The Midnight Radio, A collection of Short Stories

Part 1, Parasite

Hello wonderful listeners to the long awaited first showing of, well, my new show!~

We have something special for tonight, a real good banger for our first entry~

This first tale will really set the mood for future stories and adventures~

So sit back, relax, and get in the mood for our first spectacle of a tale~

  Half-lidded and exposed, Michael dragged himself to the mirror. The same dull expression that tugged at the ends of his mouth lay barren across his face. He sighed, looking into the mirror. He used his hands to almost physically rearrange his face. A slight upturn wouldn't raise any eyebrows. It was important he didn't get fired again, he didn't want to lose what he worked so hard to make. His front door creaked, flooded with the dust and ash collected over his sleep. The smog of a city and its inhabitants didn't help either. The old stone steps leading down from his apartment cracked underneath the daily weight of any human they were supposedly made for. The streets were worse, not only littered with trash, they were littered with people. Everyone smiled and spoke as if the air itself wasn't suffocating enough. The atmosphere poured by the people around him leeched his fake grin. The very edges of his face drooped more and more as he reached his job. He quickly adjusted his smile, making sure his eyes still had some reflective shine within them. He greeted his coworkers, each asking each other if they were fine, each responding with the same almost monotone yes. Of course they were fine, who wouldn't be? It was a theme around his workspace to encourage happiness, anyone who gave off any negative aura was deemed too dangerous for the workplace. It was essential to smile and carry on. You wouldn't ruin other people's mood if you didn't have a ruined mood yourself.

His after work therapy session consisted of the same tone. It offered a place that would fix you and take away your troubles, that's at least what it advertised. It was their motto that a smile could save a life. He opened the old door and found himself a seat among the other troubled people who sought clarity from someone they trusted. All he could do is stare, he found nothing in common with these people. The more he separated himself from them, the better he would get at finding similarities in normal people. When the time came he found his way to the same couch he had sat upon for what seemed like months. Every time he was here he would say the same thing and his therapist would suggest a different method. He didn't feel like himself. He felt as if the person he used to be died long ago and their body was hidden from him. He felt as if he was faking every aspect of himself and his personality but had no idea if he had a true self he avoided. If it existed his mind surely was scared of it, and he hoped it was for a good reason. His therapist would constantly assure him that this was who he truly was. He made himself to be this way and it is entirely our decision on who we are and who we want to be. He was a human, a being who could solely change every aspect of their being with time and effort. Humans made themselves based upon their choices. He still couldn't help but feel he made the wrong ones. After he got home the night seemed to drag on longer than usual. He found himself begging within his mind for any kind of release. Whether it was an epiphany, denial, or death he couldn't take living like this anymore.

When the next morning came he found himself already awake, dispersing his guts into the toilet. A sickening sight he wished to never see again. Sickness brought weakness but worst of all, pity. People would look at him but not in the way he wanted. He didn't want to look as if he was a sickly child, begging for life but at the mercy of greedy people. He couldn't miss work, he couldn't afford medicine, and he couldn't let them see that anything was wrong. He felt sicker than he ever had before the moment he stepped out of his home. The smog reeked and the stone crumbled beneath his feet. Everything felt redder and the air tasted sickeningly sweet. People walked by as they usually would. He couldn't find it within himself to smile when he got to work, the compound before him shifting and turning with his stomach. The door seemed lighter and the air weighed down upon like cement. He felt like he was inhaling mud, the humid air suffocating him with every second. People looked upon him with worried gazes and he shoved off their greetings. The day dragged on with every second getting exponentially more painful. His skin felt tight and alien, as if it was forced upon him by a sickenly cruel captor. The movements of his body felt wrong, they felt as if he wasn't controlling them. He was a prisoner to his body, a prisoner to a mute voice he hadn't heard within him for a long time.