This short story is based on a prompt I made over at BookStack, through a series of Your Literary Implications. I did not follow the 1500 words rule, however. So this is a little longer than normal. And I also did not edit before posting here, so keep that in mind as you read. Let’s get into the story.
Sitcom Voices
Falling out of bed used to be no big deal, until the laughter began.
Imagine snoring in your bed, rolling back and forth, in the middle of an intense dream. You’re your very own action star, blowing up cars, running off buildings, and– splat. You’re face-forward on the ground, half-awake, and laying there in pain. Then before it can get any worse, laughter fills the room, and it’s in that god-awful sitcom audience voice.
Yeah, so that’s what it’s like. And each time something like it happens, I twist and crane my neck, trying to discover the source of the laughter to avail. Then as quickly as it began, it’s already over. The worst part? No one else can hear it… not the neighbors nor the dog downstairs. Not my class-mates, or even the junkie on eleventh street. Only me, and I’m going insane.
Pushing myself off the floor, I switch out my clothes for a green t-shirt, and a pair of gray slacks. It’s a combo to wear, but I never care. What matters is the hoodie, and I’m already rummaging through my closet to find a clean one. After what feels like years of decision making, I settle on one that’s lavender colored.
It’s a crop-top, so I haven’t worn it yet. I’m already clamming up with anxiety– sweat beading on my forehead. What will the others think? The question is dumb, I know it. And I’m already inspecting myself in the mirror. Oh shit.
Putting a crop-top on over a full t-shirt? What are you doing?
There’s no laugh track to seal the embarrassment, yet. So I throw myself out of the crop-top and shirt altogether. I breathe in, sit on my bed, and give myself a moment to recalibrate. The room is silent entirely, and I’m loving every second of it. My fingers begin to tap, and I can’t help but hum softly. As long as the laughter is gone, I can start to think… And wake up.
Yeah, that. I need to wake up.
Okay, so round number two. I grab a pair of skinny jeans from my closet, roughly pull them up. Putting the lavender hoodie on this time instead of a shirt, I inspect myself in the mirror again. The two go together nicely, and a strange wash of giddy covers my face. I look feminine. What would the others think?
It’s that thought again. I pause and listen, waiting to hear if any laughter ensues. The silence in my room seems to affirm my presentation, becoming all that I need to shake off my anxiety.
My phone alarm goes off just then. Not just any alarm though, the oh shit you’re running late for school alarm. The time reads 3:32pm. Class started forty minutes ago… FUCK. I scramble for my bag, slam the door behind me as I leave the room, and then make my way out of my home. All I can hear in my head is shit shit shit, as I sprint down to the bus stop.
The city bus has just pulled away when I get there.
Then, not a sitcom laugh, but a snicker. Shaking and confuse, I turn around desperately to find the source. No one else is there. No one but me, and my body on the ground after being hit by a bus. Wait, what? WHAT?
I’m standing there, no floating there in shock. This has to be some sort of trick, it must be! But seconds pass by, the rest of the city is moving, and in the distance I hear police sirens getting closer. Man, this is really fucked. But on the bright side, the I’m still wearing the croptop hoodie and jeans in this form. But also on the body too– man I look good.
If I wasn’t suddenly a ghost I’d actually be pretty proud.
Sitcom laughter. Again, now. Of all the goddamn times. Where the fuck does it keep coming from? I’m now again thrusting myself around desperately trying to find the source. Unfortunately becoming a ghost does not remove your nerves.
“Come on you shithead,” I scream, “Show up, I’ll fuck you up.”
Nothing happens. That’s right, I think. You’re just a scared little bitch. Won’t even let me see you, coward. If I’m dead than I’m going to act however I want, and no stupid little voice is going to stop me. They’re too afraid to reveal themself anyway, but I can feel their presence… Oh hold on, that’s new. I can feel their presence.
An ambulance has arrived at the scene of the crash. A paramedic is checking my pulse, then signaling to another. Suddenly they’re bring out– not a table, mind you– but a bodybag. The realization is daunting, but I was dead on impact. No saving that, I guess. At least I looked good when I went.
Something strange happens then, pulling my attention back to the paramedics. Someone is standing next to the ambulance, watching me as they get to work. No one else seems to notice though, and to my dismay– one of the paramedics pass right through the stranger. So, I’m dead now, and I have a stalker.
Was he the source of the laughter?
“Yes,” he responds in the very same sitcom voice. Oh fuck. He could hear my thoughts? This was bound to be good. Though a million different emotions are flashing through my head. Anxiety. Confidence. Relief. Sadness. Anger. Oh if it were the actions of my own consequences. Yes I mixed that up, I don’t know what to believe right now.
Finally, I say. “What the fuck do you want?” Not even a ‘Why is this happening,’ or ‘who are you,’ or ‘why have you been haunting my every single fucking day’? I’m dead now, so why would any of that shit matter, anyway?
“Well, for starters,” He glares, “You’re not dead you lucky bastard. It’s just going to look like it for now.” He pauses to let me it in, but I’m still in disbelief. “And the ‘sitcom laughter’ was supposed to be an identifier signal, Agent Bram, but it seems you’ve forgotten who you are– and your mission.”
Mission? The fuck is this guy on about?
“Agent? Mission?” I say angrily, “What are you even saying?” After all, I’m supposed to be a normal person; Going to school, falling in love with queer mlm novels, and desperately trying to figure out how to pass as a girl. Those were all things I was supposed to be doing. I’m no agent, and my name definitely wasn’t Bram, gross.
He sighs, as if he had better places to be.
“Listen,” he then says. “You’re Cheryn L. Bram, an agent of the Shadowstar organization. Sent to Earth to survey it and learn about any possible threats. This is going to be a lot for you to take in, but…” he pauses as if he’s afraid to continue. “We thought you arrived safely, but after four years and no progress reports– well, my boss decided it was time to check in.”
“You’re saying I’m not even human?” I’m starting to grasp how serious this guy is, though it still feels fake. “So you’ve been stalking me, trying to ‘signal’ me with what? The fake laughter from fake TV shows? What in the living fuck made you think that would work?”
He winces, as if it was actually his idea.
“Never mind that,” He straightens, becoming neutral. “You didn’t check in. Our previous calls never got answered. And you’ve lost you’re memory. Which means you haven’t been able to do your job. So, we know nothing about this planet. We’re taking you home.”
Home he says, as if this planet I’ve been living on for as long as I’ve know wasn’t that to me. Home he says with spit and disdain, like he’s dreading bringing me to his boss, because it would mean failure. His face scrunches only for a second, but I’m now more than aware of what’s happening.
“You’re in big trouble,” I accuse.
His eyes widen. “It would seem that way, yes.”
“So what do you need from me then?”
He stares at me, dumbfounded by what I asked. Then possibilities start racing from his head. And then he’s shaking his head, unsure if whatever idea he has will work. It’s a long process, and given that I’m currently dead, I have all the time in the world. But even still, I can feel myself picking at my fingers. Nervous and impatient. I’m at my last straw.
Until he says: “If I let you stay on this planet for another year and give you some background on what you’re looking out for…” His voice is strained as he continues. “You take this year seriously and we won’t take you back yet. If you do well– if you really want to stay here, I’ll fight for it. But only if you do well.”
“Just a year?” I try to bargain.
He shakes his head. “It’s already been four, and asking for an extension is the one-way-ticket to getting on Tal’s badside. A year should be feasible, but any more and then I’m risking retirement.”
“Retirement–?” I begin to ask, but he shushes me. I want to get clarification on what he means. To know fully what’s happening and why we’re doing this. But all he said was he’d catch me up, just not how. But before I can ask him again, he smiles and laughs at me. Yes, the stupid sitcom laughter, he brought that back.
Before I can react, he snaps his fingers and everything goes dark.
I wake up back up at home, groggy and tired. I glance at the clock on my desk and it reads 3:32pm. Fuck! I’m running late for class. But the lack of the sitcom laughter slightly perturbs me. I rush out of bed, trip over a laundry basket on the floor next to it, and land on the ground. As I pick myself up, I brace for the laughter, but nothing comes.
Instead, I find an envelope taped to my door. It’s labeled Bram, but I’ve never heard of a Bram in my life. Is that some kind of whiskey? My head feels kind of foggy looking at it too. I squint, trying to figure out what about it is fogging my brain. And for a moment I contemplate throwing it in the trash.
That would be too easy. So instead, I open it as begrudgingly possible. I keep half-expecting the laughter to happen. Like if this were some sort of practical joke, or prank. And reading the note makes it feel like it, too. Though there’s something compelling me to keep reading. Like an obligation I made, and just don’t remember what it was.
And apparently, that obligation is to be… a scout? Fuck that. I toss the paper aside, and continue getting ready to head out. I would only have to make up one class today, and biology is at five. So I’m too busy to worry about whatever nonsense is addressed to this Bram person.
But before I head out of my house, I hastily grab the note and stuff it into my pocket. Fearing the laughter that could come if I didn’t. For today I would think about school, and for tomorrow? Well, I’ll figure it out when it gets here.
Haha, this was wild! I had absolutely no idea where it was going, but I was absolutely on board for the ride. I loved how the world expanded so much over the course of the piece, only to zoom back in at the end to the scope of where we started.
This was insanely cool, would love to read more! Also, I'll be talking about it on tomorrow's podcast episode!
Omg Hazel this is BRILLIANT. F'ing brilliant. Omg I love it.