Episode:13
691 Words
EPISODE 13– WHAT SURVIVES THE MORNING
Joanne woke up convinced she had already lived this day.
Same ceiling.
Same light slicing through the curtains.
Same quiet that felt earned but suspicious.
She lay still, listening.
No whispers.
No shadows crawling.
No laughter behind walls.
Normal.
That was the problem.
She sat up slowly, half-expecting her chest to collapse inward like it had the night before. It didn’t. Her body felt… functional. Tired, yes. Empty, definitely. But stable.
“That’s new,” she muttered.
Comedy arrived early, like an unwanted guest who refused to read the room.
She swung her legs off the bed and immediately stepped on something sharp.
“Ow— what the—”
She bent down and picked it up.
An apple.
Bruised. Forgotten. Somehow rolled under the bed and survived the night.
She stared at it for a long moment.
Then she laughed.
A real laugh this time. Short, incredulous, slightly hysterical.
“You’re kidding me,” she said to the apple. “After everything?”
Fantasy stirred.
For a second, just a second, she imagined it speaking back. You dropped me. I stayed.
She shook her head hard. “Nope. Not today.”
She tossed it into the bin.
Progress, apparently, looked like throwing away symbols before they started talking.
Campus had changed.
Not physically. Emotionally.
Joanne felt it the moment she stepped outside. The air pressed closer. People smiled faster, like politeness was being rationed. Conversations stopped when she passed, then resumed louder, as if to prove they hadn’t paused at all.
Consequences had arrived.
She counted them like items on a receipt.
One long look.
Two whispers.
Three fake laughs.
She smiled back at everyone, teeth sharp, posture perfect.
Performance mode activated.
Her first class was full.
Too full.
She slipped into a seat near the back, notebook open, pen ready. She wrote the date at the top of the page twice before realizing she wasn’t listening to the lecture at all.
The lecturer’s voice blurred into a distant hum, like a radio left on in another room.
Instead, her mind replayed last night with cruel efficiency.
The apples dropping.
The hallway watching.
The silence afterward.
Her pen snapped.
She stared at the broken plastic in her hand, then burst out laughing.
A girl two seats away glanced at her nervously.
“Sorry,” Joanne whispered. “Internal scream.”
The girl nodded like she understood too well.
Unexpected ally.
Mira didn’t sit with her.
That stung more than Joanne expected.
Not because Mira was angry. Because she was careful.
Care felt worse.
At lunch, Joanne sat alone by choice, which was almost a lie. She picked at food she couldn’t taste, watching groups form and dissolve like clouds.
Fantasy crept in again, softer this time.
She imagined invisible strings connecting people. Tugging them together. Pushing them apart. She imagined cutting one of hers and watching it recoil, snapping back painfully.
She rubbed her wrist, suddenly aware of how alone she felt.
Comedy tried again.
“At least no one stole my food today,” she muttered.
The universe, thankfully, did not respond.
Then came the message.
Not from the broken bond.
From someone new.
You don’t know me, but I saw what happened yesterday.
Joanne froze.
Her heart didn’t race. It sank.
Meet me after your last class. There are things you should know.
Her fingers hovered over the screen.
Drama whispered panic.
Comedy suggested blocking them immediately.
Fantasy wondered if this was fate wearing a hoodie and bad timing.
She typed back.
Who is this?
The reply came instantly.
Someone who has also been taken from and told to be quiet.
Joanne swallowed.
The calm she had been pretending to wear cracked.
Episode 8 had just chosen its direction.
That evening, as the sun dipped low and the campus softened into shadows, Joanne stood at the edge of a choice.
Avoidance or confrontation.
Silence or truth.
Isolation or alliance.
She exhaled slowly.
“Fine,” she said to no one. “Let’s make it worse.”
And she walked toward the meeting place, unaware that this would not be about survival.
- Writer
