Alice Reed sat on a pea-green disaster of a couch. Her blonde hair was a distraught mess, pulled in all directions while her hair tie tried desperately to stick to protocol. Despite this struggle, a nearly put-together ensemble of a T-shirt and jeans held things in place. Blue eyes, clear orbs encircled by a darker blue limbal ring, a stark meeting. Shameless adulation lifted a bulbous nose so high she was on the verge of toppling at any moment.
She told herself plots, ploys, and storylines, crafting a narrative from mere moments and projecting unspoken promises from her twinkling eyes. Fabricated fiction created a boss torn from weakness and procrastination. Unchecked discipline, the hero of the tale she’d managed to grasp onto after a string of successes. The product of short-term rigor, while a strict sense of motivation held her hand. All the while, gracious thoughts skirted around the edges of her mind, complementary and appeasing.
Alice’s small world was a silent echo chamber, the space between hers to do with what she saw fit. One such endeavor coincided with a bid for self-improvement.
Each bit of technology was a blank slate, a by-product of being abandoned and left to rot.
The process had lifted the fog, altering the world into a bright and shining mood. Alice’s mind suffered a drastic perception shift, becoming a clear street after stormy weather. The cobwebs were faint reminders, a retrospective used as a backdrop to appreciate the present.
Alice jumped to her feet, waltzing to the bag lazily, leaning against a wall, scooping it up before exiting the apartment. Delving into the outside world, she was enveloped by the day’s warmth, and any chill instantly whisked away. On the verge of a full-blown skip and a hum in the making, Alice reached the dumpsters. An unwavering smile survived the rancid perfume, the aroma of degrading trash a fragrance beyond compare. Taking in all life had to offer, a strange sight knocked the smile off her face. Between the cracks of the dumpster, a mess was being created.
A shadowy figure stood as a dark spot in the bright day. Countless whispy tendrils drifted in every direction of a creature with only rows of sharp teeth to give an impression of a face. It dug through a trash bag behind the dumpers, agitation forcing each movement and clinging to the creature.
Alice stared, slack-jawed with disgust, as bits and pieces flew in different directions, unable to stop attacking the unnatural thing. While she soaked up the sight, its head shot upwards with snarling lips. Flowing upwards, it momentarily hung in the air.
Alice’s feet moved into action as the thing shot down. Its aim is straight and true. A mere glance saw those tendrils a breath away. A whisper’s worth of promises.
Alice dove straight out of sight, wriggling between cars with a racing heart. Creeping and crawling on all fours as time was measured by each heartbeat. Alice’s limbs screamed in protest, the intermediate boundary between fear and normalcy. From ongoing traffic to the birds wagging their gossipy tounges, life resumed without incident.
Alice hardly dared to move, clinging to the car like it was her forever home. But the moment was too long, bordering on the ridiculous in a wrong way. Alice crept into motion, chancing a moment’s reprieve from the action. Paranoid glances carried her back to her apartment, and the hair-raising trip ended with the turn of the lock. Alice’s fears pricked and nagged, rising through the cracks in a blatant refusal to be quelled.
Unwavering glances toward the door accompanied her to the couch, crumbling before the aftermath.
Knock
Knock
Instantly back on her feet, Alice appreciated every angle with paranoid eyes. Her madness was a structure built in real-time, a rushed job of half-hearted attempts.
Knock
Knock
Alice’s attention was directed toward the fridge, and this unorthodox arrival raised several questions.
Inching ever closer to that machine, listening to it hum with vitality, Alice hovered around the door. This strange day heaved another dose of odd.
“Hello! It’s rather cold in here!” an indignant tone flowed from the fridge’s bowels, a neighbor to her recent take-out. “If you wouldn’t mind!” was the last form of sarcasm before the inevitable drop into total disrespect.
Carefully, Alice opened the door, and a giant amphibian emerged. It was impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit, with a no-nonsense expression, and carrying a large suitcase.
The amphibian standard of bumpy, dry, and leathery skin with the occasional wart to fulfill the quota was all present. Two cracked orbs marked by slits, veering off into separate directions, looked at the world with dissatisfaction. A line stretching from one side to the other, a lipless endeavor barely constituted a mouth.
Once erect, it distastefully removed tiny bits of food from the suit, as the muck of others a repulsive consequence.
Alice’s attention was caught on the scene that had replaced the back of her fridge. A vibrant scene of a bustling atmosphere of work-related shenanigans. An office had sprung to life, desk after desk of hard-working
drones in a comatose state were on display. The sounds of ringing phones and clicking keys drifted from the scene, the soothing melodies of corporate life available.
“Mr. Boggins, I’m at your service!” he said while Alice’s head was stuck in the fridge. He headed to the table and threw the suitcase onto its surface fluidly. Popping the lock with a flourish, the constraints were removed, and stack after stack of paper soared into the air. Neatly placed rows full of information, small print filling the spaces in black courier.
With a flick of the wrist, Mr. Boggins plucked a single piece from the hundreds. Gripping the paper with a delicate touch, his eyes ran across it consistently. A critical eye surveying the piece with the same enthusiasm as one lends to tax season.
“You’re a frog…” the words slipped past the guardrails with reverence, disbelief dominating her voice and face. Mr. Boggins looked up, bored up to this and this nonsense. This momentary glance actively worked on a retort.
“The proper term is Toad.” He returned to the paper before continuing this storyline. “Right!” Mr. Boggins straightened his shoulders, ready to proceed. “Have you had any contact with the following: Paxatho?” The start of the strange substances and vague words commenced, followed by a series of lame stabs in the dark. Nothing registering in this stream of nonsense.
“Sinethilo?”
“Gyrilly?”
“Ionar? No? ” Mr. Boggins returned to the paper, searching for information. “Have you been using your daily machines?” This idea lent confusion to Alice’s face, going over her head. “Technology? Screens?” clarifying as the clouds were whisked away and dots connected while realization dawned on her face. With a dramatic head shake in the negative direction, a proud determination returned to her features.
With a single nod, a solution was reached. Mr. Boggins tossed the paper onto the stack; there was no further need for the information. From there, everything was shoved down until the suitcase could be closed before he returned his attention to Alice.
“Things are happening that it’s best if humanity isn’t aware of. I suggest you return to your previous…actions,” Mr. Boggins placed an iPhone into her hand with these words. Taking the last word with him, he returned to the fridge and disappeared while she stared at the phone.
A mixture of feelings consumed Alice’s frame, battling for dominance. Following Mr. Boggin’s steps, she rushed to the fridge, throwing open the door to find the previous state of normalcy. Everything perfectly returned to their spots like they hadn’t been moved.
Once again, Alice stared at that phone as something inside her rose, dominating every feeling. A strict sense of justice held sway, the righteousness brimming over when something off the side turned the tides. Instantly shifting onto a new narrative bolted into action. Drifting toward a corner, Alice inspected a developing issue. Reaching forward, she pulled a piece of the wallpaper away…