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Paul Matthews didn’t want to have to act anymore. His face was getting tired from smiling all the time, his knees ached, his throat screamed at him. He was falling apart at the seams, being torn open by the gentle hands of his new life, destroyed by the mouth of His mask.
The Voice trapped him here, in this world where everything’s perfect, everything’s saccharine; all pearly picket fences, morning kisses, and shiny smiles—a facade of happiness that he didn’t have in the other place.
In the other place all his friends were dead, his parents were dead, Emma was dead, and he was dead; a puppeted corpse singing siren songs for The Hive. At least here, he could be happy. Have free will and control of his autonomy. At least here he could keep and cradle his humanity. At least here he could love and be loved.
Paul stood in front of the mirror, checking his teeth for blue stains because of the nightmare he had. After making sure they were alright, he moved to get dressed. A dress shirt, (buttoned all the way to the top) a black tie, a dark brown suit jacket, dark brown pants, white socks, and black dress shoes. It was the same routine everyday. Get up, get dressed, get coffee and breakfast, grab a newspaper, leave for work.
Same. Same. Same. Same.
He sat down at the breakfast table, slicing into a fresh piece of ham like a knife into flesh. He stuffed it into his mouth before cracking a small smile at his wife—Charlotte Matthews, from across the table. He was all business suits, black coffee, and warm springs, while she was more cat sweaters, iced tea, and cozy winters. “G’mornin’ Paul, how did’ya sleep?” She asked, slicing into her own breakfast.
“I slept fine.” He lied, picking up a piece of egg with his fork. Charlotte stared him down with those big blue eyes of hers, salty oceans he could get lost in, they were mirrors of his own—bright, frazzled, and full of love. His head ached, a striking pain throbbed in his skull, making him try to blink it away every two seconds.
She sighed, arching a penciled brow. “Be honest, darlin’.” She cooed.
His head split in half, stopping his thoughts in their tracks. The bee hive in his skull buzzed, knocking over neatly organized trays of memories and folders of long forgotten fears. Paul blinked, the ache persisted, moving behind his eyes. He was silent for a moment, tried to think of how to answer her. Charlotte smiled compassionately, putting her fork and knife down. He could smell her perfume wafting through the air; lavender and berry.
“I just- I have a headache. Nothing for you to worry about, Lottie.” He said, smiling gently at her, all canines and chapped lips. She smiled right back, all pearly teeth with a slight gap in them, framed by her bright red lipstick. He always liked to sit on the bed and watch her do her makeup and hair, at the vanity in their room.
Charlotte stood up, walking over to where he was sitting. She put her hands on his shoulders, a comforting weight against the pain there. She kissed his short brown hair before combing her hands through it. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry.” She drawled.
“Would you like for me to brew you some hot tea? Get you some medicine? Let you rest for a bit more?” She rambled, gently massaging his shoulders and neck. Paul looked up, offering another gentle smile as he reached for her hand. Charlottes hands always very cold, though rather soft, but he couldn’t complain, his hands were exactly the same—they were both very cold-natured. She constantly wore sweaters, and he couldn’t bear not wearing his suit jacket. Hatchetfield was already freezing all the time, he didn’t know how people thrived without warmth.
“I should be alright, but thank you.” He said, lacing his fingers with hers. Then he gave her a small kiss on the hand. Charlotte blushed, before she sat back down to finish her breakfast, Paul followed suit. They ate in silence, the ringing in his ears only got worse. He helped her put their plates in the sink before letting her adjust his tie. “Welp, I’m off,” he started, running a hand through his hair.
“Hey, I’ll getcha something from Beanies after work, you want a… mocha, right?” He snapped his fingers, recollection glinting in his eyes.
Charlotte chuckled, running over to kiss him goodbye; an embrace he melted into. (Gosh, her lips were soft, and he’s sure her lipstick left a mark, but he couldn’t care less) when they parted, she stroked his shoulder with her thumb. “Mhm, I want a mocha.” She stated, grinning. “You always remember what I like, dear.” With a giggle, she rose up on her tippy-toes up to kiss his nose.
“Of course I do, honey.” He kissed her hair and fixed her headband. He picked up his workbag, slipping away from her grip. “I gotta get going, I love you, Charlie!”
She called out to him as he left, hands cupped around her mouth. “I love you too, darlin’!” When she was met with his kind smile, she walked back into the house, greeted by the smell of fresh-baked cookies and coffee.
Paul rounded the corner, humming a song to himself. He spotted some people he knew on the street, a brunette man he recognized as his cousin—Jerry Graves—sitting on a bench and writing something down in a notebook, (Paul noted the scowl on his face) Greenpeace Girl was standing next to Beanies Coffeehouse with a clipboard like always.
No one in Hatchetfield really knew her name, but Paul had seen her first initial and last name on a document somewhere, H. Jones, maybe her name was Hailey? (Paul noted she didn’t have a coat, she was shaking.) So, he decided to buy her a hot chocolate.
He felt like something in the coffee shop was missing, but he ignored it, returned her thanks with a pat on the shoulder, and went back on his merry way. He saw the local homeless man snuggling with a raccoon. (He noticed the yellow in his eyes. It must be the light.)
He liked people-watching. It made him feel more powerful; more in control. Paul liked being in control, not in a mean way, but he liked knowing what was going on, planning things in advance, being able to take the lead in the dance that is life.
Suddenly, he was stopped in his tracks by something falling from the sky. It shone brightly, a light blue. It looked like a stage light of sorts. No one else seemed to see it. No one flinched. Jerry was yelling at someone on the phone, Greenpeace Girl was trying to get someone to sign, the Homeless Man was trying to find something to eat in the trash, a brunette young woman in a worn jacket was standing next to a building, smoking a cigarette and scrolling on her phone. He tried his best to quell his worries and swung by the newspaper place to grab one.
His thoughts were still racing.
He stepped into CCRP, rushing to the elevator to get to his floor. A blur of brown hair and a phone-case covered in cat stickers shuffled into the elevator with him. Melissa Dove smiled and waved at him. Her tie was a tad askew, and she was late, which she never was. She was always at work before him. “Hi, Paul!” She chirped, pushing up her glasses. Paul cracked a small smile and politely waved at her, feeling a bit too tired and too in pain to talk at the moment. She typed on her phone while the lift moved.
“Is your computer running?—no, not like that! I mean, uh, is it working?” Paul murmured into the phone as the lady on the other side whined and complained loudly in his ear. He had to pull the phone away multiple times. “No, I-“ He sighed. This wasn’t much of a difficult job, but it was definitely annoying sometimes. Most time, actually.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “Try unplugging it and plugging it back in.” A pause. “It’s plugged into the wall. Yep.” He drums his hand on his thigh as he waits for a response. “Oh. Okay, okay. Yeah, okay, bye.” Beeeep! The person on the other line hung up, leaving Paul alone with his thoughts and the ringing in his ears.
Until his best friend, Bill Woodward, knocked quietly on the side of his cubicle. He leaned his elbow on the metal and plastic, grinning at him. “Heya, Paul.” Bill had been his best friend since he joined the company; he had a young daughter named Alice, who was a ray of sunshine, and, unlike Paul, she loved theatre, she wanted to be a playwright some day. Paul would always babysit her when Bill was too busy to care for her. She was a nice kid, all brown hair in pigtails, glitter, and pink frilly dresses.
“Oh, hey Bill.” He said, snapping out of the trance he was in. The old flickering fluorescent lights above them hummed. Paul blinked. The ringing in his ears didn’t cease, and the splintering headache returned.
The other man clasped his hand together, brow furrowing in concern. “Are you alright, buddy?” He inquired. Paul nodded and flashed him a double thumbs up, eyes lighting up with affection for his friend.
“Just dandy.” Paul smiled, canines just barely peeking out.
Bill was still concerned. “Alright then. I was coming to ask if you wanted anything from Beanies? I know it’s usually your thing to ask but-“
“I’d like that.” He interrupted him. “Thanks for asking, Bill.”
A quiet ding caught Bills attention. He fished for his phone in his pocket, staring at who called him. “Sorry, Paul, I gotta take this. It’s Claudia.” He explained. Claudia was his wife. Paul had met her a few times, she was nice. However, she seemed a bit suspicious and nervous, especially around Bill, but Paul wasn’t gonna poke where he didn’t belong.
“I understand, go ahead.” Paul’s fake smile widened into a genuine one as Bill rushed away to answer the call. The ringing of the phone at his desk startled him. He answered it, having to help someone else with their tech—a phone this time. He tried his best to help them with the tired state he was in, but it was definitely a challenge.
After the call, he leaned his head on his desk. He was alone with his thoughts again. He zoned out for a moment before lifting his head, and shakily grabbing a photo he hid in his wallet. It was a photo of him and a brunette girl; not his wife, but a woman he loved before. Who was bright, sarcastic, and lovely. Who, in this picture, is sticking her fingers behind his head in a bunny ears motion. Paul sighed, rubbing his forehead.
He began to reminisce, thinking back to high school. Charlotte was getting awful close to him, kissing his cheek, while he was busy staring at a girl from across the courtyard. Kelly Parkins. Beautiful, witty, sassy, and currently sitting against a tree smoking a joint and doodling in a notebook. His eyes didn’t stray from her, he practically felt them turn into hearts cartoon-style. His heart pounded against his ribcage, cheeks flushing. He remembered seeing her sway with someone else at a dance; she was wearing a beautiful frilly green dress, she always looked good in green. He didn’t think much of the looks she gave him that night.
A few years later—Paul was browsing the local library for history books, he needed them for a college class in a couple weeks.
That was when he spotted her. Her curly brown hair was tied up in a messy bun, as it usually was, she was dressed in sweatpants and a white hoodie with text that said ‘good vibes’. He approached her, books in hand. “Hey! Kelly, right? I’ve seen you around school before.” He flashed that winning smile. She grinned, but it quickly faltered, a tense silence falling over them.
“Oh, hey.” She murmured.
Paul fiddled with his thumbs. “So, uh.. would you like to go out for coffee sometime? My treat.” He chuckled nervously, trying to ease the uncomfortable tension. Bookshelves creaked behind them. Unspoken words hung in the air.
“I’d like that, Paul, but I can’t.” She explained, smiling faintly, eyebrows creased. Her eyes darted around frantically, paranoid.
He inched closer, leaning down to her level. He hushed his voice to a whisper. “Why not? We can sit somewhere secluded, if that’s what you want.” He said, following her gaze and finding nothing (of interest, at least.)
“He won’t let me talk to you.” She squeaked. He’d never seen her so vulnerable before. He rested his arm on the desk in front of her, dusty aged wood covered in books and crumpled paper. The light of the sunset shone through the library window, making her brown eyes into a beautiful shade of shimmering gold.
Paul smiled, rubbing his fingers together anxiously. “Who? Your dad?” He asked. The shuffling of feet and falling of a book startled him, he could hear the librarian humming a song faintly, her shoes tapping on the carpet.
“Let’s go talk somewhere else.” She coaxed, rising from the chair, grabbing her bag and the book she was reading earlier. Kelly pulled him by his hand, making him flustered. His pale face turned beet red, his hands getting sweatier than they usually were.
And talk they did, talking turned into talking for days, days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Talking turned into a relationship, into love, into kisses under the moonlight, dancing together in his living room, holding each other til they fell asleep. One day, they were prancing through their secret spot, before they ended up at the beach, under the stars. Paul reached for Kelly’s hand.
She leaned up, grabbed his face, and kissed him fiercely. He returned it, moving his other hand to rest on her waist. They kissed for a while, both leaning into it. Crickets and cicadas buzzed, nighthawks chirped endlessly. They eventually parted, Paul wrapping both his arms around her. “I love you, Kel.” He whispered intimately, heaving. She had left him breathless.
She looked hesitant, nervous, even. She gently smiled. “I love you too, Paul. But there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Oh?” Paul tilted his head, blinking. “And what’s that?”
Kelly grasped his arm. “None of this is real, Paul. It’s all an illusion, a-a stage! It’s all fake, Paul!” Her nails dug through his blue coat. “It’s all about you! He wants His leading man, that’s you! You’re His puppet!” She said frantically.
“What?” He questioned. “Kel, you’re scaring me.”
His thoughts were interrupted by a car pulling up. A polished, red, nineteen eighty-six Mustang. A woman who looked similar to Kelly—same nose, same eye shape, same stature, the only differences were her eye color, hair color, and face shape—was driving. “Kelly! Where have you been?!” She hissed, then gazed straight at Paul. “And with a boy no less!”
The woman stormed out of the car, grabbed Kelly’s wrist, and dragged her towards the passenger seat. “Mom wants you home.” She stated, her voice a cruel monotone.
“Who are you?” Paul gazed back at her, bewildered.
Kelly tried to fight her way out of the woman’s grip. “I’m her sister, Jane, and mom needs her back home, she’s been out past her curfew!”
“She’s not my sister! Shes an actor! My sister is dead! My sister is dead!” Kelly shouted. “My name isn’t Kelly! It’s Emma, Emma Perkins! Emma Perkins!” Emma cried as she was pushed into the car by ‘Jane”. Paul watched as they drove off, sand flying behind them.
Paul was brought back to reality by the ringing of a phone. He answered it, soon realizing this was his last call, as it was (he looked over at the clock) four thirty-two PM. He did whatever he needed to, gathered his stuff, and clocked out. When he went down the elevator, he was accompanied by Bill and Melissa, who were already engaged in a conversation, probably about cats or Alice or something else. He walked sluggishly out of CCRP, trudging the short distance to Beanies Coffeehouse to pick up a mocha for Charlotte.
He hiked back home, and when he opened the door he was met with the delicious smell of dinner, chicken and dumplings. Charlotte turned to face him once he stepped into the kitchen. “Oh, welcome home, darlin’! How was work?”
“It was fine. Uh, here’s your coffee, Char.” He set the mocha down in front of her. She stopped stirring dinner and picked it up to take a sip.
She grinned, resuming dinner. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
“Of course.” He paused, fiddling with his thumbs. The rest of the night was all blurred together. Dinner, shower, read with Charlotte, turn the lights out, fall asleep. They held each other. Paul dreamt of blue, as always.
The next morning went how it always does. Paul slid out of bed, checked his teeth for blue, got dressed in his suit and tie, made his way to the breakfast table where his wife had made pancakes. He sat down and started to eat them gratefully. “Thank you for making these, Lottie.”
The hive in his head was silent.
Charlotte smiled at him from across the table. She was wearing a lighter shade of lipstick, it was pretty on her, Paul thought. “It’s my pleasure, sweetie.”
He soon got lost in thought, thinking about Emma and what she said. Was all of this fake? Even if it was, he faintly remembered what awaited him on the other side. Him with bright blue eyes. Him, a siren luring sailors to their death. Emma, a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf painted in blue. Emma, precious Emma, dead because of him. Bill, sweet, understanding, excitable Bill, dead because of his love and urge to protect his daughter. Charlotte, nervous, kind, frazzled Charlotte, dead because of her deadbeat husband, her unnatural blue guts hanging from her adorable cat sweater. Alice, sweet, anxious, creative Alice, dead because of The Hive. Ted, annoying, crass, and strangely sweet to his little brother Ted, dead because of a gunshot. Even if this was fake. It’s all he has left.
Paul quickly finished his breakfast, zoning out. He picked his bag up, kissed Charlotte goodbye, and left for work.
When he got to CCRP, something strange happened. The elevator was open, and not moving. He saw Melissa sitting down in a chair, It didn’t look like a normal office chair, it looked like a makeup chair. Sylvia was next to her, helping her do her makeup. Overhead, the flickering light turned blue. Everyone stopped dead in their tracks, looking like a deer in headlights. Mr. Davidson tugged on Paul’s arm. “What? Hey! Let go of me! What’s going on?” Ken glared at him sharply. The last thing Paul heard was Sylvia saying ‘lights down.’
And just like that, Mr. Davidson threw him out of the building. Paul stood up, regained his bearings and—
A flash of blue in the corner of his eye.
Not the bright blue he’s used to, it’s the same blue she would wear. It looks just like her. His sister, Annabelle. His older sister who had gone missing four years ago. His older sister who always comforted him, who would read to him when he was younger. Annabelle, who is right there within his reach.
“Annie?” He called out. Annabelle, or at least what he thinks is her, turned around. Her brown hair, her blue dress, the color of her eyes, the shape of her face, the slope of her nose, the lipstick she wore. Everything was the same.
But the second their hands touched, Greenpeace Girl and Homeless Man dragged her away. Paul gasped, reaching out to her. Cars stopped around him, blocking him in. “Annie! Annabelle!” He screamed.
She was forever and always unreachable. All he wanted was to hug her again, to promise her that everything was alright, to hear her voice, to have her sing him to sleep again.
Paul glanced around and everything went back to normal. Greenpeace Girl was in her usual spot, this time talking to a curly-haired girl in a yellow sweater. Homeless Man was scrounging around in the trash. A teen or young adult in dark makeup with her purple dyed hair in box braids; was hanging up fliers on the brick wall of the alley, a guitar case rested on her back. A curly-haired blonde boy was sitting against the opposite wall, fiddling with a set of drum sticks—next to him was a long-haired boy with pink highlights, whispering into the ear of a strawberry-blonde girl seemingly chewing gum. A girl in a blue sweater vest was protesting something on the street corner.
Paul huffed, choking back tears. He was frozen in place, while the earth just kept spinning. No one noticed. He decided to go back home, lay in bed, and (try to) think about nothing. Or, he could go to his parent’s house and talk to his mom. Yeah, that’s what he’ll do.
He leaned back on a floral patterned chair, the scent of fresh food and his mother’s fruity perfume filling his nose. Eloise Matthews sat on a chair next to him, holding his hand. Her brown locks were decorated with grey hairs, her blue eyes staring straight into his own. (Annie looked so much like her.)
Ellie sighed, squeezing his hand. “That wasn’t her, sweetheart. She’s gone.” She said, kissing his cheek.
He squeezed her hand even harder. He heard a small crack, but she didn’t seem to care. “I swear I saw her, mom.” Paul pressed, voice breaking. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. Don’t cry. It’s all your fault, Paul. It’s all your fault. It’s all you-
“Starlight.” She started, sternly. “This was not your fault.” She promised, ruffling his hair to lighten the mood. Paul chuckled, still holding back sobs. His throat ached from crying. He fidgeted with his wedding ring, trying to distract himself.
He smiled shakily, his lip still quivering. “You always know what I’m thinking.”
“Mom senses, dear.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulder, tapping his nose with her finger. He hugged her back tightly.
Paul left the Matthews household without any answers. He wasn’t told where his sister was, why she was right there, why she got dragged away, why no one cared. No one noticed. Paul sighed, wiping his eyes. He had forgotten what would greet him on the other side, and he was angry. Furious, even, about all the lies. Everyone was lying. Nothing but deceit spilled from their lips. He had to confront Charlotte.
He stormed home, fast as a rock in a meteor storm. He was met with Charlotte, cooking dinner and humming to an old song. she spun around to say hello. “Oh, hello, darlin!” She smiled sweetly. “How was work?”
“Have you heard anything about my sister lately, Char?” He asked suddenly, tapping his shoe-clad foot on the tile.
Charlotte put the spoon down. “No, I haven’t, why?” She asked, raising a brow. Paul breathed in, letting the air out through his nostrils.
“I saw her today, Charlotte.” He stated, hands gripping his hair. “I saw her face, i swear. Mom thinks I was hallucinating.”
Charlotte sighed, sauntering over to gently pry his hands away from his hair. “Shh, shh.” Her hands slid down, gently cupping his face. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” Paul’s eyes widened, realizing she was just as much of a liar as everyone else.
“I saw my sister! She was right there! They dragged her away, Charlotte!” He panicked. “None of this is real.” He huffed a laugh. “None of this is real, but you already know that, don’t you? You’re just as bad as the rest of them.”
Paul advanced on her, inching closer. Charlotte, blinded by fear, grabbed a knife from the counter, pointing it at him. “Paul, stop! You’re scaring me!” They started to circle each other, like sharks trying to find their prey.
“There must be a way to get out, right, right?” He yelled, wrestling the knife out of her hands. “Tell me there is, tell me there is!” He all but begged, waving the knife around.
Charlotte was now more angry than scared. “Everyone there is dead, Paul! You don’t want to go back. No one does.” She snapped, which was very uncharacteristic of her. The whole time Paul has known her, she’s been shy, timid, too afraid to speak her mind.
His eyes widened, and he shakily put the knife down on the table. His trembling hands reached for Charlotte’s, squeezing them tight. “I’m so sorry Lottie.” He cried. “I’m just, scared, i guess.”
“I understand, sweetheart.” She rubbed his knuckles. “We can’t talk for long, I’ve already said too much.” She looked up at a camera in the kitchen, glinting blue. A deep melodic chuckle boomed in Paul’s head, joined by a gleeful giggle, the sound of a child who just got candy.
Paul grasped at his ears, screaming. “Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop!” Charlotte rushed to hug him, anchoring them both to the floor and stroking his hair.
Makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopgetoutofmyheadgetoutofmyheadgetoutofmyheadgetoutofmyheadgetoutofmyheadgetoutofmyhead getoutofmyheadgetoutofmyheadgetoutofmyhead
Everything went bright blue.
On the other side, deep in a dark, dark void, rested a theatre; full of flashy colors and lights and every single hue of blue that does or does not exist. Pokotho, The Singular Voice, was backstage, directing every single move and every single word. The liquid of His true form slinked underneath the azure walls of the theatre. Blikotep, The Watcher With a Thousand Eyes sat in Their human form, bathed in cobalt light.
“Was that a good enough show for you, Bliklotep?” Pokey sighed, smiling hesitantly.
Blinky grinned, pushing His sunglasses down and pulling His plushie close to his chest. “It was certainly worth watching.”
Blue leaked over the curtains as they closed.
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