Work Text:
I passed the artwork over the counter to Aplsauceyy. Hours were painstakingly spent pouring passion into every brush stroke. I watched her with hopeful expectations— it was dedicated to her, made in her image. She looked at my art, a canvas on which I laid bare my hope, admiration and love and simply said,
“Wow, that’s very among us imposter sus of you.”
Anguish and devastating disappointment blossomed within my heart, yet I kept up an untroubled façade. She appeared unreachable behind the McDonalds counters, framed by flickering fluorescent bulbs. The establishment was empty, but not in the way that felt isolating and despairing. It was just us, alone. The night was ethereal, and I believed that anything could happen in this unrecognisable world that awoke when the sun disappeared. Time felt suspended in the silent solitude of being awake while the world slept away. It was the perfect time to face the one who stood above you from a pedestal, beckoning you to rise up to meet them. She was my inspiration.
“Anyways, what can I get for you?” Aplsauceyy asked. Her voice chiselled away the stoic front I had put up. Trying to shake the sorry sobs that trembled at my lips, I sputtered out,
“The chicken nuggets, please.”
“Oh sorry, but we’ve all out of chicken nuggets.”
I wondered how it was possible that my night could worsen.
“Oh, never mind then,” I said. “Is it ok if I just hang out here? I don’t have wifi at my apartment because I am very poor, [colon, closed bracket].” Aplsauceyy raised an eyebrow, almost to make me feel self-conscious.
“Oh uh, sure. I don’t get paid enough to care.”
The uncomfortable rusty seat shrieked shrilly when I collapsed onto it. If my vocal cords were made of metal, I would be screaming the same way. My perception of my idol was completely changed from this night. Her once kind seeming smile felt jeering and judging. I knew that my artwork would be discarded dismissively after her shift. A part of myself would be thrown out along with it. My naivety, my hope, my admiration, my trust. What went wrong? Was greeting someone you greatly loved during the middle of their shift not the best thing to do after all? I rested an elbow on the crusty, greasy, unwashed table and nestled my head in my palm. A cockroach crawled out from an abandoned packet of half-eaten chips. I reached out and caressed it miserably, in an attempt to comfort myself.
“Oh, cockroach. No one understands me. Life is meaningless.”
Tears trickled down my terrible face and I felt my composure crumble completely. I started sobbing ceaselessly, the signs of distress pathetically evident in the way my body shook and heaved dramatically. I didn’t notice if Aplsauceyy was watching me, nor did I care.
My phone lit up, notifying me that my favourite fanfic was updated.
In a second, a brightness welled up inside of me, banishing the sorrowful shadows that suffocated me. Sick Fantasies, what a delectable work of literature, each word adding more depth and flavour to the overall masterpiece. The two authors, Fiish and Oh_you_wont_believe_its_not_butter, were artists who carefully painstakingly shaped pieces of their souls into this perfection. The first line captivated me. It was sweeter than a sentence could be on any tongue.
“Harry’s ass jiggled like two huge tits, but on his ass, and (hopefully) without nipples.”
My tears resumed, driven by awe instead of heartbreak. The cockroach, although lacking tear ducts, shed a tear out of respect. Aplsauceyy was a thing of the past, just a bitter memory. This fanfic, crafted by artisans of the word, is the thing I would now dedicate my life towards.