Episode: 11
834 Words
EPISODE 11 – THE ILLUSION OF PEACE BREAKS
Joanne learned the truth about peace the day it betrayed her.
It did not break loudly.
It did not warn her.
It smiled, waited, and then collapsed from inside her chest.
That afternoon, she was working.
Not dreaming.
Not overthinking.
Working.
Her shift at the campus café had been exhausting in the most insulting way. Burnt toast. Complaining students. A manager who spoke in passive-aggressive smiles. Her feet hurt. Her head throbbed. All she wanted was one small comfort.
Fresh food.
Something warm. Something real. Something that tasted like control.
She finished late. The sky was already darkening, clouds gathering like gossip. She checked her phone. Three missed calls. Unknown number. Her stomach tightened, but she ignored it. She always ignored things that felt heavy.
Bad habit. Lifelong habit.
She walked to her hostel with a bag of groceries swinging lightly in her hand. Bread. Eggs. Fruit. Normal things. Safe things. A normal life.
That was the mistake.
The corridor was louder than usual.
Too loud.
Laughter echoing too sharply. Voices bouncing off the walls. Someone arguing on the phone. Music blaring from a room she didn’t recognize. It felt wrong immediately, like walking into a dream that had already decided to turn on you.
Joanne unlocked her door.
Her heart dropped.
Her food was gone.
Not spoiled.
Not moved.
Gone.
The bag lay empty on the floor, torn open like an insult.
She stared at it for a long moment, waiting for logic to explain it away. Maybe she forgot. Maybe she left it somewhere else. Maybe—
A laugh came from inside her.
Not funny.
Not sane.
She laughed until it hurt.
“Oh,” she said to the empty room. “Of course.”
That was when she noticed the note.
Crude handwriting. Lazy. Careless.
Borrowed. Don’t be dramatic.
Something snapped.
Not loudly.
Not violently.
Something old. Something deep.
Joanne didn’t cry.
She didn’t scream.
She sat on the edge of her bed and laughed again, harder this time, until her chest ached and her vision blurred.
Fresh food mattered.
It mattered because she worked for it.
It mattered because she had nothing else today.
It mattered because it was hers.
And someone had taken it.
Just like before.
Her mind didn’t ask permission before opening doors she had locked years ago.
Suddenly she wasn’t in the hostel anymore.
She was younger. Smaller. Watching things disappear. Watching promises evaporate. Watching people take and take and tell her not to be dramatic.
The room warped.
The walls stretched. The ceiling dipped. The light flickered like it was laughing at her too.
Fantasy crept in, uninvited and cruel.
The shadows on the wall moved. Not walking. Crawling. Whispering things she didn’t want to hear.
You should be used to this.
You always lose things.
You never get to keep peace.
She pressed her palms to her ears.
“Stop,” she whispered.
The shadows laughed.
A knock on the door.
Hard. Sharp. Aggressive.
She didn’t answer.
Another knock.
“Joanne,” a voice called. Too familiar. Too unwanted.
Her chest seized.
The broken bond had found her again.
She stood slowly, legs trembling, rage blooming where exhaustion had lived moments ago. She yanked the door open.
There they were.
Smiling.
Unbothered.
Holding her apples.
“I heard you were upset,” they said lightly. “Relax. It was just food.”
Just food.
Just childhood.
Just trust.
Just loss.
Something inside her exploded.
She laughed.
Really laughed.
A wild, unhinged sound that startled even her.
“Do you know what’s funny?” she said, voice shaking. “You always arrive when I’m tired. You always take something small and tell me I’m crazy for caring.”
Their smile faltered.
Good.
Comedy twisted into cruelty. Fantasy sharpened into clarity.
The hallway seemed to tilt. Doors stretched too far. Faces peeked out like spectators at a circus. Joanne felt unreal, like she had stepped outside herself and was watching a disaster with popcorn.
“You don’t get to do this,” she said, stepping forward. “You don’t get to take from me anymore.”
They scoffed. “You’re overreacting.”
That was the final match.
Joanne grabbed the apples from their hands and dropped them.
They hit the floor.
Rolled.
Bruised.
Students gasped. Someone laughed nervously. Someone whispered her name.
She didn’t care.
“Get out,” she said. Quiet. Deadly.
They stared at her, stunned.
“I said get out.”
The fantasy peaked.
For a second, just a second, the hallway flooded with light. Too bright. Too unreal. Like the world itself was forcing a c****x.
The shadows recoiled. The whispers stopped.
The bond shattered.
Not dramatically.
Cleanly.
They left.
Joanne closed the door and slid down against it.
Her laughter returned, mixed with sobs she refused to acknowledge.
She was hungry.
She was angry.
She was free.
And somehow, absurdly, she was proud.
Peace was an illusion.
But chaos?
Chaos told the truth.
- Writer
