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Ocean did not realize, until their 5th consecutive rotation around the sun, how short she was. Of course, the vastness of space that made up their limbo was horrifying enough to the girl- who wouldn’t admit it, but always assumed the world revolved around herself and her success.
But in the hours and days they were landed in the carney warehouse, wandering, and poking around, waiting for anyone to catch sight of them and tell them to beat it- scram- get back home- She realized how small they all were.
The walls seemed to loom so high, the rafters ached and looked ready to buckle, she could barely spot the ceiling. Daylight never seemed to find them amongst the abandoned signs for Popcorn stands and animatronics tossed aside to rust. What little there was to poke around through, and that wasn’t laying around the floor in crates, was normally only in reach of Noel and Mischa. But she could accept that she was short, at least compared to three of the members of the choir she roamed their little hell with.
She couldn’t stand feeling small inside. Every failed attempt at finding a way out had made that feeling bigger and stronger. Or more appropriately, made her feel more and more tiny, like one of the billions of stars that surrounded the warehouse.
Constance had pointed out one day, in the middle of a set of scaffolds that propped up soft prizes all bound in a tight straight jacket of clear plastic- was something buzzing bright and blue. The kids had gotten excited- it was a phone! Maybe a way to call for help, reach someone outside of the warehouse- a psychic, a priest- anyone.
“But, my phone, it does not work here- no bars! How you expect this one to do any better?” The Ukrainian countered at the beginning of their huddle up.
“Maybe you just don’t have the right phone provider! Some companies do charge the same price as others for less than adequate care.”
“Besides the fact the phone probably won’t work- what the point of calling the school?” Noel sighed, “How exactly is a priest going to bring any of us back from the dead? We’re not demons.”
“Not like a doctor’s going to do us any good,” Constance sighed, her brief cynicism shot down by a cold, blue eyed glare from the student body president.
But Constance’s minor enthusiasm and Ocean’s fifteen-minute speech led to the five teens straggling crates and hallowed out arcade machines together against the metal frames.
Well, Ocean had been helpfully directing Mischa and Noel where to pull them around, even dead, Constance didn’t have the strength and Ricky- no way Ocean was going to let poor Ricky waste his new working body on some rusty carney junk.
But all the shoving and pulling, the vigorous climb- it wasn’t for much.
Ocean had managed to poke a hole through the first layers of plastic wrap, clawing until she had a hole big enough to slide her arm into. She stuck her hand through, squirming through plush duckies and rubber chickens until she grabbed something solid.
And the glow that grew as she pulled her arm closer and closer back to her torso- it had to have been the phone!
“NO!” Ocean’s anguish cries rang through the warehouse, it would be enough to give any storage handler a heart attack.
Mischa craned his neck up, at the bottom of the makeshift tower- a designated balance assistant, according to her. “What? No bars?”
“Worse…” She whined, slowly stepping back- nearly crushing Constance’s hand when she got to the last crates. There was some hope- a stray thought- a dumb thought.
The group huddled together once more; she slapped the cheap plastic into Noel’s hand. It’s bright green, garish clear shell, revealing the wires and batteries inside that lit up a screen that could only project 0:00 – it was a toy.
She felt as small and cheap as that novelty phone for a moment, her face scrunched up, disappointment- even a glimmer of real fear in her eyes. She didn’t give Constance a chance to reassure her, stomping away deep into the labyrinth of cheap carnival prizes and broken equipment.
She settled for a torn apart hovel of care bears to wallow in, ruined from an exposure in the plastic that allowed them to stain and harden. Whatever material they’d been manufactured with- she hoped if her parents hadn’t sued the Carnaval for her death, that at least a child’s parent who found the 4-dollar prize had turned hard as stone over the course of three days would.
When she was a little girl, feeling small compared to the blinding lights and the screams of the Uranium City’s fair activities wasn’t terrifying. She considered it practice for when she inevitably would face the blinding spotlight and adoring screams of fans when she appeared as a parliament counselor someday. But the waning light that streamed through the dusty hallways, barely lighting up the place- and only reminding her that there wasn’t anything outside, but space and stars made her feel so insignificant. It was a feeling Ocean wasn’t familiar enough with to ignore.
So wrapped up in her failure, in the crushing atmosphere of empty space, she hadn’t even heard the teetering of footsteps as she cried into her knees.
“You’re crying.”
That soft, but loud voice was enough to get Ocean to real back and hit her head against one of the metal bars behind her- a deep groan left her voice.
She knew this must’ve been hell, because why else would that hurt so bad. And where else would she encounter a walking talking freak like Jane Doe? She certainly didn’t have any of the people skills Ocean worked so hard towards, as she stepped until she was feet to feet with Ocean. Had the redhead been standing up and not sunken back in the worse bean bag of all time, she would’ve been nose to nose with a monster.
“You’re still crying.” She remarked, her head twisting jaggedly to the side.
“Well pointing out that I’m crying isn’t going to suddenly make me stop,” Ocean snipped back, wiping her sticky cheeks with the back of her wrist.
“How can I make you stop crying?” Jane asked, if she had any pep or spoke faster, Ocean would’ve thought she asked that sarcastically. But Jane didn’t seem capable of it, she hardly understood when Noel shooed her away, in the rare times he had anything to say to the doll-eyed girl.
“Ugh…” Ocean wrinkled her nose as she sniffled, trying to keep any tears or snot from dripping onto the chest of her uniform. Oh, but then what was the point of a perfect appearance award if she was dead- her uniform back on earth had to have been burned- and the clothes she wore now…she didn’t know how real they were. How real anything was. Even how real she was.
“How do I stop feeling so…” Her strained voice caused Jane to lean over, and as the curly blonde loomed over- Ocean realized.
Jane was massive.
She wasn’t heavy like Constance, or muscular like Mischa, she certainly didn’t have the assistance of braces to give her a small height boost like Ricky did for a time- but she was tall. A bit stocky, she was too stiff to be lanky, but she was the tallest girl Ocean had ever seen.
Another tally in her book against Jane being a real girl- no one in Uranium was as tall as Mischa. Even without the heeled shoes and her bumped up hairdo, she’d still be only a few inches away from the Ukrainian’s height.
“Small?” Ocean squeaked.
It was a complicated question, enough that Jane leaned back to cock her head about- forcing Ocean to wait if she’d be prompted for an explanation or given another cryptic history lesson about the vertically challenged. She had enough after yesterday’s cannibalism lecture when the boys found two rats gnawing on a dead mouse.
With static movements and her hands stuck in that Barbie pose, Ocean wasn’t ready when Jane suddenly leaned down once again, even closer than before. Using her stiff fingers, she cupped underneath Ocean’s armpits and had a firm grip on her shoulders, gradually lifting her up from her laid back position until her legs were dangling straight down.
“Do you feel taller now?” Jane asked, standing straight- her face level with Ocean, the redhead realized how far off of the ground she still was. She could’ve kicked Jane’s calves if she swung her legs a bit, but now wasn’t a time to test her theories on if the walking doll could feel any pain.
It was almost a sweet gesture. A very literal gesture, but, better than the alternative-
“In London of 1420, the torture rack was known as “The Duke of Exeter’s Daughter”, it was operated by the yeoman wardens to extract confessions from suspected heretics and traitors.”
Ocean groaned, oh god- she started.
“The victim's ankles are fastened to one roller and the wrists are chained to the other, while a handle and ratchet mechanism are used to steadily retract the chains, increasing the strain on the prisoner's shoulders, hips, knees, and elbows. It brings excruciating pain. The roller could be rotated on its own axis, consequently twisting the ropes until the victim's joints were dislocated and separated. The muscle fibers would be stretched so extremely, they would be rendered entirely useless.”
Ocean blinked dumbly at Jane.
“How…is that supposed to make me feel taller?”
“The victims often were stretched so far, if they survived enough to stand, they were several inches taller before gravity settled in again.” Jane stated.
Ocean still stared, bewildered by the girl holding her up the way she did her dolly, she felt a bit bad for that headless sack. Having to listen to her go on about the most horrible things with such a pleasant, light voice- how this girl knew so much about the world and so little about her past was bewildering.
“I have heard that a way to boost someone’s self-worth is to give genuine compliments. They can strengthen relationships and improve communication.”
Ocean cocked her head back, suppressing a groan. God, she sounded like the school counselor.
But still blinking and staring into the girl’s face, Jane was unphased.
“You have good planning and reasoning skills; you are the smartest girl in Uranium.” She started, but Ocean wasn’t convinced- this was all stuff she said of herself before. Jane must’ve just heard it and was parroting like she did to everybody.
“You have a very pretty voice,” Jane continued, her doe eyes and light tone sincere, albeit still haunting.
The ginger’s lips twitched for a moment.
“You were very smart to use the collection of banners as cots for when the choir gets tired. Even though sleep is useless here, it was a nice thought.”
A small smile came onto Ocean’s face, combating the constant frown Jane always carried.
“Thank you...Jane.” She glanced down- she didn’t even realize, at some point, Jane let her go. She was standing atop the criminally unsafe bears. She slowly started to grin, seeing her reflection in those black eyes, for once not feeling afraid as she was totally focused on herself.
Ocean O’Connell Rosenberg was bigger than life could handle- this was surely just a short break to give it a little time to get ready for her big come back, of course.
A skipped down from the pile, walking away back towards the little storage area that the gang typically stowed away in. She heard Jane’s static footsteps right behind her, but didn’t even look back.
“…Compliments strengthen bonds and improve communication amongst peers,” Jane echoed herself from earlier, though her voice was still as sad as ever- it seemed she was expecting Ocean to return the favor.
“Oh,” Ocean bit her lip, sucking air through her teeth as she turned back to Jane.
A big, nervous smile stretched her freckled cheeks- intimidated once more by that slack, expressionless face and those black eyes- no longer reflecting Ocean in the dimmed light. The way the doll girl loomed over so tall and powerful, had her ego not been stroked well enough, Ocean may have shrunken down once again.
“…You know a lot of…interesting facts,” Ocean giggled nervously, her smile becoming more forced as she waited for Jane’s reaction.
She blinked and turned her head back in the direction of the hallway, continuing the path Ocean had started.
Sighing a breath of relief, Ocean marched forward, quickly taking her place as leader in front of Jane Doe.