745STICKY
THIS IS A FUCKING NIGHTMARE. how? where? when? why? the details are blurry. everything is so damn blurry after the 6th cup. if anything, wednesday recalls leaving the dungeons, recalls walking aimlessly with her eyes glued to the phone (yeah, gen z problems, we know) before ending up here—here?
where is here? haha. ha—fucking—ha! well, that’s the funny thing, you see. because why wouldn’t she be here? why wouldn’t she subconsciously walk herself into her own living nightmare? why wouldn’t the stars have aligned so that wednesday seon is destined to spend the tail end of today in hell?
and i know, readers. you might think—hell? this is a mirror maze.
so, for the new readers, a quick recap (feat. inner voice of our protagonist): HELL IS SEEING YOUR MOM EVERYWHERE YOU LOOK. IT’S THE FACT THAT SHE LIVES! LITERALLY! ON YOUR FACE!! THAT’S HELL! LOOKING IN THE MIRROR EVERY DAY AND SEEING THE WOMAN WHO DESERTED YOU IS HELL.
GET IT?
got it? okay! back to our story.
you are so fucking stupid. wednesday inhales through clenched teeth, glancing back to find, of course, yet another mirror. this one distorted, head blown and body long and limber. not a good look either. “good going,” she grumbles, tugging at her braids in vexation. there’s nowhere to go but forward. sadly. unfortunately. stupidly so. and she does, for the most part, walks (stomps) down the path with her head down and eyes glued on her creepers. admittedly, not the best idea when in a maze, but wednesday figures for her own personal sanity—let’s be clear, it isn’t triggering to be here as much as it is grating on her nerves. as much as it makes her heart burn—it’s better to not.
but that too, begs for trouble. especially when her foot hits a supposed dead end—and sticks—and, mother fucker i forgot, she’s a few bad choice steps later from being in yet another predicament.
but at least there’s this: mom’s face (that’s your face too, wednesday) looks stupid ugly when upside down. almost tolerable. though, for all the candy and booze sloshing in her stomach, not so much. but, hey, if she were to think of this optimistically—that’s one problem solved! now, the only issue is how to get down—or even manage to walk all the way to the exit like this. wednesday spares a glance to the ground, drawing focus to the damned wand that had slipped out of her purse on the way up. the way it lies now, completely out of reach. while she stands hangs here, dress upturned and braids swinging like a kind of gothic bat.
she takes a breath, willing herself not to scream.
FOR. FUCK’S. SAKE—
...oh?
but luckily, LUCKILY a savior this way comes. SAVIOR? OR VICTIM? we’ll see. wednesday, in her glorious tipsy stupor (but i guarantee you it’d be the same sober or otherwise), thinks little of repercussions before reaching out, grabbing herself a handful of hair just as they walk past.
“hey. help me.”
/ @msusol: u pick who