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Little Big Play Cousin, Chapter Four

Finally, Chapter 4 is here! I am inspired by the start of Big Brother 16 so I am continuing the story I started to write during Big Brother Canada.

Make sure to read Chapter 1, Chapter 2, and Chapter 3 before you read this one!


 

“It was, like, one of the biggest betrayals of my life. I had so many people against me! It taught me a lot about, like, how you cannot trust anyone. No one has your back in this world! It is, like, all up to me. Myself. And I. No one else. No one else.”

I blink.

Maisy is holding court in my HHIC room. Again. We are on lockdown, waiting for the crew to finish setting up the Veto of Doom competition. Fifteen people are strewn across the room; a few on the bed, some of on the floor, others on the sofas. Lana is the missing sixteenth houseguest. She is hosting the VOD comp and is off somewhere getting ready. I stand awkwardly by the entrance to the bathroom. If need be, I can run in there to escape.

A little while ago, a couple of the squirrels, who help run things around here, came in with trays of tiny cups containing two big pink pills each. You know the kind of cups we see in every movie that is set in a mental institution? That’s what they looked like. They told us to take the pills and left. It was kind of weird, now that I think about it. What did we even take? Someone probably should have asked. Probably.

The competition is athletic today, so the VOD players are dressed in pastel colored sneakers with t-shirts and shorts. I think Maisy ordered her clothes about five sizes too small, because there is spillage, like, everywhere. The non-VOD players were given pajamas to wear.

I scratch my head and focus back in on Maisy standing tall in the middle of the room. Well, at least as tall as she can at 5’2. I think her overpowering perfume is beginning to make me feel a bit woozy. I slump against the doorframe.

Maisy swipes at her bone dry cheeks and sniffles. “Anytime any of my friends, like, need me,” she pauses and draws in a sharp, shaky breath, “I am right there for them!” her words shoot out in a trail of squeaks. “But when I needed them,” she presses her hand to her spilt bosoms, “when I, like, really needed them… So many of them, like, turned their backs on me! It was so fucking unreal!” she wails.

Half of the room sits… enthralled? I think. They sit looking like semi-zoned out zombies and hold on to Maisy’s every word as if they are dipped in meth-laced honey and hold the key to curing cancer. Everyone else is a mix of amused, annoyed, and bored; and they all look sleepy. Once I manage to figure out how the hell I feel, I will let you know.

I let out a muffled yawn. Shit! I hope Maisy did not hear that. My eyes zip back towards her. She is clutching her chest, now, kneeling to ground. What is this? Performance art? Where the fuck is this story even going?

“It was, like, such a simple request! I was not asking for much. I like, never ask for much! I am, like, such a super- low-maintenance kind of gal, I know you all can tell that!” Maisy tries to look melancholy, but her face stops her from accomplishing that feat. She continues in a dramatic whisper. I lean forward.

“I shared a picture on my Facebook wall…”

What? I stick a finger in my right ear and wiggle it around. Is my brain-damaged brain making me lose my hearing? Did she say, ‘Facebook?’ I lean forward some more.

“The picture was a close-up of a face… I mean, it was a little graphic, but not like, that bad or anything! It was important to show because, like, people have to, like walk around in the world looking and living like that every day and it is so hard!

Ack. She’s talking louder now. I don’t like it.

“The picture, like, talked about the perils of something that so many people suffer from,” Maisy lets out a sigh and continues, “Chronic Ingrown Hairs Syndrome, or like, you know, CIHS for short.”

Right. Like, who didn’t know that? Wait… What? What do ingrown hairs have to do with the price of yams in Africa?

“All I asked is for them to, like, share the picture,” Maisy starts to tremble. “’Share this if you love me,’ I said. ‘I am a sufferer of CIHS and people need to, like, hear about this!’

One of the enthralled masses, a guy, slowly reaches out and rubs Maisy’s arm, comforting her. He looks groggy and like he is pained at the same time. Are those tears I see in his eyes? I squint and lean forward just a little bit more. Yep. Tears.

I blink.

Maisy presses her glossy lips together and says, “I have 5000 friends. Only, like, 50 of them cared enough to share.” Her voice wavers, “That is when I realized who really loved me!”

Suddenly, a loud honk blares across the room, shaking some of the boreds and zombies out of their half-slumber. Everyone’s head snaps towards me. Maisy is glaring poison daggers through my eyeballs.

Huh? What the fuck are they looking at?

“Bro,” Linkin says to me slowly. Or, as slowly as one can say, ‘Bro.’ “Did you just… honk?”

I giggle. What? I most certainly did not honk! I shake my head from side to side rapidly and giggle some more. “What?” I ask aloud, this time, as I simultaneously attempt to make a quick turn so that I can escape through the bathroom door.

That shit should have been as easy as slipping a bill in a stripper’s g-string, but leave it to me to fuck up an otherwise simple maneuver. I, instead, fall forward to the ground as gracefully as a newborn fawn that has yet to figure out the general, overall purpose of having legs. My face slams against the hardwood floor, causing my brain to rattle about in my skull. Not quite the plush landing that the grass in the backyard provided.

Laughter trickles in through the ringing in my ears. Are these fuckers laughing at me? But I am HHIC! You cannot laugh at the HHIC in their HHIC room! Isn’t that, like, an unspoken fucking rule? If it is not, it should be!

Linkin had made his way over to me and is now reaching out a hand to lift me up, “Don’t worry Fortifier, I got you, bro” he says loud enough for everyone to hear. If I had it in me, I would groan right now.

I reach for his hand and try to stand up. W to the T and F? My legs feel like jelly! Standing? Yea, that is not happening right now.

I flop back to the ground as the door to the HHIC room swings open and Lana walks in dressed as a giant pink and white pill bottle. She runs to the middle of the room, shoving Maisy out of the way she says, “Get on your feet, Veto of Doom Players! It is time to play Been-A-Drilled!”

This cannot be good.


CLICK HERE TO READ CHAPTER FIVE

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