Work Text:
Today is not the worst day of your life.
And again, and a two, and a three, and a four:
today is not the worst day of your life.
Today is day one…
today is day two
today is. You are
(checktheclockcheckthedoorcheckyourstepssinceyouwalkedinhere)
awake. You’re awake. Your name is Stanford Filbrick Pines. You dislike your middle name and you have an absurd number of Ph.D.s (eight, you have eight doctorates; precision keeps you awake) and you have an estranged twin brother (and he probably calls you the strange twin brother, haha, oh–you’ve been awake too long again.)
And you have a deactivated universal gateway in your basement, and eyes all throughout this house you built yourself, spies in your stronghold, knots in your gut.
Today is not the worst day of your life. But you have been staring at these notes for (check the clock again) ten minutes without making any progress, so it looks like you should probably try another cup of tea and get to work readjusting the television antennae. The shapeshifter will keep a little while longer.
Television won’t distract you, but it will numb you down. This is not the worst day of your life, but you’ve been wondering about distilling your own alcohol. Bill Cipher–
No.
You miss–
NO.
The snowstorm hasn’t let up in the last three days. You’ve been taking tea without milk for the last two, and still it’s run out. The taps have frozen, except for the
downstairs taps, the ones you use when you’re on a research kick, and the tap in the bunker for filling fire buckets, and the one in the bathroom where Bill smashed the mirror and spread the blood leaking from the sides of your fists all over your ECSTATIC FACE, LIVE A LITTLE, SIXER
this is not the worst day of your life, but you can’t leave this place, and you’re dry heaving again, so maybe the distinction doesn’t, at this particular moment, matter?
of course it matters–NO, OF COURSE IT DOES, PULL TOGETHER, FORD, THIS ISN’T OVER, YOU HAVE TO KEEP HIM OUT
YOU’RE NEVER GONNA KEEP ME OUT, GENIUS
So it goes.