Joy
*For Camp Nanowrimo this April, I plan on writing 10 short stories that fall into different genres & elicit different emotions. Because I’m planning on editing them as I go, I’ll be posting a whole short story every ~3 days.*
My consciousness drifted back into being and the tea party I’d been dreaming about disappeared; I could still remember the bitter, fragrant taste of English breakfast tea on my tongue as the tinny music box melody that had played was replaced with the quiet sobbing of my roommate, Alice. Breathing deeply so she wouldn’t realize I was awake, I remained relatively still between my lumpy mattress and threadbare sheets. After what felt like hours, the knock came to the door and Alice ceased her crying instantly. A well-choreographed morning ritual.
“Good morning, Adrina,” she called to the door in her childish, high voice. There was no trace of the sorrow from seconds before.
When the door opened and Adrina stepped inside, I opened my eyes and yawned. “Mmm, ’ Morning,” I murmured, sitting up in my bed and smiling at the eldest child in the group home.
Stepping along the cold floor in her bare feet, she passed Alice her anxiety pills and a cup of water. When I first arrived here, they gave us our medicines in the kitchen, but the people who ran the home found this easier on everyone, apparently, and there was no point arguing. She watched and waited carefully as the small girl took her medication before whispering, “Good job, Al. We’ve got waffles for breakfast this morning so why don’t you hop up quick like a bunny and get ready for the day?” Adi was kind, in general, and definitely tried to make it easier on those of us who’d only ever known this makeshift pseudo family; she probably had a reason for her gentle, motherly nature, but those kinds of questions weren’t asked.
As Alice started to get dressed, Adrina walked to my bed and stood above me with an unreadable expression. Handing me my drugs and some water, she glanced over at Alice as she noisily made her bed, struggling like only a child could. I took the opportunity to slide the pills under my pillow and sipped the water as Adi looked back at me. “Thanks,” I croaked, blinking as I cleared my throat and handed the cup back.
“Your tutor is coming this morning, Joy, so better hop to it,” Adi suggested as she left the room, shutting the door softly behind her and moving quickly down the hall.
I grabbed the pills from my pillow and tucked them into the plastic bag in my toiletry box. I’d stolen the bag from a boardgame specifically for the task of covert capsule disposal. “Why aren’t you taking your medicine anymore?” Alice asked, her lip pouting a little as she sat on the edge of her bed swinging her legs.
Buttoning my blouse over my nightshirt, I replied, “Because I don’t really need them. They’re just making me miserable.”
“Are mine making me miserable, too?” she asked, her eyes somehow wider than usual.
“Oh,” I muttered, “No, no. I mean, yours are helping you to, to do things and be a kid. It’s different. I’m different.” Crossing the room, I gave her a hug and whispered, “I need you to please not tell anyone about the pills, okay?” When I pulled away, I stared into her watery eyes until she nodded. “Great. Let’s go brush our teeth so we can get breakfast, shall we?” I suggested, offering my hand to Alice and leading her across the hall to the much-shared bathroom.
When we arrived in the kitchen, Adrina was just starting on the second round of toaster waffles as one of the society’s staff members cut up some bruised exotic fruits. Smiling at us, Adi nodded to the pile of plates on the corner of the counter, and I took two; I passed one back to Alice as she followed me to the food. With our plates made up with a waffle, some fruit, and syrup, we headed into the dining room and scarfed down the food before anyone else made it down to the kitchen. Sometimes we were allowed a second plate of food, but waffles were already a treat, so Alice and I just sat quietly at the table until everyone had their breakfast.
“Alright, everyone. We’ve got a couple of tutors coming in and the schedule is up in the learning room so if it isn’t your turn and you’re going to stay there, please either do your work quietly or find somewhere else to be until they’re finished lessons,” Adi announced between mouthfuls of strawberries and overripe kiwi. The other eighteen kids finished their meals in quick order and scattered to play outside or do chores around the house, leaving me alone with Adrina. “Joy, are you alright? You’ve been quiet lately,” she asked, chewing the last little morsels off a small strawberry.
To be fair to the group home, they did have some very good, skilled staff members, but none of them were had time to be involved in our day-to-day lives; only Adrina would have noticed something was off. Nodding, I replied, “Oh, yeah, I’m just tired lately.”
She knew it was more than that, but left it alone. When you had well over a dozen other kids to look after, one being a little off couldn’t be afforded much more than a cursory examination. One, maybe two questions, tops. Nodding at me sadly, she got up and brought her plate to the kitchen. Through the wall, I could hear her joking with the kids cleaning the dishes and water sloshed somewhere. She laughed.
As I was just finishing up a practice quiz my tutor gave me, the numbers I’d been putting in began to shift and change; some formed new symbols while others inched around the page like uneven worms. Glaring at them, I blinked to see if they’d go back to normal and announced, “I’m finished with the test, Zak.” He stood beside the desk nodding at the page as I took deep, calming breaths; a panic attack seemed in the offing and I was determined to not allow it to come.
“Great job. Do you wabnt do nothina es?” he asked in gibberish, looking at me expectantly.
For a few seconds, I tried to figure out what was happening before gasping, “What did you say?” in clear English.
Taken aback, he repeated slowly, “Great job. Do you want to do another test?”
I swallowed a pit growing in my throat and shook my head. Though there were several other kids in the room working on their homework, none of them seemed to have heard the nonsensical words Zak had spoken.
“Yulre od igct,” he murmured as he packed up my math work, not realizing he’d gone back to gibberish, and put it into my folder. Turning, he smiled at Saje and exclaimed, “Id ya und uf wi.”
Standing up from my chair, I ducked my head and left as swiftly as I could; I didn’t want to hear any more broken sentences. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I had a decision to make. Either I would go upstairs to my room and avoid anyone else until at least lunch, or I could try to find a corner somewhere to think. I took a breath and took the stairs two at a time.
Halfway up, the worn wooden steps started to wabble under my bare feet, and I gripped the railing with both hands to keep upright. I stopped and wiggled my toes as the wood reverted to its stationary form. Shaking my head, I continued up to my room and shut the door behind me. It thundered and shook the whole house like an earthquake as it thudded into the frame; I had to cover my ears because it was so loud. Pushing through the noise, I switched the light on to illuminate the beds and simple dressers. When I sat down, the blankets puffed up around me and changed colour like it was woven out of hundreds of chameleons.
I peered around the room slowly and everything went back to its dull, sad normal state. Sighing, I leaned back on the bed with my hands behind my head and shut my eyes. On the inside of my eyelids danced flowers and beetles and other multi-limbed creatures of phenomenal colour. Whispered singing enveloped me in nausea so strong that it caused my head to spin.
Opening my eyes, I looked up at the brilliant ball of light hovering in the middle of the ceiling; it was so warm and comforting, beating down on me. I looked around at the bedroom and realized I was sitting in a field of wildflowers and heather. When I breathed in, it smelled like warm plants instead of like bleach. Chuckling to myself, I got up, brushing my fingers through the grass, and tentatively stepped to where I knew the door was. As I pulled it open, the grass continued down the hall, swaying in a light breeze as a short figure danced towards me. Eyes widening, I smiled at the creature. It was about the size of a child, but it had white fur, a pair of long satiny ears that stood up from its head, and a distinctly rabbit-like head.
“Haf un waja, Joy?” asked a high, childish voice coming from the creature.
Tilting my head, I smiled at the rabbit and replied, “I’m fine, bunny rabbit.” It felt like my mind was taking a vacation or something; I felt more relaxed and just happy than I had in a long time.
When the rabbit glanced nervously behind it, it asked, “What bunny rabbit?” and I finally recognized the voice and the cute, second-hand dress it was wearing.
“Oh, nothing, Alice,” I replied quickly, sidestepping her and heading downstairs. As I reached the top and looked down at the first floor, I couldn’t help but giggle; in the entryway was a small conglomerate of fanciful animals in human clothing chatting idly in gibberish. There were a couple of cats and dogs, rabbits, geese, and one skunk. Shaking my head, I carefully picked my way down the steps, unable to see the solid surface beneath the grassy coating.
As I swung around the corner, not hazarding to guess what any of the animals were saying, I found myself in the dining room. Set along the entire surface of the table were mismatched teacups and pots, piles of biscuits and trays of decorated cookies, and mice sitting at their own little tables amidst the crumbs. For a while, I watched them squeaking at one another before a tall goat entered from the kitchen wearing an apron and a concerned look. I straightened and smiled at her sheepishly.
“Joy, hantav nes fing?” asked the goat, who sounded suspiciously like Adrina.
Shaking my head, I croaked, “Uh, I didn’t catch that?” While the animals in clothing and awesome smells filling my world were certainly upgrades to my current, unhappy life, I could have done with continuous English.
“How’re you doing?” she repeated, taking a few steps forward with her hooves thudding heavily in the dense grass underfoot.
I smiled and replied, “Oh, yeah. Just a little tired; I think I’m going to go outside and get some fresh air.” Perhaps she recognized the deception, but I was banking on her not wanting to put any unnecessary effort into making me feel better as she was obviously busy. I felt more joyous than I had in ages, anyway. Slipping past her, I headed out into the backyard and was astounded by what the world outside had become.
Around the edge of the property was a tall, weathered cinderblock wall that towered above the apple trees and dwarfed the playhouse in the corner. As for the cheap, handmade playhouse, it looked far larger than usual and had taken on the façade of a fancy gingerbread house. Laughing as a group of humanoid animals played soccer with an oversized orange, squealing excitedly and shouting nonsensical words at one another, I shuddered as a loud, guttural cry tore through the peaceful day. None of the others noticed as a massive, winged beast flew overhead, shrieking at the sky. It was a leathery dragon with massive, clawed feet and piercing yellow eyes.
I waved as it crossed the yard again and again as though it was searching for something. When, finally, it seemed to spot its prey, it dove down and out of my sight. Sad to see the creature go, I wandered under the apple trees and scoured their branches for signs of supernatural life. As I shifted a branch out of my way, a glowing apple fell into my hand. Its smooth surface shimmered and wavered as I turned it in my palm.
“Hey, you aren’t supposed to pick the apples yet!” a shrill voice called from behind me. Turning, I grinned at the short rabbit with her arms crossed. It was hard to connect the cute appearance of the bunny with being annoyed.
As the dragon made another pass, this time silently, I offered the apple to the rabbit and murmured, “It fell when I came over here to look around, little rabbit.” Though she looked hungrily at the sweet, barely ripe fruit, she shook her head. “Suit yourself,” I added, taking a big, crunchy bite. Juice dribbled down my chin as the sweet apple gave up its sugars. It was like no apple I’d ever eaten before; this one had notes of tart grapefruit, with some blueberry and peach mixed in. “Amazing,” I sighed as I took another bite. Everything was better than before.
“Come here,” Alice whispered urgently, opening the sticky, icing-covered door of the gingerbread house and beckoning to me.
When I ducked in, the room opened up like an illusion until it was the size of the house. Ignoring this fact, I turned to the rabbit and smiled as I finished off the apple, core and all. I Swallowed and cleared my throat before asking, “What did you want to talk about?”
She peered out into the yard and replied gravely, “Hafla og beelns jawam opt.”
Again, I shook my head and requested, “Could you repeat that?” Outside, I heard the yowling of a large cat, perhaps a lion, and was momentarily concerned for my housemates before reminding myself that everything was fine.
“Adrina is worried about you and how you’re acting all weird today,” Alice reiterated, crossing her arms again and setting me with a stare I couldn’t imagine on Alice’s cute, human face, let alone the rabbit’s soft features.
Touching her shoulder, I sighed, “It’s okay; she has too much on her plate and I am fine. Better than fine, even. I’m happy, Alice, happy.” With that, I grinned and left the house to stretch in the warm, bright sunshine. I glanced over at the makeshift soccer field and spotted the tail of a lion disappearing over the massive wall; all the animals had been clustered around it and were now moping back toward the game, clearly unhappy that they’d driven the creature away.
I decided to go back inside and found myself in the library. Books were floating and flying above my head as I sat in one of the ancient, comfortable, plush chairs when Adrina walked in and shut the door behind her. Watching a particularly frisky book fluttering against the window, I tried to ignore the goat as she sat down in the chair opposite me. After a few seconds, I looked over and commented, “Beautiful day outside.”
This time, unlike most of the other conversations I’d had today, she asked in unbroken English, “Did you take the medication I gave you this morning?” She sat back in the chair, her wide eyes staring into my soul.
“No, I didn’t,” I admitted simply. Sighing, I continued, “I was miserable taking it and today, Adi, today has been so joyful.” When she didn’t immediately scold me, I continued, “I haven’t felt this free and happy and just, alive, since I got here.” I sighed again and looked back up at the books in the air. If the rest of my life was this full of wonder and joy and excitement, I would be happy forever.
Adrina was silent for a very long time. So long, in fact, that I looked over to make sure she was alright. “Joy,” she finally began quietly, considering every word very carefully, “the pills that I give you in the morning are just vitamins. Whatever has brought you joy today, is just you making it happen.”
Pretty Twisted Mirrors 