin down to the floor before Braun’s hands carefully tucked the edges under my sides. I forced my body to rearrange, sticking a few of my limbs out to tap on his hand. In this state it was hard to say whether the connection between us still held, so I did my best to convey the desire to speak.
[Why of course, this Braun would not leave you just yet.]
Unbuttoning his jacket, the Host sat down next to me, my body shaking slightly at the way the couch bent under his weight. Recalling the events of the show, looking up at him was somewhat reassuringly familiar. With my longer limbs I tapped at his lap, urging him to look at me. The empty screen leaned closer, my own reflection staring at me in the void of his expressionless form. One by one, I closed my eyes until only two remained: almost perfectly aligned to resemble human proportions, I tilted my head, mesmerised by the momentary comfort of the play-pretend.
[Good to see you feeling better, Mr. Roe Deer,] Braun's voice pulled me back to reality I tried to forget, the glow of a smiling face breaking my eye contact with myself. A heavy hand lay on my back, rubbing circles over the soft cotton of the blanket. [You startled me quite a bit back then, you know.]
I looked up and in the soft hum of his screen the sight from the show evening faded in before my eyes. The empty screen, the faces of the audience, the stained white glove extending the microphone as if in awe at the sight. I felt my body back away involuntarily, creeping deeper into the blanket before the big hands took hold of my sides, lifting me up in the air. In panic, my arms grabbed onto the fabric, wrapping it around myself like a defensive cocoon. Braun lifted me up to the level of his head, examining me, turning around, careful not to let me slip out.
[How very fascinating, Friend.]
‘Am I a bug to you, to dissect me under a microscope?’
[Not at all.]
I jolted at the words, the reflexes of my body not sharp enough, as I almost went tumbling down onto Braun’s lap before he caught me and flipped me around, supporting my weight.
‘Braun?’
[Yes, my Friend?]
The ability to be heard. The ability to be understood without words. Suddenly, I felt my eyes twitch at the emotions bubbling inside me with no way out. I had no mouth but I wanted to scream. Unable to, I pulled my limbs out from the blanket and stretched my longest arms to reach the Host’s head. Under my touch, Braun jolted ever so slightly, but I caught the movement and retracted only to be pressed closer, my hands involuntarily grabbing onto the sharp edges of Braun’s head. Lightly tapping at the polished wood, my hands studied the texture as if from a new perspective, lightly scratching at the polish with the thorns. Unable to speak, I shrunk my body in apology as Braun lightly chuckled.
[Such scratches are nothing to this Braun, worry not, Friend.]
Curiously, I forced my hands to shift to his screen, careful not to damage it. As soon as my fingers reached the glossy black surface, a small tingle of static went over my body in a shake. Unable to hold back, Braun laughed.
[Please, do be careful, Mr. Roe Deer. Your essence is no longer restrained by the human flesh, some senses of yours will be much sharper now than before.]
Still, I pressed harder on his screen, feeling an odd satisfaction at the tingling feeling. Braun didn’t seem to mind, a thinking face appearing on the screen, as if contemplating my movements.
‘I am sorry.’
[Whatever for, Friend?]
The thoughts rushed through my head in a call before I could even register it. Keeping my hands on Braun’s screen, I thought about it: what exactly was I sorry for? The show incident? The hiding? The state of mine?
‘For not following the script.’
Braun didn’t reply, instead, he gently sat me on his lap and unwrapped the blanket around me. Suddenly, I felt cold and exposed. Trying to shrink into an even smaller form, I tried to retract my limbs as Braun caught onto a couple with his hand, keeping them close to his screen.
[Do you remember how we met, Friend?]
The Tuesday Quiz Show, how could I ever forget… The horror of the choir, the realisation that my knowledge of the Dark Exploration Records might not always save me, the time I realised I could not just stick to the prewritten methods created by someone else before me…
[You were the one who showed me that scripts are not always meant to be followed precisely,] Braun put me down on the couch, letting me dive back into the blanket for warmth. [Just like back then you showed me, with my hundred nights of the same old script, just how important it is to see things from a new perspective, now you are showing me that change is inevitable for all of us, Friend.]
Change. Change is terrifying when you don’t know the direction you are heading in.
[To improvise is to truly perform.]
‘To change is to truly live.’
[I knew you’d understand!]
Braun’s face lit up with a smile.
[Now, how about we try to see what a grand new performance we could put together!]
Back there on stage, before the incident, I felt like a missing piece of me was finally put in place. I felt like the words I spoke were truly mine, the air I breathed pushed me to my limits and beyond, the lights behind me outlined my figure in perfection, to stand taller and stronger than I could ever imagine. And now, it was all a blur, a recollection. I stretched my body on the couch, getting comfortable, the tiredness from before returning to me. Perhaps, I was still unused to this new body, but what did it matter? Looking up through my half closed eyes I saw Braun’s dark screen stare at me unmoving. Ah, so now he was watching my every move, now I was more interesting I suppose. In our deal I was to give the Host the most exciting play a human life could master in its short lifespan. Now, under the pitiful gaze of the only being that could accept me in this state I only had one question.
Was it at least entertaining?