18+ Solo Simulacra, Simulation

[Ludmilla Orphys]

-ghhkkk --ungh.

The taste. God. The taste. No more.

...aagh...unnhhh-

Even thinking about it-

splt

Flush.

-hrrkk-

Have to get it out. Have to get it out. Have to get it out get it out get it out get out get out get out

...gguuuhheeerghhkk-

​

---

How have you been feeling since our last session?

The light is harsh here.
Nothing like that old desk lamp.

...I don't know.

Scribble scribble. Scribble away. There was nothing that could be gained from this. Nothing.

That's okay. Sometimes it can be challenging to pinpoint exactly how we're feeling.

I remember his kindly eyes.

So...have there been any specific thoughts or events on your mind lately?

I don't know. Sorry. I don't really...I don't know.

This clothing is bothering me.
This fabric. It itches. My skin itches.

What if-

It's alright. Just answer with 'yes' or 'no', if that helps. In fact, don't feel pressured to answer at all. I can give you a moment.
...
Ah, 'yes'? You're nodding? Alright, 'yes'.
It seems you're feeling a bit uncertain or confused right now.
Are there any areas in your life where you've been experiencing this uncertainty or confusion?

Not particularly, sorry. I mean, yes, I guess. With uni. But also...well, it's mainly that.

Lies. Lies. Why?
Nobody would believe it. It's illegal.
That person is still alive and well. Their arm still exists.
It isn't real. None of it was real.
Be normal. Be normal.

Lie. Lie.

Sounds like you might be under pressure from your academic responsibilities. This is a perfectly valid concern. Let me just note that down.
...
Right, now, if you're able, could you tell me a bit more about the particular nature of your university studies? Anything that might be causing you stress or unease?

I- no, it's not that.

What?

What?​

Why did I say that...?
Now they're frowning. I-

I see.
...scrkk-scrrk-scrkk...
Well, if it's not related to your studies, would you be comfortable sharing what's been on your mind lately? No matter is too big or small; what's important is that you feel heard and understood.

Why do I want to

let me
ou(ea)t​

N-No...

That tie.
Take it. Take it off.
I c-can't...

A-Ah. Sure, of course.
...
I'm sorry if I've upset you. Please remember that you're in a safe space, I'm here to support you. Take a deep breath if you need to; we can take a break. Would that help?

...I just need to use the toilet.

---

-aaghhkk...

Nothing left.
Acrid. Acid. Tongue burning. Teeth dissolving.
Ends, begins, ends, begins, ends begins ends begins ends begins

Nnngghhh...

---

Don't let them know. Everything is normal. Everything is still normal.
Act natural.
Act natural.

Sit down. Like you're going out after work.
Like you're having a good time. Like a normal person.
Like you're going to have some

meat​

Is everything alright? Your wellbeing is my priority, you k-

I'm alright. I just- I need...some water.

Of course, of course. Warm or col- warm? Yes? Okay. Here!
Biscuit? I would normally have lamingtons, but I didn't end up baking enough and all of them were gone by Monday, haha...

Nothing mattered after that. I could not say a word. Nothing mattered after that.​

 

[Ludmilla Orphys]

Another mess.

Pick up the brush and scrape it all off. Turn the faucet on to wash away the redness. Make sure nothing is puffy. Make sure nothing leaves stains.

Flush. Rinse the brush under the flow. Back into the holder.

Air freshener, two spritzes, clear the smell away. Soap to clear the curry grease coating the basin. Disgusting.
Flush again to get rid of the foam. Wash hands one more time. More, more hot, more water. Make sure nothing is puffy. Again. Clean it again.

Pick up the comb. Brush through once, twice, three, four...until the tangles disappear.
Ah. Shedding.
Bundle the shed hair into the bin. Brush again. Until nothing remains. One more time. Pick up the stray strands on the floor. Yes, the ones under the shower-mat too. Until it looks normal again.

Is it done?
Basin, clean. Sink, clean. Floor, clean. Comb, clean. Towels, folded. Face, washed.
It's done. Everything that could be done is done. Almost back to normal again.

Okay.

Is it normal? A little dry. A drink from the tap. Gargle. Spit. The taste is gone. It's gone. Clear the throat.

Ah. Ah. Yes, no. Ahem.

Acting correctly. It's acting correctly. Try smiling. It works well, well enough. It works enough to be normal. Wipe away the steam at last.

But in the mirror, it is not I.

...

...

Her eyes seemed to be calling out, saying

Surrender it to me, Brie. That mind of yours. As fragile as a robin's egg.

as if she were gently coaxing a difficult child to bed. But it could not be done. How could it be? The moon could not steal the light of the sun, no more than the sky could swallow the sea. Within the mirror it is trapped. Without, sanity still reigns supreme.

But the abyss returned even the boldest gaze. She would follow. She had been doing so more frequently these days, as though she were aware of something. Changes in the air, perhaps. It could be no more than self-preservation.

In every nook and cranny, every gutter and street, that unceasing unease of watchful, hungry eyes followed. Despite it being impossible...despite the fact that, like severing a limb, they had set it aside with such force, such impetus? They had no need of that thing anymore. Weaned of its influence. Yes. Severed it with their own hands. How could it be?

The book, the book.

All of it, the manuscripts and with it, all of it, her. Even the inevitable grief, the tears turned to rain, ashes, washed away. That was the plan. The plan, Brie. Brie had a plan.

But it didn't work. It didn't work.

Ignore it. Ignore it. It would leave. It would leave, he said.
But he didn't know. What did he think he was agreeing to?
Not this. Not her. Nothing could fix her. Denied a purpose, she would find her cruel sport elsewhere, yet worse.

You can have it all, all over again. All of it.
I just need you to see, Brie. A piece of you, Brie,
is here in the mirror.

It was no use to respond. To try and break the mirror would be useless. She was one who could walk through corners, through the edge of cracks and into the hollow of one's cornea. A persistence predator. The scorpion mocks the frog.

...go away.

Words, caught in a vise of terror-stricken muscles, nevertheless push their way free. Fight it. With all the willpower left in this failing, fatigued mind, fight it.

Leave. I burned it. I burned it all. You have nothing to come back to now. Leave.

But you could not. You could not.

I said, y- what?

Mistakes, mistakes. That thing is already sinking its maw into soft grey cerebellum. Like Pavlov's dogs, salivating at the bell. No time to balk, no time to break free; it is already there, pleading.

The adaptor. In her hands. Her hands are not her hands.

...
...
What am I doing...?