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The final four sat in a circle. One would expect the final four of a game show such as Inanimate Insanity to be at each other's throats, but they were all pretty… calm.
It’s been a long time since MePhone hosted a challenge. From the events of last challenge, Lightbulb would presume that ratings would be at an all-time high, but how was she to know?
Suitcase has been keeping track of days that pass. She looks tired. The only hope that MePhone is coming back is the steady stream of food that comes.
There’s a lonely picnic table that spawned a few days after MePhone first left. Every day, three times, it gave them a pretty big meal. Suitcase had also found an orchard of apple trees with a lonely stump in the middle, and some blackberry bushes.
Lightbulb had been trying to keep herself from being bored - who knew what could happen in that case? She’s grown fond of art, drawing portraits on the bark of trees, in the dirt, on the picnic table. Knife had even gone and found some fruits and natural paints for her to use.
Her favorite thing to draw were her friends. The picnic tables were covered with drawings of the four of them - that being Baseball, Knife, Suitcase, and herself, and the bark with the eliminated contestants. Her favorite, a big one on the biggest tree, was of the final eight contestants.
She’d also painted most of the challenges, going from left to right - leftmost being every single contestant on the iceberg, and rightmost being a half-finished portrait of the spaceship that carried Fan away. The drawings weren’t good by a long shot, but they were everything that was important to her. And they were recognizable by the other three, so that was good.
Faintly, Lightbulb hears Suitcase tell her something, and she looks up. “Hmm?”
Suitcase looks at her, fairly concerned. “We’re headed to the docks for a swim. Wanna come?”
Lightbulb frowns. “Can I paint the docks?”
Knife and Baseball exchange a look Lightbulb can’t decipher, before nodding. Knife glances at the buckets, then says, “we’ll get them there for you.”
Nodding, Lightbulb gets up, grabbing the makeshift paintbrushes and pencils she uses. The two guys stack the buckets, walking towards the dock. Suitcase slowly a little, walking next to Lightbulb.
“Hey, Lightbulb. You… you doin’ alright?”
“Yeah! Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?”
Suitcase looks down for a second. “You seem more distracted than usual. Also, less spirited. This break without MePhone has been hard for all of us, but you seem…”
Lightbulb’s eyes widen. “Oh. I promise, I’m doing fine. Painting is fun.”
“Been missing Paintbrush, huh?”
“I mean… yeah. Why do you say that, though?”
“You’re… painting. With a paintbrush.”
Frowning, she looks at the paintbrushes in her hands. “I guess. It’s just nice to have some sort of outlet, you know? And when I wake up, I get to see that I’ve made some sort of mark. That… I created all the colors in this place.”
Suitcase smiles a little. “Yeah. That must be a fulfilling feeling.”
“It is.”
They walk the rest of the way in silence, before they reach the docks. The other three walk towards the water as Lightbulb sits on the dock. All of the buckets are made of wood Knife carved, and the paints are made of mashed fruits/plants. Lightbulb has no idea why anyone would do all of this for her silly hobbies, but she wasn’t complaining.
There were few places where paint could sit on this camp ground. They didn’t have cabins or anything, and there wasn’t much else wood. The picnic table was covered from edge to edge with paintings, and the trees weren’t easy to paint on. The one other place she could think of? The dock.
Most of the paintings there were of the bright lights. Lightbulb spinning Fan. Fan, her, and Test Tube when the other two were going through the elimination portal.
When they left her all alone.
But she didn’t sulk anymore. After all, she should just be happy she made it this far, shouldn’t she?
She mixes together some yellow, brown, and white to create a tan shade on her hand. Without knowing what she’s painting, she paints a streak.
The color… it reminds her of something. Of someone.
Lightbulb stares at it, imprinting the color in her mind. Mindlessly, she adds a few more strokes, creating a square shape with a rounded top.
Filling it in, she notices it looks like the bristles of her Paintbrush. Like the bristles of… of Paintbrush themself.
Oh.
That’s who it reminded her of. Their bristles. But she just can’t remember what the rest of them look like.
And it’s a scary feeling. Paintbrush is her best friend, she should know what their face looks like! But no matter how much she thinks back, she can’t remember anything. Their voice, their face, even the colors of them. None of it.
Staring at her hand feels surreal. This is the color of them. The object Lightbulb can’t get herself to remember.
How bad of an object must she be to not remember her best friend? This was Paintbrush, an object she knew she should remember.
Lightbulb didn’t deserve a best friend like that, did she? No. She didn’t. No, she fucking didn’t.
Without thinking, she gets to her feet and starts walking away. She barely hears Suitcase, but she nonetheless turns around, not wanting anyone to worry. She doesn’t deserve to be worried about.
“Lightbulb! Where ya going?” Suitcase calls.
There’s a practiced smile most people have. Lightbulb knows hers is good, knows it because every single person she’s ever met has believed it. Pulling that easing smile onto her face, she yells back cheerfully, “nowhere! Just gotta do something!”
Baseball looks at her concernedly, but doesn’t speak up. Lightbulb just turns around and continues walking, breaking into a frantic run as she speeds towards the forest.
Most people weren’t able to bring anything - if they needed anything, they could go to Hotel OJ. But Lightbulb wasn’t most people, and she’d made sure to grab a small, inconspicuous box. It had her most prized possessions, and besides that, her kandi.
After season one had ended, Lightbulb hadn’t had the best mental health. Before season two and she’d met all her friends, she used to cut. A lot. And then cover it with her kandi.
They were special to her. For that reason, and because, after episode eight, it’d been one of the things she’d done with Paintbrush.
The contestants had gotten to stay at Hotel OJ for a little while, and Lightbulb and brought Paintbrush to her room. Paintbrush had been angry at everyone else, but pleased with her for at least trying to help.
“C’mon, Painty, let’s make some kandi!”
“One problem. I dunno how.”
Her eyes sparkled when looking at them. It was almost as if they were the solution to all her problems.
“Well, Painty, I’ll teach you!”
And teach them she did. By the time MePhone had forced them back to camp grounds, both of their arms were covered in kandi. Lightbulb’s favorite was the one she made that said light-brush. A mix of their names.
It was still her favorite. As she grabs it, she can feel hot tears springing up to her eyes. Oh, she misses them. She wants them there, to hold her, to comfort her, so badly.
The worst part was she couldn’t remember them. She couldn’t, no matter how hard she tried. She could miss them, hold their kandi, but that wouldn’t change anything.
No, that wouldn’t change anything.
Compulsively, she digs back in, sifting through photos and random possessions, before her fingers hit metal.
Right. Her knife.
She’s been clean for what feels like years. She’s survived. She’s thrived.
But her hand still wraps around the plastic part of the knife. Still yanks it out, like an old wound that never closes, just gets forgotten about until reopened.
Lightbulb knows she shouldn’t hurt herself. She wasn’t gaining anything. Pain was for bad people, she wasn’t a bad person!
Or… wasn’t she? She forgot about her best friend.
She deserved this.
The cool metal feels like anticipation on her skin. The first incision feels like relief, a euphoria she’s dying to chase. The next ones feel less and less pleasurable, but every time goodness gives way to pain, she reminds herself that she deserves it.
Lightbulb deserves the pain. The hurt.
After four lines are cut through her hand, she puts the knife down.
She couldn’t even make it. She just had to screw herself up. God, how Lightbulb hated herself. And now everyone would hate her, pretend to care and hate her.
Well, time to cover it up again. Cover up her pain, cover up the sorrow. Hide behind her smile.
Each kandi that slips on feels like a shield. It burns where it touches the open wound, and Lightbulb can’t help but love that feeling. No matter.
She finally slips on the final one, her light-brush one. An overwhelming amount of guilt threatens to suffocate her. Who was she to wear that?
But, she knows she has to go back, before someone looks for her. When there were only four of them, they always looked out for each other.
Lightbulb puts her box back under the dirt, then looks at her hand. The dried paint of Paintbrush’s bristles. The kandi, covering up her secrets.
Herself, just a big flap of skin, covering up her burning heart.
Finally, she pastes her smile on her face and goes back to everyone else. She avoids all questions, deflecting with humor. She ignores all concerned looks, and lays on the dock, staring at the sky.
What a bad person she was, right?