Work Text:
Sunday stared at the form in front of them. They were stuck on the first question:
Name: __________________
They rolled their fountain-tipped blue pen around in their right hand, noticing how smooth the casing felt against their fingers.
Applying for an ID card had never felt so difficult before, so why did it now?
They let out a small sigh , and moved on to the next question.
I'll fill it out later.
*****************
“It’s Sunday!” A chipper, singsongy voice called behind them.
A hand clapped them on the back. They glanced up, their eyes meeting with Stelle’s.
Sunday smiled softly. “Maybe you can help me…” their gaze settled on the paperwork once more. “I'm attempting to fill out the documents for my Intergalactic Traveler’s License, but I can't help but feel stuck in regards to my identity. I'm aware now that I'm not just one person anymore… Wonweek and Sunny exist, and so do all the other weekdays… so, can I still call myself Sunday?”
Stelle tapped her chin thoughtfully, her eyes studying the documents.
“I think they just want to know your name, Sunday.” She grinned, ruffling Sunday’s gray-streaked hair.
Sunday picked up the pen once more, hovering over the Name: section of the document. Their grip grew stronger and shakier, until–
“I'll just do it later.”
They sighed, dropping the pen; pushing their chair out from the table and heading to their room, leaving Stelle scratching her head behind them.
*****************
Sunday lay in bed, enveloped in their fluffy pajamas after spending almost two hours in a hot shower, contemplating life. Their room was dark, but there were very faint amounts of light illuminating the inside of the room coming from the windows. It made for a very eerie, yet comforting scene.
They held the legal documents in their hands, examining the blank fields.
Name: _______________
‘....we’ll get back to that one.’
Sex: ___________
‘Oh, great, do I have to put female there? Wonderful...’
Hair color, eye color, height, weight… ‘Sigh.’
Sunday shifted slightly, uncomfortably. They placed the forms on the bedside table and tried to get comfortable, and slowly, eventually… their eyes fell shut into a peaceful slumber.
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The bird stood in an empty room.
The walls felt like they went on forever.
A glowing purple light bathed the translucent glass floor.
There was a girl standing far away… the bird walked towards her, instinctively.
As they drew nearer, they could see her clearly.
The girl was their sister.
“Robin?”
The bird called out to her, but the sound seemed muffled by bubbles.
But she still heard their cry. She turned, walking towards them.
Meeting in the middle, she smiled, taking their hands in hers. The bird heaved from running to meet her, always putting in that extra effort, which was something she loved about them.
“Sister… I don't… know who I am… anymore. I try to be okay with being one, but I'm not one, I'm many. And I can't… control them. I can't… control… myself.”
“Sunday… perhaps you don't need to control yourself. Perhaps you only need to live in the present. Perhaps you just need to exist in a way only you can… yes, you're many, but overall, the world still sees you as Sunday.”
“What about… the other weekdays…? Won't they be mad if I don't let them physically present themselves…?
“No matter how you present yourself, you're still Sunday.”
The bird sniffled, wiping their nose on their pajama sleeve. They looked up at their sister, meeting her warm gaze.
“Thank you, Robin.”
I used to float, now I just fall down
I used to know but I'm not sure now
What I was made for
What was I made for?
Her hands felt warm and comforting in theirs… despite the bird knowing this was only a dream.
'Cause I, 'cause I
I don't know how to feel
But I wanna try
I don't know how to feel
But someday I might
Someday I might
A bird’s purpose is to fly, isn’t it…?
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Sunday’s eyes opened groggily, their face smushed into the pillows. They groaned, sitting up slowly, putting a hand to their pounding head.
They could still smell the faint scent of her perfume, as if she had just been in the room…
The Astral Express must have passed through an area rich in memoria…
The bird glanced towards the documents that rested atop their side table. They got out of bed, picking the papers and their shiny fountain pen up, and walked towards the table in the center of their room.
Name: __ Sunday _______
Sunday smiled softly.
“I'm always Sunday. Even when I feel like I'm not, I'm still Sunday. That is what it means to be human, I think.”