Joy is a raw emotion that is difficult to force out of someone. It stems from the idea that something pleasant has been experienced and you can't help but smile through it. But what if the sight of your joy was so admirable that everyone wanted to see it at all times, forcing a smile even in the darkest of times?
"What are you doing here, Mrs. Grungle?" I asked in a jovial voice, happy to see a good friend.
"I'm looking for someone to help me drive my car," she said, gesturing toward her hands, which are carrying a comically large stack of books. "I'm a little tied up at the moment."
I got a good laugh out of it. "No problem, I can drive for you," I said. We made our way over to the car as she struggled to keep the books from falling over.
After we got in the car and took off, I asked her, "What are all the books for?"
"I have a friend that just bought a bookshelf, only to realize she didn't have any books to put on it," she explained. "I figured I would help her out."
As we continued our way down the road, she guided my way to her friend's house. We got out and knocked on the door. There, greeting us was someone that looked exactly like Mrs. Grungle. Although it seemed odd, I didn't say anything about it. I knew if I did, the ones above wouldn't be too happy.
We made our way inside and Mrs. Grungle sat her pile of books down, making the ground shake from the incredible weight of them. Mrs. Grungle let out a scream as the books toppled over and landed right on top of her.
Everything in the room went dark as me and her friend frantically dug her out. She was barely breathing.
"You have to survive," I told her. "It's the only way they'll let us go."
I saw her eyes struggling but they widened. She barely managed to mutter a word. I could breathe a sigh of relief as she was okay.
Her friend and I went back to where we were standing before the incident and the lights went back to normal. I let out a laugh as I looked at Mrs. Grungle's crippled body buried under the books. She stood up and the books toppled off of her.
"I brought your books," she struggled to say in a dizzy state.
Her friend thanked her and we made our way out of the house, almost as if that terrible event had never happened.
That night after the cameras stopped rolling, I went to check up on Mrs. Grungle to see if she was okay. She struggled to speak but she said she was. I told her about the good times we'd had on the show and that, if we were lucky it would all come to an end soon. She smiled at that.
With that, I made my way back to my room and saw a new script on my nightstand. It didn't make sense, they never give out script revisions, especially not the night before the next show.
I picked up the script and carefully read through it. It all seemed normal, just like what was already on the script. I was about to roll my eyes and put the thing down when something caught my eye, highlighted with a yellow marker, 'Mrs. Grungle dies'.
I wasn't sure how well I'd be able to follow through with today. I knew what kind of episode they had planned for today but I had no idea they'd try tossing in killing someone I care so much about.
Me and Mrs. Grungle met up like normal, in the park, which was not too far from my house. She and I talked and laughed and helped a kid catch a butterfly for the first time and teaching them to be gentle with it. We ended the day walking home.
There was a joke walking home about us having bad luck over the years. I tripped over my own feet as we walked and we laughed. Then, there came a bus that swerved to miss a dog in the middle of the road.
Mrs. Grungle was killed instantly. All I could do, all I was scripted to do was laugh. Laugh until the lights dimmed.
When the lights faded and the show was over, tears streamed down my cheeks. My best friend through so many years was dead. I kneeled down beside her and held her. At least now she was free. This is the only way any of us can escape. Not by freedom, but by death.
The friend of Mrs. Grungle we saw yesterday, approached and offered her condolences. We mourned her together. I knew now why she looked so similar to Mrs. Grungle, she was her replacement. It was going to go on tomorrow with her playing Mrs. Grungle. Things would carry on once again like nothing ever happened.
"What are you doing here, Mrs. Grungle?" I asked in a jovial voice, happy to see a good friend.
"I'm looking for someone to help me drive my car," she said, gesturing toward her hands, which are carrying a comically large stack of books. "I'm a little tied up at the moment."
I got a good laugh out of it. "No problem, I can drive for you," I said. We made our way over to the car as she struggled to keep the books from falling over.
After we got in the car and took off, I asked her, "What are all the books for?"
"I have a friend that just bought a bookshelf, only to realize she didn't have any books to put on it," she explained. "I figured I would help her out."
As we continued our way down the road, she guided my way to her friend's house. We got out and knocked on the door. There, greeting us was someone that looked exactly like Mrs. Grungle. Although it seemed odd, I didn't say anything about it. I knew if I did, the ones above wouldn't be too happy.
We made our way inside and Mrs. Grungle sat her pile of books down, making the ground shake from the incredible weight of them. Mrs. Grungle let out a scream as the books toppled over and landed right on top of her.
Everything in the room went dark as me and her friend frantically dug her out. She was barely breathing.
"You have to survive," I told her. "It's the only way they'll let us go."
I saw her eyes struggling but they widened. She barely managed to mutter a word. I could breathe a sigh of relief as she was okay.
Her friend and I went back to where we were standing before the incident and the lights went back to normal. I let out a laugh as I looked at Mrs. Grungle's crippled body buried under the books. She stood up and the books toppled off of her.
"I brought your books," she struggled to say in a dizzy state.
Her friend thanked her and we made our way out of the house, almost as if that terrible event had never happened.
That night after the cameras stopped rolling, I went to check up on Mrs. Grungle to see if she was okay. She struggled to speak but she said she was. I told her about the good times we'd had on the show and that, if we were lucky it would all come to an end soon. She smiled at that.
With that, I made my way back to my room and saw a new script on my nightstand. It didn't make sense, they never give out script revisions, especially not the night before the next show.
I picked up the script and carefully read through it. It all seemed normal, just like what was already on the script. I was about to roll my eyes and put the thing down when something caught my eye, highlighted with a yellow marker, 'Mrs. Grungle dies'.
I wasn't sure how well I'd be able to follow through with today. I knew what kind of episode they had planned for today but I had no idea they'd try tossing in killing someone I care so much about.
Me and Mrs. Grungle met up like normal, in the park, which was not too far from my house. She and I talked and laughed and helped a kid catch a butterfly for the first time and teaching them to be gentle with it. We ended the day walking home.
There was a joke walking home about us having bad luck over the years. I tripped over my own feet as we walked and we laughed. Then, there came a bus that swerved to miss a dog in the middle of the road.
Mrs. Grungle was killed instantly. All I could do, all I was scripted to do was laugh. Laugh until the lights dimmed.
When the lights faded and the show was over, tears streamed down my cheeks. My best friend through so many years was dead. I kneeled down beside her and held her. At least now she was free. This is the only way any of us can escape. Not by freedom, but by death.
The friend of Mrs. Grungle we saw yesterday, approached and offered her condolences. We mourned her together. I knew now why she looked so similar to Mrs. Grungle, she was her replacement. It was going to go on tomorrow with her playing Mrs. Grungle. Things would carry on once again like nothing ever happened.
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