Snippet #2459829

Crumpled on her bed like a dropped doll, Victory stared at the dusk creeping over the windowsill. The seam on the sleeve of her post office uniform pushed at her shoulder in just the spot to bother her, but she felt that she did not have permission to move and, in any case, that she deserved any discomfort.

Oh, you deserve such a cruel fate! What a pitiful way to be, having your sleeve dig into your shoulder! Idiot. No wonder everybody hates you.

For the hundredth time, her mother’s words played in her mind: “Get out! You’re not my daughter! Get out!”

She’d just been waiting for an excuse. She’d wanted to say that for years. You were just too stupid to realize how much she hates you.

The fresh memory of Tammy’s voice cut through. “You still chose your homophobic family over me? After all I’ve done for you? Get out! Get out of here!”

You should be alone. You don’t belong anywhere, freak. Go live in the sewers like the scum-sucking rat you are.

A long blast of a car horn pierced the silence, snapping her back into her room. She raised her eyes to the red glow of the clock, breathed a hollow sigh, and shifted to let gravity drag her off the bed and to the sink.

She hoped she wouldn’t look at the mirror, but like a grisly car wreck, her puffed eyes and dripping makeup drew a glance. She cringed.

Fucking pathetic.

She smeared her face clean in cold water, dried it on her shirt, and slunk back to bed, curling up on top of the sheets and hiding her eyes under the pillow. She just wanted to sleep, to get out of her head by sinking further in. “It used to be so easy, didn’t it?” she thought.

To solve your problems by pussying out of them.

“It used to be so easy, and it felt so…”

Something you don’t deserve. Something you never deserved.

“I just told myself to dream, and I did.”

Wasting your time on bullshit. Typical.

“If I just try, no one will know but me.”

Yes, you will, and you’ll still be an idiot.

“I’ll dream of someplace I can hide… a fortress. I’ll dream of a castle. With walls that will keep out everything. And empty halls. And quiet. I just want it quiet—”

“Well, we’re doing our best, believe me.”

Victory flinched and opened her eyes. Her eyes worked well enough in the dim light, but she still took a moment to process the scene in front of her: a long dining table and a trio of servants clearing the used dishes onto a greasy trolley. She felt naked, suddenly thrust in front of gawkers.

“Where’d you come from, anyway?” asked the tall servant.

“Lexie’ll have a whole herd of cows if he catches you in here,” said the servant with the bushy red eyebrows.

“And if he hears you calling him ‘Lexie,’” said the servant with the big mole on her lip.

Victory felt her face heating up. “Um.” She glanced around. “Where—I-I don’t know. I’m sorry, I should…” She turned away to find a quick way out of the place.

“Well, hang on!” said the servant with the bushy eyebrows. “You don’t have to run off.”

“Yeah, you’re a fresh face. That’s pretty weird,” said the one with the mole.

“It’s not a big town, even if we’ve got a castle. Everybody knows everybody,” said the tall one. “Who are you?”

Victory froze. She’d wanted silence, not this.

Can’t even escape from your own pathetic awkwardness in your dreams.

She half-shuffled around to face them, hooking her hand on her shoulder. “Um, Vicky.” She glanced at the floor. She only cared about getting to someplace solitary, but she was in it now. “Y-you?”

The tall one opened her mouth but made no sound. She pursed her lips. “Huh.”

The one with the mole crossed her arms. “Come to think of it…”

The one with the eyebrows squinted at the domed ceiling. “Funny, I have no idea.”

Victory furrowed her brow. “How do you just go around not knowing your own names?”

The one with the mole shrugged. “Well, there’s really only us, the master, and a few others in the castle. We just kinda…”

“Get by?” the tall one suggested.

“That’s about right,” said the one with the eyebrows.

Victory frowned. “Oh. Okay. Well, can’t you... give yourself names?”

The trio looked at one another, then back at Victory.

“This One,” said the tall one.

“That One,” said the one with the eyebrows.

“The Other,” said the one with the mole.

Victory blinked. “I, uh. Guess that works.” She looked up at the cobweb-covered chandelier. The ceiling above it was once covered with beautiful murals, but dust obscured what hadn't chipped off. "But you said this was a castle?

This One nodded. "Yeah. It's pretty empty, though."

That One sighed, crossing his arms. "Ever since Lexie started getting his panties in a bunch about people watching him."

The Other scoffed. "Who'd care what he does, anyway? All he ever does is mope."

"This Lexie guy," said Victory. "Is he the, uh, master?"

"Yup," said The Other.

“Then why’s he moping?” Victory asked.

“He’s sad about a girl,” said This One.

“I just think he’s nuts. Keeps worshipping an empty throne,” said That One.

“Wow,” said Victory. “That’s kind of sad, actually.”

That One scoffed. “Not when he snarls at you for trying to clean the place.”

The Other shook her head. “He keeps saying we’ll ‘disturb the setting.’”

“And then he fires you for spying,” said This One.

Victory raised an eyebrow. “That guy needs help. Like, professional.”

Not as much as you do.

“Anyway,” she said. “Is there a…” She figured that she wouldn’t get any privacy in the castle, and it didn’t feel right to ask for her own room as an intruder. “Is there a way out of here?”

“Oh, sure!” said The Other. She pointed to the big door beyond the far end of the table. “Just go through there.”

“And take the second left, go down the stairs, and up the next,” said That One.

“Then straight, straight, left, right, and another straight. It’s just past the big stained-glass window. You can’t miss it,” said This One.

“Oh… Yeah, sure.” Victory nodded with feigned enthusiasm. She figured she could go through the door and the path might become self-evident in time. In any case, the thought of getting lost in the future was less excruciating than the thought of asking them to repeat the instructions, or worse yet, an escort. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem,” said That One.

“Glad we could help,” said This One.

“See you around!” said The Other.

“Yeah, I’ll see you,” said Victory, with no intention of doing so, and she pushed through the door to the sound of plates and silverware clanking on the greasy cart.

Half an hour later, she slumped against the wall with her clenched fists on her forehead. “This place is some godforsaken maze,” she groaned. The ubiquitous gray stone didn’t help. The creepy paintings certainly didn’t help. The only thing that seemed to help was the layer of dust on the floor which told her when she was backtracking, but she had the sneaking suspicion that it was somehow keeping her from backtracking to the actual path to the exit.

And you even get lost in your own dream. You’re like some Olympic champion of being a spectacular loser.

“But I need to find my way out,” she thought.

What’s the use? You know you’ll just keep running in circles.

She shifted her feet under her to stand.

Whatever. Knock yourself out; I don’t care.

When she swung out her arms to balance herself, her hand smacked into a plaster pillar that served as a stand for an expensive-looking urn. The pillar and urn wobbled, and she stumbled and snatched at the urn to keep it from falling. Her hasty grab only smacked it to the floor. She winced at the resulting crash. Fear prickled at the nape of her neck. Had anyone heard? She decided to not take her chances, and she sprinted for a narrow hallway.