Chapter Text
He's in a forest—a forest that stretches endlessly, caked in snow and bark. Everywhere his eyes wander, the trees go on forever. He doesn't know how he got here or what’s happening. All he knows is that he's at peace. He never wants... to... leave—
"Terrance! Wake up!"
The young man jolts awake, ripped from his serene dream. As his vision clears, he sees the stern face of his teacher, Ms. Belfort, glaring down at him.
"I understand you're tired, but you can't keep hibernating in the middle of my class!" she scolds. "You're lucky your grades are so high, or else I’d have—"
Terrance tunes out her words, his mind wandering. He glances around the classroom. It's empty—completely barren. Not a single soul is left except for him and Ms. Belfort. The muffled chaos of the hallway reaches his ears: the frantic footsteps of students rushing to their next class, the chatter of friends catching up. It’s loud—too loud. His head buzzes and sharp pain stabs at his temples. Have they always been this annoying?
"You got that, kid?" Ms. Belfort’s voice snaps him back to reality.
Terrance blinks and realizes he’s already outside the classroom. He doesn't even remember walking out or the lecture she must have given him.
"Yes, Ms. Belfort..." he mumbles, forcing a half-hearted smile. He shuffles away, noticing a group of students whispering and giggling as they glance at him. A sinking feeling settles in his chest.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a small flask. Sighing, he takes a swig, muttering under his breath.
"This is my life now."
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Nine Years Later
"Sorry, sir, but I don't think you're going to be a good fit for what we do here," the elderly man behind the desk says, his tone polite but firm.
The large young man sitting across from him nods, his deep, low voice quiet. "It... it’s okay. I hope you have a good day."
He stands and leaves the theater, his shoulders slumped.
"That’s the fourth rejection today..." he mutters, trudging down the street.
Reaching into his pocket, he checks the time on his phone.
June 4th, 2023
3:00 PM
0 notifications
With a sigh, he fishes out his keys, unlocks the door to his dingy apartment, and steps inside. The place is a cramped, run-down hole in the wall, but it’s all he can afford. He heads straight to his bedroom, exhausted from another fruitless day of job hunting.
Before he can shed his cheap corner-store suit, there’s a knock at the door.
Swinging the door open, Terrance finds himself face-to-face with a delivery worker. The kid can’t be older than seventeen, and his awkward demeanor is evident in his voice.
"Uh... are you Terrance Floyd, sir?"
"Yeah, thanks," Terrance mumbles, snatching the package from the kid’s hands.
"Wait, you need to si—"
The door slams shut before the worker can finish. Too focused on the package, Terrance pays no mind to the kid’s interrupted words.
The package is small, a simple cardboard box with no return address or identifying labels.
"Looks sketchy," he mutters to himself, "but I’m still gonna open it."
Ripping the box open, he finds a scarf inside—a deep crimson red with a repeating heart pattern. Each heart is split in half: one side full, the other hollow.
"This better not be from who I think it is," Terrance grumbles as he picks up the scarf. A folded piece of paper slips out and flutters to the floor.
He bends down, picks it up, and unfolds it.
"To My Amazing So—"
Terrance crushes the note in his fist before reading further. His movements are swift as he storms into the kitchen, opens a drawer filled with crumpled papers, and tosses the new note on top of the pile.
Finally free of his uncomfortable suit, he collapses onto his bed, ready to let sleep take him. But his mind won’t stop racing. Memories of the past creep in—the bad old times.
Eight Years Ago
"Whuh? Where am I...?"
A young Terrance groans as he awakens in the back of a moving vehicle. Everything around him is blurred, his vision swimming.
He turns his head to the side and spots someone in the driver’s seat. The figure remains silent, ignoring Terrance’s drunken ramblings.
"Who... who da hell are ya? Where am I? Am I... gettin’ kidnapped?" Terrance slurs, his words barely coherent.”
"Terrance, please... don’t work yourself up."
Terrance recognizes that voice immediately—it’s his sister, Abigail.
"Abby? Wha’ happened? How’d I end up in your really nice car?" Terrance slurs, struggling to prop himself up into a sitting position.
"You know Mom always gives you all the good stuff... I don’t get why she hates me so much. It’s like... she should’ve just aborted me, ya fuckin’ asshat!"
The car screeches to an abrupt halt, sending Terrance lurching forward. He barely catches himself before tumbling into the front seat.
"Why would you say something like that?" Abigail’s voice trembles, the hurt evident in her tone. She exhales sharply, and when she speaks again, he can hear the tears threatening to spill. "You know Mom..." Her voice falters for a moment. "Please, Terrance, you’ve done enough. What you did today was just... Please stop talking." Her words are tinged with anger.
"There you go again," Terrance snaps, his frustration boiling over. "Always trying to sweep me under the rug like I’m some black sheep you don’t wanna deal with. ‘Cause, fuck ol’ Terry, right? Or—oh, wait—how ‘bout I use the nickname you gave me when you screwed me over for brownie points with your friends? Terror! Yeah, 'cause I’m a fuckin’ terror to your life, right, Abigail? Why don’t you say it?"
"YOU KNOW I DIDN’T MEAN TO—" Abigail’s shout fills the car before she cuts herself off, taking a deep, shaky breath. After a pause, she composes herself and continues, her voice cold but steady.
"You’re drunk. And you know I regret that. This conversation is over. Lay down—we’re going home. And when we get inside, keep quiet. I don’t want Mom seeing you like... this."
Terrance opens his mouth to argue but stops, the fight draining out of him. His body feels heavier than his thoughts, and exhaustion takes over. He flops back against the seat, staring blankly at the ceiling of the car.
As the world blurs around him, one thought lingers in his mind: the life he wants to have. All the things he’s going to do when he finally gets out of this place.
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Terrance snaps out of whatever trance he was in and looks around at his surroundings. The sticky brown countertop, the sound of snoring, and the faint clinking of glasses clue him in immediately.
"How the hell did I end up at the bar?" he mutters, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to regain some sense of clarity.
"Oh wow, you’re finally back to your senses," the bartender’s voice chimes in from behind the counter.
"I didn’t do anything embarrassing, did I?" Terrance groans, standing up and reaching for his wallet.
"No need," the bartender replies, her tone casual as she wipes down the counter with a damp rag. "You paid in advance—somewhere between your drunken cries about how much you hate... well, I couldn’t quite pin down who exactly you were talking about, but it was loud enough to leave an impression."
Terrance winces. "Great..."
The bartender smirks and leans across the counter, giving him a light pat on the back. "You picked a good time to sober up. We’re closing in five. Be safe walking home, okay, Terry?"
Terrance nods absently and shuffles out of the bar.
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Out on the dimly lit streets, Terrance staggers forward, his mind racing.
"I’ll never get a job now... My dream of acting is dead. I’ll just be some wagie until I die," he mutters to himself, spiraling deeper into his thoughts.
Lost in his musings, he accidentally bumps into a man heading in the opposite direction. The stranger is oddly dressed in a bright yellow outfit, a Burger King crown perched haphazardly on his head.
Before Terrance can apologize, the man mutters something incomprehensible under his breath and scurries off into the night.
Terrance sighs and bends down to retrieve his phone, which had slipped from his hand during the collision. As he picks it up, his eyes catch something fluttering on the ground nearby—a flyer.
Curious, he picks it up and reads the text:
"Big Clougy’s Clown Collage is looking for talent!
Want to know more? Call this number."
Terrance stares at the flyer, his brow furrowed.
"Nah... I’m not that desperate," he mutters, stuffing the flyer into his pocket without a second thought.
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Twenty Minutes Later
Terrance sits on the edge of his bed, the crumpled flyer in one hand and his phone in the other. His fingers hover over the screen before he finally sighs and presses the call button.
"Hello, is this the clown place? I would like to, uh... apply."