Wada.exe
Last Tetro Friday we found this which links to a short game about Wada's childhood. It's a good insight to Wada's backstory, so give it a watch! This isn't my gameplay, thanks to @laniemae for posting it on tetrocord.
There's a secret event you get after waiting for about an hour. Following the event, the game crashes.
Masanari's Mother and Babynari
ACRENOMIUM.SAMSA UNDER THE CUT
wada pressed his palms against his cheeks, holding them there for a moment before letting them go again. they used to be a lot squishier, he thought to himself, pressing down once again. it made sense. three days ago, he had turned six. that had to mean he was getting bigger. when you got bigger, you probably got a lot less squishy. he let them go again.
there wasn’t a lot to do in the closet. everything that used to be in there had slowly disappeared over the course of the past few months - before that, he used to spend a lot of time in his room. there wasn’t much in there either, but there were blankets, at least. blankets, a few books from school, a couple things he had managed to take home with him, end-of-year gifts from teachers - in the closet, there was carpet, and that was about it. he pressed down on his cheeks again.
wada liked his room. it wasn’t fantastic, he liked his classroom better, but his bedroom was a whole lot better than the closet. it was dark in the closet. it was extremely cramped - he couldn’t really move his arms or legs around too much. he definitely couldn’t stretch them out. sometimes he’d lie on his back with his legs running up against the wall if his knees were starting to hurt. most of the time, he would sit on the floor with his legs up against his chest. that’s what gave him the most space.
no matter how he sat though, he would always be uncomfortable. it was too dark for him to see anything that wasn’t illuminated by the tiny crack of light pouring in from under the door. the carpet was scratchy and gross and itchy against his skin. it didn’t smell good. that was wada’s fault. when wada got in trouble, he’d usually be in the closet for a while. a long while. he’d spend the first little bit crying and begging and banging on the door, but after that inevitably yielded no response, he would sit and wait on the floor. for hours. sometimes his parents would forget about him completely. sometimes he’d be in there for longer than a day. sometimes he’d have accidents, and then he’d get in even more trouble. then he’d spend even longer in the closet.
that’s why he was in there today, actually. that’s also why his pyjama pants were sticking to his legs in a way that was gross and cold and clammy and made him uncomfortable. he had no idea what time it was. it’s not like he could be in here all night, right? he had school tomorrow morning. he still had to go to school.
wada’s teachers didn’t like him very much. most of them, at least. one of them did. she was a taller, older woman who always wore big sweaters that wada liked to hold onto when they walked down the hall. she was quiet, and really nice. she would always welcome him in the morning. she’d hug him and make sure he got snack before it was put away for the morning. wada liked that one. she never really got him in trouble either.
he pressed down on his cheeks again. he pressed down harder. when did they stop being squishy? did they stop right away when he turned six? his skull was under there, he learned that in school. was that what he was feeling? the hard parts? bone? he pressed down harder. it was starting to hurt.
wada’s grandma always said his face was too pale. she said he looked like a ghost. she said he was probably bad luck. honestly, wada didn’t think she was too far off. he was really pale - a whole lot paler than anyone else at his school. he did kind of look like a ghost, especially when his parents would put him in clothes that were too big for him. everything was either too big or too small. (wada wondered for a second if they made clothes in his size. apparently not, he guessed.)
but bad luck sounded about right. he was clumsy. he was uncoordinated. he was stupid. he kept making mistakes, over and over again every day. he’d come home with a toy he’d found on the playground - big mistake, closet. he’d get hungry and eat something he wasn’t supposed to - big mistake, closet. he’d bother his mom while she was working in her office - big mistake, closet. it had to be his luck. no matter how hard he thought out every little thing he did, he still ended up making a big mistake. he didn’t get it.
he let his cheeks go. the skin under his fingertips stung a little.
“…mom?”
he practically held his breath, waiting for a reply. maybe it was okay to ask now? it had been a while.
“…m-mom, can i come out now?”
nothing. he didn’t dare to raise his voice - but what if she just couldn’t hear him? what if she wasn’t mad at him anymore and she was ready to let him out but she was just too far down the hall?
“…i-i’m ready to come back out now…”
silence.
wada stared at the door for a few moments longer, as if he could bore a hole through it with his eyes alone. maybe she was sleeping. maybe it was the middle of the night. maybe he should sleep too. he wanted to, he was tired, but his body wouldn’t let him. he was too unsettled by the darkness, he was too cramped, he was too itchy, the carpet was too wet, he was too hungry, he wanted to sleep in his own bed.
“…i-i’m not gonna do it again, can i come out?”
he wasn’t sure why he said that. he might do it again. he usually ended up doing it again. he wouldn’t have to if they just let him out though.
“can-…can i come out?”
nothing.
if nothing else, he could rest assured that this was exactly what he deserved. he was lucky this was the only punishment he was getting. he could handle being in the closet, he always handled being in the closet just fine. he’d be out in the morning to go to school, if nothing else. but as long as he was in the closet, they weren’t going to hit him.
he just wished there was food in here.
it was hard for wada to get food. very hard. when wada was at school, he’d eat as much food as he could get his hands on. he’d stay at the snack table for as long as his teachers would let him. it was incredible, the feeling of actually being able to eat food and have his stomach be full for once. when there wasn’t any food, he’d find other ways to give himself that brief high. he’d eat whatever he could to keep his stomach full. whatever he could find. whatever would fit in his mouth.
wada would get in trouble at school for eating things he shouldn’t - buttons, wrappers, paper, loose parts like that, mostly. he’d get in trouble for eating things like grass and marbles and rocks and change. the teachers would talk about how someone always had to keep an eye on him to make sure he wasn’t eating things he wasn’t supposed to eat. they’d laugh about it.
wada would hide food in his pockets. he’d come home with his haul from the snack table stuffed in as many pockets as he had. when his parents would find these, he’d get in trouble. if he was fast enough, he could hide them in his room instead. then he’d have them for later. when they started checking his pockets, he started hiding food in his hood. when they started checking his hood, he started hiding it down his socks. anywhere they wouldn’t check. he had to bring more food home.
all of his snacks were hidden under his bed. he never actually ate any of them - he wanted to wait until he was really, really hungry, otherwise it would be a waste - but they were there regardless. ready if he needed them, until they would inevitably spoil. honestly though, that didn’t really dissuade him from eating them - food was food. anything he could put in his mouth was food.
there was a white - beige? brown? orange? white. kind of white - fuzz that crept up the side of the closet wall. it had started growing there some months ago. it was soft and it didn’t smell very good and the patch it was growing in got bigger and bigger every time wada saw it. it had taken him a while to realize he could pick it off. he had pretty long nails, nails that were perfect for chipping away at the fuzz until he managed to break some away from the wall. it tasted awful. worse than it smelled. it hurt his stomach. sometimes it made him throw up, and then he’d be even hungrier and in even more trouble. but when he could keep it down, it filled his stomach.
wada scratched at the fuzz. it chipped off, sticking under his nail. within seconds, it was in his mouth - he couldn’t help it. he was hungry. he was more than hungry. he always got especially hungry on the weekends, he always felt like he was going to die during the weekends. but he had school tomorrow.
once he’d eaten the small chipping of fuzz, he went back for more. again, he couldn’t help it. he was hungry. he was hungry. he was hungry. he was hungry. he needed to eat something. he needed to eat anything. his hands were shaking. he was careful, careful to only take tiny pieces at a time, careful to slow down when he saw how much he was taking. he needed to leave enough for next time he got hungry.
he paused, staring at the moldy wall as his body froze up. footsteps. someone was awake. suddenly, the courage he had mustered up to call for his mom felt completely hollow. they were right there.
he swallowed.
“…m-mom?”
“go to sleep, masanari.”
“can-…c-can i go to sleep in my bed…?”
“no.”
and that was it. the footsteps followed the sound of her voice, disappearing from his senses. the hallway light clicked off. it was completely dark now. dark and cramped and cold and itchy and wet and he was starving. he felt his stomach start to turn - it wasn’t hunger this time, he knew that, it was the feeling of his meal disagreeing with him - as he sank back on his knees. that was it. he was completely alone again.
he couldn’t wait to get back to school tomorrow.
