Madigan-rumleyHabitica12-30-2020

Written by: madigan-rumley

FINISH THE STORY- At the mall, you walk by a mannequin that looks just like you. Something odd is happening...

At the mall, you walk by a mannequin that looks just like you. Something odd is happening… You stop and look around; your heart stops in your chest. Everyone - every last person as far as the eye can see - looks exactly like you. Panic gripped you hard, but logic jumped in to dispel it.

This must be the effects of the Resolver. It was meant for therapy, adapted for torture, which were practically the same thing to some anyway. You had no way of knowing which was the case for you, under as you were, but this certainly felt torturous. The idea was that by showing you what your worst fear or greatest flaw was, you could work on yourself and better understand your own motivations.

So this is your worst fear, then.

Not creepy crawlies. Not rejection, or failure, or disappointment.

Not the status quo, but fitting into it. A lack of originality. The loss of your uniqueness. You looked exactly like everyone else and you'd never felt like you stood out more, in the very worst kind of way. You’re trembling, but you know this isn’t real. Terrifying, but manageable. You take a few deep breaths; time to figure out how to get out of this.

Time to move.

You walk into the shop holding the mannequin. It was the first thing you saw, so it must be significant. Every piece of clothing hung up in the store matched exactly what you were wearing, but you searched it all anyway, just in case.

You stop suddenly as you feel the gaze of someone burning into the back of your neck, instinctively looking up toward the source. You meet the eyes of someone, the only person around not identical to you, and horror seizes you again. Horror, mixed slightly with anger this time, as you stare into the eyes of the person who has hurt you more than anyone in your life. You remain frozen as they approach you, partially out of fear, but also because, most likely, the Resolver is forcing you to stay and confront this.

“Funny seeing you here,” they said, casually with a smile.

“No,” you reply.

Their features twisted, slowly, with anger at your refusal. What, exactly, you were refusing didn’t matter. They were furious at being denied in getting their way.

Movement beyond them drew your eyes away, and you notice suddenly that everyone who had once been you has now transformed into them. Each of them, with the same furious expression, begin to advance toward you.

You run.

As you do, you come to a frightening conclusion: if this were therapy, you’d have been pulled out by now. Torture, then. Could also be a malfunction of mistake, but regardless it wasn’t good and at worst was disastrous. You duck into the first alleyway you find to hide yourself from the horde of your own nightmares.

Movement in the darkness of the alley catches your attention. Your heart lurches as something clatters within that darkness and you move into a defensive position. The inky blackness starts to move, approaching you as if the shadows were stretching and liquifying. You shudder as it envelops you before you have time to react and you find yourself reliving every frightening experience, every embarrassing moment since before you can remember all at the same time. A scream is torn from you unbidden as you’re overwhelmed.

Then, suddenly, it stops.

You open your eyes, not remembering having closed them, to the view of a dark ceiling.